Gentlemen

There was one theme that novel constantly emphasized, often slipping it between the lines: racism. Not the kind that centered on skin color, but the kind born from differences between races or rather, species.

One such race targeted by this discrimination was the half-elves. Though mostly rejected by the elves, other races often shunned them too. Their most distinctive trait was their extraordinary eyes.

Typically, half-elves born to a human and an elf had turquoise or violet eyes. But Willabelle was different. Her non-elf parent wasn't human, but an angel. That's why her eye color, "rare even among half-elves," stood out so strongly.

But let's set aside her eyes for now. The real question was: why was she living a secret life with her child? Willabelle had always been hunted, treated as a prize. Her value to the right people was immeasurable.

The only reason she hadn't been caught until now was her older sister. Unlike Willabelle, she wasn't half-angel, but she was a powerful sorceress. According to the novel, a few years prior, Willabelle's sister had been captured along with the story's protagonist by a bounty hunting group and taken to the slave markets.

To rescue her son and her sister, Willabelle infiltrated the market in secret and managed to break them out of their cages. But something went wrong. The novel didn't go into much detail. It only said that Willabelle's sister died that day, and from that moment on; she raised her son alone.

Now, a bounty of a hundred gold coins had been placed on Willabelle's head. An astronomical amount in this world's economy. The reward was high because during her escape she'd burned down the slave market and caused hundreds of slaves to flee. And then there was the child's grandfather, who offered twenty gold coins to whoever brought back his grandson alive.

All of this had unfolded in one of the southern kingdoms. Seeking safety, she had fled with her son to the Empire. But what she didn't know… was that a group of adventurers had begun tracking them.

That's where my plan came in. Originally, someone else was supposed to save them. But I intended to steal his role. This… was my best shot.

Willabelle stood beside me, nervously wringing her hands. Every second of silence only added to her tension.

"So… may I ask your name, milady?"

She flinched when I asked, unsurprisingly. After all, she was a wanted criminal.

"Uh… Eliza. My name is Eliza."

I didn't blame her for giving me a fake name. She had a son to protect. I didn't expect her to risk everything just because she'd met some stranger minutes ago.

"I'm Count Leonardo Argenholt. A pleasure to meet you, my lady."

Willabelle -well, Eliza, as she introduced herself- averted her eyes. Her fingers were interlocked tightly. Not just anxious, but alert. Her entire body was poised, like someone who'd been forced to survive for years on edge.

"Count Argenholt…" she echoed faintly. She was weighing the name carefully, listening for any sign of threat or manipulation. For a moment, her dazzling but weary eyes flickered. Then, just as quickly, the expression vanished.

"Meeting a noble… is rare," she said at last. Her voice was measured. Neither too cold nor falsely warm.

I once read in a book about the art of charming women that if you want to gain a girl's trust, you should reveal a secret of your own. So, I gave her a piece of truth about Leonardo.

"Truth be told, I'm not really nobility. I'm a bastard who earned his title."

Her eyebrows lifted slightly. The corners of her mouth twitched, almost involuntarily. She tried to suppress it, but failed. A low chuckle escaped her lips.

"I'm sorry…" she said quickly, covering her mouth. "I shouldn't laugh. It's just… the way you said it so bluntly… caught me off guard."

She lowered her head, but in her eyes, the tension had softened slightly. For the first time, she'd lowered her guard; just a little.

"It's fine. So… is there anything I can help you with? If you'll allow it, I could escort you home. A lady like yourself shouldn't be walking alone at this hour."

She paused, her eyes drifting down to her hands. She intertwined her fingers again. She was considering my offer. Perhaps her instincts still told her to flee, but her reason knew I wasn't a threat, at least for now.

"Thank you… but I'm used to being on my own. I'll be alright." Her tone was gentle but distant. It wasn't a rejection, more a habit she'd grown into.

"Very well. Just be careful on your way, then."

Willabelle gave a small nod in farewell. Then, without looking back, she turned and walked away under the pale moonlight. Her cloak fluttered in the wind, her steps steady but wary. That cautious determination, like a quiet echo of all the pain and escape she'd endured.

