Art made by me (cherry_berries) :3
Writing by @pixei :3
I come with art of my Proxy Knight OC - Vivian Fallenfire and @pixei 's OC - Zeke…Marcel…STENDHAL III???
(fic too damn long so we gotta split it in a comment sorry gng)
Harvest Island was beautiful.
Vivian hated it.
The island was largely uninhabited, consisting mostly of rolling wilderness and fertile soil untouched by cultivation. Wild herbs grew in abundance across its hills. Lush bushes crowded the old paths where many feet trudged long before she. Flowering trees flourished where no one had planted nor cared for them. Even now, a warm sea breeze carried the scent of flowers, herbs, and greenery through the air.
A place blessed by the gods; or perhaps abandoned by them. Whatever it was, Vivian found herself not really caring. She was laying prone atop a rocky overlook, her bow resting in her hands as she watched what looked like a small trading outcrop below.
And right there—
Vivian’s pupils narrowed into hyper-focused slits.
Finally!
After three weeks of searching; of chasing rumors through taverns, ports, and villages; of following a trail that should have gone cold months ago; she finally found him.
Her target—her bounty—sat beneath a crude canvas awning erected against the base of a cliff. Several racks displayed animal furs of impressive quality. Wolf pelts. Fox pelts. Rabbit hides. Finished products as well—gloves, capes, hats, and other goods clearly intended for travelers with more money than sense.
The man spoke with a customer. He even smiled. Vivian sneered. How DARE he.
Fifteen people were dead because of HIM. An entire building had collapsed after his magic spiraled out of control. Men. Women. Children. Entire families. Buried beneath stone and timber because he had failed to control it. The Grand Navy had ruled it as an “unfortunate accident”, and he was let off after serving a short time in prison. It was, by all means, a slap on the wrist. Vivian hated that.
The bastard deserved to die for what he did.
Fortunately, Vivian belonged to an organization that agreed. The Knights Proxy did not concern themselves with excuses, circumstances, or sob stories. A crime was a crime. Blood was blood. Whether committed intentionally or through negligence, the result remained the same for the victims. In this case, dead was still dead. And if the Grand Navy lacked the resolve to deliver proper justice, then the Knights Proxy would always be there to pick up the slack. Vivian was more than happy to oblige.
This man wasn’t merely a bounty, no. He was a stain that had somehow slipped through the cracks of the law. A mistake waiting to be corrected. One arrow to the head was all it would take for this one. But she can’t strike just yet. She needed to wait until he was done talking to his customer. She watched as said customer handed over a small pouch of drachma, and the man smiled brightly and handed them a wolf pelt.
Disgusting, Vivian thought. How could you smile like that after what you did to those innocent people?!
Only when the customer was long gone did she finally draw an arrow from her quiver. The string creaked softly as she pulled it back, aiming straight between her target’s eyes. The distance was trivial. The shot was easy. One arrow. One life. One less stain upon the world.
Justice finally delivered for the lives of fifteen.
Vivian exhaled slowly, the world narrowing to a point. She steadied her aim, and then—
“Y’know.”
The voice of a man, almost thick with accent, spoke behind her. Casual. Amused. Curious. “Usually when somebody’s tryin’ to make an honest living after screwin’ up, some folks consider that a good thing.”
Silence.
Then the man added thoughtfully, “Actually, no, I think that’s pretty much most folks.”
Vivian’s body moved before her mind did. She spun toward the voice, abandoning the shot entirely as her hand dropped from her bow toward the sword at her hip.
She hadn’t sensed him at all.
The overlook was exposed from every direction. There had been no footsteps. No rustling grass. No shift in the air. No warning whatsoever. And yet… this guy had somehow snuck up behind her. The realization alone sent an involuntary chill down her spine.
He was sitting atop a nearby boulder, and he looked utterly ridiculous.
He was immodestly shirtless, revealing darkly tanned skin stretched across lean, well-defined muscle, interrupted only by a large scar across his chest and strange platinum-colored tattoos that seemed to cover nearly every visible inch of him. The white-gold patterns curled over his skin like living rectangular serpents—thickish lines winding across his shoulders, ribs, and stomach, before disappearing beneath the black coat tied lazily around his waist. They never seemed to truly end. No beginning. No conclusion. Just endless looping patterns like liquid platinum caught mid-motion. And his hair: it was an unusual color for someone who looked as young as he did. Long, white, and streaked with pale yellow at the tips.
