The guardsman was an old and grizzled warrior. Or at least, that was what he styled himself to be. He hadn’t seen war in the last thirty years, ever since the Kings of the East all prohibited each other from waging war, swearing Oaths and dissolving armies as a result. He hasn’t seen combat in three years, as well, being a survivor of The Incident. That night, he watched as the Order of Kuusai butchered his comrades and the denizens of the palace. He fought valiantly, defeating many of their number, but he was soon outnumbered and surrounded. He still felt chills down his spine as he recollected, of the blood-splattered white masks, of melting snow littered with corpses, of the blinding white light that ended it all...

This night’s vigil, as did the nightly he had done since The Incident, he offered to the Godtamer. To her he owes his life, and he made sure that his life was for the sake of protecting her successors. Although there was a sordid part of his mind that jeered at him: those children are more powerful than him; such was the case for the nobility - their Awakened abilities outclass those of the common folk. Surely, the demon in his head suggested that they could take care of themselves. He shoved that notion to the back of his mind.

He watched the moon peak overhead. It had been a quiet night, as did the thousand or so nights before. But his patrol didn’t cease as he surveyed the perimeter of the palace complex. His back was beginning to complain in his advanced age, and he stopped to stretch a bit before probably doing one more round and turning in for the night.

That’s when he heard it: a rustling in the nearby bushes. He quickly stood to attention, ignoring his pain, and gripped his halberd tightly. He approached the bush cautiously, expecting an ambush. He leveled his weapon at the plant, preparing to strike at the earliest sign of anything suspicious. Sweat dribbled down his face, his heart racing. When finally the source of the rustling revealed himself, he heaved a heavy sigh of relief.

It turned out to be a stray, white cat. It meowed at the guardsman, who was recovering from all the adrenaline wasted. He observed the animal, which was more or less unremarkable, save for its obsidian black eyes, and the markings on it which looked a little like those squiggly writing they put in books about magic.

The guardsman lowered his spear and crouched down at the cat. “You gave me quite the heart attack there, little one.”

“There you are!” said a voice.

The guardsman looked at the direction of the sound, and found a boy running into his direction. The youth had dark brown hair, and looked to be around seventeen years of age.

The boy snatched the cat from the ground, which protested his grasp, squirming for a while until finally giving up and going limp in the young man’s arms.

“Thank you for finding her, mister!” The boy exclaimed. His smile was bright as the moon.

“Oh, I didn’t find her. It’s more like she found me,” laughed the elder man. “Don’t tell me you’ve been out all night looking for your cat.”

“Don’t worry. I haven’t,” replied the boy.

“Oh?” The old man was a bit bewildered. “That’s not the only thing you’re up to then?”

“That’s right!” the younger man beamed. “It’s just the first thing on my list.”

The guardsman was even more perplexed. “It’s the middle of the night, boy! You should head on home. Who on earth has anything worthwhile to do this late at night?”

The boy simply smiled at him. “Why,” he replied. “The Order of Kuusai, of course.”

The cat dissolved in a flurry of paper, revealing a dagger within. The old soldier reacted, raising his halberd in defense, but the boy was quick. The assassin grabbed the weapon, and before the guardsman could react, cut at the exposed flesh of the guard’s throat. Blood spilled everywhere, and the old man fell to the floor.

-

Wards are little more than hardened qi. And since qi is the fabric of the universe, wards can distort reality in ways that imitate magic. Wardsmiths are unusually attached to their creations - they often have to dispel their wards before they inevitably break, the backlash of one breaking on its creator are often very catastrophic.

Morita Kazuma woke up uncharacteristically early, like he was jolted awake by lightning. He sat up, his body shaking, heart racing. His ward around the palace was intact, but someone attacked it. Hard.

He opened his window - the sky was still an inky void of blackness. He spotted a Royal Guard making the rounds nearby and called out to him. “Check the South Gate!” he shouted.

And as dawn approached, they all saw the grisly spectacle. Ten feet above the ground, an old man was pinned facing the wall with a halberd through his chest. The corpse was dripping blood upon a pile of Royal Guard Armor strewn on the floor. On his back, for all to see were several markings carved into his flesh. A set of nine cuts upon the small of his back, and above that a message. It read: “You are not safe.”

Lady Katagiri was immediately summoned, and the Royal Constabulary ordered to keep any bystanders away from the scene. She ordered the corpse taken down to be examined by Lady Fujimori, while she surveyed the scene of the crime. She also had the foresight to request the assistance of Lord Morimoto.

“The hidden magic from yesterday, can you feel it?” She asked.

Yuuichi shook his head.

“Interesting.” Lady Katagiri noted. She surveyed the area and found a massive pool of blood nearby, away from the road and next to a line of trees and bushes. “He died here. Massive blood loss from a singular strike to the neck.” She ran her fingers through a trinket in her hair, allowing her to visualize the scene in her mind.

“Do you feel this?” She asked, beckoning the thaumaturgist closer. “Magic was used here.”

Yuuichi stepped over. He couldn’t feel anything. “Perhaps I am only able to detect the hidden magic when it is active. But if you can detect it, then perhaps it is not from the Order of Kuusai, then?”

