The curtain did its job well.
Thick fabric, probably expensive once, now faded and slightly musty from years of inn life—but still effective at blocking the worst of the morning sun. The room lay in comfortable dimness, shadows pooling in corners, the world outside reduced to a thin line of gold where the curtains failed to meet.
Myne Sophia stared at that line of light and tried to remember how to feel like a person.
Her leather armor lay in a heap on the floor where she'd dropped it. Her sword beside it, carelessly discarded. Nothing like the usual deliberate and elegant placement she usually maintained. But she hadn't had the energy for such thing. Hadn't had the energy for anything except collapsing onto this bed and staring at nothing.
Her hair was loose. Tangled and unbrushed, strewn across the pillow in a way that would have horrified her handmaidens.
Unkempt. Unworthy. Unacceptable.
The voice in her head sounded like Mirellia. It always did.
Myne Sophia.
What a troublesome identity. The hardest one she'd ever pulled off yet.
Malty Melromarc—the real her, the one hidden beneath layers of persona and performance—would never have imagined herself in this position. Hugging a little demi-human. Comforting her. Holding her through nightmares. Two nights in a row.
Two nights.
She'd exhausted herself. Actually, genuinely exhausted herself, not as a performance, not as a calculated move, but because she'd stayed awake holding a crying child and whispering reassurances until her voice gave out.
Malty Melromarc would never have done that.
So why had she?
That scream. Loud. Piercing. Disgusting in its raw, animal terror. It had torn through the inn like a physical thing, dragging everyone from their rooms. Malty had stood in the corridor with the rest of them, watching the chaos, feeling nothing but irritation at being woken.
Naofumi was inside, desperate and useless, trying to calm the thrashing creature. Noritoshi stood in the doorway, bow materialized, ready for a threat that didn't exist. Everyone else just... watched.
And in that moment, Malty's mind had done what it always did.
Opportunity.
If she helped—if she stepped in and did something while everyone else stood frozen—she would gain favor. The Shield Hero, grateful and indebted. The Bow Hero, observing, noting her compassion. Two Heroes, both owing her something.
Ah, she'd thought. If I take care of this animal, I would be able to gain both the Bow and Shield Heroes' favor.
The plan was simple and clean, the kind she usually pulled off in the court, where affection is currency and she always hogged all of it.
But when she'd tried to move, her body hadn't obeyed.
Revulsion.
That was what had stopped her. Pure, visceral revulsion at the thought of touching that creature. That thing with its animal ears and its trembling and its pathetic, messy tears. A demi-human. Dirty. Subhuman. The kind of being her father had taught her to despise, that her culture had taught her to see as less than nothing.
She'd stood there, frozen by her own disgust, and hated herself for hesitating.
But in the end, she'd powered through. Forced her feet to move. Pushed past the revulsion and sat on that bed and gathered the screaming child into her arms.
"Shh, shh, little one."
The words had tasted like ash. But they'd worked.
Last night had been different.
When the screams started again—the same piercing, animal sound—Malty had moved before she could think. No hesitation this time. No internal debate. She'd simply... gone.
And when she'd held that child, when Raphtalia had cried and sobbed and dripped tears and snot all over her blouse. It was pitifully nauseating.
It had almost made her cry.
Not for show. Not as performance. Genuine, unexpected, unwelcome emotion that had welled up in her chest like bile.
This disgusting animal is dirtying my clothes, she thought at the time.
She'd pushed it down, of course. Smothered it with practicality and calculation and the thousand mental walls she'd built over a lifetime. But it had been there. For one terrible moment, it had been there.
Now her blouse was ruined. Stained with a demi-human's tears and snot. And she'd kissed that child's forehead. Kissed her hair. Played with her. Let her sit on her lap like she was something precious instead of something dirty.
Think of it as a doll.
That was the trick she'd discovered. If she thought of Raphtalia as a doll—a living, breathing doll, but a doll nonetheless—the revulsion faded to something manageable. Dolls didn't make her skin crawl. Dolls were just... objects. Things to be handled, positioned, used.
