Relief washed over her, sharp and overwhelming. Azron Mort had arrived just in time, intercepting the assassins that ambushed General Wang en route to the Mansion. Together, they had cleared the way, carving a bloody path of vengeance through the enemy.
"Is that… Yan?" General Wang breathed, dismounting in shock, eyes wide at the sight of her standing atop the temple, bloodied and unbowed.
Lord Azron followed suit, eyes scanning the carnage before settling on Yan. His gaze was sharp, calculating—danger and doubt flickering behind the stoic mask. Was she with them? A spy sent to infiltrate Mort Mansion? But the arrow embedded in her leg, the bloodied wounds across her body—she could not be one of them.
Azron's attention lingered on her torn sleeve, fair skin revealed, hems ruined, blood seeping across the makeshift bandage at her waist. Concern flared inside him, hidden beneath his calm exterior. How can she still be standing? he wondered, heart betraying a rare flicker of fear for someone else.
A Mort warrior approached, moving toward Azron and General Wang, weapon ready. But Yan—bloodied, trembling, yet unbroken—pulled the arrow from her leg without hesitation. She drew her bow, aiming directly.
"What are you doing? Put down your weapon!" General Wang shouted, unsheathing his sword.
Blood gushed from Yan's wound, flowing over the rooftop. Azron's eyes narrowed, confusion sharpening his expression. But Yan's arrow was not for him.
Behind Azron, the Mort warrior—Fran—stood. Yan's instincts screamed the truth: the mole maid, the black ribbons, the assassins—Fran had assisted them in infiltrating Mort Mansion.
Yan's gaze dropped to the blood seeping from her leg. Each heartbeat sent waves of weakness coursing through her body. Poison, blood loss—just a few more minutes and she would collapse. Her vision blurred, but she refused to falter. Not now.
Fran's eyes burned with cold, ruthless intent as he crouched low, sword raised. He lunged toward Lord Azron's back, a shadow of death in motion.
With the last of her strength, Yan drew her bow. Her fingers, slick with blood, strained against the string, but the arrow flew true. It slammed into Fran's arm with a sickening crack, piercing muscle and bone. He dropped his sword. Even weakened, her shot carried the lethal precision of a warrior.
General Wang's eyes widened at the scene. Fran, his own trainee—someone he had guided, trained, trusted. Shock wavered his judgment for only a heartbeat before he leveled his sword at Fran's neck, the weight of betrayal heavy in the air.
Lord Azron's gaze, cold and unflinching, fixed on Fran. "Lock him up." His voice was a blade in itself, leaving no room for argument. Then, without a word, he turned to Yan, still teetering on the temple roof, a crimson trail marking her path.
Yan's strength betrayed her at last. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed. Time slowed. Azron's instincts surged—he darted forward, catching her in his arms before she hit the ground. Her head lolled against his chest, limp and pale, her breath shallow and uneven. Blood from her side and leg soaked into his clothes, a stark contrast to the fragile beauty in his arms.
…
By the next day, the aftermath rippled through Mort City. General Wang had been taken into custody for questioning, and Fran was interrogated thoroughly.
The web of loyalty and betrayal had been exposed—Fran, under General Wang's command at the east gate, now under scrutiny for ties to the assassins.
"Release him." Lord Azron's command cut through the tense silence of the guards.
General Wang stepped out of his cell, head bowed, shame and relief battling in his eyes.
"Lift your head," Azron said, voice steady, measured. "I know you're not connected to him."
They had fought side by side since childhood—Azron, Wang, Rin, Jidu, and Dan. Brothers in arms, architects of Mort City's power. Loyalty was a bond stronger than fear, and Azron never doubted it.
….
IN MORT GOVERNMENT OFFICE
Shrin stood rigidly before Lord Azron and the four Mort generals. Beside her, five maids of Grand Ersi's chamber waited, heads bowed, hearts still trembling from that day.
