2412 Xavem 18, Reshpe

Kymalin trudged towards the dining hall, her clothes littered with bits of sand clinging in the fabric. She clicked her tongue as she dusted herself, earning awkward looks from the new recruits still emerging from their tents.

She paid them no mind. This was one of the reasons why she was against moving the training camp to Desara, for the gods' sake. Not only did the air smell like fish, the sand found every opportunity to stick to her skin and clothes. Why couldn't they move into Dwanzeig or stay in Carleon? Why did they even have to move to this barren hellhole?

Kymalin ran her hands furiously at the fur lining the collar of her armor. She just came back from the nightly patrol outside the base. As if whoever infiltrated Cardovia would dare come back using the same method as before. Who would even go back after making it out alive once?

Malve had let that information slip out of his lips too late in one of the regular conferences with the Heiress. Before Kymalin knew it, she was being reprimanded by the Heiress for her carelessness. Well, Kymalin was out of the base under the Heiress' orders and suddenly it's Kymalin's fault? It didn't make sense.

If anything, the Heiress was pissed that someone was able to outsmart her and got away with it alive. Kymalin merely became a vessel to catch that annoyance. She shouldn't think too much of it. All of them were under the Heiress' mercy should the leader get into a foul mood.

Someone bumped against Kymalin's shoulder. She clicked her tongue at a tall, bald man with dark skin. He wore nothing but a cloth around his hips, showing his sculpted muscles. Kymalin glared at him and he glared back like he didn't know who she was and what status she held in this organization.

Kymalin suppressed a growl. Trisa's runts. Perhaps she should teach them all a lesson during their training session tomorrow. Oh, she would never go easy on this fairy and whichever unfortunate platoon he would get drafted to. She kept her glare at the man's shiny head and made sure to give all the fire sprites additional routines and beat their asses from under them during sparring. Tch. Annoying.

Kymalin shook her head. No matter. She should be in the dining hall now.

More recruits dashed past her, hurrying towards the rectangular building in the midst of all the tents around them. If Malve's information was to be trusted, the thrones that Cardovia held were stored underneath the dining hall itself. They were stolen during the third night patrol's shift and apparently, the thieves were clever enough to guess it correctly.

What's more clever was that nobody sensed them going in. No one sensed anything wrong when the thieves scampered around the base. Nobody knew a thing until a guard collapsed and the thieves dashed out of the dining hall carrying a satchel big enough for at least four thrones.

Only the Magistrates knew what was stolen. Everyone else was kept in the dark. Kymalin, after her failed stunt at the Temple of Souls, had learned the hard way what these thrones really were. Nobody even told her what to look for back then. It was like the Heiress was setting Kymalin up for failure as a way of disposing of her.

Kymalin pursed her lips as she strode purposefully inside the dining hall. Recruits that already found their tables all turned to her. She didn't wear her usual magistrate cloak but judging from the stares she got, they have the perfect idea of who she was. Well, except for that bald fire sprite who didn't even raise his head to acknowledge her presence.

Oh, he would know soon. He would know who Kymalin Iaro was.

She hurried to the table filled both with potions and solid food. They entertain all kinds of people here—half-bloods, humans, and fairies—and there would be someone who's bound to prefer one type of nourishment over the other. Sylfior did a good job of procuring this much resources to keep the whole force fed. How he did it without the monarchs from all over noticing, Kymalin would never know.

Each magistrate was accountable to the Heiress and to her only. Each one of them wasn't allowed to nose into the other's business. As long as the job was done and everyone could see results, their positions were safe.

Kymalin, however, has had a different case. She came to Cardovia by actively seeking the Heiress. The other magistrates were simply chosen by the previous recruitment magistrate whom Trisa replaced. They moved up the ranks through their own effort. Kymalin just popped out of the blue and was suddenly declared an important asset to the organization.

Now, she knew why.

Not only was she an heir to the Carleon throne, but she also has the easiest access to the Necrom. That had been the Heiress's motive in bringing Kymalin inside the ranks. As soon as Kymalin failed, as soon as it became clear that the Necrom wouldn't bow to the Heiress just as easily, Kymalin had lost her hold on Cardovia.

It's like the Heiress just gave up and cast Kymalin aside. She's lucky that the Heiress was gracious enough to leave Kymalin in her current position, otherwise, she would have killed herself a long time ago because of humiliation.

The defeat she suffered at the hands of her own mother at the Temple of Souls was the first of her misfortunes. Ever since that varichria appeared in Kymalin's life, everything had been going downhill.

Rikavien Torlin.

The Heiress has had her eyes on the Torlin family for a while now. As Kymalin could tell, the Heiress had been so sure the Varichria King was easy to sway with just a few prods of a sword or a few...sights from Trisa. Kymalin had been so sure as well. The Varichria King was paranoid and demented. He dismissed all his advisers after he caught wind of talk about bringing the banished heirs back. He even went as far as barring their entry to the Arcole.

After Cardovia's initial failure and the apparent incapability of the King to lead his people, Kymalin thought of a brilliant plan—why not bring those banished heirs back to the throne? That way, if Cardovia backs their return to power, the heirs would have to pledge a part of their influence to the organization.

