"This is...good." Gregori ordinarily lived a lean lifestyle, alongside with most of House Cordis due to the necessity of their tight budgets. So much had to go into procuring necessary supplies that very little was left over for the delights of life, like good food or fine drink. The most noble luxury they usually enjoyed was meat, usually in the form of stews that came accompanied with rather dry and hard breads.

  And while they had more of the former as of late thanks to all the excursion hunts, the latter never really improved. Until suddenly now, that was. "All because of the [Ferment] skill?" he asked, questioning his beaming daughter.

  "Indeed, it's quite the discovery that these mercenaries- sorry, adventurers have made, rediscovering ancient knowledge," Petula told and bit into her own slice. "To think our ancestors ate like this once."

  "It's very tasty," Teodor eagerly added and dipped his own piece into the stew. "Look, now it's actually retaining the flavor of the broth quite better than before. I'm glad one of our kitchen staffs did have skill, they just kept it hidden."

  Pah, that issue about trust again. The stigma about [Ferment] being a skill that did nothing but rot food did always seem odd, but many seemed to also believe anybody who possessed the skill also made only rotten food. Gregori wouldn't be surprised if a lot of other noble households would expel kitchen hands discovered with the skill. More should be more aware that House Cordis wasn't like that, but he supposed he hadn't been half the welcoming and open figure his wife had been.

  He took another bite and frowned, tasting something else. "Is there salt in these?"

  "Ah, you noticed." Petula let out a slightly sheepish cough. "Well, the merchant came back and with sacks of salt this time from Fuzier. Rest assured, they were at a good price."

  "Apparently the old duke is selling their considerable stockpile at a bargain, to make ludicrous sales in a short period of time," muttered his heir. "Recovered awfully quickly from the death of their heir, haven't they? Perhaps it really was just an internal struggle, and they wanted to be rid of their legitimate successor?"

  Once again, the duke wasn't quite so pleased to hear Teodor paying so much attention to his neighbors. Yet at the same time, he could hear his late wife in those thoughts. She always had been the one who would have speculated on such things, mainly informing then him on what best action to take to better strengthen Gabion. Even the faint echo of her in his children made his chest ache, that feeling of loss when he beheld her lifeless body.

  When she had passed to bring Petula into this world, was that when he had changed? Started looking away from matters she would have gladly handled for him so that he never would have to think of her? Trying to redirect his children who so inherited features from her to avoid remembering the light he lost when she passed?

  "It's a bit odd though," his sister voiced after finishing her own piece, thankfully snapping Gregori out of those thoughts. "Don't you think it's a little weird?"

  "Whatever do you mean, aunt?"

  "For the secret of [Ferment] to be in that lost mining colony, of all places. I suppose it's not so far-fetched, but I would've thought it more likely to find something more relevant to processing tools and weapons." Vio paused, then lowered her voice. "Maybe even the technique on how to use [Quench]."

  "With all due respect, that's a bit more far-fetched," his son remarked with a rueful chuckle. "The skill's the realm of the wandering Swordmaker, that lineage which even imperial court wouldn't- couldn't touch. That one individual whom the eastern regions loathes with all their being, because the manner the Swordmaker offer their service so airily spites them."

  "They're one who forged the legendary five hundred imperial blade, aren't they?" mused Petula before focusing on what the older woman had said. "But you are right. Now that you bring it up, the circumstance is a bit odd, isn't it?"

  That it was. Gregori's eyes narrowed in suspicion, with all these reports about these two adventurers bringing wondrous goods of times long past. Things that had never even been mentioned in the annals of House Cordis to the best of his knowledge, merely hinted as being long lost secrets themselves. And they always came from beyond the wall, in the direction of the tide.

  Was it well-justified suspicion, as his duty as defender for the empire? Or just withdrawn paranoia, as a lord lost without his wise wife?

  "Ah, father." His attention was drawn to the one who looked most like her. "About these powerful monster parts, would you like a new set of armor made from them?"

  He thought on it for a moment. "I already have a set of armor. But we have a deficiency of guard armor, correct?" the duke asked and received a nod of confirmation. Yet there was a burning question Petula had to ask.

  "Are you sure? It's quite powerful, maybe something in the one fifties. If you were to don it, then you could be very well protected."

  "I am one old man. I can wait a little longer, especially when mine is the ancestral family plate. But I will not neglect the city guards who maintain the peace everyday," he declared. "How soon could we make the carapace into armor?"

  "Quite quickly, they're already processed and ready for assembly."