"We accompanied Grand Ersi and Madam Han to the temple to pray," Lia began, voice low, trembling under Azron's gaze. "Then assassins barged in. Thankfully, Yan arrived… and saved us."
"How exactly did she save all of you?" General Rin asked, leaning forward, suspicion and curiosity sharp in his tone.
"She… killed them," Lia continued, voice barely above a whisper. "And she told us to lock the doors. Protect Grand Ersi and Madam Han."
"She… spoke?" General Dan's brows shot up, disbelief cracking his composed face.
"Yes. She… she can talk."
Shock rippled across the room. Four generals exchanged glances, the revelation hitting them like lightning. The mute girl—Yan had spoken.
"You," Lord Azron's voice cut through, cold and precise, like a blade. He fixed Shrin with a gaze so intense it made her knees tremble. "Speak."
Shrin's breath caught. For a fleeting second, her eyes met Lord Azron's—then immediately dropped. His gaze alone felt like a blade pressed against her throat, heavy, suffocating. It drained the strength from her limbs.
"We… we were checking the market," she began, voice trembling despite her effort to steady it. "Then Yan suddenly told me to find General Wang… to tell him Grand Ersi is in danger. And then… she ran." Her fingers curled tightly at her sides as the memory surged back. "She followed some men in black clothing."
Silence followed—thick, pressing.
"So… she can really speak?" General Jidu asked, disbelief lacing his voice.
"Yes."
The word fell sharply into the room.
The four generals turned toward Lord Azron. He hadn't moved. His gaze was fixed on the table before him, unreadable—too still. The kind of silence that made even seasoned warriors uneasy.
"Do you know that she could speak?" Azron's voice came low, controlled. "I believe the two of you are close."
He rested his elbow on his knee, fingers brushing the hilt of his sword—casual, yet deliberate. A quiet threat.
Shrin's chest tightened. Fear gripped her. She dropped to her knees instantly.
"No, my Lord," she said, voice breaking under the weight of his presence. "I also thought she couldn't speak. She never did—not even in her sleep… not until yesterday." Her head bowed deeper. "Believe me. I was just as surprised as everyone else."
Azron studied her for a moment longer.
Then—he let it go.
"Who killed all those assassins?"
"It was Yan," Mira answered quickly, unable to contain it. "I saw everything. She fought… all of them."
A silence fell again—heavier this time.
No one dared to speak. No one dared to move.
Azron said nothing.
"You may all leave," General Rin finally ordered, sensing the tension tightening beyond comfort.
The maids filed out quickly, heads lowered, breaths held until they were beyond the room.
Only the generals remained.
Azron still sat unmoving, thoughts unreadable, shadows gathering behind his eyes. A girl who had hidden her voice for a year. A girl who had slaughtered dozens alone.
"She has worked here for eight months," General Jidu said at last, breaking the suffocating quiet. "I always thought she was truly mute."
General Dan stepped forward slightly, brows drawn.
"When she treated me… she felt strange. Like she was not from here." His voice lowered. "Do you think she's a spy?"
General Wang shook his head, firm despite the tension.
"But she saved Grand Ersi and Madam Han. If she had ill intentions… she could've acted long ago. When we were all away at war."
"I've always known she wasn't ordinary," General Rin said bluntly. "No woman can kill that many assassins. I never trusted her."
The other three slowly turned to look at him.
A pause.
A very long pause.
Rin frowned. "What?"
General Dan raised a brow. "You… kept taking snacks from her."
Jidu added, deadpan, "Snacks from the Lord's suitors."
Wang nodded. "A lot of times."
Rin didn't even hesitate. "That was strategy."
"…Strategy?" Dan echoed.
"Yes," Rin said, completely serious. "If she poisoned those snacks, I eliminated the risk before it reached Lord Azron."
Jidu blinked. "By eating them first?"
Rin gave a single nod. "A necessary sacrifice."
Wang coughed, clearly holding back a laugh. "You seemed very dedicated to that duty."
"They were suspicious," Rin insisted. "All of them."