The Heiress was swayed with that plan and sent her to find these heirs. Kymalin had succeeded in finding one with the other being as elusive as a wild falyt. Still, Kymalin had decided to push through.

Reeca had been pleasant but infuriating at the same time. Perhaps, it's because they share the same short temper and the same sense of importance that they found themselves understanding each other more than Kymalin ever let herself to. She wasn't going to even lie that their brief time in Asopus was the freest she had felt. It's like she didn't have anything to worry about except picking gourds and crafting flintlocks.

A crude smile spread from Kymalin's lips at the memory. Now, the flintlocks were an awesome innovation that she just had to steal it from underneath Reeca's nose and present it to the Heiress. Since then, Reeca's design has been in mass production under Repta's supervision and nothing could stop it.

Despite how free Kymalin felt back then, it didn't last long.

Synketros, through that shard fairy's lead, discovered them. How that general even deduced that Kymalin was working for Cardovia was something Kymalin didn't want to think about. The Heiress, however, wasn't keen on letting it go. Kymalin had received her first preaching about not taking hiding her identity seriously.

Kymalin had unfinished business with that nosy shard fairy. Soon.

The next time Kymalin saw Reeca was at the siege against the Temple of Souls. Kymalin had been so confident that she and most of the Necrom would win. She hadn't counted on the Rekshais having hidden weapons or the High Priestess herself would dare use the power of the Orb to seal the Temple before the siege even began.

In the end, Kymalin suffered her defeat when it was proven that she knew next to nothing about the true goal of the Heiress. Instead, the Heiress sent that little Draswist runt with another assignment—the more important assignment, mind—and was just going to use Kymalin's siege to clear a path for the runt to slip past the battle.

Kymalin was nothing but a distraction. She was nothing but a tool, a piece in this wicked game the Heiress was playing.

Weren't they all?

When she was defeated and the Banshee throne was reported to be even more secluded than before, the Heiress blamed Kymalin for it. The Heiress had lost faith in her—a fact proven when the Heiress called on Kymalin less and less with missions. Less and less information also made it to Kymalin's ears whenever Malve had something to share.

Kymalin balled her fists. The chatter and clatter of vials and feet faded in her ears. She wanted another chance to prove her worth. She needed it.

As she was reaching out to grab the green potion sitting on the table, a hand brushed hers and she recoiled. Oh, for the gods' sake. Not today.

Malve grinned at her as he grabbed two green vials from the table and offered her one. His charming smile was brighter than usual when Kymalin swiped at the vial. "Shimmy away, Malve," she sidestepped him and began walking towards the hall's exit. The suppressed growl crept into her tone.

Malve Ventora, the Magistrate in charge of trading information, braced his hips as his grin didn't vanish from his face. Looked like he had no trouble showing off his perfectly-aligned white teeth. Kymalin didn't bother returning it, knowing that the state of her teeth was nothing compared to this pampered brat's.

"Come on, Kym," Malve fell into step beside her, the sound of that dreaded nickname her mother called her smooth against his tongue. It's just a coincidence. There's no way Malve knew that much about her and her family.

Kymalin regarded the Magistrate dressed impeccably in black leathers and buckled boots with at least half a bottle of perfume exuding from his person. Such a pathetic display of wealth and privilege. If not for his family's inherited wealth, he wouldn't be strutting around here dressed like a king.

What's the use of this behavior? It's something Kymalin struggled to comprehend. The Temple taught her that Royals didn't and shouldn't own anything. Everything they enjoyed was the people's property. Nothing was theirs and certainly, nothing should be theirs.

When Kymalin left the Temple, she had to work for everything she had. Every versal, every yard of cloth around her body—she had worked for it. The Heiress had been generous enough to feed her despite her recent misgivings. That's why she has to pay the Heiress back the best way she could.

"Don't touch me, Malve," Kymalin warned. Malve didn't speak and just moved closer, pressing his thigh against hers. This was unacceptable.

Instead, Kymalin moved her leg as if she was about to indulge him then rammed her knee straight into the region between his legs. The Magistrate yelped in pain. She hooked her leg around his shins and brought him to the ground with a swift kick.

As Malve blubbered and tried to rise, Kymalin slammed his head against the floorboards. Thank the gods they're hard enough to crack a skull if she tried. The noise brought most of the recruits' attention to them. They better look. This was what it looked like when they messed with her.

She kept her hand on Malve's face, pressing it harder against the floor. The Magistrate's eyes shone with new found fear. Good. "Keep your filthy perfume away from me, scum," she growled at his ear. "Come at me again and you'll end up with more than a few strands of your hair on my nails. Got it?"

Malve nodded, his eyes already watering. Kymalin dropped his head on the floor and stood up. She strode back to the table before picking up a new vial, this time, an orange one. She drank it in one swig, tilting her head back. A sudden explosion of flavor in her tongue sent her wincing.

Glass crunched against her palm as she clenched her fist around the vial. Kymalin strode back to where Malve lay in a shocked daze and let the shards rain on his head.

With that, Kymalin strode out of the dining hall. How much more of her morning would get ruined?