Yes. A doll. A very convincing, very lifelike doll that happened to cry and cling and call her "big sis."
It helped. A little.
This is for the sake of the throne.
Malty clung to that thought like a lifeline. All of this—the exhaustion, the revulsion, the confusing emotions—was temporary. A means to an end. Once she had the Bow Hero's trust, once she had the Shield Hero's gratitude, once she had the power she needed to claim what was rightfully hers...
She could stop pretending.
She could go back to being Malty.
The memory of this morning flickered through her mind. Noritoshi, patting her shoulder. Telling her to rest. Looking at her with something that might have been concern.
You're good with kids.
She'd almost laughed at that. Malty Melromarc, good with kids. Malty Melromarc, the princess who'd tormented her younger sister the moment she was born. Malty Melromarc, who viewed Melty as a rival to be eliminated rather than family to be loved.
Her thoughts stopped as she passed out on the bed.
She woke up with a start.
For a moment, Malty had no idea where she was. The room was dim, the shadows long, and her body felt like it had been filled with lead. She lay there, heart pounding, trying to remember how to breathe.
The blinds. She'd pulled them before sleeping. That was why it was so dark.
She turned her head toward the window and froze.
Crimson. The sky outside was crimson. The deep, burning red of sunset bleeding into twilight.
Already? She'd slept the entire day away?
Malty sat up too fast, her head swimming. The room tilted, steadied, tilted again. She pressed a hand to her forehead, waiting for the world to stop moving.
Her minimap.
The thought came unbidden—Noritoshi's excited explanation from yesterday, after he'd absorbed all those cartography materials. "It's like having a map in your head all the time. I can see where everyone in my party is, at all times. Look—" He'd shown her the overlay, the tiny dots representing each of them, and she'd nodded and smiled and filed the information away for later use.
Now she called it up instinctively.
A translucent overlay bloomed in the corner of her vision, showing the layout of the inn and the surrounding area. She saw Kairn's dot in the common room. Welst's nearby. Rojeel's stationary in his own room. And approaching her door—
A yellow circle. The bow icon. Noritoshi.
He was walking slowly, unhurried. Probably checking on her.
Malty's heart did something complicated.
"Noritoshi?" she called, her voice rough from disuse.
Footsteps stopped just outside her door. A pause. Then, "Ah, you're already awake. May I come in?"
All of the usual options—flirt, tease, playfully respond with a joke—rose unbidden in her mind, offering themselves like old friends. She could deflect with charm. Could turn this into another move in their endless game. Could be Myne Sophia.
But she was so tired.
"Come in."
The words came out flat and mundane. Nothing like her usual performances.
The door opened softly as Noritoshi stood there. His expression was unreadable as usual, but by his quirked-up eyebrows, he seemed to be surprised.
Ah. That's right. He'd never seen her this disheveled. Not even when hunting. He did most of the work after all. Always did.
But she saw him quickly catch himself. The surprise smoothed over, replaced by careful neutrality.
"Do you feel better now?" he asked, and there was a touch of softness in his voice that might have been concern.
Malty considered lying. It would be easy—a bright smile, a cheerful "much better, thank you!" and she'd be back in character. But the energy for that performance was somewhere far away, buried under layers of exhaustion.
"I still feel a little groggy and exhausted."
"I see." Noritoshi nodded slowly. "Then rest more. Would you want dinner to be brought up here?"
"That would be lovely, thank you."
"Okay then."
Silence flooded in.
Usually, she—Myne Sophia—would fill it. Witty jokes. Flirty remarks. Mundane teasing. The endless performance that kept people at just the right distance, made them like her and trust her just enough for them to get helplessly manipulated by her.
But she really couldn't be bothered now.
"...Hey." Noritoshi finally broke the quiet. "I thought to let you know that the parties of the other heroes already know."
Ice slid through Malty's veins. Her exhaustion vanished, replaced by cold alertness.
"How much?"
"Just the big dream. You know, destroy slavery." He paused. "But not our plan for the near future."
