The World Is Mine For The Taking

At long last, we had arrived.

The Principality of Cohona—a land so small it barely registered on most maps, with a population that struggled to reach even tens of thousands. A place once tethered to a kingdom that had long since crumbled into dust, leaving this fragment of history to carve out its own fate. When the kingdom fell, the duchy that once served it broke free and declared itself a principality. But freedom, as it turned out, did not bring prosperity.

The air here was thick with stagnation, carrying the scent of damp stone and unwashed bodies. The buildings that lined the streets were a mismatched blend of decay and reluctant endurance, their wooden frames warped with time, their roofs barely holding together under layers of patchwork repairs. Though the roads were paved, a jarring contrast to the dilapidated homes, the uneven stones bore cracks like veins of a dying land.

At the entrance, a handful of guards stood watch. Their leather and chainmail armor bore the marks of wear and age, dull and poorly maintained. They clutched spears that had likely seen more rust than battle, their expressions hollow with the kind of exhaustion that came from living under a ruler who bled his people dry.

This country was rotting from the inside out.

The so-called prince—if one could even call that slob a ruler—was a grotesque caricature of gluttony, a parasite who gorged himself on the hard-earned taxes of his suffering people. Meanwhile, his citizens lived in squalor, trapped in a cycle of poverty so deep they couldn't even dream of escape. They had no means to start over elsewhere, no way to flee this prison of a nation.

A miserable place. But then again, was there any country in this world that wasn't drowning in corruption and suffering?

The only thing Cohona had going for it was the wealth buried beneath its land—dungeons teeming with precious gems and crystals. Because of this, adventurers flocked here, seeking fortune amid the filth. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if those so-called guards were adventurers themselves, taking up mercenary work in between expeditions.

"Tch. This country sucks~!" Estelle's voice carried a distinct note of distaste as she scrunched her nose, crossing her arms while taking in the bleak surroundings.

We had barely set foot in the principality, and she was already voicing her complaints.

Gabrielle, on the other hand, wasn't with us. She had mentioned meeting a friend near this region and planned to rejoin us after we had finished our business here. I had no idea who she was referring to, but given that Gabrielle had spent part of her childhood in this area, it wasn't surprising that she had connections.

"You shouldn't say things like that when you're right in the middle of the country," I muttered, though I understood where she was coming from.

Even I, after indulging in the luxuries of the Kingdom of Milham, could feel the weight of the squalor pressing down on me.

Everything about this place felt wrong. The modern roads were an illusion of progress, failing to mask the crumbling homes and desperate people that surrounded them. The world here was drained of vibrancy, leaving behind only shades of muted brown and gray. The air itself carried a weight, as if burdened by the suffering of those who walked these streets.

I exhaled, forcing down the unease creeping into my chest.

"Hmm... Now then, where should we begin?"

Duncan and Raymond—those were the ones we had come here for. But in a place like this, where information was as valuable as the gems buried deep underground, finding them wouldn't be easy.

Perhaps the best place to start was the adventurer's guild. If there was anywhere in this forsaken land where rumors flowed freely, it would be there. And if I was lucky, I might even find a lead on the dungeon that held the richest veins of gems.

As I approached, the murmurs of the gathered crowd blended into a single hum of anticipation. The fountain at the city's heart, a once-grand centerpiece now worn and chipped, served as a makeshift stage for a lone performer.

A woman stood atop the fountain's edge. Dressed in a flowing cloak with patches of faded embroidery, she held a worn lute in her hands. Her fingers danced over the strings, coaxing a haunting melody from the instrument—a song that carried a weight deeper than mere entertainment.

Then, she sang.

"Oh, the prince sits high on a throne of gold,

While the people shiver in the cold.

He drinks fine wine from stolen coin,

As children starve and beg for loins."

Her voice was rich, steady, yet laced with sorrow, each word cutting through the hush that had fallen over the audience.

"The roads are paved, the paths seem bright,

Yet homes crumble in the dead of night.

The prince feasts well, his belly round,

While graves grow plenty in this town."

A few nervous glances darted through the crowd. This was dangerous—singing about the prince's corruption so openly. And yet, no one interrupted her. If anything, people leaned in closer, as if starved for the truth she wove into her lyrics.

"The guards they stand with rusted steel,

No strength to fight, no power to wield.

For who defends the weak and poor,

When greed locks every open door?"

The bard's voice grew sharper, her eyes scanning the crowd as if challenging them to acknowledge what they already knew.

"Oh, tell me, people, will you stay?

Bound in chains you wear each day?

Or shall you rise, shall you fight?

Shall you reclaim what is your right?"

A heavy silence settled over the square as the last note faded into the air. The air seemed to crackle with an unspoken tension, a mixture of fear, frustration, and a flicker of something dangerous—hope.

I narrowed my eyes, studying the woman. She wasn't just singing. This was a call to arms, a spark in the dry kindling of a desperate people.

And sparks had a way of igniting wildfires.

Bold of her to do that.

Then, suddenly, the clanging of armor echoed through the streets as heavy footsteps charged toward the crowd.

"Stop that this instant!" barked a man clad in chainmail, his uniform stiff with authority. He was rushing toward the gathered people, his expression twisted with anger.

The bard's body tensed. Without hesitation, she turned on her heels and bolted, but her escape was cut short. Almost immediately, armored figures emerged from the alleys, boxing her in.

"You've been causing trouble in our country," the lead guard sneered, stepping closer. "If you don't want to get hurt, surrender now. And don't do anything foolish unless you'd like us to break a few bones."

The bard gripped her lute tightly, clutching it to her chest as if it were the most precious thing in the world. Her back pressed against the cold stone wall as the guards steadily closed the gap.

"I have nothing to say to you," she spat. "I know exactly what fate awaits me if I surrender. I won't give in! Not when I know what I'm doing is right!"

"You're making this far more difficult than it needs to be." The guard's voice was edged with irritation. "Capture her!"

The guards lunged forward, hands reaching to subdue her.

I sighed. I had no real stake in this country, nor did I have any reason to interfere. But watching this unfold left a sour taste in my mouth.

In an instant, I vanished from where I stood and reappeared beside the bard.

"Eh?"

That was the only sound she managed before I seized her by the waist. And in the next breath, we were gone.

***

"T-Thank you for saving me back there," the bard stammered. Her breath was still uneven from the sudden escape. Now that I had a closer look, she was undeniably beautiful. Her golden hair shimmered faintly under the dim light, and her striking green eyes held both wariness and resolve. Her skin was a shade darker, sun-kissed, and smooth. She looked to be around my age.

"If you hadn't saved me, I have no doubt the prince would've punished me for singing those songs in the streets."

"Yeah," I said, leaning against the rough bark of a tree. "You were practically asking for trouble. If no one had stepped in, you'd probably be facing execution right now."

"I doubt execution would be the worst of it…" she murmured, voice tinged with something darker.

I exhaled sharply. She wasn't wrong. A corrupt prince like him wouldn't waste an opportunity to inflict suffering. Before killing her, he would likely torment her, rape her, violate her, make an example out of her. Anything to keep the people in fear.

"So why take that risk?" I asked, meeting her gaze. "Why sing those songs knowing exactly what would happen?"

Her green eyes burned with defiance. "Isn't it obvious? I want this country to change. And if no one else will fight for it, then I will. I want the people to rise up against our corrupted ruler."

What she said was bold—dangerous, even. She wasn't just some bard looking to entertain. She wanted to stir rebellion, to plant the seeds of a coup d'état.

It was reckless. It was suicidal.

But given the state of this wretched country, I couldn't exactly blame her.