Salvador knew Evrúopean fighting styles and that's what he used when he fought the soldiers. The Count of Seseblanc was dead, and already seven soldiers lay dead on the ground along with him.

One of the nobles who had been with the count, stepped up to Salvador in a challenge. Salvador grinned at whirled at the highborn. This noble held a hand-and-a-half sword unsteadily. Salvador took advantage of his nervousness and attacked relentlessly. Just as Salvador was about to deliver a crippling blow to his legs, one of the soldiers tried to save the noble and slash at Salvador. He ducked under the blow and promptly shoved his side-sword into the soldier's stomach. Deftly pulling out his side-sword, Salvador grabbed the soldier's sword and wielded it in his other hand. The highborn raised his blade in an overhead cut; Salvador blocked it with his side-sword and thrust his newly captured sword into the highborn's chest.

Salvador took the highborn's hand-and-a-half sword, or otherwise known as a bastard sword. "Nice," he said to himself.

Every soldier that faced Salvador quickly fell to the ground in dust and blood. A few of them regrouped and attacked Salvador as one. Running out of options, he singled out a soldier in the center and charged, batting away the sword and crashing into the man. Having broken up the formation, he reveled in the ensuing chaos and sliced the stomach of the nearest soldier, twisted and parried a spear thrust. He performed a pirouette, his sword slashing through two more soldiers. He saw some highborns trying to escape the slaughter.

Like hell they will.

Cutting his way through two more soldiers, Salvador charged at the highborns. One of them had the stones to take up the longsword of a fallen soldier and face him. Salvador gave him a crazed grin and attacked. His Evrúopean fighting style was foreign to the highborn who had no way of countering it.

His head rolled on the ground soon after.

Salvador drew his last knife and threw it at the final fleeing highborn.

It took him between the eyes.

Most of the soldiers had routed and fled from the massacre. A few of them had brought reinforcements; troops with shields and spears, ready to face the threat.

Time for me to go now, Salvador thought. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled something out and dropped it on the ground. He took the opportunity to flee from the barracks. Once he was in the city, he took off his blood-soaked and burned it. He grabbed his backpack in the alley where he had left it and returned to West Vya Mateas. He went to a different tavern this time and decided to order some red wine.

As he was sipping his wine, he celebrated his victory. All had gone quite well, after all. He felt no remorse, regret, or guilt at the murders of the Count of Seseblanc and those other highborns. But then he thought of all the soldiers he had killed. There, his breath caught in his chest and he felt sick. Necessary deaths to save the lives of many more, he thought, trying to comfort himself. Then he stopped:

I sound like a highborn.

He leaned back in his chair. He was no better than any of them. He had killed dozens of soldiers there and he claimed it was alright in the name of the greater good. The excuse every single highborn would use.

He was no better than the rest of them.

***

It had been five days since they had left la'Manse delle Simia and set off for Navitium. It had been a long and weary journey for Angelica; nothing had happened.

"You'd think there'd be at least a bit of action on the way to the capital," she mumbled to herself.

"What was that, Angelica?" her mother asked.

"Nothing," she said quickly.

To pass time, Angelica read and read and read. She had not seen much of Benedict although they were not far from each other. They kept their distance instead. Outside of her carriage, all of the Navíste soldiers were on the edge; they were passing treacherously near hostile territory. Count Jovan Galamez ruled these lands, and he openly defied the Serpent Crown. They were passing through hilly territory, so scouts were sent out in order to see if there were any ambushers.

"Mother, how tall is the palace? I heard from somewhere that if you stand on the tallest spire, you can see all of Sersalvon. Am I going to find myself a suitor in Navitium? What if I fall in love?" Myeria's voice sounded dreamy. Angelica rolled her eyes, her sister was such a typical highborn girl. No wonder Salvador found her so boring.

Salvador. Once, his name would be all that was on her mind. But now. . . she found that her thoughts of him had become less frequent and not as powerful. Her attention had shifted elsewhere; the relationship between the king and the queen deserved some scrutiny. As did Benedict. . . an enigma that boy was.

Suddenly, the caravan stopped. It was abrupt, and the driver of the carriage seemed surprised. "What's going on," Angelica asked her mother.

"How should I know, daughter?" the duchess replied.

"Uggh!" Myeria fumed. "How are we ever going to get to Navitium now?"

Angelica noticed her mother rolled her eyes and stifled a snort.

Then, knocking on the carriage door. Angelica peered out and saw that it was Benedict. Tenderly, she opened the door to the carriage.

