The Maid of the Cursed Princess

While assembled in Lombardy, not all were native Lombardians – a motley band of vagrants hailing from disparate homelands and tongues.

In Lombardy, especially the crime-ridden city of Königsberg, they were derisively termed Bastards.

The defining characteristic of these Bastards was that as an organization, they were an utter shambles to an almost impressive degree in terms of how they managed to persist.

Unlike other organizations that enforced strict disciplinary codes upon their members, the Bastards could be said to lack any semblance of order or hierarchy, with wildly varying individual capabilities among their ranks.

Lacking clearly delineated ranks or even nominal titles, only the law of the jungle reigned where sheer personal might determined one’s standing – the quintessential embodiment of survival of the fittest.

Naturally, any notion of organizational allegiance or camaraderie was equally absent among these ragtag bunch of thugs.

The sole reason this barely-cohering non-organization hadn’t crumbled ages ago stemmed entirely from their ludicrously simplistic enlistment criteria.

While most organizations imposed at least some degree of screening or vetting process for admission, the bar varied considerably between them.

Yet the Bastards maintained no such minimum standards whatsoever, indiscriminately accepting any able-bodied drunkard or addict, regardless of background or personal merits.

Thus, two immediately associated connotations arose for Lombardians upon mention of the Bastards.

Firstly, their notoriously shoddy, improvised armaments.

“Wh… What’s with all these people…”

And secondly, their sheer numerical profusion.

“Well now, esteemed guests gathered here, I’ll ask you but once, so do listen carefully.”

Beholding the teeming throngs densely packed into the Court of Miracles’s courtyard, its denizens recoiled in horror.

“I’ve received testimony that the crimson-haired whore who abducted this nation’s Princess alongside my brother arrived here drenched in blood.”

Just what unholy numbers had converged upon this place? A conservative estimate surpassed fifty individuals at the very least.

“So why has my brother not returned, while that bitch rampages independently? As someone who cherishes my younger brother dearly, I can’t help but be extremely curious…”

The speaker at the vanguard twisted his features into a grotesque snarl, emphasizing each word by pounding some form of iron pipe or rod against the ground.

“Now then, my dear friends… no, should I call you elders? You all seem to be quite old. In any case, if that bitch is here, I’d appreciate it if you could bring them before me right now. We don’t want to cause trouble in someone else’s capital city for no reason. It’s unmannerly.”

“W-We know nothing, nothing at all! There’s no such person here-“

Thwack!! The elderly man who had falteringly stepped forward to placate them, unable to conceal his fear, crumpled lifelessly after a vicious strike from the thug’s improvised weapon.

“Well, unfortunately, that’s not the answer we’re looking for. Take a long nap and think about it again, old man. If you can wake up, that is.”

The sole reason these slum ruffians dared not encroach upon the Court of Miracles was entirely due to Clopân.

In other words, to these Lombardy’s Bastards unfamiliar with Clopân, the Court of Miracles seemed little more than a hovel for diseased beggars.

“Right then, who’s next… oh?”

Scanning his surroundings while grasping the bloodied pipe, the man soon noticed the crimson-haired woman descending the staircase.

“Just in time. I knew we couldn’t trust the elders’ words. Their brains are old, and their memories are unreliable.”

The circumstances favored the intruders – they held overwhelming numerical superiority, and the Court of Miracles’s layout offered scant defensible positions to counterbalance their disadvantage.

Yet there was one crucial factor these invaders had sorely underestimated:

“What’s this, where’d she go-“

The leashed Prince of a ruined nation standing before them-

“Gah-“

“…”

Even among Königsberg’s mongrel Bastards, his fangs and claws remained uniquely razor-sharp.

Within the mere instant required for a blink, Ruslan had closed the distance from the staircase, impaling the thug’s jaw with his dagger.

“B-brother?!”

“!-“

Having been instantly skewered through the crown of his skull, the man could only flop lifelessly to the ground like the elder he had slain, gushing blood as Ruslan wrenched the dagger free.

As Ruslan raised his head from examining the bloodied blade, the crowd steadily backpedaled one faltering step at a time.

“…What, are you guys scared of a single girl?”

Shoving through the throng, another man emerged.

“The Princess is bound to be here if that scrag is. Ain’t about to pass up a hefty ransom over some squeamishness, are we?”

Broken glasses. A shabby shirt. Crumpled pants. Distinctly more suited to clerical duties than combat.

“Push through. No matter how good they are at using people, in the end, they only have one body.”

“Ye-yes?”

“Are you scared? If you’re scared, you can back off. But you’ll have to be prepared to lose your head.”

Clang!

Deflecting the dagger Ruslan hurled at him with his cane, the man commanded his wavering subordinates:

“Either we thoroughly tear this dump apart, or we get torn apart ourselves.”

“…”

Observing the Bastards’ renewed resolve, Ruslan tightened his grip upon the dagger’s hilt.

* * *

“…”

Having somehow been thrust into the ironic position of protecting the very Princess he had initially meant to slay, Ruslan nevertheless committed his utmost efforts toward that task.

Regrettably, his dedication did little to improve their rapidly deteriorating circumstances.

