Chapter 1
"Lovely royal tunic you’ve got there, your highness. It’s worth about two or three silvers. Take it off," the lady said.
Curious onlookers surrounded the palace doors. The crown prince stood there clutching his pants.
His face was as red as a beet as he pointed at the woman in front of him, who was nonchalantly munching on some orange slices.
"You…you lunatic! How dare you command the heir to the throne to strip!" The man shouted.
"Heir?" The lady spat out the orange seeds. She gestured towards the crown prince’s neck with her greasy, oil-stained cleaver as a manic laugh tore itself from her throat.
"Back when you were so hungry you fought the stray dogs for scraps, you didn’t mind the head cheese I made. Now that you’re well-fed, you’re suddenly being ungrateful?" She spat.
"I don’t care if you’re the crown prince or the devil himself. You must pay back the money you owe me, even if it means leaving your clothes behind." The lady’s words were final.
The royal guards reached for their swords. Behind the lady, her crew stepped forward.
The blind cook, the crippled accountant, and the mute food runner. Each of their eyes was sharper than any blade.
The head eunuch shrieked, "Treason! This is treason!"
The lady stomped on the sedan chair, splitting the oak wood cleanly in half.
"Treason? I’m just collecting what’s mine. I will count to three. Pay up, or the city gets to eat prince stew tonight," the lady threatened.
*****
Right in the heart of Veridia's busiest street, Phoenix Avenue, stood a three-story tavern with a gaudy gold sign that read "The Gilded Hall."
It screamed nouveau riche, all flash and no class.
It was lunchtime, and the place was packed. Food runners darted through the crowd with trays balanced on their hands like they had wheels for feet. The whole place was buzzing with energy.
Behind the counter, Gretta Doyle was busy tabulating her accounts.
She was dressed in a bright red jacket. Every time she moved, the three gold bracelets on her wrist clinked together, making her sound like a walking bank.
Her face was striking and bold, but her eyes were fierce. She looked at everyone like they owed her money.
"Boss, those customers in the booth upstairs are saying our meat smells off. They're threatening to wreck the place," Felix, the food runner, said, his face full of worry.
Gretta didn't even bother to look up, her fingers flying over the calculator.
"Smells off? That's just how it is when it's cooked for so long! They're just a bunch of country bumpkins who've never seen the world. Tell them to get lost if they don't like it," she started.
"Are they sure they want to mess with my tavern? Everyone on Phoenix Avenue knows my power," Gretta snorted.
Felix ducked his head and was about to turn around when a loud crash suddenly shook the tavern.
The second-floor railing snapped, and a cup whistled through the air, aimed right at Gretta's head.
If that thing landed, her brains would be everywhere.
The customers in the main hall cried out in terror, their utensils clattering to the floor. But before anyone could even blink, Gretta whipped her calculator up to block it.
Smash!
The cup shattered into a dozen pieces, scalding water splashed everywhere, but not a single button on the calculator was scratched.
Gretta calmly shook the water off her sleeve, then looked up, flashing a mouthful of sharp, white teeth.
"Seems like you guys want to play rough, huh? Felix, lock the doors. I'll handle this myself!" Gretta announced.
Four burly men leapt down from the second floor.
Despite their rough garments and worn hands used to hauling cargo, their movements were as light as cats.
Each one of them clutched a short blade. It was barely visible, but the edge flashed with an eerie blue gleam. The blades were poisoned.
This wasn't just some rowdy brawl. These guys were out for blood.
Gretta gave a chilling laugh and pulled a heavy cleaver from under the counter.
This knife had been with her for ten years, and it had chopped through enough pig bones to build a mountain.
"So, gentlemen, not a fan of our pork? Or are you hoping to be turned into the filling for some human meat rolls?" Gretta said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
The leader didn't waste a word. His eyes flashed with murderous intent as he launched straight at Gretta's chest with his poisoned blade.
"Just following orders. In your next life, keep your eyes open!" he snarled.
"Orders? Whose orders? The Devil, or the King?" Gretta sneered.
She sidestepped, her oversized jacket twisting around her as she slipped right past the attack.
Without missing a beat, she swung her bone cleaver with a gust of menace and smacked it down on the guy's head.
It was not a chop, just a brutal smack with the flat side of the blade.
Thwack!
The crack echoed, sharp and clean, just like splitting open a coconut.