"Your Grace. My lady," he greeted politely. "All is well, I hope?"

"Indeed, Benedict," Lilliana assured. "Although it would help to know the cause of us stopping."

"Something is blocking the road, Your Grace. It seems to be the remains of a wagon or something. The soldiers are working to remove it."

"How long will it take?" Myeria wailed.

Benedict glanced at Myeria uncomfortably. "It should only be about half an hour or more, my lady. My father has diverted much of our guards to clearing the road."

"Good," Myeria huffed.

Benedict pressed his lips into a line and nodded once. He tapped the pommel of his sword and nodded again. "Well then, I shall be on my―" He was interrupted by screams.

Immediately, Benedict drew his sword and turned towards the screams. His face blanched and he turned back to Angelica and almost shouted, "Bandits!"

Angelica's hands shot to her hidden twin dirks, she jumped out of the carriage and scanned the area, her traveling clothes giving her enough mobility. Her mother followed her out of the carriage, calm and cool. Her sister however. . .

"Protect me my prince! Save me from the bandits!"

The expression on Benedict's face was priceless.

But there was no time to laugh. Angelica drew her twin dirks and faced the oncoming brigands. Perhaps 'brigands' was not the word to describe these men. . . no, not at all. They were far too organized to be a roaming group of highwaymen. These were mercenaries. They came down the slopes of the caravan wearing leather armor and mail. They were equipped with round shields and swords. The blockage on the road was put there to leave the caravan vulnerable; most of the guards were at the front, clearing the blockage and so the back and middle of the caravan were exposed. Angelica's carriage had been near the front, close to the Royal Family. However, the mercenaries seemed to be trying to go after the king as well. The focused men at one point in the caravan, trying to split the procession. If they cut them off from the rest of the caravan, the soldiers would not be able to relieve the back of the caravan and would eventually be surrounded by the mercenaries.

One of the remaining guards saw Angelica and cried, "My lady, go back to the carriage!"

Angelica promptly ignored him.

The first mercenary she faced seemed surprised. He had obviously not expected a noble woman to actually put up a fight. Angelica lunged and plunged her dirk into his chest. The spray of blood stained her travel clothes, but she gave it no notice. After she pulled the dirk out, she stared at the blood coating the dark blade. Her first kill. This is what all the training under Gerard, her father, and all the other knights had come to.

It felt good. She was finally doing something other than reading. Adrenaline rushed into through her veins, fueling her thirst for battle.

"My lady!" the guard cried again. "It's not safe!"

"Like hell it isn't!" she shouted back with a grin, and began cutting down the sellswords.

The next mercenary to face her wielded a buckler and a short sword. Her thrusted with the short sword which she parried. Angelica performed a pirouette and slashed at the sellsword's wrist making him drop the short sword. She then rammed her dirk into the small of his back.

Her next opponent was a woman; the cascade of long brown hair and her feminine eyes giving her away. This one gave Angelica a challenge; she wielded a spear and a kite shield that prevented Angelica from getting close. She tried to get in close to jam up the spear wielder and was rewarded with a cut to her side. The adrenaline in her veins negated the pain she should feel from that cut. Angelica had to try a different strategy. When the mercenary thrust her spear forward, Angelica dropped her dirks and stepped to the side. She caught the spear shaft and rammed it into the sellsword's gut, knocking the wind out of her. She then turned the spear around and rammed it into the woman's shoulder. The sellsword went down with a cry of pain, effectively out of action.

When Angelica turned to analyze the situation, she saw her mother defending the carriage whilst wielding two talwar blades. Angelica recognized those blades; they were of Sídhe steel.

And then she noticed Benedict. . .

The prince had fought his way to the Royal Family's carriages. His sword never seemed to stop moving, for it flowed from enemy to enemy, cutting through them. Although he did not wield a Sídhe blade, his gracefulness with the blade and the way he flowed in battle made it seem as if he were wielding one of the Royal Blades. Of course, Angelica knew the king kept those blades locked up in the Grand Cathedral of Navitium. Angelica noticed how more and more of the Navíste soldiers had begun to amass around Benedict. He was rallying them!

"To the prince!" Angelica shouted. "To Prince Benedict!"

Surprisingly, her mother took up the cry. "To Prince Benedict! TO THE PRINCE!"

***

The second night after he first met Mikkael, he was met by a vivid vision. His father was meeting with the Royal Council, his brother, mother, and uncle were present along with the remaining nobles who stayed loyal to the king.

Oh how few there were.