“Guh, p-pierced, ghkk-“

“…”

Surveying the steadily accumulating mounds of corpses at the staircase’s base while his slick, bloodied dagger nearly slipped from his grasp, Ruslan re-gripped the blade more tightly.

His arsenal consisted of two daggers – a set of throwing knives he had depleted, and a slightly larger combat dagger whose mate had been lost buried in the corpse.

Though he had yet to sustain any major injuries or fatigue, his stamina was undoubtedly waning.

“Say, ain’t that thing more wraith than woman?”

“Why don’t we just cut our losses? This paltry profit ain’t worth such tribulations…”

When would Clopân, the King of the Court of Miracles, return?

Of all inopportune times, this chaos had erupted during her absence while procuring provisions alongside a contingent of the Court’s more ablebodied denizens.

“Tch, these imbeciles. Seems I must intervene directly… Hmm?”

The man who had been preparing to step in after observing his subordinates’ massacre with disdain paused upon noticing a peculiar piece of paper fluttering unnaturally down from above to land at his feet.

“…Hey now, redhead This letter seems addressed to you.”

“..?”

He then, like a messenger, unfolded and displayed its contents where elevated Ruslan could discern them.

“…”

For a prolonged interval, Ruslan silently regarded the letter, his demeanor suggesting either stunned comprehension of its message or feigning perusal of indecipherable contents with impassive detachment.

“…”

“That a ‘stand down’ order or something?”

Yet Ruslan ultimately stepped aside, acquiescing that the contents be heeded without hindrance.

“…You certain we should let them pass? After that whore just butchered our lads like that…”

“Wetting your breeches already? Can you beat them? If not, just shut up.”

Unconcernedly trampling the corpses underfoot, the man ascended the steps with his hesitant subordinates trailing behind.

Throughout their passage, Ruslan didn’t make the slightest hostile motion, remaining as motionless as a statue observing their ingress.

“Just what the hell did that paper say?”

“Hmm…”

Scratching his head contemplatively at his underling’s query, the man recounted the letter’s contents:

“Just ‘Stop, be good,’ or some such drivel more suited for a mutt than a person.”

Recalling the inexplicably patronizing tone of text more befitting a domesticated pet’s reprimand.

“Who knows, maybe that’s their proclivities if they’re leashed like a bitch in heat. Who cares.”

Upon reaching the second floor, the scene that greeted the man’s eyes was one of cowering, trembling souls paralyzed by abject terror.

“All geezers, sick folk and cripples by the look of it. Some sorta charity case?”

“Should we search for where they’re hiding, or grab one and beat them until they confess?”

“Knock it off. What’s so fun about harassing the disabled?”

The man leveled his gaze upon the nearest quivering elder crouched on the floor, frozen in dread.

“Now then, old man, I’m looking for someone.”

“I, I don’t know. Truly, I know nothing… I have never even laid eyes upon the Princess, let alone know her appearance. Why would someone like her be in a place like…?”

“Now now, when did I ever mention seeking someone like a Princess? The one we hunt is a woman swathed entirely in bandages, standing approximately… this tall, perhaps?”

Adopting a courteous demeanor while gesturing a rough approximation of height using his cane, the man inquired politely as he alternated his gaze between the implement and the terrified elder.

“B-But I am telling you, I truly don’t know where the Princess might be…!”

The elder didn’t disclose Sibylla’s presence within the Court of Miracles, even though he was aware of it.

For the Court of Miracles welcomed all, regardless of any cursed afflictions or whether their intended stay was permanent or merely transient in nature.

Don’t betray the Court’s denizens for your own self-interests. That had been one of the few tenets Clopân had instituted. And this elder who owed his very life to Clopân’s benevolence couldn’t bring himself to violate that sanctity even under threat of death.

“…I’ve never said that what I’m looking for is the Princess, have I?”

“..!!”

It was a meaningless struggle, but still.

“Smoke her out.”

“N-No, you mustn’t…!! Nnghh!!”

Trampling the elder who had attempted to grab his ankle, the man’s subordinates began ransacking the Court of Miracles with reckless abandon.

“Aaaah!!”

“Get out of the way!!!”

“What crime have we committed..!!”

Chaos, screams and shouts echoed throughout.

“Sir, you may wish to see this for yourself.”

“What is it?”

Amidst the cacophony he had been leisurely observing, the man followed his subordinate into one of the chambers.

“Behold, the window is open, and the curtains have been…”

“Oh ho, now this is rather unexpected…”

They had acquired a lead regarding their quarry’s whereabouts.

“She tore down the curtains, tied them into a makeshift rope, and attempted to climb down from this window.”

“Yes, it seems she must have fallen partway when the curtain proved too short or the knots came undone.”

Who could have anticipated a pampered Princess resorting to such desperate, inelegant measures?

“Well, she ain’t among the stiffs down below, so she must still be kicking.”

“Should we pursue?”

“After coming this far? Obviously.”

Yet the Princess’s survival hardly guaranteed her safety.

“She couldn’t have gone far. Broken leg or twisted ankle at the very least. Find her.”

For where crippled prey floundered helplessly, a hyena’s keen senses seldom failed to hone in on its next meal.