Sorina:

  “You’ve caused quite a stir young lady,” Yasna, the accountant I met back at the barracks, says. She tilts a porcelain teacup to her lips, her body shuddering at the heat of the liquid before delicately, with slightly shaking arms, she puts the cup down. “Nice and hot.”

  “Taste any good?” I ask.

  “No. But it's hot.”

  “Apologies I’m uh… out of practice.”

  She waves dismissively. “It’s fine. Never really cared for the ‘taste’ of tea anyway. Some other old hags in the courts just love to recount their experiences with the many leaves they sample and yet, I’ve never been able to tell the difference between peppermint and oolong.” She says ‘oolong’ like a slur. It makes me smile.

  We sit in the fort discussing at a crude, rounded table. Men and women still shift through the tunnel that Catolica has erected through the fort, but they come at a slower pace. Most of Havenmarch has been cleared out and now it is a matter of taxing our own peoples—the Catolicans who come from the outermost countryside. They flee South, fearing the plague will venture North. But I suspect it will continue marching West for now.

  Soldiers mill about us in the waning twilight. A drill sergeant barks at some poor sods on the ramparts—from the sound of their scolding, it seems as though they’d been taking it too lax on watch. Honestly? Can’t blame them. We’ve been attacked only thrice by plagued… and they’ve come in so few numbers.

  Yasna clears her throat. “So, princess: what do you wish to ask from me? I assume this is not merely a request for some parliamentary gossip.”

  “No. I wanted to ask you for the financials. How much available coin do we have? How much debt? What are our supply costs? Our armament costs? Where are the dukes directing their coin?”

  Yasna stiffens. “I don’t know if I’m allowed to disclose that with you. Respectfully, of course.”

  Rather than answer, I withdraw the seal given to me by Pamela. Yasna looks it over with a discerning gaze.

  Then, she smiles.

  “Where would you like to start?”

  …

  “Alright, maybe I’m missing some key detail, but why does everyone here tolerate this?” I point to one of the ledger papers amongst the spread. “5000 for grain requisition? 10,000 for armaments? 8,500 for fortifications—surely he’s not referring to these fortifications?” I gesture all around us. Ours is a crude, but efficient checkpoint. Not a castle, like these financials seem to suggest.

  Yasna nods solemnly. “He spends… generously.”

  “You too huh?”

  “Unfortunately, Princess, I do not enjoy the power of rank that you do. Moreover, I have a family to think of. Otherwise I too might speak some… critical notions.”

  What is it with this man? His position baffles me. He holds no salient power, and yet, everyone seems chained down by him.

  I run a hand through my hair. Then, with a sigh, I tie it up into a pony and scoot my chair back.

  “Princess?”

  “Apologies Yasna, but I forgot I have a meeting to attend to. Don’t worry though—I’ll see to him. Soon.”

  She nods slowly. “I wish you luck then. And do be careful—its not necessarily his words you should fear, but who backs them.”

  I see. That makes more sense.

  I give her an appreciative nod and donn a green-white mantle—courtesy gift of Riddeck.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Then, I set off to the fortress walls and ask the guards to open the portcullis.

  …

  Gold-Mist, my golden heavenly cloud spirit, flies fast along the ground. It takes me back South, following the trail of destruction left behind by Raiten and Baroth’s battle. The forest here is recovering, but scorch marks and areas of negative color pock the woods.

  The sun is half hidden by a string-thin cloud that wavers in the reddish horizon like an open wound. I stare at the cloud for a moment before patting Misty.

  “Ever wish you could fly to that height?”

  The heavenly spirit mount does not answer back.

  I sigh. Every day that passes by, I miss my spirit hands of Greta and Berteca more and more. Spirits in the shape of human parts are rare. Spirits that can talk are even rarer. So those two were a gift from the heavens themselves—that, and my mother’s lineage. All broken when Raiten destroyed the lute.

  And they left me. Just like that.

  Just like him.

  I shake my head. Stop moping. Move on. He probably has. He never gave a damn in the first place.

  Think of something else.

  Honestly, that’s a harder task than I expected. And as I clutch onto the golden folds of Misty, I remember when I first received the spirit.

  My husband had just come back from a duel with a barbarous foe. He beat him with tricks and his affinity for dark smoke magicks. The bounty for his victory was this rare spirit mount of the heavenly class—few of which exist in this continent, let alone this realm.