But what made him look utterly ridiculous were those enormous triangular sunglasses that sat crookedly on his face, and the fact that he was shamelessly barefoot.
Vivian stared at him.
She thought he looked like a homeless bum. The sort of waste-of-air one would find sleeping behind a fish market after losing a fight with a bottle of rum.
He was lazily smiling down at Vivian with a lopsided smile. She noticed then that he was missing one of his canines. But despite his seemingly lazy, uncultured appearance, something about him felt wrong. Dangerously wrong.
It was difficult to explain.
He wasn’t doing anything threatening. He was just sitting there, one knee drawn up beneath an arm as though they were discussing the weather. Yet Vivian suddenly felt as though she were about to be struck by lightning.
For the first time in years, her instincts told her to leave. Immediately. The thought irritated her enough to ignore it. Straightening slightly, she fixed him with a glare. “Who the hell are you?”
The man’s smile widened slightly. "Rester calme, I’m just a guy who’s a hero for fun. The folks call me The Vagabond."
Vivian stared. “…What?”
"That’s who I am. The Vagabond."
“That isn’t an answer.”
"Sure it is, Cher."
“No, it isn’t.”
“It is.”
Vivian narrowed her eyes. “I asked for a name. Not some idiotic alias.”
The Vagabond shrugged while blowing a raspberry at her, his golden eyes shining with amusement. Vivian felt a headache forming. She had somehow stumbled into a conversation with an immature idiot. An idiot who might be dangerous, but an idiot nonetheless. “Stay out of my way.”
The Vagabond tilted his head, still smiling. “Why?”
“I’m delivering justice,” she answered coldly, her patience dwindling. “Whatever business you think this is, it doesn’t concern you.”
“Delivering justice?” He echoed, his eyes widening with curiosity as he looked between the man and her. “What did he do?”
Vivian almost laughed. The question itself felt ridiculous. “Fifteen people are dead because of him.”
The Vagabond’s smile faded slightly, but something in the way his golden gaze glinted suggested that he already knew that.. “…Oh.”
“He destroyed a building. With his magic.”
The Vagabond’s gaze drifted briefly toward the distant outcrop below, his expression shifted into one that Vivian didn’t quite understand. “That’s… tragic.”
Vivian’s expression immediately darkened. “Tragic?” The word left her mouth like an accusation.
“Yeah,” The Vagabond said simply, looking back at her. “It’s tragic. For everyone involved.”
“No,” hissed Vivian.
His eyebrow rose.
“He killed fifteen innocent people.”
“By accident,” The Vagabond corrected so casually that it made Vivian’s blood boil.
“That doesn’t matter. He deserves to die for what he did.”
The Vagabond studied her for a moment, then shrugged. “I dunno.”
“You don’t know?”
“Killing him sounds a little extreme.”
Vivian stared. The Vagabond gestured vaguely toward the man below.
“I mean, the guy’s wife died in that collapse,” The Vagabond scratched the side of his neck, looking away, “And his daughter, too.”
Vivian frowned.
“What?”
"Wife and newborn daughter, Cher."
For the first time since this conversation had begun, Vivian found herself momentarily speechless. The Vagabond continued.
“He wasn’t even conscious when it happened. Woke up three days later and found out what he’d done.”
His gaze lingered on the man below.
“Tried throwin’ himself off a cliff the same day.”
Silence.
“It didn’t work.”
The man below, who had just finished hanging a rabbit hide, stepped away from it, smiling proudly at his work. The Vagabond watched him for a moment. “Spent most of his prison sentence askin’ the Grand Navy why they hadn’t executed him. Not because he thought he deserved it, non, but because he wanted to die.”
Silence settled between them. And Vivian, her lips quivering upwards into a grinning sneer, broke that silence with a, “GOOD.”
The word left her mouth without hesitation. The Vagabond stared at her, and for the first time since she’d met him, he wasn’t smiling.