  Another mysterious blessing from these visitors beyond the wall. "Then do so. I tire of all these mercenaries stirring up troubles in our streets. The sooner we have guards ready for duty again, the better." He leaned back into his chair and closed his eyes. "If there is one leftover, then I will claim it. But I would rather first save the lives out there now than me stuck in this castle."

  "Or maybe we'll find something better then," Teodor suggested with a wry smile. "So much beyond the wall is still unknown."

  So much of the future was unknown too. Frightening even, compared to the past he knew.

  But he couldn't forever stay stuck to days long past. Maybe…it was time for him to move on from her memory. And try something new.

  "These 'adventurers,' you called them," he mused aloud. "I would like to meet them."

  -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------?

  "My type of sword?" Gunther asked from where he was seeing Kuch and Mordred off. "What, thinking of sharing some ancient secrets and techniques this time with me? From the far west perhaps?"

  "Well," Kuch told while hefting the crate containing all my handpicked shards, "we do need an idea or project to work on. Neither Mordred or I need to replace our weapons, but you certainly do."

  The experienced mercenary considered the big chip in his sword that he hadn't yet repaired. "That I do. So then, guess I'll be commissioning something from you?"

  "Of sorts, but as this is an experiment, consider it free of charge."

  He laughed and shook his head. Really, these two were shaking up his world in so many ways, and oddly enough, usually for the better. He'd been nothing but a mercenary ever since leaving that old village before, with some others who joined him then to found the Eber Marauders. Over the years, they made mistakes and paid for it dearly while he alone survived.

  If these 'adventurers' had been there since the beginning, could some of them be alive still?

  The man shook his head to dispel those ruminations and focused instead on what he was going to use to survive another day. "Just a one-handed sword will do," he settled on. "I usually am directing and leading my band, though I'm not afraid to fill in the gap if need be."

  "You don't wear any particular heavy armor," Kuch observed with a hum. "By choice, or by necessity?"

  "Bit of both, I can't afford that sort of plate, I'm no noble. But I've also learned that not getting hit by monsters you both apparently body everyday is the best way to survive, so I keep things light."

  "It's always handy though to have armor," remarked Mordred while she chewed on the last of the bread rations. "Sure you don't want something like me?"

  "Maybe one day, when you two make up some better lie that lets you sneak away with more material." He laughed, noticing the way both of them abruptly tensed up. "Come on, I think I've spent enough time around you both to realize you're hiding something. Maybe a collaborator in the deep woods who makes your food and potions? Your equipment too, I'm guessing with this latest stunt."

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  "...Maybe," Kuch slowly answered. "That's quite a theory though. Why would you say it now though, when we could vanish into the woods, never to be seen again?"

  "Just warning you, because I'm not being paid to rat you out. But other smart folks will piece things together and start asking awkward questions. And unlike House Cordis, who has enough power to shut down anybody trying to ask about those dragons, you don't quite have the influence." Gunther rubbed his chin. "My advice is to get on their good side, make it so that if anybody who's a bit too clever like me can't ask without getting a noble boot up their rear. Maybe you should even have a frank talk with them when you get back."

  "That's certainly an idea," Mordred muttered before sighing. "Are you saying we're that bad of liars?"

  "Not quite, I think if there was a closer place than the far kingdom, you would've maybe gotten away with it. Something like an expert craftsman or workshop you can point to as a place where you got all your stuff that makes sense. Or just a town, really." Gunther gave them a look. "That is, if you plan on returning."

  "We will," both of them promised. "And with your sword."

  "Then I'm looking forward to it. The Eber Marauders be sticking around in Gabion a bit longer until you return, then we're moving onto new pastures. You keep taking all the good jobs!"

  He held up a hand as they departed and hummed, maybe just a little excited. It wasn't everyday somebody got a new quality blade, even if they did warn him it probably wouldn't be anything ridiculous like that fancy lance. To be honest, just a blade that didn't break on the regular would be quite a joy. He could save more money instead of needing to always pay for either repairs or a whole new replacement that would sooner or later break again.

  Maybe even think about retiring with all those savings, that distant fantasy so many mercenaries wish for but never obtain.

  The mercenary hummed an old village tune when he returned back to the wall, where he was greeted by a familiar face. "Gunther," Hans said with a casual grin. "You look happy."

  "I'm getting a new sword, who wouldn't be?" he told and the Captain of the Guard chuckled in understanding.