  Still, Misty must be the most mundane of the heavenly spirits. It can only move fast along the ground. I’ve long suspected that it's merely a remnant of a larger, more impressive spirit. Yet, it has served my every whim throughout the years.

  I force myself to laugh. “Yes. At least I still have you, right?”

  Of course, it doesn’t respond.

  …

  “The prodigal princess returns. Where have you been?” Kara asks. The leader of the ‘bandits’ that Raiten defeated and subsequently made allies with now walks over to me. Her camp of militia and Havenmarch civilians attend to a variety of tasks like foraging, cooking, and playing cards. They too have made a sort of mini outpost at the edge of the woods. I dismount from Misty and open my satchel, which the cloud sucks itself into.

  “Trying to figure out a solution for us,” I respond.

  “And?”

  “I’ve made some progress.”

  I explain to her the details of my meeting with Pamela. More of their number—mostly the militia that fought Raiten—gather around and listen in. Including that one girl Hilda—calm down , you aren’t some jealous soppy little girl. It's not her fault that any of that happened. Even though she was the one that held Raiten up and ran away when he fought Baroth. And then got captured by Catolica. And then joined Catolica. And then—

  “So in exchange for your knowledge of Sorayvlad’s strategy, she’s giving back our stuff?” Kara asks, snapping me out of my spiral. “Just like that?”

  “It's not so simple. She’s not in a position to just give it to you. Unfortunately, with how Catolica’s parliament is pressuring her, they want to punish Havenmarch and the rest of the Free Villages. To distance themselves from you in order to show that Catolica doesn't need anyone's help to win this war.”

  “Well that’s bloody stupid,” one of the men chimes in.

  I nod. “Agreed. She thinks so too but she’s in a very precarious situation. All of her actions are scrutinized to a tee. Which is why we made a different arrangement.”

  “That being?”

  “In two days, you will ‘raid’ the checkpoint and steal your stores while burning the others.”

  Whispers begin among them—the sound travels like a rally of arrows.

  “Why burn the rest?” Kara asks.

  “Because Queen Pamela is… stuck. When she sallied forth with her own personal force and that of Duke Rothbore’s, she called the banners of Catolica. They said they would mobilize. They haven’t. And, they expect her to stay on the front lines while they ‘prepare to march’. In reality, she is a sacrificial lamb for Catolica at this moment. No one is coming. So, she needs a legitimate excuse.”

  “To run?” Kara asks.

  “To reposition. To go back to Catolica and play court politicking there—something she hasn’t been able to do ever since she became Queen and was immediately saddled with this war. If she can solve this quagmire, then she can actually put herself in a position to win this war. Otherwise… well, you know.”

  Kara shuffles uncomfortably. So do the rest.

  Then, lo and behold, Hilda chimes in.

  “Can you explain that again? I didn’t get it.”

  I sigh. This is why I hate politics.

  Dark Resurrection: Shadows of Nekrom

  by SOMBRAcorpDT

  "... Even if I'm devoured, even if my body is torn apart, even if my head is ripped off, and even if my heart stops… I'll come back from Death. Such is my fate."

  [Death and Resurrection], capable of bending the fabric of space and time in order to bring Tristessa back to life.

  Points of interest:

  ?? Dark High Fantasy. The story is going to be brutal, with gore, extreme violence, psychological horror and uncomfortable topics. Be aware about it.

  ???? LitRPG and Soulsborne genre. No System. Statistics appear from "Chapter 76 - Divinity of the Dark Room" onward.

  ?? Slow-burn progression. For those who don't falter, at the end of every struggle there is a reward. That's the same for our lovely and very very weak MC, and also for the side characters that are going to appear as the story unfolds.

  ?? Lots of worldbuilding and lore. It's quite likely that I will write an encyclopedia at some point to add extras to the story. Some of them are going to be a compendium and a map of the world.

  ?? Some romance here and there. That be straight, GL, BL, it doesn't really matter since characters try to grasp some happiness amidst a very bad context. (Also no harem, but our lovely MC is a greedy teenager with a big, troubled heart. Keep that in mind).

  ?? Release schedule: Monday-Wednesday-Friday, at 15:30 UTC. The average is about 1000-1500 words/chapter, but once in a while I'll release a 2500-3000 words chapter if the gods of literature are willing.