“…Good?” he echoed.
“Good.”
Vivian was suddenly met with the most incredulous look she had ever seen on another person’s face.
“That’s not a very nice thing to say.” His voice had dropped noticeably. The sudden shift from carefree amusement to genuine disapproval almost gave Vivian whiplash.
“I don’t particularly care.”
The Vagabond stared at her for a long moment, then sighed. “Ça explique à peu près tout…”
Vivian frowned.
*“*What?”
“That pretty much explains it.”
At Vivian’s questioning look, he continued,
"I can read ya’ like an open book, Cher…"
The Vagabond rested his chin on his hand. “You,” he started, lifting his other hand and pointing at her, “don’t really care about justice, do you?”
The words hit like a slap. Vivian’s expression darkened immediately.
“Excuse me?!”
“Justice would’ve been makin’ sure da’ guy answered for what happened, which he already did.” He gestured vaguely toward the merchant below. "But last I checked, justice doesn’t smile when somebody’s suffering. What you’re after is revenge."
Vivian’s hand tightened around her sword. The Vagabond continued anyway.
“Someone hurts people. You hurt 'em back. Doesn’t really matter why they did it—”
“—Don’t presume to understand me, you cretin.”
His golden eyes met hers.
“I don’t.”
The answer came too quickly.
“But somebody clearly did a number on you.”
Vivian froze for just a moment. But The Vagabond saw it. She knew he saw it in the way his expression had softened slightly—in the way his gaze seemed to be picking apart her Atlanthean-like features. It somehow made everything worse.
"Are you angry at somebody else, Cher? Who hurt you?"
Flashes of a memory hit before she could stop them.
First came the blood.
Then a ruined home. Then the face of a demon. Then the men who had raised her.
And finally: the Dark Sea rain, pelting her—changing her into this abomination that she was—
-–And then nothingness.
Vivian violently pushed the memories away before they grew teeth, her jaw clenching with fury. The Vagabond nodded as though he’d just confirmed something.
“So someone did hurt you…”
Vivian’s pulse thundered in her ears.
“Shut up.”
"Cher… Ya’ might as well be huntin’ a ghost. This whole world isn’t as black and white as you think it is. You do realize that finding revenge won’t make you happy, right? You should probably ditch the Proxy Knights before you do even more of a number on yourself. Or someone else, for that matter—"
"I said shut up."
“—And because you can’t find that one person, you’re just takin’ your anger out on innocent folks who—”
Vivian felt something inside her snap. Her sword cleared its sheath in a blur. Metal flashed. The strike should have connected. The distance between them was barely even eight paces. Even a child would have been able to land it. But the man casually leaned to one side, and the blade sliced through empty air. Vivian’s eyes widened.
What—?
The momentum carried her forward. She immediately adjusted, turning the miss into a second strike.
Empty again. The Vagabond had somehow whipped around her without appearing to move at all. A cold sensation crept into Vivian’s stomach. This isn’t possible! A finger poked her shoulder, and she spun to find him standing behind her, his eyes widening behind those ridiculous sunglasses.
“Oh wow,” said he, “You’re actually tryin’ to kill me!”
“STOP MOVING!”
"Non merci. I’d rather not get sliced by an angry fishsop with a revenge kink."
“DON’T CALL ME THAT!”
Another swing. The Vagabond ducked beneath it, wincing.
"Désolé, I just felt that needed clarifyin’…"
Vivian’s blade cut through empty air.
Again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
Each miss only seemed to delight him further. “Y’know,” he mused as he stepped around another strike, “for somebody who executes people, you’re awfully bad at catchin’ em.”
“I WILL CATCH YOU,” Vivian said calmly. “AND I WILL KILL YOU.”
“Awwwww.”
The Vagabond pressed a hand against his chest. And… did he look like he was about to cry?! “She says the sweetest things.”
Vivian nearly screamed, her face hot and her fins flaring. The Vagabond noticed immediately, and his grin widened. “OOOoooh…”
“No.”
“Oh, absolutely.”
“NO.”
“Those lil’ fins of yours… they move when you’re angry!”