Malty's mind raced through implications. The other parties knew. Which meant more people with access to information. More potential leaks. And that means more variables.
"...So you haven't told them of Duke Idol Rabiel."
"No. Not yet. Probably tonight when we have our meeting."
"I see." She straightened slightly, some of the fog clearing from her thoughts. "I will attend then."
Noritoshi's expression shifted—something almost like hesitation flickering across his features.
"That's the thing." He paused, choosing his words. "You see, I proposed to everyone that the next meeting—and all the meetings that would be held in the future—should be held in Naofumi's place. To lighten his burden even by a little."
She didn't know how to react.
Noritoshi's proposal was logical and practical. He always favored this kind of efficient solution. Move the meetings to Naofumi's territory, reduce his travel, lighten his burden. It all made perfect sense.
But what she did know—with absolute, crystalline certainty—was that she had to attend.
Because the stakes had just increased.
Lesti Orsini.
Her "best friend" from childhood, all the way through the academy. The girl who had always followed her around, desperate for scraps of attention, content to bask in reflected glory. Loyal as a puppy and quite useful as a tool.
And utterly, dangerously ambitious.
Who knew what kind of act that dirty wench was putting on for the Heroes? Lesti would sleep with anyone attractive enough—she always had. Demi-humans. Commoners. It didn't matter. Anyone who could elevate her station, advance her family's interests, or simply provide a warm body for the night.
Sleazy bitch.
Malty's thoughts curdled with old contempt. Lesti had been useful once—a convenient shadow, a witness to her triumphs, someone to laugh at her jokes and validate her cruelty. But that same proximity made her dangerous now.
If Lesti opened her mouth. If she mentioned even one of the fun things Malty had done over the years. If Noritoshi or any of the Heroes learned about the servants who'd been "disciplined," the rivals who'd met with "accidents," the countless small cruelties that had paved her path—
She was finished.
Her carefully constructed persona. Her slow, patient work earning Noritoshi's trust. The throne itself—all of it could crumble if Lesti decided to talk.
And Lesti would talk, if she saw advantage in it. That was the thing about ambitious people—they always did.
Malty's exhaustion vanished, replaced by cold, sharp clarity.
"I'll be there," she said, her voice steadier than it had been all day. "Whatever it takes. I'll be at that meeting."
Noritoshi studied her for a long moment.
She felt herself getting better at reading his unreadable expression as she caught the slightest furrow of his brow and the little tilt of his head. He was weighing something.
"Are you really sure you're fine?" he asked finally. "You still look like you haven't slept in days."
"Because I haven't." A weak attempt at humor, but it was all she had.
He didn't smile.
Malty sighed, some of the tension bleeding from her shoulders. "Yes. I'm sure. It was only exhaustion. I've slept most of the day away—I'll be functional by tonight." She paused, then added, because it felt like something he needed to hear. "Besides, I wouldn't want to miss a chance to see Raphtalia."
Something flickered in Noritoshi's eyes.
"I see." He nodded slowly. "Well then, why don't you clean yourself up first. You look so unlike your usual self it's a little uncanny." A ghost of dry humor touched his voice. "I'll tell the server to bring the food up here. Take your time. We'll wait for you downstairs."
He paused at the door, hand on the frame. For a moment, she thought he might say something else.
But he just nodded once and left, closing the door softly behind him.
The room was quiet again.
Malty sat still for a long moment, staring at the closed door. Then, slowly, she swung her legs off the bed and stood.
Her body protested. Muscles screamed. Her head swam with the last vestiges of exhaustion. But she forced herself upright, using sheer willpower to cross the room to the small washbasin.
Cold water on her face. Fingers through tangled hair.
She looked at the mirror and saw a stranger staring back. Exhausted eyes and pale skin.
Heh.
Not even a week had passed, and she'd already changed this much.
The thought was almost funny. Malty Melromarc—princess, schemer, architect of cruelties both large and small—had never dedicated herself to anything in her entire life. Not to a single assignment. A scheme would be abandoned if it bored her in the middle. Relationships are as valuable as grass on a plain. Which to say not at all. Everything had been easy and effortless. This life is a game she played because the stakes were never truly high enough to matter.
