My boots squelch with every step, releasing the stench of swamp mud and something far worse as we shuffle forward in the guild's submission line. Each movement sends fresh jolts of pain through my bug-bitten ankles. "Next!" bellows the guild clerk, a woman with a face like she's been sucking lemons her entire life. The line inches forward. I shift my weight, wincing as my damp socks create a new blister against my heel. The collar of my cloak sticks to my neck, trapping heat and sweat against my skin. Mirelle stands beside me looking annoyingly pristine despite spending the same six hours knee-deep in swamp muck. She notices me staring and flashes that predatory smile I've grown to dread. "What's on your mind, Ro?" she asks, using my cover name loudly enough for those around us to hear. I tug at my collar, trying to create some airflow. "I can't believe how many you killed," I say, keeping my voice soft. "Do you ever worry that maybe you're taking too many lives?" Her smile falters for just a moment before returning, sharper than before. "They're slimes, Ro. Mindless blobs of goo that eat anything they touch." "I know, but..." I shift the jar of collected slime cores in my arms, the gelatinous orbs floating in preservative liquid like bizarre eyeballs. "There were so many. And they weren't attacking us directly." Mirelle's eyes narrow slightly. The air around her crackles with static. "They were destroying the swamps ecosystem," she says, her tone suggesting I'm being ridiculous. "And you're a healer," she continues. "You of all people should understand the balance of nature. One species overrunning everything is how plagues start." I open my mouth to argue, but deep down I know she's right. The slimes were multiplying out of control, consuming everything in their path. A roar of laughter erupts from the nearby bar, cutting through our conversation. A burly woman slaps her knee, nearly falling off her stool as she howls at some joke. Her flailing arm catches her companion, who stumbles backward into a table. The sound of shattering glass cuts through the guild hall as a tankard crashes to the floor. The silence that follows is immediate and absolute. Even the guild clerk stops mid-stamp, her eyes widening as she stares at something over my shoulder. I turn slowly, following everyone's gaze to the owner of the now-empty tankard. A woman in gleaming silver armor rises from her seat, her movements deliberate and terrifying in their control. Her long blonde hair frames a face that might be beautiful if not for the cold fury etched into every line. A black fang tattoo under her left eye catches the light as she turns. "You spilled my drink," she says, her voice soft but carrying easily through the now-silent hall. The drunken woman who caused the accident sobers instantly, her face draining of color. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean…" "You didn't mean to," the armored woman finishes, her blue eyes holding an unsettling gleam that makes my skin crawl. "No one ever means to, do they?" Don't stare," Mirelle whispers, her voice uncharacteristically tense. The armored woman's hand moves to her back in one fluid motion, and what she pulls forth makes my jaw drop. "Holy fuck," I breathe, unable to stop myself. It's a sword, if you can even call something that massive a sword. The blade must be nearly as tall as I am, and wide enough that it looks like it could cleave a tree in one stroke. The metal catches the light as she hefts it with terrifying ease, like it weighs nothing more than a dinner knife. The drunken woman staggers backward, hands raised. "Wait, what are you…" That's all she manages before the armored woman swings. The movement is so fast, so effortless, that for a split second I think she's missed. Then reality catches up in a spray of crimson as the woman's body separates cleanly in two, her expression still frozen in surprise as her torso slides away from her legs. Blood fountains across the floor. Someone screams. Everyone moves at once, away, not toward the carnage. "THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS!" the knight bellows at the bisected corpse, her voice unnaturally loud in the chaos. "THIS IS JUSTICE! YOU UNDERSTAND? JUSTICE!" My body moves before my brain can catch up. I'm sprinting toward the fallen woman, golden light gathering at my fingertips. I don't think about the danger, just the dying woman on the floor. I drop to my knees in the spreading pool of blood. The woman's eyes find mine, wide with shock and fading quickly. Her mouth opens and closes, a wet gasping sound escaping her lips as she struggles to do anything. My hands hover over the gaping wound, panic seizing my chest as I stare at the clean divide where her torso ends and her legs begin, separated by inches of blood-soaked floorboards. The golden light at my fingertips flickers uncertainly, as if even my healing magic is bewildered by the catastrophic damage. "Mirelle!" I call over my shoulder, my voice cracking with fear beneath my face covering. "How do I fix