Vivian’s face darkened. “Don’t.”
“They’re kinda cute.”
The next swing came noticeably faster. The Vagabond laughed. “Oh! Look! Look! See that? There they go again!”
“YOU’RE DEAD, VAGABOND!”
“That’s the first time you called me by my name and third time you’ve threatened me, Cher. I’m starting to think you’re interested.”
Vivian’s vision briefly turned red. The Vagabond smoothly stepped around another strike.
Then another.
Then another.
And then even more.
At this point, Vivian had lost count.
Every time she thought she had him cornered, he simply wasn’t there anymore. Sometimes he’d duck. Sometimes he’d sidestep. Sometimes he’d somehow end up behind her. Once, to Vivian’s immense horror, he actually flicked her forehead.
“Too angry. Have you considered smiling more?”
The words nearly caused her to sputter.
“I HATE YOU!”
“Bit soon for that, no?” The Vagabond said, grinning. “Usually folks buy me dinner first.”
Vivian continued trying to stab him.
The fight spilled down the hillside. Through patches of flowers. Across old trails. Over fallen trees. The Vagabond never once struck back. He simply kept moving. Talking. Teasing. Existing. Which somehow made him even more infuriating.
“You know,” he called while casually walking backward away from another of her sword swings, “I was serious about you quittin’ the Proxy Knights.”
“SHUT UP!”
“You seem stressed.”
“YOU ARE THE REASON I AM STRESSED!”
"Heyyyy… I don’t think that’s true."
Vivian lunged. The Vagabond vanished from sight. And just as quickly as he had vanished, a warm hand landed gently on her shoulder.
“There.”
Vivian spun.
“Now I’m your reason why.”
The smile and accompanying wink he gave her was unbearable.
She attacked again, this time trying to land a punch to his stupid face, which he too easily sidestepped. And only after several more minutes of attempting murder did a horrifying realization finally crawl into her mind.
Her target!
Vivian froze.
The Vagabond immediately noticed, and stopped moving as well.
Slowly, Vivian turned. The outcrop where her target waited was gone. Not literally, but in the sense that they had traveled so far through the hills that she couldn’t even see it anymore.
Silence.
The realization hit her all at once. She whirled to glare at The Vagabond.
“YOU.”
The Vagabond scratched his cheek. “Me.”
“You led me away!”
His smile became positively shameless. “…Maaaaaaybe.”
“YOU LED ME AWAY!”
The chuckle that escaped him confirmed everything. "Ya’ didn’t have to say it twice, Cher."
Every sidestep!
Every joke!
Every insult!
Every stupid compliment—!
He’s been doing it all on purpose! Vivian realized, her face burning with embarrassment. How could I have let myself be distracted so easily!? And she was as certain as the setting sun that he’d done it all to protect that criminal.
SHE.
HATED.
HIM.
The subject of her hatred spread his hands innocently. "In my defense, you made it surprisingly easy. And not gonna’ lie, I was wonderin’ when you’d notice, Mon Cher."
Vivian’s eye twitched.
"I am going to kill you."
“Nah. You’ll never kill me. You’re too weak.”
The answer came immediately, and somehow that only made Vivian angrier. The Vagabond stretched his arms over his head, his grin fading just slightly. “But, well… Ya’ just had to ruin it by finally noticing. Soooooo it looks like our fun’s comin’ to an end.”
Every instinct in Vivian’s body immediately began screaming.
A pale yellow glow spread across his arms, liquid and mirror-like. The platinum-like markings covering his skin illuminated one after another—and in his hands, she saw a magic circle with a symbol she didn’t recognize. Vivian’s stomach dropped.
Danger, her instincts screamed. You’re in DANGER!
But before she could react, The Vagabond vanished. Vivian spun, already knowing she was too slow as a presence appeared behind her, close enough to feel his breath on her ear.
"Rest easy, Mon Cher."
Something struck the back of her neck, sharp and painful but only just for a moment—and the world tilted. Her knees buckled beneath her, darkness swallowing her vision as she collapsed. The last thing she heard before the darkness claimed her was the Vagabond’s infuriatingly amused, sing-songy voice.
“I’ve got you~”