But this?
This was different.
This was the most dedicated she'd ever been. The most focused. She committed to this disguise more than anything she ever did in her life. She was willing to throw away values she'd held since birth—that demi-humans were animals, that commoners were beneath notice, that the only people who mattered were those who could help her climb—all for the sake of achieving her goals.
All because of one impossibly perceptive man who holds the necessary power for her to ascend the throne.
She was holding a demi-human child. Comforting her. Kissing her head. Fooling even herself to feel the tiniest bit of genuine concern when the little thing looked up at her with those huge, trusting eyes.
If someone had told her a week ago that she'd be doing this, she would have laughed in their face. Then probably had them quietly removed.
But here she was.
Hopefully, Noritoshi's affection is possible.
The thought surfaced unbidden, raw and honest in a way she rarely allowed herself to be.
Because if it wasn't—if she'd poured everything into this, changed everything about herself, thrown away every value and every comfort and every piece of who she used to be—and it turned out to be impossible from the start?
She might just kill herself.
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The walk to the slums was miserable as always.
The streets grew darker with every step, lanterns few and far between. Dilapidated buildings leaned against each other, pressuring people to stay away. Shadows moved as they walked, watching, but never approaching. People could be stupid, but not stupid enough to try anything with 5 armed adventurers.
But she noticed, with some small detachment, that the walk felt different now. The smells and the sound of something wailing… isn't as intense as when she first came here.
How quickly humans adapted to the grotesque.
Beloukas's tent finally came into view—that sagging striped fabric, those flickering lanterns that somehow made the space look more sinister rather than inviting. Myne braced herself for the smell, for the cages, for the hollow eyes of caged creatures.
She pushed through the entrance.
And stopped.
Whatever she'd expected, it couldn't have been further from the truth.
No longer were those beasts chained up and bound, living inside tiny small cages. No, the cages were still there—stacked against one wall, impossible to miss—but they were empty. Their doors hung open. And their former occupants are moving freely through the space.
A demi-human woman with fox ears was hammering at a small anvil, sparks flying as she shaped a piece of metal into something that might become a tool. Beside her, a beastman with boar tusks was carefully arranging books on a crude shelf—a reading station, of all things. Several younger demi-humans sat nearby, poring over those books with the intense concentration of people for whom literacy was a new and precious gift.
Others were building. Hammering wooden beams into place, stretching canvas, expanding the tent's footprint. The space was larger than before—much larger—and still growing. A small kitchen area had been set up in one corner, complete with a cookfire and someone stirring a pot that actually smelled edible.
And everywhere, people moved. Demi-humans of every description—raccoon, wolf, bird, lizard—walking, talking, working, living. Not caged. Not chained. Not screaming.
Myne's eyes caught on a corner where several figures lay sleeping on the floor. Their state of living hadn't quite reached the average Melromarc citizen yet, clearly. No beds. No privacy. Just bodies curled on bare ground.
But they had pillows. And blankets.
Actual pillows and blankets, tucked around sleeping forms with something that looked almost like care.
Myne stared at that image longer than she meant to. Pillows and blankets. For animals. For creatures her father would have said didn't deserve to breathe the same air as humans.
She heard Kairn inhale sharply beside her. The spearwoman's usual sharp edges seemed to soften, just for a moment, as she took in the scene.
Welst had gone very still, his eyes wide as they moved, desperate to remember every detail with an expression that hovered somewhere between amazement and disbelief.
Rojeel simply stood there, massive and silent, but something in his posture had shifted. His shoulders, usually set in the stoic acceptance of someone who'd seen too much, had relaxed.
Noritoshi was chuckling.
A soft sound. Low. It was almost swallowed by the ambient noise of construction and conversation.
"I see." His voice carried warmth. "Naofumi truly worked hard, huh?"
For the first time in her life, she saw it. An expression so transparent, so genuine that there could possibly be no chance it was an act.