  "Lucky you. Say, have you seen either Kuch or Mordred? They've apparently caught the lord's eye finally."

  "Ah, you just missed them, sorry. But they'll be back soon."

  "Hm. I'll report so to the duke, please do inform me if you see either of them. Though if they agree to a meeting should you tell them, that would be save us quite a fair bit of hassle."

  "Oh, they will. I have a feeling about that."

  -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------?

  Unforeseen challenges and complications were simply another trial from the gods, Eifer told himself. No plan by mortals could ever hope to match the perfection of the divine. And he was but one such man who fit that role, even if he was one of their chosen.

  But still, feelings of deep frustration leaked out at the various complications in this scheme of his.

  Those cheap wheat sales should have earned the endearment of the city's local population, and they had briefly according to what his mercenary spies had reported. But then apparently that had been unexpectedly undermined by both the duchies of Gabion and Fuzier at the same time. Bargain salt prices had meant many think it just a time of generosity from outsider powers. Then there was this...[Ferment] rediscovery by House Cordis that made the people praising their local lord, for whom of course they would favor more greatly in any show of generosity!

  Damn, commissioning that merchant had been a waste then. He had hoped to start sowing seeds of dissent among the locals with that by further gifts, but now the momentum was suddenly lost. That avenue of approach would have to be abandoned.

  So too would be the plan of being invited into to usurp. That previously clueless correspondence had suddenly become more tighter, focused, like somebody was directing what could and couldn't be said. It was all so carefully phrased now, instead of those waxing poetics that could be manipulated and twisted in so many ways. Had the woman caught on? Or was there now somebody who knew how to play this game of court behind her?

  This approach wasn't going to work either. Hmph, so be it. The gods apparently did not wish to be gentle it seemed; they wanted it to be done through the other aspect Eifer could take upon himself: gratuitous amounts of force. But not without cunning either.

  Cunning forcefulness rather than forceful cunning. Yes, that would suffice, especially when he still did owe the hidden contracts of so many mercenaries in Gabion. Sellswords blinded by their mortal weakness, a simple flash of gold, so much so that they could be unwittingly lured to their own demise.

  Aha, he saw it now! What the gods had wished to instruct their champion on. For every heavens they offered, there were hells they could threaten upon those who failed. They were loved, because they were feared otherwise. Yes, to become their enlightened emissary, he must demonstrate this now to them.

  That this mortal servant of theirs could become beloved through the fear otherwise sowed in his absence of mercy.

  And he had the means to do so even.

  First, letters to those mercenaries. Point out that with such a weakened guard, it should be possible for them to perhaps capture the city of Gabion with a well-timed uprising! A mighty reward, as any mercenary band would know that taking an entire walled settlement without a siege was quite the boon. All the possible rewards, without the hard suffering and attrition that came with prolonged battle. Of course, it might require considerable violence and throw the place into chaos- but Eifer was counting on it.

  Because next, he summoned his duchy's house guard. The personal retinue of the duke whom, slowly, their heir had brought into his own influence. Now they served him instead of their ailing ruler, meaning that they could be convinced into sallying out and abandoning the sick lord under Eifer's direct command. Each was equipped with the best arms and armor found in the markets of Viszal, easily more so than the average mercenary. So those apparent mutinous mercenaries in Gabion would pose no challenge.

  Ah, but they couldn't know. If they knew of his intent to butcher them to win over the adoration of the rescued populace, of course they would balk and resist. So they would have to be left clueless until the end, that their slaughter could not start until his own were in the city. He did not wish for the situation to turn into a siege, that would be too costly and require levies raised then which would draw too many eyes onto his actions.

  They could be suspicious though, so there was no other choice. Eifer would have to be there with his retinue to put on the airs of honoring the contract. It would also help too in winning the favor of the populace if he were to maybe personally put a few of his betrayed sellsword to the sword himself. He did have a fine blade, the duchy tutors told him.

  And with that, his takeover of Gabion would be complete and the gods' chosen would be ruler to the largest power bloc in this region of the empire.

  Ah, but of course, House Cordis surviving with a different story might lead to complications. They had indeed when the emperor had reformed them to become guardians of the wall. Hm, best then to perhaps make himself part of them. He supposed that perhaps this Petula he had been talking with was blessed by the gods somewhat to have some fortune fall upon her. So she would make a good trophy, her own letter used as proof of her fancy to the swooning populace to speak in her stead. Whether or not she agreed to it.

  Her father and the heir though? Ah, they'd have to go. The Broker would see to it.

  -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------