The night in the royal capital smelled more like money than the day did.
The incense and flowers that masked the royal palace halls gave way at sunset to the stench rising directly from the cracks in the cobblestones. Alcohol, sweat, rancid oil, horse manure, and cheap perfume. While the lights in the noble district remained a bright, pristine white, the moment one stepped into the backstreets, every stain on the walls, every pile of empty barrels behind the shops, and every face of the vagrants huddled on the ground came into sharp focus.
It seemed that no matter how much the surface of the capital was polished, its underside remained just as filthy. In that regard, it wasn't much different from the territorial capital. The only real distinction was that here, even the filth seemed to have a price tag.
Baron Barzen’s attendant walked through those back alleys with bated breath.
Using the main thoroughfares meant risking being spotted by nobles returning from the palace or by patrolling guards. Instead, the man slipped through two tavern backdoors, turned the corner by an old leather worker’s shop, and entered one of the warehouses lined up along the river. From the outside, it looked like nothing more than an empty shell, but there was light within. A man sat by the wall sharpening a dagger, a woman was looking over a ledger, and a large man with an old scar on his face loomed nearby.
This was a nest for the underworld organization known in the capital as the Black Needle Society.
The attendant held out a leather pouch with trembling fingers.
"From Baron Barzen. He wants the young head of House Razgrim silenced..."
The man sitting at the back opened the pouch and counted the silver coins. A thin smile played on his lips, though his eyes remained cold.
"Razgrim? You mean that villainous-looking brat... I heard he made a fool of the Baron at the palace. Many nobles kill out of petty rage, but at least this one is decent enough to pay for the privilege."
The man sharpening the dagger gave a short snort.
"Should we send the Shadow-Stitcher, then? If it's just some noble boy, his heart should stop beating well before dawn..."
The moment that name was mentioned, the air in the warehouse grew heavy. Noticing the shift, the attendant looked up. Even those unfamiliar with the Shadows of the Royal Capital had heard the name. A blue-haired woman. A phantom who left no footsteps, who drew close as if stitching through shadows, ending her targets before they even realized their breath had been stolen. In the capital's underworld, few could speak that name without their smiles faltering.
However, the man in the back clicked his tongue.
"That woman is no longer with us... Don't go digging into things that don't concern you. The request is to silence the Razgrim boy, isn't it? We can handle a single noble brat even without the Shadow-Stitcher."
The large man cracked his neck and laughed.
"Just because she left doesn't mean the Black Needle Society is finished. In fact, her departure has caused enough annoying rumors as it is! This is perfect. If we sink a brat on his way home from the palace, it’ll remind everyone that we’re still very much alive."
The man in the back pulled the drawstring on the pouch of silver.
"First, scout his inn and his movements. We move after that. The nobles in this city only have loud voices when they’re making a fuss. Don’t pull any unnecessary stunts where there are witnesses, understood?"
The attendant bowed repeatedly and fled the warehouse. Once he was gone, none of the men spoke the Shadow-Stitcher’s name again. They couldn't shake the feeling that if they did, the blue-haired woman would be standing right behind them.
◇
I was already regretting my life choices on the way back to the inn.
It wasn't just because of that cheeky brat who had pestered me in the palace gardens... well, maybe it was a little. There was something about her eyes that rubbed me the wrong way.
If she were a normal lady, she would have either gotten indignant or burst into tears the moment I called her a brat. At the very least, she would have called for help. Instead, she laughed. She laughed as if she’d found something fascinating. I truly don't understand how the women in this city are wired.
But that wasn't the immediate problem.
The problem was that I had taken a wrong turn.
Everything had been fine when I left the palace gates and hit the main street. Noble carriages were everywhere, and patrol soldiers were on every corner. To get back to the inn, I just had to follow the road straight.
However, the street was clogged with carriages returning from the Garden Party, and nobles were stopping to chat everywhere. If I kept going that way, I’d inevitably be roped into giving greetings to people I didn't know. To the side, I saw an alleyway stretching parallel to the direction of the inn. There were tavern lights and porters moving cargo. I figured I could just duck through and rejoin the main road further down.
With that logic, I turned into the side street, but the path split in two, and by the time I made another turn, the shop lights had vanished.
Before I knew it, I was surrounded by nothing but stone walls and the looming shadows of warehouses. I looked back, but I couldn't even tell which corner I’d come from.
"...Even the roads in this city have a nasty personality."
I spat the words out to the empty air. There was no reply, only the echo of my own boots on the cobblestones. A draft whistled through the narrow alley, and a dog barked in the distance. The sounds of laughter from the main street felt miles away. This was a wretched place to be. I needed to find my way back, fast.
That was when I saw someone collapsed against a wall.
It was a woman with blue hair.
Her hair was a striking color, vibrant enough to stand out even in the gloom. It was shoulder-length and matted against her cheeks, and blood was soaking through the side of her black cloak. Her complexion was ghostly, but her eyes were open. They weren't the eyes of someone dying; they were sharp, as if she were weighing my worth.
I stopped in my tracks.
—Getting involved in this is a recipe for disaster.
A woman bleeding out in a back alley of the capital was a literal personification of trouble. Helping her would mean medical bills, and hearing her story would only invite more complications. If I just turned around and pretended I hadn't seen anything, my wallet would stay heavy. I wasn't exactly a saint; I had no reason to help her.
I took a step forward to pass her by.
"Don't take it personally. I'm busy."
The woman didn't respond.
