“Medith... what are you doing here?” The man watched her like a drawn bow, his face all barbed hostility.

Medith’s mouth curved, contempt skimming her eyes like frost on steel. What, do I need your permission? Such majesty—under bright sun and open sky, you snatch guild women. Let them go.

As she finished, Sais flicked both arms; the Dark Blade shimmered like ripples in sunlight. Iling slid out a silver-white sword like moonlight. The Lita Sisters drew, bows taut as deer sinew.

Melia’s right hand pressed her hilt, hunger to draw rising like heat; the air turned taut, a bowstring about to snap.

“Herbert, what do we do?” a lanky man whispered, voice thin as wind through reeds.

Their leader, barely past twenty, wore severity on a handsome face; danger glinted in his deep brown eyes like storm warnings.

“Medith, you and I are strangers, no grudge. This is guild-circle business. You know this woman, right?” Herbert pointed at the beauty leaning on the wooden door, tears clinging like dew on petals.

“She’s Lilina, head of [Crimson Rose]. She had a deal with us. With [Kuso Guild]’s shelter and resources, she raised this guild like a sapling under our shade.

Now that the wind’s at her back, she wants to kick us aside. Would you accept that?” Herbert’s gaze was winter water, cold and still.

Medith’s eyes moved, her mind sketching the outline like charcoal on silk. She tightened her greatsword, voice cold enough to shed frost. I don’t care about your deal. It won’t end in that kind of ‘compensation.’ I’ve got one line—let them go.

With things at this point, Herbert loosened up, his tongue uncoiling like a snake. Medith, you’ve got a small name, I know. Plenty have more power. I’ve played with many. Women like you, tough outside, in bed—

Before he could finish, Sais shot forward like a loosed arrow, Dark Blade scything fast. Herbert flinched on instinct, dodging the throat-cut, but his hand rose blind and two fingers were chopped clean.

“Ah—ah—what did you do... look what you did—” Herbert clutched his hand and screamed; blood from the severed fingers surged like a spring from stone. Shaking, practiced, he pulled a tin of powder from his coat and poured.

“Ah... ah—” Ashen powder fell like dust from a grave, and Herbert howled. The crowd roiled, terror painting faces like a storm-bent field.

A few [Black Serpent Guild] members traded looks, then bolted for their camp, legs like fleeing deer under thunder.

“Brat, watch your mouth. Or next time it won’t be fingers.” Sais glared with glacier eyes, her face iced over, breath cold as sleet.

The bleeding seemed to slow; Herbert’s face twisted like a warped mask. You’re [Thornflower] Sais, right? Fine. Do you—ah—do you know what you’ve done?

I do. Herbert of [Kuso Guild], for foul speech and seizing women—two crimes, one blade—will be cut down by Medith here in Sass City. If you doubt, come to our guild and discuss. As Medith’s words fell like iron bells, the Kuso members sweated cold, dew-beads under a shadow.

They’d heard Medith feared nothing, sky-wide daring; facing her, they felt that rumor like a knife at the throat.

“We... had an agreement... we have grounds... besides, do you know what our guild is?” Sweat slid in pain-beads; a sullen smile hung on Herbert’s face like a storm cloud.

Who cares who you are? A guild that takes your kind won’t be better—birds of a feather. Iling’s scorn cut like a razor across silk.

“Ah—”

Rustle rustle...

The crowd staggered back a few steps, lips buzzing like a swarm of locusts over a field.

“The captives... we don’t want them... next time, wait for our leader to come to your manor and claim them...” Herbert lifted his hand weakly. Koniya and the others were freed, rushing to Lilina like shipwreck survivors washed ashore.

...

“Medith... hell... you really picked a fight...” Uncle Serpent sprinted for the scene, shoving through the packed crowd like a river forcing a path, straight at Medith.

At the same time, Olivya rode up in a carriage, following a guide to [Crimson Rose]’s door, wheels murmuring like distant bees.

...

“Yo-ho, quite the turnout...” Medith’s phoenix eyes narrowed; she scented something unusual riding the wind like hidden incense.

“Mr. Herbert, you...” Uncle Serpent stared at the severed fingers, his face dark as dead water in a well.

Olivya hopped down with a little flowered parasol; she looked at Herbert and Medith, understanding in a flash. Her face shifted colors like a painted mask under torchlight.

Herbert shot Olivya a contemptuous look, his smile thin as a knife. Heh... you’ve got guts, Olivya—to recruit someone like this... credit to your skill. But don’t think today ends here. Wait for the summons of the [Four Priests]!

“Sir, there’s a misunderstanding, we can smooth this—” Her voice tried to calm like hands on a rippling lake.

“Medith Waheit, on behalf of the largest guild in the near northern region, the [Northern Priest], [Kuso Guild’s Highest Leader], Elros, I offer you our sincerest respect.” As Herbert spoke, he flicked her a coin—blood-red, stamped with a lion biting a little white rabbit.

Medith caught it and glanced once; her face froze over like a winter lake, silence like falling snow.

The coin had been steeped in blood, reeking thickly; its metal was blood-red already. Together, the meaning spoke like a branded warning on flesh.

“Sir, we’re all family here—why push it? Your hand’s badly hurt; please treat it first.” Uncle Serpent, rarely rattled, sounded alarmed like a sparrow startled from a branch.

“No need! Blood for blood—you can’t afford it!” With that line, Herbert shoved everyone across the river. Then, under a hundred eyes, he let others support him and drifted out of sight like a wounded wolf.

Medith stretched with lazy grace and stuck out her tongue, playful as a cat. Looks like I’ve stirred quite a mess, haven’t I?