"The Duchy of Secera Cruz has seceded from the kingdom. They have proclaimed the Grand Duchy of Secera Cruz to be a sovereign nation. Various counties from surrounding duchies have declared allegiance to Secera Cruz. The Duke of Varcez has even bent the knee," his father announced to the Council.

"It is a dark day for the kingdom," muttered a noble. A murmur of agreement spread throughout the room.

Is that it, Benedict thought. They just give up and let themselves be rolled over.

"Are we going to do something?" he asked the Council. Everyone gave him a surprised look. They had not expected him to speak.

Francisco shook his head. "What are you saying Brother?"

Benedict licked his lips, which had gone dry. "The other duchies will begin to follow suit after Secera Cruz if we do nothing. We should send at least three legions to deal with the secessionists."

The King of Sersalvon growled. "We don't have the army necessary to take out Secera Cruz. Shut your mouth, son."

"But yes we d―"

"I said shut your mouth!" the king shouted.

On instinct, Benedict's eyes went to the floor. "Yes, Father," he mumbled.

The vision vanished and Mikkael descended from the sky of the dream world. A look of disappointment was evident on his face. "We're going to have to work on that."

"On what?" Benedict had asked tentatively after bowing.

"Your confidence, Benedict. Your confidence."

That had been a week ago. Now, Benedict was fighting against a band of brigands that had attacked the royal procession. Every night in the past week, he had trained with Mikkael in his dreams, learning how to fight with different weapons. As he cut through sellsword after sellsword he found himself wishing that he had one of the Royal Blades, weapons of Aes Sídhe steel that had been hoarded by the Royal Family of Sersalvon for centuries. Of course, only his brother, father, and uncle possessed such blades as the king deemed Benedict unworthy of such a blade.

Benedict had fought his way back to his family's group of carriages. His brother had been locked in combat with a mercenary wielding a halberd since the beginning of the ambush, even though Francisco wielded one of the Royal Blades, he couldn't seem to defeat his opponent. Prince Jacquez was fiercely defending the king and queen's carriage, his claymore greatsword slashing off heads and severing limbs.

When Benedict heard Angelica shout, "TO PRINCE BENEDICT!" his heart jumped. The cry was taken up by Duchess Lilliana Florjes and soon spread like wildfire through the ranks of remaining Navíste soldiers. "To Prince Benedict!" they shouted. Soon, a contingent of soldiers surrounded him and they slowly pushed back the mercenaries.

The sellswords saw the Navíste soldiers rallying and their own forces beginning to take heavy losses. The mercenaries panicked and began an unorganized retreat. The remaining contingents of Navíste knights began to reign havoc upon the retreating sellswords.

Benedict, soaked in blood and gore, sat down on the ground, tired. His brother stood victorious over the bodies of five mercenaries, including the halberd-wielding mercenary whom he fought for most of the ambush. Benedict twisted to look at the King's Carriage. The door was flung open and the queen was curled up inside with fear. Benedict scrambled to his feet and rushed to the carriage door. "Mother where is Father?"

The queen slowly uncurled at the sound of her son's voice. Her voice quavered as she said, "He left the carriage to fight."

Benedict's eyes widened. He whirled around and shouted, "Where is the king? Where is the king?"

"Here, Your Highness! We found the king!" a knight on horseback shouted. Benedict and his brother ran to their father. When they reached the King of Sersalvon, they stopped, the sight they saw stopping them dead in their tracks. "He's injured, Your Highnesses," the knight said feebly. The two princes were too shocked to answer.

Benedict acted first. "Get us a surgeon!" he snapped at the knight. He got down on one knee and examined his father. The King of Sersalvon had suffered a gash to his head and had been stabbed in the thigh. He had his eyes closed and was breathing heavily.

"Father," Francisco whispered.

"Bah!" the king growled suddenly. "It'll take more than this to kill me, son."

Francisco cried out in joy. "Oh I'm so glad, Father! I don't think I'm ready to be king yet."

Their father chuckled. "Nonsense, my boy," he said, "you'll make a fine king."

Benedict knew that he should be happy right now. He should be rejoicing right along with his brother. But. . . he couldn't. He couldn't find any joy inside of him. Only dread.

"Benedict," their father heaved, "are the bandits gone?"

Benedict swallowed. "There were mercenaries, father. Someone hired them to attack us. But yes, we rallied and pushed them back. The soldiers were inspired once you stepped out of your carriage and fought."

The king grinned arrogantly. "Of course they were! I'm their king. . ." And he passed out.