See? No answer. Ignoring her was definitely the right move. I started to walk away, but then three men stepped out from the alley ahead. They wore ragged coats, had daggers at their belts, and smelled of cheap booze. It seemed the royal capital had its share of cliché thugs too. At least they were easier to deal with than the slippery nobles.
the man in the lead laughed when he saw my formal attire.
"Well, well, look at this. A fancy noble lord walking all by himself. You lost, little bird? If you're coming from the palace, you must have a fat purse."
"Move. I'm trying to get back to my inn."
"Oh, we'll let you go back! Just as soon as you leave the gold! Rings are fine too. And that's a nice coat. A lord like you probably has a hundred more at home, right?"
I let out a long sigh.
The capital was truly an exhausting place. The nobles were snide, a brat had accosted me, and now thugs were trying to mug me. I had only come here to collect a reward, so why was I standing in a dark alley facing off with these morons? It was utterly infuriating.
"I don't have any money on me. Precisely because I'm a noble, I don't walk around with cash. It's a hassle if it gets stolen."
"Is that so? Then maybe we'll make you strip those clothes off as an extra bit of hassle."
The man stepped toward me.
In that instant, a gust of wind swept by.
No, it wasn't wind. The blue-haired woman who had been slumped against the wall was suddenly standing in front of the man, silent as a ghost. I hadn't even seen her move, and there hadn't been a single footstep. By the time the man realized she was there, her fingers were clamped around his wrist.
There was a dull, sickening thud.
The man’s dagger clattered onto the stones. He tried to scream, but the woman’s elbow drove into his solar plexus, silencing him instantly. Before the second man could even react, she’d kicked his knee out from behind, sending him crashing down. The third man froze the moment she pressed her fingers against his throat.
It was all over in the span of a few heartbeats.
The woman’s breathing was ragged. Her fingers were white as she clutched her side, her wounds clearly reopening from the strain. Despite that, the three thugs were in a heap on the ground. She hadn't killed them, but they didn't look like they’d be getting up anytime soon.
I stared at her for a long moment.
"...For an injured person, you certainly move well. I didn't expect a woman bleeding out in an alley to silence three men in a single breath."
The blue-haired woman glanced down at the fallen men once. One was clutching his wrist and groaning, another was cradling his knee in silence, and the last was still too terrified to move. She seemed utterly indifferent to all of them.
"They were targeting you... I judged they should be stopped. I didn't kill them. They're still breathing."
"Your definition of 'stopped' is a little violent, don't you think? To me, it looked like you broke them."
"I didn't break them... they just can't stand. They’ll be able to use their arms and knees again in a while. Probably."
"Don't give me 'probably.' Even if they're just thugs, it’ll be a pain if they try to file a complaint later."
At that, the woman looked at me with a flicker of genuine confusion. Her pale face showed almost no emotion, but her eyes seemed to be searching for the logic behind my words.
"They were attacking you... and yet you worry about them complaining?"
"That’s just how this city works. Sometimes the paperwork from the person who did the hitting arrives before the paperwork from the victim. I despise complications."
"...You're a strange man."
"I get that a lot. So, why were you collapsed here? You're bleeding, yet you have the strength to dismantle three thugs. You’re clearly not just some lost girl."
The woman leaned against the wall, her hand pressed hard against her side. The exertion had definitely reopened her wounds; a fresh red stain was spreading across her black cloak. She didn't let her expression slip, answering in a low, level voice.
"I made a mistake. I'm being hunted. If I tell you the details, the trouble will follow you."
"I have a feeling it’s already followed me. I found a bleeding woman in a back alley, she took out three thugs for me, and now I’m being told more trouble is coming. My day has been a disaster since the moment I woke up."
"...Then leave me here. I didn't ask for your help."
"The problem is that a woman who didn't ask for help is bleeding even more because she helped me. If I leave this debt unpaid, it’ll leave a sour taste in my mouth."
The woman fell silent.
"And just so we’re clear, I’m not a good person. If I’d just seen you lying there, I would have walked away because it’s a hassle. In fact, I already tried to. But you stepped in for me. That changes things."
"Is that your only reason for helping me?"
"What else do I need? I'm not so idle that I’d shed tears over your life story. But I also hate leaving a debt unpaid. Besides... you might be useful to me."
The woman’s eyes narrowed slightly.
"Useful?"
"Not now. There are too few eyes here, and this isn't the place to talk to a stranger. My inn has people and I can call an apothecary. If you can walk, come with me. I'll deal with the bleeding first. If you die here, it’ll ruin my sleep, and I’ll feel like I was the one who abandoned you."
"You have a terrible way of speaking..."
"I get that a lot too. But I'm rarely a liar."
The woman pushed off from the wall. As she tried to stand, she wobbled. Suppressing a click of my tongue, I offered her my shoulder. She was light, but there was a strange, coiled tension in her core. Even as she leaned on me, she didn't entrust her full weight, keeping herself ready to pull away at a moment's notice. Those weren't the movements of a normal person.
"Hey, what's your name?"
"...Serena."
"Right. I'm Vain Razgrim. You don't have to remember it, but I'm telling you so we don't have issues when they ask for your name at the inn."
"I've remembered."
"That was quick."
"I have no reason to forget."
What a strange woman.
Supporting Serena, I finally made my way back to the main street where the inn’s lights were visible. I was already annoyed thinking about how much the apothecary would charge me, but I supposed it was better than letting her die. Probably.
I had no way of knowing that this woman bore a name whispered with terror in the capital’s shadows. Unaware of any of that, I was simply praying that the medical bill wouldn't be too steep.