The Odd Combination of Green Oath
Over the skies of Ormsford, figures knifed above the towns and plains of the kingdom.
They were the five from Duke Mothis’s castle—Green Oath—the special unit deployed to gather information on the incident between Reina and Count Juliq Herlon.
A small elf girl led the formation.
Each member was a wind‑mage, encased in a capsule of controlled air. The atmosphere around them shivered and pressed forward, carrying them soundlessly along their route. They flew like jets—arms at their sides, heads forward. Even their berets did not so much as flutter. No wind resistance touched them.
A tall man accelerated until he matched the elf’s line, careful not to overtake.
“Commander—what’s the plan?” he called.
He raised his voice into the open sky, making certain his words reached Commander Slav. He can control the wind carrying his voice, but if he directed his focus from flying, it would disturb his flight trajectory
It is a trivial matter, but one not important enough to risk falling.
But Slav spoke normally.
“We start at the Count’s manor,” she replied. Her voice was soft with a hard edge. A noticeable Russian accent colored her words. “That’s where the most clues will be.”
Direct. Unwavering.
“I figured it was serious if they deployed us,” he said, thinking aloud.
“Yes. It could threaten the Empire’s standing,” she answered. “Even the Emperor considered sending his personal squad.”
“That bad, huh?”
He looked genuinely surprised.
“Stay sharp, everyone,” she said, addressing the whole unit. “We’re approaching the site. Only Ode and I will descend and investigate. The rest remain airborne and keep watch.”
She paused, then added, colder:
“We were never here. And it shall stay that way!”
“Yes, Commander Slav!”
They streaked onward, one after another in the commander’s wake.
☆
They descended into the ruins of the Count’s manor.
Slav touched down first, and Ode—the tall one—landed a heartbeat later.
They stood on what had been the front lawn. They looked around and found the wide stretch of land, now barren of living souls. Days had passed since the destruction. No one had lifted a beam. No repairs. Nothing was touched.
They moved toward the carcass of the house, stepping over rubble, sliding beneath broken branches, and leaning walls. For wind mages, such obstacles were of no concern. A gentle breeze was enough to lift and maneuver past them.
“Damn. Whatever happened here was brutal,” Ode murmured, emphasis on Brutal.
“Well, it is Reina we're talking about,” Slav said. “She’s a royal.”
“I’m a noble, too, and I couldn’t do this.” Ode nudged a charred wall with his boot. It collapsed into ash.
“I said royal, dimwit.”
“No need to be rude, Commander.”
He shifted his attention to Slav, looking at her like a disciplined puppy.
“Focus,” she said, voice cool. “We’re here to investigate.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
They swept the scene—eyes, hands, and wind—collecting anything worth reporting. Rank difference or not, Slav and Ode spoke like old associates. In a world that still weighed blood and skin configuration before merit, that was unusual. She was an elf in command of humans. That was unheard of in some courts. But Mothis prioritized skill over race, and Green Oath is where he concentrated such.
But at least it is less over-the-top than a human married to a demihuman.
Ode rested his hands behind his head and followed her inside through the entrance that was now a gaping hole.
They entered what had been Count Juliq Herlon’s study.
They found the room immaculate in the wrong way.
Shelves sat empty. Drawers yawned, stripped clean. Papers littered the floor, but nothing substantial remained. Ode even shifted bookcases with his strength, hunting for secret compartments.
They found nothing.
No documents. No ledgers. No secrets. But the absence of secrets means there are secrets hidden.
However, there were signs of a struggle.
“Figured,” Slav hissed.
“Commander?” Ode asked.
She surveyed the room, unbothered by the lack of evidence—almost satisfied. But she kept her face still.
Serious and cool.
“I thought we’d catch something with the place left in ruins,” she said. “That was naïve of me.”
“Looks like everything of value was taken,” Ode said.
“Exactly,” Slav replied. “Which is good. It means Ormsford has more to hide than they’ve shown. Someone scrubbed this place on purpose.”
They hadn’t found evidence—yet—but they had found something better:
Motivation.