"…Even the rice cakes?" Dan asked.
Rin's jaw tightened slightly. "…Especially the rice cakes."
A brief silence followed—tense, but now carrying the faintest crack of amusement.
Even Azron's gaze shifted slightly, though his expression remained unreadable.
Then—
he stood.
Steel whispered as he lifted his sword.
"Has the prisoner confessed yet?"
His voice cut through everything.
Fran had not been easy to break. But Azron's orders were absolute—torture him without mercy, keep him alive until he spoke.
General Wang stepped forward, jaw tight.
"He's the son of the Hawk Mountain Bandits' chief. His family was killed during the retrieval of the northern land. He wanted revenge." His voice lowered. "Forgive me, my Lord… I should have known. I was blinded by pity when I found him starving. I brought him here… without knowing his origins."
He dropped to his knees.
The others followed immediately.
"Forgive us, Lord Azron! We have failed our duty!" they shouted as one, voices echoing through the chamber.
They were the pillars of Mort—bound not just by duty, but by brotherhood. One man's failure was a burden shared by all.
Azron walked toward them slowly, boots echoing against stone.
He stopped in front of them.
"This…" His voice was calm, steady—yet carried weight heavier than anger. "This is one of many challenges we will face."
A pause.
"We will learn from this. All of us."
The silence shifted—not lighter, but steadier.
"Rise," he ordered. "Conduct a full background check on all warriors."
"Yes, Lord Azron," they answered in unison, rising without hesitation.
….
AT THE GRAND'S QUARTERS
Lord Azron stepped quietly into the room where Yan lay, fragile yet defiant in her stillness. Her body had endured the lethal poison, survived the wounds that should have ended her life. The physician had called it a miracle. Only those trained to resist such deadly toxins could have withstood it.
Four days had passed since the assassination attempt, and she still slept. Azron stood by her bedside, silent, eyes tracing every curve, every sign of life. His thoughts were a storm of questions, a tempest he could not yet calm. Who are you?
The memory came unbidden: Yan atop the temple roof, surrounded by the bodies of trained assassins she had felled alone. Every movement precise, cold, and lethal. The memory burned in his mind, a brutal, impossible truth. Then, incongruously, he recalled her sprawled in ridiculous, vulnerable positions between his office bookshelves. Could this quiet, strange, harmless girl be the same person who had slaughtered with such skill?
Grand Ersi entered the room, her presence calm but firm. Her gaze swept to Azron and then to Yan, lingering.
"Are you going to interrogate her once she wakes?" she asked softly, stepping closer.
Azron did not immediately answer. His eyes remained on Yan, piercing, searching. "I need to know who she is. Why she pretends to be mute. I just hope she'll finally tell the truth."
"She's a good person, Azron. I felt it the first time I saw her," Grand Ersi said, unwavering.
Azron's gaze softened slightly, returning to Yan. There was no anger at her deception, only curiosity…and a faint flicker of concern.
"Don't worry, grandmother. She will not be taken again to the interrogation grounds. I owe her—for saving you, for saving mother." And for me, he thought bitterly, recalling how she had saved him from Fran's attack while her body was already at the brink of collapse.
Then they left her to rest.
Almost dawn found him still in the government office, restless, sleepless. Mort City's enemies lingered in his mind like shadows he could never chase away. The failure to keep the city safe gnawed at him, a constant reminder he could not ignore.
His head throbbed with exhaustion, but sleep refused him. He rubbed his temples, closed his eyes, hoping for even a fleeting rest, but his mind remained alert, restless. He rose and paced, each step echoing in the quiet office, until a table at the far end caught his attention.
On it, a teapot and neatly packed herbs: Headache. Insomnia. Colds.
A memory hit him—the quiet care Yan had shown, offering him tea whenever he massaged his aching head, tending to him at night, whenever he sneezed. She had been watching over him, silently, all along. The realization brought a small, soft smile to his lips as he looked down at the floor where she had once napped.