At the other side of the mountain, Lydia's ears burn as the three talk about her. She races up the dirt path, maintaining a speed that makes her all but a blur. Her body is in peak condition. Assassins train themselves to be the ideal killing machines. Part of that entails keeping fit so as never to tire while running. Lydia is no exception to this. She can maintain a stride for miles and at speeds as fast as a horse. Part of this is through magic, as Lydia knows spells that augment her physical abilities. The girl climbs ever upward, eventually reaching a small clearing along the dirt trail. She hides behind a tree, eyeing what looks to be a series of olive green tents. She spots a trio of bandits, talking and laughing around a fire pit. Lydia stands still, readying her pair of lengthy wrist blades.

Back at the other end of the mountain, the trio grows weary of the ever winding path. "Ugh. Does this trail ever end?" Flora asks, the others echoing her sentiments. They've been walking for half an hour, but the treacherous path makes it seem all the longer. They continue up the trail, noticing barrels and crates at the side of the path. Most of them are empty, but a few contain bootleg weapons and booze.

"Hmm. Northern ale, eh? I have a weakness for this stuff. Don't mind if I do!" Lenfrey says, taking a swig.

"Umm... That may not be a good idea, Mister Lenfrey. We probably shouldn't get drunk at a time like this," Millie says.

"Northern liquor, huh? Don't see much of that swill around here. How did they even get their hands on it...?" Flora asks.

"Dunno, but it's still fresh. Want some?"

"I'll pass," Flora says, Lenfrey taking another swig. "Millie's right. We shouldn't drink in a situation like this."

"Bah, you're so uptight. I know how to handle my booze," Lenfrey says.

The three continue on, the sun setting off on the horizon. As the path goes orange, Lenfrey gets drunker with every step. He starts to lag behind. Flora turns, angrily gritting her teeth. "Ugh. Give me that!" she says, tossing his bottle off of the trail.

"Oy, woman!" Lenfrey says, watching the ale fly off the mountain.

"Sorry, but you're slowing us down, Mister Lenfrey. Please keep up or we'll leave you behind," Flora says.

"Tch! Why you whippersnappers...," Lenfrey says. "I'm a noble! *Hic* You don't give me commands, I give them to you! And besides...*Hic*...I'm not laggin' behind," he says, picking up the pace. He drunkenly hurries forth, walking past Flora and Millie.

"Wait!" Flora says.

Lenfrey staggers, suddenly stepping on a pressure plate. It snaps a tense wire, a massive sickle suddenly appearing from the rocky walls. The trap slashes Lenfrey, beheading him cleanly through the eyes. The top of his head flies off, pink matter splattering everywhere.

"Aiiiieeeeee!" Millie shrieks, her pupils shrinking.

"Damn!" Flora says, eyeing Lenfrey's fresh corpse. "Lydia was right. This mountain is trapped. Stay alert, Millie."

The two continue on, wary of any and all signs of traps. Flora wonders how Lydia is doing, and contemplates just how she's going to explain Lenfrey's death to the count. Sure, Lord Arlowe. He just got drunk and stepped on a hidden death trap. He walked ahead of us, and his odd-shaped head was cut in two by a sickled blade. No... We were ambushed. That's the easier thing to say.

Flora and Millie reach some tents. They stop, Flora holding a hand to Millie's chest. "Wait," she says, making sure the coast is clear. The duo step forth, realizing the camp is filled with death. Bodies line the ground, each of them holding a look of shock. Flora and Millie follow the blood, turning a corner to find even more carnage. They pass no less than a dozen corpses, finding a familiar girl cornering a man.

"Hey, you. Where's your boss?" Lydia asks, blades extended.

"He...he--he's not here! He headed north last week!"

"To where?"

"I--I don't know! Honest!" the man replies, knees shaking. Lydia gives a slash, cutting his throat wide open. Blood shoots out in an arc, the man falling to the ground.

"Well... There you go, again. Hogging all the fun," Flora says.

"Flora," Lydia says, turning to her. "...Where's Lenfrey?"

"Dead. He got drunk and set off a trap," Flora replies.

"Damn. The count's not going to like this," Lydia says.

"That's his problem," Flora replies. "What about the gang? Did you get rid of all of them?"

"I think so. But their leader managed to escape. This guy said he was headed north."

"That's fine. With these goons dead, the Greenwich Gang is no more. Well done, Lydia. The count needn't know that their leader escaped. We'll just say that this guy was the leader," Flora says, pointing to slashed throat guy.

"Are you sure that's wise...? The leader could reform the gang, or could have other members outside of this camp," Lydia says.

"Maybe she's right, Flora. We should probably tell the truth," Millie says.

"Forget it. We didn't climb this big ass mountain just to climb back down and say that we failed. Now come on. Let's tell the count about our raving success," Flora says.

The three head down the mountain. By the time they reach town, the land is painted a deep purple. The girls return to the castle, informing Count Arlowe of all that had happened.

"...I see. Well I'm glad you succeeded, but I am saddened by the news of my friend Lenfrey's death. He was like a brother to me. He made the transition smooth after my father's death."

"He died bravely, my lord. It was Lenfrey who killed the gang's foul leader," Flora says. As Arlowe swells with pride, Lydia and Millie stand in unease.

"Well his death comes as a shock, but this is no time for grief. Your victory calls for a celebration! I'll have the servants prepare a feast to mark the end of the Greenwich Gang. You may also stay the night. I'll have the maids prepare my finest guest rooms for you," Arlowe says.

"You needn't trouble yourself, my lord," Flora says.

"It's no trouble at all. This is a grand deed you've performed. And besides, the hour is late. You can't return to Nydwick in the dark, can you?" Arlowe asks. "Please wait in the lobby. When things are prepared, my servants shall summon you."

"Yes, my lord," Flora replies. A maid escorts them to the lobby, taking her leave moments later. The three sit on a bench, chandeliers burning overhead.

"...I feel bad, lying to the count like that," Millie says. "It's bad enough we lied about the gang and the guards, but Lenfrey, too...?"

"Lower your voice," Flora says. "You needn't feel bad. You weren't the liar. I was."

"Are you sure this web of deceit is a good idea? The more you lie, the more you have to remember what you said," Lydia says.

"...Please. Don't be naive," Flora says, smiling. "...The world is a careful balance of convenient lies."