The 4th Princess Just Wants to Rot!

"They found him in the Wugu Canal. Estimate he's been there for a week."

The report comes from Guardsman Wei without any fanfare, her usually ragged tone holding a softer edge as she continues to specify the handwritten notice on the paper in front of her liege. "Multiple parts, of course. The Canal Peacekeeping Authority initially believed it to be a random killing. But a civilian recognized whatever was left of his uniform before they put it into the cremation pyre."

The Crown Prince doesn't move, keeping his gaze outward to the abyss of Landfall—waiting, watching as the horizon slowly pulls a soft, blue glow from suns about to rise.

He waits for this Guardsman to continue, before a few seconds of haunting silence decidedly forces him to probe further. "Do we know who ordered it?"

"N-no Sire." Wei answers curtly, honestly through ignorance.

Because that's all she knows, that's all this simple Guardian of royalty is allowed to know.

So Zai Tianci takes the course pages from the desk and reads this report from his own attache of spies. Stamped and officiated by that token Spymaster of his, the black ink on the geometric stamp alongside a delicate, far too precise handwriting assigning sole responsibility of the item upon him.

If this spymaster of yours fails, kill him. Some evil part of Zai reminds him like a blade against his wrist. That man is, and whatever is left of your staff after she took them from you, your lifeline. If they make a single mistake, they deserve death.

The Prince reads this tale of assumptions buried beneath the crossed out names and highlighted notes, espionage gathered from disparate sources and weaved into some vast web of conspiracy: rumor and fact together in some incoherent mass of inactionable intelligence.

But there's still knowledge here.

Thirty years of power. Zai begins to consider, carefully running his finger along the margins of this report. All that time fighting, spilling blood for control of Yunclair and the entire Sanji province—playing the game for a key to the Obsidian Chamber, to Sagehood in the High Court.

And now, he's dead.

A Magistrate more ruthless, more brilliant than the rest, whose name had already been elevated nearer to the fringes of Sanji's seats in the High Court. This title and name that had fought and bled both against and with Zai; fighting for the export economics of the north, adjusting the military tithes of weapons and bullets from their factories—both the harshest enemy against an Imperial economic takeover and perhaps a budding ally against a new wave of militarization.

A Magistrate who now rests in twenty nine pieces in the eastern canals of Landfall.

His reward for political service to the city of Yunclair, the state of Sanji, and the Lower Court of the Tianci Dominion.

There's a map on the next page of this report, an overview of Landfall's canal system hand drawn with immaculate brush strokes, outlining currents and, circled in red, the location of one corpse of particular importance.

You know why this happened. Prince Zai traces his eyes across the dimpled ink, following the path of the Dominion in this act, ignoring the voice that keeps whispering in his ear. You know how this happened.

Against his will the picture forms: a dawn's mist on the water, boots in the silt, soldiers who never show their faces.

Zai knows it's in the dark of an early morning when they meet.

The uniform of Magistrate and General replaced by gray, nondescript robes. A squad of guards, split evenly between both of these conspirators, in plain clothes at the entrance of a small coffee store at the edge of the Third Circuit Temple.

"I'll take care of it." Says the middle aged General, keeping her frame as far away as possible from the coffee cup placed on the stand-up table in front of her.

"It'll be messy if you do it." Replies the Magistrate, keeping his gaze to the empty, darkened streets beyond the light spilling from this cramped shoppe. "I'd rather have one of mine take this sort of dirty work…"

She interrupts him with a stern hush. "My men don't do slop, sir. They're waiting for the signal as we speak."

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

"Alright." He takes a short peek at her guards, at the automatic rifles and body armor poorly concealed beneath their long robes and cotton face-masks. "Do you think we can trust our old man?"

There's a moment where this General combs her graying hair with her long, calloused fingers—those eyes revealing a small smile. "I spoke with him after our session. He's radioed ahead for his squad to… take care of it."

"If he decides to go against us…"

"He won't." The woman takes absolute confidence in the guarantee. "Bastard owes me more than you can ever imagine. And this gives him control over his side of the operation."

"Expensive, but necessary trade." The Magistrate takes the cup from his side of the table, waiting for a response from his compatriot. "I'll toast on that."