A hasty, total cleanout of the manor screamed fear. Fear meant secrets.
With this revelation, Green Oath hardened its resolve.
A voice reached Slav carried on the wind.
“Commander Slav.”
It was one of the operatives standing watch in the air.
“What is it?” Slav answered, urgency sharpening her tone.
“There's a basement entrance at the rear,” the voice said. “Looks intact. You should check it out.”
“Understood. Maintain overwatch and report any movement.”
“Yes, Commander.”
The communication traveled through wind magic. Unlike telepathy, voice is carried not through the mind, but the air itself. Mastery of the wind allowed such precise transmission, and as members of Green Oath, this was routine.
☆
“Hah… look at me,” an arrogant male voice scoffed from the sky. “A proud noble, following an elf.”
“Hahaha…” another man laughed, thin and unsure.
The arrogant one folded his arms as if standing on a balcony. The unit all stood in the air as if on solid ground.
“How could my father send me to serve Duke Mothis?” he muttered. “Me?!”
At the Duke’s name, faces tightened. No one answered.
A woman crouched nearby in the air, utterly uninterested. Her ash‑green skirt shifted in the breeze, her coat draped neatly over her legs, and her long hair flowed free.
“I can tolerate serving the Duke,” the man went on. “He and I are of noble blood. But serving that puny elf is beneath me.”
His fists clenched, teeth ground, and disgust narrowed his eyes.
“Enough, Iordanus!” Callahan snapped. “Watch your mouth.”
The noble sneered. Callahan's correction only stoked his entitlement.
“Huh?” Iordanus curled his lip, brow dropping. “I am Iordanus Galion, heir to Count Helies Galion’s domain! Know your place, peasant!”
“Take your own advice,” Callahan said flatly. “Show respect to your commander.”
“Why, you—!”
Before it flared, another voice cut cleanly through the tension.
“You two,” Francis said, not rising from her crouch. “Stop this nonsense now, or I’ll deal with you myself.”
Her voice was like Slav’s—soft, but edged. She mirrored everything she could that made Slav, Slav. Most notably, her accent.
Even the manner of speaking without shouting. However, she has moments when she breaks character.
The argument died when she spoke.
Iordanus glared at Francis, but one look into her emerald eyes sent him back a pace. Resentment simmered beneath as he shifted his gaze.
Slav and Ode reached the basement entrance.
The stench of rotting flesh and human feces hit them the moment they descended.
It was unbearable. They covered their noses instinctively, eyes watering and heads tilted.
“What in the hell is that?” Ode gagged.
That was his mistake.
If he had just kept his mouth shut, the stench wouldn't have overwhelmed him to the point where he retched violently.
Slav moved forward, stopping only when she arrived at a particular cell.
Inside, a chained corpse sat rotting.
At first, it was just another rotting corpse, but upon close inspection, her eyes narrowed. Something burned behind them, bright and cold.
Ode staggered nearer, one hand over his mouth. “God, this place is...” He stopped. He vomited.
Slav shifted her pupils to the corner briefly—unfazed—to look at Ode vomiting. Then she faced the cell again.
Ode made the mistake of speaking again, but it was the corpse that made him vomit. He couldn't stand to hold his breakfast at the sight of that corpse and the smell.
“Let’s go,” Slav said.
The calm she had left her voice. Something colder replaced it.
Ode wiped his mouth, shaken. “Commander… was that—”
They were already outside when Ode spoke up. The cold air washed his nostrils a bit, and he was able to speak without any ramifications from the stench.
Slav answered after a pause. “Yes. That was one of my kin.”
He watched her.
For the first time, Ode saw Slav angry—not loud, not showy. The kind of anger that sends a chill down someone's spine.
“Continue the investigation,” Slav said, voice tight as wire. “The sooner we finish, the sooner these bastards pay.”
She knew too well how demihumans were treated in the world, and Ormsford was the worst of it. A century and a half years of life, and she is still not used to sights like those.
Or maybe it's from seeing one of her kin.
Rage is now added to Green Oath's motivation to complete the mission successfully.
