Lost In Character: Transmigration Chronicles Of A Nameless Heroine 67 Certainty

Some time ago, hidden among trees where it was blessedly dark, a woman's voice could be heard mumbling in complaint. "What am I supposed to do, then, stun attackers into meekness with just my womanly charms?"

"If you do your job right," another voice answered in a disinterested tone, "you won't be facing any attackers. But yes, in case you fail, just flash them with all that you have."

"Such vulgarity," the first voice answered with a cluck of her tongue. "You had that in you, eh? Who'd have thunk?"

"I don't know what you mean. I was talking about your smile -- one look at it and anyone would run the other way."

"Hur hur, don't I know it. I'm too pretty for their fragile eyes, ain't I?"

"Sure. If by pretty you meant absolutely maniacal. Are you done? They're waiting."

"Hang on, I can't get this thing b.u.t.toned up."

"Who says you have to?"

"Don't have anything underneath, remember?"

"Now you worry about modesty? Just give me your armor, then."

Tone once again grumbling, the owner of the first voice did as she was told while saying, "I have to sacrifice my protection just 'cause I happened to be the biggest-boned amongst us -- this is discrimination. Discrimination, I say!"

Only a ringing silence answered her grievance. The owner of the second voice had taken the pieces of armor and left her behind to return to the others.

Wordlessly, the pet.i.te and slender acting-lieutenant presented Leal with the wide-set senior's armor. With a nod of thanks, he took and donned it just as quietly.

She turned to the eldest of the Lyseans and once again spoke the foreigners' tongue like a native. "Might I trouble you to lend your inner s.h.i.+rt? It might serve better for my comrade than the Prince's jacket."

Though it was dim, everyone whose vision had long since adjusted to the scant lighting saw the Viscount look down at the bulk of his chest and belly.

"Of course," he then answered in his usual, genial manner, moving to take off his clothing. "All of me is glad to be of service."

The second senior rejoined them, the Viscount's s.h.i.+rt covering her front while the Prince's jacket remained unb.u.t.toned over it. Her expression was still screaming protest, but it seemed to be directed mostly at the other senior, who was studiously ignoring her.

After all the adjustments, the party was soon done with their preparations and ready to move ahead with their mission.

"Do I look the part?" Leal asked of no one in particular.

He had taken off his hair tie and let his black, slightly wavy tresses fall freely around his face. The armor he wore, which curved and narrowed in places to accomodate a... robust woman's shape, luckily had adjustable fastenings. He was far, far from comfortable wearing it -- not only did parts of it dig in places, it also dug at his pride. He did say he was going to do these things if he must, but that did not translate to him enjoying any of it.

"I'd go for that," he caught an unknown female soldier whisper from somewhere.

Baron Harmin cleared his throat and said, very kindly and very carefully, "Quite convincing, Your Highness."

The other Baron was not so delicate. "My Prince, we shall not breathe a word of this to anyone, we swear it on our heads."

Leal smiled tightly. "Thank you, my lord Baron. That won't be necessary."

'Word of it would reach my old man's ears, one way or another.'

"Would the disguise hold up under better lighting, do you think?" asked Viscount Renard, very much worried and would probably remain so until they have all crossed the border back to their own soil.

"I'm not certain," the Prince admitted. "But you may be sure I don't intend to find out." With that, he looked at his countrymen one last time before bowing to them from the waist. "I pray to see you all in a while back at the palace. Please, my lords, take care."

Meeting the female captain's eyes last of all, Leal silently implored her as well: 'Please.'

At her small, return nod, he had no choice but to once again believe -- trust that this time around, a woman who'd given her word would honor it to whatever end. His expectations implicit, Leal showed the group his back and, accompanied by only three soldiers whose heights and bulks were also close to his own, he re-entered the city with the air of someone who belonged there, however grudgingly.

They did not slink or hide about. They walked out in the open, first in the deserted streets of the city's outlying residential areas, where it seemed the less well-off citizens lived, and then in the wider throughfares closer to the city's center, where many guesting establishments had been permitted to remain open for business and, as such, had long since stopped being deserted. Their pace was swift but steady, and it made it seem like the four were merely on an errand. Though some people they'd pa.s.sed on the streets had noted their presence, no one seemed to take it amiss.

His plan appeared to be working as intended, but he couldn't help wondering how he's supposed to feel about that.

'I don't even know why the men of our kingdom keep our hair long...' he thought, struggling to keep his laughter from escaping. It suddenly seemed ridiculous to him. 'We just do, I never questioned it.'

Thankful, for the moment, for this Lysean custom that may inadvertently save his life, the small party was then met with a reminder of just how dangerous the situation could become, not just for them but also for the others who were to follow behind.

A group of men bearing torches and blunt weapons had cut across their path from a side street, and they'd caught one of them telling his companions: "...might be going the long way around the city -- let's get others to..."
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The group of Arnicans had disappeared further down the intersection before Leal's party could hear the rest. With renewed urgency and purpose, he and his escorts kept on their way, but he couldn't help fear even more for his companions' fate.

They would be in smaller groups as well, with at least the men's hair also disguised. They had all planned and agreed for Leal to go first with a very generous head start because, if at least one of these parties were to be discovered, it would give the game away for the rest.

After encountering two more groups like the first, systematically hunting for a particular prey, he knew the probability of their ruse failing had become greater than they'd prepared for.

He cannot take the risk of warning them; the best thing he could do was keep moving forward and trust that the others would take ample care not to get caught.

Still, in an attempt to even the playing field, at least a little, Leal made another gamble. It would be pure idiocy to remain on the side roads anyway -- his hunters already suspected that that's where he was.

'Even without looking as I presently do, where wouldn't they expect me to be?'

The answer came easy. It was not without its risks, but surely there was at least one good reason he'd been given the face he had.

He and his escorts caught the tail end of the procession just as its head had reached the hill road up to the palace. And when he managed to distinguish the back of a woman's head past the black-armored men s.h.i.+elding her from behind, he knew what a certain princess had done to get her own people to safety.

It was like a trap door opened in his chest and something very important dropped to the pit of his stomach. He might not have been fully certain before, but in those moments, he was.

Where his feelings for that young woman were concerned, to Leal, there was no going back.