A cacophony of sounds shattered the darkness. Not thunder—but a sneeze. Then a dull thud and a muffled: “Ow! Damn it!” followed by an unstoppable torrent of Dwarven curses.
Right in front of her, as if materializing from thin air, two figures appeared.
Their forms were the color of bottomless void, swallowing light. They removed their helmets.
The first—Leo. A young man with tousled black hair and lively, sharp eyes now sparkling with genuine amusement. The very pickpocket orphan Amanda had picked up in an alley when searching for someone to trust with her “insane plan.” Leo had turned out to be a fateful find.
The second—Torglin. A stocky dwarf with a fiery-red beard and a nose like an overripe potato. The legendary (and slightly weathered) blacksmith. From Amanda’s blueprints, using a mithril-orichalcum alloy, he’d forged not just sturdy armor—but armor that rendered the wearer invisible.
Torglin, rubbing his forehead (he’d clearly smacked it on an invisible doorframe), stared at Amanda with an expression as if she’d just won every acting award in the world—and simultaneously swept every prize for idiocy.
“Ha-ha! Kid… oh, sorry, Great One!” his bass voice trembled with barely contained laughter. “What the hell was that?! ‘I’m not trying to make you fall for me!’?!” He mimicked her in a high-pitched voice and burst into fresh guffaws, clutching his belly. “Oh, mighty Guardian! All-powerful archmage who sweeps enemies aside with a wave! And yet you blush and leap back like a startled kitten! Ha-ha-ha!”
Leo desperately tried to keep a straight face, but his eyes already gleamed with mirth.
“Nah, that was just epic, princess,” he managed, choking back a snicker. “When you shoved that herb pouch at him… I nearly died laughing.”
Amanda felt like she’d ridden every emotional rollercoaster in a single day. She collapsed helplessly into the nearest chair. Her golden helmet clattered across the floor.
“Just shut up, both of you…!” she groaned, pressing her palms to her temples. Her real face—the face of an utterly ordinary Japanese girl—was crimson with shame.
(This is too humiliating! It’s a nightmare!)
Torglin finally plopped down onto a chest with a flourish. From a worn pocket, he pulled out a battered flask.
“Alright, alright, we get it,” he muttered, still grinning. “But our Guardian here…” He drew out her title with exaggerated pomp. “…you’ve started believing your own legend, haven’t ya? And that scene with the ‘Crimson Claws’… pfft, not a scene—a masterpiece!”
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Flash of memory—the trial in the forest.
Z-z-zing!
Sunbeams filtered through the leaves, casting golden hues.
Amanda stood in their glow. Her golden armor blazed, as if blessed by the gods.
Before her—a squad of mercenaries with predatory eyes. In the center, on his knees, a bloodied Randel. His gaze darted between hope and horror.
Amanda didn’t move. Only slowly—majestically, like a goddess of vengeance—she raised her hand.
“Your greed has defiled this forest,” her voice, distorted by the helmet, boomed low and resonant. “Begone.”
In the moment her hand descended gracefully yet decisively…
Whoosh!
The squad leader, a burly brute, froze in place. A thin, thread-like crimson line bloomed on his neck. And he crumpled silently face-first.
No flash of light, no thunder of magic. Just death, emerging from nowhere.
The other mercenaries stumbled back, faces twisted in terror.
(What?! What is this?!)—panic flooded their minds.
Amanda stood motionless. Her raised hand was like the scepter of a high priestess, delivering judgment.
But no one knew that behind her, in the tree shadows, two figures moved.
Leo and Torglin.
Clad in black armor, with invisible blades that devoured light, the two assassins glided between trees like ghosts. Their blades, forged from mithril-orichalcum alloy, were unseen instruments of death. Each strike—precise as a surgeon’s scalpel.
Amanda’s “wave” wasn’t magic. It was a signal. A silent command: “Next one—that guy.”
With each of her motions, the mercenaries fell, one by one. The illusion was flawless: it seemed she alone erased them from existence.
Gulp!
Torglin took a swig from the flask and exhaled noisily.
“Ha-ha-ha! And that captain, the big shot!” He laughed, slapping his knee, and mimed a knife slash. “You wave your hand like ‘die now!’—and I slit his carotid right then… snick!”
He roared with even louder laughter.
“And they’re all like: ‘WAAH! Magic!’ While we’re in invisible armor—nearly burst laughing, could’ve given ourselves away!”
(Old grump, damn him…)—Amanda cursed inwardly, her cheeks still burning.
Leo, sensing her mood, nodded more calmly.
“It worked perfectly, princess,” respect laced his voice, though his eyes still twinkled. “Those thugs scattered like scared sheep. Who cared about logic? They saw a golden ‘idol’ and instant death. Their heads were empty voids.”
Amanda looked at them. Her initial shame gradually gave way to a weary but genuine smile.
(Yes. It was all a bluff. A mad, risky gamble.)
But it worked. She’d saved Randel’s life.
And now here they were—infiltrating the heart of one of the world’s most powerful noble families.
“Phew…” Amanda took a deep breath. “Well, the show was a success.”
Her gaze turned serious.
“But there’s no turning back. We’ve gone too far. Now I’m the real ‘Guardian’.”
(If you’ve started the game—play it to the end!)
“And I’ll play this role flawlessly.”
Torglin snorted and grinned slyly.
“Oh, got the fire in ya! Then let’s go all out!” He brushed off his worn glove like a high-society lady. “Princes, rival fiancées, all that pomp! Just warn me next time you blush—I might trip in these invisible plates and blow our cover!”
“Ugh…!” Amanda’s face flushed crimson again instantly. “Shut up!”
Leo chuckled softly. Before him—a flustered “goddess,” a former pickpocket, and a drunken dwarf. The most ridiculous trio.
And this trio had just fooled an entire duchy.
(Things are getting dangerously real…)
And what was even more dangerous—this insane adventure was only beginning.