A quiet pride in a friend's accomplishment.
Her attention was taken by an animal voice.
"Lord Bow Hero, I presume?"
The speaker was a demi-human—a wolf-type, by the look of his ears and the brush of a tail behind him. But those ears were mangled, torn and scarred as if someone had taken scissors to them. His tail, what remained of it, was a patchwork of bald spots and old burns. His voice, however, was smooth as silk. Cultured. As if he was… educated.
Noritoshi turned to face him, nodding once. "That's me."
The wolf-man bowed gracefully, seemingly unbothered by his condition. "The others have been waiting. Let me lead you there."
He turned and walked deeper into the tent without waiting for acknowledgment, clearly expecting them to follow.
They did.
Beloukas's office was large—the slave trader had always favored his comforts, and even enslavement hadn't changed that. But it quickly became cramped as more bodies filled the space.
Ren's party was already there—Tersia lounging in a chair with his usual insouciance, Farrie perched on an armrest, Welt already eagerly reading scattered notes in the room, Bakta occupying a corner like a particularly large piece of furniture.
Motoyasu's party clustered together near the bookshelves. Elena stood with her hand on her sword hilt, ever watchful. Roni? Rion? Whatever her name was currently sitting still, carefully eyeing everyone. And Lesti Orsini sat apart, her posture perfect, her expression playful.
Noritosi swept his gaze across the room, taking stock, then inclined his head in a small bow.
"Apologies for making everyone wait." His voice carried easily, cutting through the low murmur of conversation. "Welst." He turned to the mage. "Take the reins. Explain our plan for the near future. I need to speak with the other Heroes."
Welst blinked, clearly surprised by the delegation, but recovered quickly. "Of course." He moved toward the center of the room, already pulling out his notes.
Noritoshi, meanwhile, crossed to where Naofumi sat with the other two Cardinal Heroes. The Shield Hero looked exhausted—worse than this morning, somehow—but his eyes were sharp as he glanced up at Noritoshi's approach.
Ren and Motoyasu shifted to make room.
Myne watched the four Heroes huddle together. Then a small brown thing moved toward her.
"B-big sis!"
Raphtalia.
The little girl barreled into her legs, wrapping tiny arms around Myne's thighs with enough force to make her stumble. Her raccoon ears flopped with the movement. Her tail wagged.
Ugh. It's touching her. It's actually touching her.
Myne's skin crawled where the demi-human made contact. She could feel the warmth of that small body pressed against her, could smell the faint animal scent that no amount of washing could fully remove. Her first instinct—scream, kick it away, recoil—screamed through every nerve.
It's a doll. Just a doll.
She forced her hand down, resting it on Raphtalia's head. The fur was soft. She could admit that much. Soft like a well-made toy.
Yes. A toy. A very expensive, well-crafted toy. Nothing more.
"I missed you, big sis!" Raphtalia's voice was muffled against her hip. "Did you sleep good? Are you okay? I was worried!"
It talks. Annoying. Dolls that talk are annoying. But some children like them, she suppose.
Myne felt her lips curve into a smile—the automatic, practiced expression she'd worn for years. "I'm fine, little one. Did you have a good day?"
Raphtalia nodded vigorously, finally loosening her grip enough to look up. Her eyes were bright—disgustingly bright—and clear in a way that made Myne want to look away. "The nice lady taught me letters! I can write my name now! Watch—"
The little girl grabbed Myne's hand—grabbed it, with her dirty little paws—and started tracing letters on her palm with one tiny finger.
Its finger is on her skin. Its finger is on her skin. Its filthy little claw is touching her palm.
"R-A-P-H-T-A-L-I-A. See? That's me!"
Myne's smile didn't waver. "Very impressive."
Make it stop touching me. Make it stop touching me. Make it stop—
"You learned all that in one day?" The words came out perfectly. Warm. Encouraging. Not a trace of the revulsion churning beneath.
