Empress Red

Chapter 1

They say the birth of a sword artist comes from the cracks within the soul, for no normal person could ever think of killing another if they still had some morality left. Yet, the art isn't outlawed. It's encouraged, for only the murder of an important member of society can be punished.

Blaise held out the sword she had purchased so long ago and laid it upon the damp soil. Scratches layered it, wounds of all her past endeavors. She set it out to show offering of mercy. Blood staining the white snow was beautiful, but Blaise knew better than to spill for the thrill. Her hands were tattooed with the marks of her kills and achievements. Lines across her fingers for each kill, falling down her hands and wrists. Circles for won duels. Thicker, triangle shaped lines along her wrists and hands for honorary positions in wars, in the Emperor's military. An arrow to mark learning of a bow. Best of all, the staining of her finger tips to show her achievement of becoming a sword artist.

The man lifted his eyes from the sword to find Blaise's eyes. "You are more than a sword artist, you are a bounty hunter. Why do you show me mercy?"

Blaise raised her head from where she bowed on her knees. She found her target's eyes from just underneath her hood. The man's blue eyes were bright, and even brighter in the winter weather. His long hair was pulled back into a bun with a beard that showed his old age. He was bigger than she, but it was clear he had more fat than muscle with all the hiding he had been doing the past few years.

A man of slavery, if she recalled correctly. Taking little women with no one to fend for them and waving food over their heads if only to take the abuse of older men. They are hardly fed, given nothing but a blanket for covering, even in the winter months, and sustain sexual abuse until death frees them from the torment. A man she should have killed the moment she saw him, with or without the pay she would receive.

Blaise turned her eyes back down to her sword and ran a gentle hand over it. "Sword Artistry has art in it's name. No matter my opponent, mercy should always be offered first. It is the first rule of this art."

The man raised an eyebrows, arms still crossed tightly. "I thought arts had rules that were meant to broken?"

Blaise smiled. "If you broke every rule, it would be something else entirely."

"What is the offer of this mercy?"

"You turn your brothel into a proper one."

"How so?"

"Give the women clothes, wait until they are of age, and feed them regularly so they are not so skinny."

"If I say I do this, will you leave me be?"

Blaise's smile disappeared as she tilted her head, eyes sharp as she found his gaze. She had to make sure this got into his little head. The way men thought wasn't always so plain. They liked to believe they aren't gullible and call bluffs that were never there. "If I find you go back on your word, I will come back to bring you your demise. Your death will be less easy than if you gave me your truth now."

The man rolled his eyes. Blaise wished she knew his full name. Jarkov was not enough to keep a tab on him. Jarkov the slavery brothel owner was far too long.

"I'll change my brothel into a proper one. You have my word, Sword Artist."

"Blaise." Blaise collected her sword and sheathed it back at her hip. Her sheath was decorated in the same markings that tattooed her skin along her hands and wrists.

"You are an odd man, Blaise."

Blaise smiled as she got to her feet. She blew the loose black hairs from her face as she met the man face to face. A face she swore to tear apart if she ever saw it again. "You'll never meet one like me."