Lady Katagiri crossed her arms in thought. “That is a possibility, but we have tried very hard not to make the resurgence of the Order known. It is unlikely that a copycat would try to imitate them. I simply see no motive. Besides…”

She touched the ground and closed her eyes. “Ouranomancy,” She said. “Our killer is an Ouranomancer.”

Ouranomancy is the third school of magic, after Thaumaturgy and Sorcery. Unlike the two, there are dozens of different types of Ouranomancers - The Angyo Onshi being one of them.

“You mentioned that the agent you fought was an Ouranomancer as well?” She asked.

“Yes. His conduit was a sword, and he was using Ofuda” Yuuichi recalled the encounter only a few days prior, and the slips of paper the agent had, with little spells written on them, transforming into monstrous minions.

“He sounds a lot like an Onmyouji. Or maybe a Waywalker.” Lady Katagiri pondered out aloud.

“Neither of which are common here in Shin Rikoku. Onmyouji are from West of the New Mountains. Waywalkers, South of Pheonix Pass.” Yuuichi recalled his books on the different types of magicians around the world.

“Hmmm…” Lady Katagiri was at her feet again, pacing. “Don’t be so sure about generalizations like that. Angyo Onshi are from North of the Geogog Sea and yet, there are hundreds of us here in Shin Rikoku. In any case, we should go see what Lady Fujimori has found out about the body.”

The Royal Infirmary was a tiny building adjacent to the Eastern Keep. A few of the Royal Guardsmen were outside, their heads hung in mourning, and their helms under their arms. Lady Fujimori had instructed her healers to begin the preparation for the funerary rites. She was currently undergoing a rite of purification with Lord Kazami when Lord Morimoto and Lady Katagiri arrived. The Priest excused himself to help with the funeral preparations.

“I’m sure you already figured out the cause of death,” Miri said. “A cut to the throat leading to massive loss of blood. From the look of the wound, it seems to be made by an assailant who was shorter than the victim.”

“Or… someone who wants to appear that way,” Yuuichi interjected.

Miri eyed him oddly. It wasn’t like Yuuichi to offer his opinions, no matter how stupid they may seem.

“No one thinks about that kind of thing when they’re performing murder, Lord Morimoto,” Lady Katagiri said cooly.

The King, Lord Ishikawa and Lord Hyakuya arrived as they were talking. His majesty in particular, noted that Lord Morimoto was acting more animated than usual.

“Who do you think the message on the back is addressed to, though?” The Thaumaturgist asked.

“Well, it’s obviously toward us,” Lord Ishikawa retorted. “Who else could it be?”

“It could also be addressed towards the citizens of the city,” Lady Katagiri said. “I have been receiving reports of Wardsmiths and Beastmasters being killed all across the country. Most of them brutally.For a while, we thought that these were isolated cases of banditry, but I’m beginning to suspect something else is at play here.”

“Like what?” The King asked.

“Destabilizing the country,” Lord Hyakuya replied. “The enemy knows that the storms this year will ruin our crops. They’re taking out those that protect the granaries. And then they will incite rebellion.”

The five were silent, each considering the gravity of this situation.

“What about the pattern the killer drew on our victim’s back?” Lord Ishikawa asked.

“That is the most disturbing thing,” Lady Fujimori replied. “It is the Nine Cuts.”

“The Nine Cuts?”

“Put simply, it’s a means to disable a person’s Awakening abilities by damaging the twenty pressure points corresponding to the kundalini, where qi originates.”

“But if the guard was killed before his back was carved, what was the point of it all?” Yuuichi inquired.

“Intimidation?” Lady Katagiri offered. “They’re saying they can do such a thing.”

“Honestly, The Nine Cuts are so impractical that it isn’t even used. Poison or death are much easier ways of disabling Awakenings,” Miri replied.

“In any case, it might be prudent to put the Capital under lockdown,” Lord Hyakuya said.

Lord Ishikawa agreed. “I will ask the Market Council to suspend tomorrow’s festivities.”

“No,” came the King’s response. “If the enemy is trying to sow rebellion, we cannot afford to look fearful or weak. That is what the enemy wants. Lord Morimoto, Lady Katagiri, I want the two of you on high alert tomorrow.”

Yuuichi gulped. Part of him had hoped that Market day would be cancelled in light of the threat to the princess. But another part of him stirred - a deep and bounding curiosity, and a powerful urge to right the wrongs of his family.

A life without purpose is no life at all.

He bowed to the King, to the surprise of some who were with him. “As you wish. Now that you have said it, so too must it be done.” Lady Katagiri followed suit.

Akira nodded, although Yuuichi thought he saw trepidation in the King’s firey eyes.

A healer excused herself into the conversation. “Your Graces, the funeral preparations have been completed.”

The King nodded, and left with Lord Hyakuya and Lord Ishikawa to start the funerary rites. Lady Katagiri bowed to Lady Fujimori and left as well, leaving Miri and Yuuichi.

“Are you going to take this seriously?” Miri asked. Her hands were shaking.

Yuuichi took her hands with his. “I’d better,” he said. “Thank you.”

Miri was perplexed. “For what?”

“I have an opportunity to bring honor back to my family. I will do what must be done. Thank you.”

Miri took a deep breath. “I promised to help you as much as I can. So at the very least, please allow me to.”

“Of course.” Yuuichi replied. “Well, I do have an idea.”