"Mm-hmm! And I helped make dinner! I stirred the pot and everything!" Raphtalia beamed up at her, then her expression shifted to something more serious. "Are you really okay, big sis? You look tired."
It noticed. The doll noticed she's exhausted. That's... actually kind of observant for a doll.
"I'm fine, sweetheart. Just a long day."
Sweetheart. She called it sweetheart. That's what you call dolls, right? When you're playing pretend with a child?
Raphtalia studied her for a moment with those too-old eyes—stop looking at me like that, you're a doll, dolls don't look—then nodded solemnly. "Okay. But if you get tired again, I can take care of you too! I'm good at taking care of people!"
It wants to take care of her. The doll wants to take care of her. How absurd. How utterly—
Myne knelt down, bringing herself to Raphtalia's level. This was what the situation required. The child expected closeness. The Heroes were watching. She had to perform.
She pulled the little girl into a hug.
It's soft. Warm. Squishy. Like a doll. A very lifelike doll. That's all.
"I'll remember that," she murmured against the fur of Raphtalia's ear.
Its fur is in her mouth now. There's fur in her mouth. She's going to be finding fur in her mouth for days.
She held the hug for exactly the right amount of time—long enough to seem genuine, short enough to endure—then gently disentangled herself.
"Now, why don't you go show the nice lady your letters again? I need to talk to the other Heroes for a bit."
Raphtalia's face fell for just a moment—dolls don't have feelings, it's just programmed to look disappointed—then brightened again. "Okay, big sis! But come find me later, okay? Promise?"
It wants a promise. Fine. Promises to dolls don't count, anyway.
"I promise."
Raphtalia beamed and scampered off the office toward the reading corner, her tail bouncing behind her.
Myne watched her go, still kneeling on the dirty floor of a slave trader's tent. The spot where Raphtalia had hugged her felt... warm. Sticky, almost. Like she'd been marked. The thought was morbidly horrifying.
As she approached the heroes, a heated whisper reached her ears.
Naofumi's voice, tight with exhaustion and frustration, "We may need to postpone it for now."
"WHY?!" Motoyasu's whisper was somehow still loud enough to carry, his hands slamming onto the table. "Didn't both of you say there's people—children—there getting tortured as we speak right now?! We can't wait any longer than this! Or else..." His voice cracked. "Or else more people there are going to—"
"Motoyasu!" Ren cut him off, sharp but controlled. "Calm down. Please." He took a breath, visibly collecting himself. "I know what you're feeling. But because Beloukas's spy was discovered, it would be dangerous for us to do the plan. They would be on high alert after all. There's no telling what they could do."
Naofumi rubbed his temples, looking even more exhausted than before. "He's right. If we go in now, we might make things worse. Rabiel could panic, start destroying evidence—or worse, hurt the children to prevent us from finding them."
"But we can't just—" Motoyasu's fists clenched. "They're children. We're supposed to save them. That's what Heroes do!"
Noritoshi, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. His voice was calm—too calm, the kind of calm that came from thinking ten steps ahead.
"No one said we weren't saving them. We're just not saving them today."
Motoyasu opened his mouth to argue, but Noritoshi held up a hand.
"The spy being discovered is a setback, yes. But it's also information. We now know they're watching. We know they're paranoid. We know they'll be looking for threats." He met Motoyasu's eyes steadily. "So we wait. Let them get tired. Let them think we gave up. And then—when they least expect it—we move."
Naofumi nodded slowly. "He's right. Two days. Give it two days for the alert to die down. Then we go."
Motoyasu's jaw worked, but some of the tension bled from his shoulders. "...Two days. Promise?"
Noritoshi's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "I promise."
Ren let out a quiet breath. "Then it's settled. Two days. We use the time to prepare."
The conversation shifted to logistics—supplies, escape routes, contingency plans. Myne listened as she approached, filing every detail away.
Two days until they moved against Duke Idol Rabiel.
Two days until the Heroes did something truly insane.
She wondered if they had any idea what they were walking into.
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Hey guys. Author here. Yeah, Malty is still a bitch and a racist. A real fun character to write though.