I stood there for a few seconds, unmoving. My eyes followed her silhouette as it slipped through the shadows.

And quietly, I murmured to myself: "I only wish I were the only one watching you tonight…"

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-Willabelle's POV-

The street was quiet. The moonlight spilled weakly between drifting clouds, casting pale glimmers across the cobblestones. My steps were steady, but careful. The hem of my cloak dragged at my heels like a silent shadow. I could still feel Leonardo's gaze lingering on my back. He spoke gently and measuredly, but there was something else underneath his words. Not a bad thing, but a good thing. And yet… I was deeply grateful to him.

I had only gone out tonight to find some food, but everything changed when I decided to help that girl. If it weren't for that nobleman… I don't know what I would've done. Maybe… maybe I should've asked for his help.

We hadn't eaten since yesterday. I'd learned the hard way never to owe a noble anything, but Leonardo didn't seem like the others. In any case, I had to find food tomorrow. Somehow.

I turned a corner. Paused. Listened.

No sound.

Maybe I was being too tense. Or maybe… it was just the old habits again, the ones honed by years of running. "Sister used to say, 'Every silence is the calm before the storm.'"

Still, I had to be cautious. My hands stayed close beneath my cloak, near the hilt of my short dagger. Abandoned shops and shuttered doors lined the street like gravestones. I scanned every shadow, every flickering curtain, every reflection.

Then…

A faint noise. The shift of weight on stone.

I froze.

"I think she noticed us…"

The voice came from behind. Cold. Mocking. A man I didn't recognize. Suddenly, four… no, five shadows detached themselves from the walls. Then a sixth. Three carried swords, one hung back with a bow. Two held chained hooks and ropes.

They were professionals. Not random looters, but hunters.

"Walking alone at night…" said a woman, her voice raspy like smoke. "Not the wisest choice, Willabelle."

So much for the fake name. Either it didn't work, or it had worked, and they just didn't care. Eliza had been just a mask. One they'd already torn away.

I had no escape. I was cornered… and only now did I realize it. Or maybe… someone had planned it this way.

"Where's the kid?" asked the man in front. Big build. Dirty blonde hair. Nose looked like it had been broken more than once. No pity in his eyes, just the cold efficiency of a man who's chained and sold hundreds.

"He's not with me." I had to stay calm. Fear was like blood. It drew more wolves if you showed it.

"We don't want to hurt you," said the woman. She smiled. That smile… was like a gravestone inscription. "But the reward's for bringing you in alive. So we'd rather tire you out than cut your arms off."

My hand crept toward my pocket. Inside was a small stone etched with magical seals. My sister and I had made it years ago. A final escape plan. A last hope.

But I moved too slow.

A chain wrapped around my leg.

Pain hit my knees, then my lungs as I slammed against the stones. My hand still reaching for the dagger under my cloak; a desperate, childish hope. Because I had already lost.

A weight pressed down on my back. A rope curled around my neck.

The world went dark.

Every breath seared my chest. My vision blurred. Chains. Ropes. Weight. Everything collapsing at once. I couldn't think… only trash in pure instinct. Like a wounded bird caught in a net; hopeless, but still fighting.

My final clear thought… was of his face. That pure smile…

The pain of knowing I wouldn't see it again… hurt more than the rope around my throat.

"Hold on," I whispered inside. "Just a little longer…"

But the chains didn't loosen. My muscles burned. My vision dimmed.

And then…

A scream.

Not mine.

Sharp. Shrill.

Then the sound of metal sinking into flesh.

One of the men holding the chain froze. A sword had burst from his gut, just below the ribs. It was clean. Precise.

He dropped to his knees. Then fell sideways. The chain still taut in his hands… but his soul already gone.

The rope around my neck slackened.

My breath was shallow. My vision, still foggy.

But in that moment, in that still silence

I heard footsteps. Frantic. Panicked. Then another.

And a voice.

The steel against steel.

A sword gleaming silver swept through the night like a crescent moon.

Leonardo Argenholt stepped from the shadows, his cloak billowing like a storm behind him. His blade wasn't just held; it was part of him. Like a master painter's brush.

Deadly. And poetic.

"Gentlemen…" he said, "You don't treat a lady that way."