"Ha, you think I'm stupid enough to drink that?" She scoffs as she takes a step back towards her complement of guardians. "Don't worry, I'll get it done. He's a dead man."

Zai can feel the heat of a late Sanji summer like he's still there.

Sweat drips down the face of Captain Park, the long, haphazardly worn uniform on her robust form making this work even worse than it had to be.

Well, at least the hard part was done anyway. She thinks to herself, wiping her forehead with a dirty handkerchief.

The scent of methanol burns her nose, the sloshing of fuel canisters spilling liquid onto stone echoing into this quiet courtyard—a scene now a bit too familiar for her these past ten years.

Damn Admiral's always making me do things last minute. Park complains inside her head. At least give me a day's notice next time.

"Ma'am." One of her Marines comes jogging over, his radio backpack whispering hushed codewords amongst the chirping crickets. "Team Two confirms clearance of the property, it's done."

"Thank you Private." She nods to the man, then sighs with a groan, once again taking the count of these unmoving corpses beneath the blue light of Unudo.

Fourteen adults, three children: an entire Magistrate's domestic staff and household in just two hours. Captain Park confirms coldly, casually waving towards the soldiers watching from the periphery. Damn Admiral better be paying me extra for this. Gods knows he can afford it—after tonight he'll own half of Yunclair.

"Alright that's all of 'em, burn it."

Zai can hear the quietness of Landfall's outer ring in those early evenings.

When the drone of the Priests and propaganda carriages still echo through these holed streets, before the dirty crowds of workers end their shifts in these canal-side factories—it's the time of scavengers.

Amongst the crows and pigeons the children pick through these shoals; their ragged clothes brushing against the piles of refuse, sharp short blades in hand cutting through fabric bags of discarded junk.

"I wanna get something cool like Itsuki!" A dirty faced, bright smiled boy beams. "This next one will be it, I can feel it!"

"Ya right!" His partner in crime rolls his eyes. "No way!"

He shakes his head, bringing his knife to a water soaked bag of canvas. "This one will be it!"

Two pairs of glassed, dead eyes stare back as the fabric gives way—nestled in the waterlogged flesh and stench of decay. Lumps of hair cling to this dismembered skull like algae, marbled fat slogging off in blue, misshapen lumps.

"AWWWWW." The boy yells in disappointment.

"Hahaha!" His friend laughs at him, already strolling away. "Next one will be cool, don't worry!"

But this boy takes an extra long look at this carcass, staring at those empty, glassed eyes that catch the first of the rising suns, and says just a single prayer for this dead man before moving on. "Well, you deserved it! Whoever you were!"

And the first sun begins to rise across the horizon, casting its shadows across this small room, over the solemn face of a Crown Prince, and upon the small stack of papers on his desk.

"All this because of her." Zai Tianci speaks to the world.

"S-sir?" The Guardsman in the room with him stumbles a bit.

"All this because of one court session last week." This Prince takes a ragged breath, consolidating his entire plan down to a question whispered between his own words. Why did you do this?

Are you asking why she did this? The black throne from within him is so cold in its analysis it sends chills down his soul. You know why: because without this man the North is fractured. Without the mortar of fear, the great states of the hills and rivers lie open: the mouth of your nation choked by chaos. So when Officers and Magistrates drown in their own blood over holy corpses and laboratories the people of the ceramic will come. When you cannot hold the north, they shall take it for themselves.

She's playing the game right under your nose.

Eliminate her before she eliminates you.

There's a long silence as Zai watches the suns peak through the windows, feeling as this knot tightens over his heart.

Someone knocks at the door to his room, five sounds coming as a code all too familiar to him.

Too familiar. The Crown Prince rises from the chair, feeling his stomach sink. "Come in."

She's tall, uniformed to a crease, with her short hair slightly miscut; Guardsman Mori Fushimi stealing into his space with a harrowing, almost tired smile.

"M-mori?" Zai tries not to stutter in surprise at this unexpected guest. "I…"

Dead serious words interrupt him. "Get ready, Sire."

"W-what?"

And he can only watch as a blonde haired, blue eyed, flayed robed creature collapses into his room.