The Hero System Glitched And Now It Pays Me to Love My Assassin Wives

"No last words?" Lunara asked. "The Tyrant of the East always has something to say."

The tip of her sword pointed at my throat from across the table.

The best blade in the empire, the memories said, although they weren’t even necessary.

It was enough to see how she held it, without tension, without drama, with the comfort of a tool used a thousand times.

I stood up slowly and picked up the ceremonial weapon from the table.

Her shoulders dropped a millimeter when my hand touched the hilt.

But I let it go.

The steel hit the rug and I kicked it toward her side of the room, then opened my arms.

"No words," I said. "Just a question. Is this about your knightly order?"

The sword stopped.

A centimeter, maybe less, but for a swordswoman of her caliber a centimeter is a scream.

"Do not say..."

"Two hundred and twelve knights," I continued. "Executed for a treason they didn’t commit. I signed the order myself. You married me three months later, and everyone in court called it a surrender."

I paused for a second, measuring her breathing just like I measured clients who were about to sign or punch me.

"No one marries the executioner of their men out of surrender, the only thing I can think of is that you wanted to sleep ten paces from his neck."

The silence in the bedroom grew thick.

"Five years," she finally said. "Dining at your table, swearing in your court, sleeping under your roof. And tonight, precisely tonight, the tyrant finally understands?"

"Tonight the tyrant learned many things."

"Give me their names."

"Excuse me?"

"The names of my knights." She took a step forward, the blade always at the height of my throat.

"You signed two hundred and twelve sentences. If you really read that file tonight, tell me three names."

The body’s memories were a messy archive, but I had read the file myself, with my own eyes, two hours ago.

"Captain Aldric Marr, your cousin. Sergeant Wenna Cole, the one who asked to die on her feet and the standard-bearer..." I closed my eyes for a second.

"Tomas, sixteen years old. His sentence has a marginal note begging for clemency due to his age. The note is crossed out."

The sword lowered two centimeters.

"Who crossed out the note?"

"The order could have come from anyone... I don’t know."

"It could have come from you."

"That’s why tomorrow you’re going to find out for yourself, with the file in your hand, without trusting my word."

"Pick up your weapon," she finally said. "Pick it up and defend yourself."

"No."

"Pick it up."

"I’m not going to fight you, Lunara."

There I saw it.

The crack in her face wasn’t large: barely a hardening of the jaw, barely her knuckles readjusting on the hilt.

But my life’s work was reading faces that tried to say nothing.

The Sword Saint had a code, and it didn’t allow her to execute an unarmed man who confessed.

And she had just realized that I knew it.

"You’re garbage," she said quietly. "You use my honor as a shield."

"I have every right."

The sincerity threw her off more than any defense.

"The Vaelion I know would have called the guard," she said. "He would have begged or offered gold."

"The Vaelion you know signed your men’s death without reading the full file," I replied. "I read it tonight, there are even three testimonies that no one presented at the trial."

"You’re lying."

"Could be. Check it tomorrow and kill me the day after."

"Do you think this is a game? Two hundred and twelve people are not a tavern bet that..."

"Two hundred and thirteen."

Lunara stopped mid-sentence.

"What did you say?"

"The file lists two hundred and twelve executed but there’s a final page, added later, in a different handwriting. A squire who turned himself in voluntarily two weeks later to die with his order and the court obliged him."

She didn’t know that.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you want proof that I read the file and I can’t find a better one and because someone should tell everyone, down to the last one."

[DING]

[New Mission: Rescue the princess!]

[Target: Lunara MARR]

[?]

[??]

[Recalculating... target does not require rescue... target is armed... target is the threat...]

[Maintaining mission. Good luck, HERO.]

I had to make a physical effort not to look at the blue window floating next to the head of the woman deciding if I breathed tomorrow.

Rescue the princess?

My hero system was so broken it mistook my assassin for a damsel.

Or it saw something I didn’t see.

"The testimonies," Lunara said. "Where?"

"Military archive, west wing. Sealed section by... by me, technically."

"And why is the man who sealed them offering them to me now?"

Lies piled up on my tongue, orderly, useful, each one safer than the truth but I discarded them all.

"Because I’m not the man who sealed them although I couldn’t explain more without sounding crazy."

"You already sound like one."

"Then I have nothing to lose."

Lunara lowered her sword although she didn’t sheathe it, she lowered it, which is different, it’s a postponement and not a pardon.

"A warning," she said. "If those testimonies turn out to be false, I won’t come back at night or through the door. You won’t even know I came back."

"Noted."

"And if they turn out to be true..."

The sentence stopped halfway, and she finished it with a different one.

"Did you eat dinner?"

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing. Forget it."

She walked to the door, stopped with her hand on the latch and spoke without turning around.

"You have until dawn to give me a reason other than cowardice. If when the sun comes up all you have is this performance..."

"Understood."

"I’m not finished." She turned just enough so I could see her profile.

"There’s something else you should know, since you’ve taken to reading files today."

"What is it?"

"I was the first on shift tonight and I was the merciful one."

She opened the door.

At the end of the corridor, four shadows waited in the darkness of the guard change.

"Your other wives," Lunara said, "don’t have a code."