this? I don't… I can't…" I hear heavy footsteps approaching, the metallic clink of plate armor. The knight looms over me, her massive sword still dripping with fresh blood. My heart hammers against my ribs as her shadow falls across the dying woman. "A Forcray healer, huh?" The knight's voice carries a dangerous lilt, almost playful despite the horror she's just inflicted. She crouches beside me, close enough that I can smell metal and something like burnt incense on her armor. My hands tremble as the golden light pulses weakly between my fingers. The woman's eyes are already glazing over, life draining from them with each passing second. The knight leans closer, her blonde hair falling forward as she studies my covered face. She licks her lips, a gesture so predatory it makes my skin crawl. "I do love that foreign pussy you girls got," she purrs, her blue eyes holding that same unsettling gleam that made me shiver earlier. "So... exotic." I freeze, the implications of her words striking me like a physical blow. Before I can respond, Mirelle appears at my side, dropping to her knees in the spreading pool of blood. "I'm so sorry," Mirelle says, her voice thick with emotion I've rarely heard from her. "This Forcray woman is my lover." The knight's expression shifts instantly, something like understanding, perhaps even respect, flickering across her features. She straightens up, wiping her massive blade on her thigh. The knight nods, rising to her full height. Her massive blade rests casually on her shoulder, blood still dripping from its edge. "Understood," she says with a curt nod. "I only take women who've wronged me. Your lover is safe… For now." My hands still hover uselessly over the woman's body, the golden light flickering between my fingers. Mirelle leans close, her lips nearly brushing my ear through the face covering. "You can't save this girl," she whispers, her voice barely audible. I look down. The woman's eyes stare blankly at nothing, the last spark of life already extinguished. My healing light wavers, finding nothing to connect with. "She's already dead," I murmur, the golden glow fading from my fingertips. "But I can try…" "No," Mirelle cuts me off, her voice gentle but firm. "She's literally dead. It's too late." The finality in her tone makes my shoulders slump. I stare at the clean divide between the woman's torso and legs, the pool of blood spreading across the wooden floorboards. "Could I have saved her?" I ask, my voice cracking. "If I'd been faster?" Mirelle hesitates, her electric blue hair hanging limply around her face. "I don't know," she admits quietly. "She got cut in fucking half." The brutal honesty in her words makes me wince. I push myself to my feet, legs shaky beneath me as I stand in the cooling blood. The guild hall remains deathly silent, everyone giving the knight a wide berth as she strolls back to the bar, demanding another drink as if nothing happened. "Come on," Mirelle says. "We need to turn in these slimes and head to the inn." I nod numbly, allowing her to guide me away from the corpse. The jar of slime cores feels impossibly heavy in my arms as we return to the submission line. The clerk processes our bounty with mechanical efficiency, her eyes constantly darting toward the knight at the bar. As we collect our payment, I can't help but glance back at the dead woman. Guild staff have already appeared with mops and buckets, treating this like a spilled drink rather than a life snuffed out in seconds. "Who was that?" I whisper to Mirelle as we head for the exit. "That," she whispers, "was Skara Vayne." The name hangs in the air between us like a curse. I shudder involuntarily, the image of that massive blade cleaving through flesh still fresh in my mind. "When I first registered at this guild, they warned me about her," Mirelle continues, her voice low as we navigate the evening streets of Lannos. "Said to stay out of her way, no matter what." I glance back at the guild hall, half-expecting to see the knight's imposing figure following us. "Why isn't she in trouble for what she just did? She murdered someone in front of dozens of witnesses!" Mirelle lets out a humorless laugh, her electric blue hair crackling with nervous energy. "Because she's the strongest A-rank adventurer in this region. Realistically, no one's powerful enough to stop her." She shakes her head, genuine fear flickering across her features. "And the guild won't touch her because she takes all the hardest jobs, the ones no one else can handle." "That's insane," I mutter, my boots still squelching with blood-tinged swamp water. "They just let her kill people?" "They don't 'let' her do anything. They simply can't stop her." Mirelle guides me down a side street, away from the main thoroughfare. "We're going to keep a wide berth from her from now on, understand? If you see her, you walk the other way." "That sounds like the best plan I've heard all day," I agree, the memory of those cold blue eyes sending another chill down my spine. "I'm not eager to become her next victim."