"My legs! Oh gods, they're caught! Get it off!"

It's impossible to know when humans first began to extract gold from the ground, but ever since nigh every civilization in Ylisse and Valm has followed a cardinal rule. The gold must flow. Innumerable sovereigns across history have put up valiant and determined efforts to keep the supply up, and legions of manual laborers have been employed in these endeavors. Unfortunately, the prosperity never falls equally, and the lowborn who make up these laborers are forced to work long hours in dangerous conditions just to earn a small portion of the wealth earned on their backs. The rest ends up with the nobility, who the workers are expected to revere for giving them the opportunity to work. Such is the nature of a feudal society.

At the time, Walhart didn't know there could be anything else.

"For the Voice of Naga's sake, Walhart! Don't just stand there like a damned imbecile!"

Only twenty eight years old now, Walhart was not yet a conqueror. He wasn't even a soldier. He was an orphaned peasant's son who'd been supporting himself with manual labor since he was a boy. Physically he was recognizable as the man Chrom and the Shepherds would come to know so well, but his youth, though fading, hadn't left him yet. Walhart's hair was long, but the mine he worked in now required that he keep it tied up. It was pitch black instead of white, but he did have the same entirely white eyes as his older self. Walhart was tall and muscular under the dirt and dust stained rags that covered him now. Even among the miners he was considered a giant.

Beyond that, he was considered something of a thinker.

It stands to reason that where there's sacrifice, there's someone collecting the offerings. Where there's a service, there's someone being served. Walhart thought to himself as he tightened his hold on his pickaxe. As he felt the cold wooden grip in his hands. He focused on it as he gathered his thoughts. Any man that speaks to you of personal sacrifice for the greater good is speaking of slaves and masters, and he views himself the master. The working classes have everything that is needed for the maintenance and continued preservation of civilization. The nobility will never truly respect the poor because our feudal society is built on inequality, and respect only exists among equals. The working classes don't need the nobility. The division of labor could be achieved-"

"Walhart! Get over here!"

People don't question feudalism because they don't know any better. It's been that way since Alm and Celica's time. If you could step outside of society and look at things objectively, you would see that it is a prison. It is a prison full of willing people. They choose to be a part of it. Peasants choose to prop up their lords through their labor. Soldiers choose to fight for greedy and self serving monarchs. They don't know any better. Feudalism has created a society without social mobility. The nobles would tell you that people wouldn't know how to do anything else. If you were hurt, would you want a doctor that used to be a farmer? Do you want your buildings designed by the people who did the bare minimum amount of work each day to make them? It's true that it would be traumatic if there was more social mobility than there is now, but the nobles have created the conditions that have given rise to this culture of suspicion, and they have done so deliberately, because it reinforces the status quo. It fosters division, and division can be used to control the population.

"Celica's bones, Walhart! Get over here!"

And that is why, when you see a stranger, you don't think, "Who is that person?" You think, "What does that person do?" You don't think, "What are their hopes? Their dreams? Their ambitions?" You think, "Who does that person work for? How much money do they have? What is their lineage? What is their socioeconomic status relative to me? Are they more important than me, or am I more important than them?" Be happy in your work, they say. Be grateful for the opportunity. Be thankful for the system. Mind your betters, for they think for you. Enough. Reject the system. It stands to reason that the necessity of a privileged order is a fallacy.

"WALHART!" The future conqueror finally snapped back to reality and turned to see a fellow miner, Farber, calling him. Long before he became one of Walhart's generals, Farber had worked by Walhart's side at the subsurface gold mine of Sakdrisi. Only twenty two years old, Farber had been quite the looker. His light blonde hair still had its full color, and his rigid jaw gave him a handsome visage even as the grime of the subterranean conditions coated him, and even as his expression twisted with annoyance as he waved Walhart over. "GET OVER HERE AND HELP!"

Walhart liked to think about his political and social views as he worked. He would compose entire treatises in his head as he hauled ore or chiseled away at the rock, and he got through his long work days in an almost trance like state. He thought more clearly when he was moving, and the monotonous work he was employed to do didn't use up much of his mental strength. It made the months and years go by, but it also made Walhart a little oblivious to what was going on around him. Quickly scanning the surroundings as he ran over to Farber, Walhart could see that part of the cavern ceiling had come down after a rather narrow archway collapsed. A fellow worker's legs were caught beneath the rubble, and the two quickly got to work trying to dig him out.

"Oh gods, help me! PLE-HEASE!"

"Hang on!" Walhart reassured him as he began to hurl the debris away. "Stay strong, and we will get you out of this!"

"Damn it, Walhart!" Farber spat. "What were you doing?!"

"I apologize. I was… thinking."

"Writing another damned treatise in your head?! Was that it?! You need to pay attention to what's happening! To what's real!"

The two managed to clear away everything they could lift, but a large rock still had the worker's legs trapped. Walhart and Farber couldn't lift it, and Farber called out as he noticed the mine foreman approaching. "By the Divine Dragons!" The older man cried out. "The archway came down!"

"Oh, you think?!" The injured miner cried out. "Get me out!"

The foreman didn't bother to help. He just studied the boulder and stared intently at the worker's legs for several seconds. When he finally did move, it wasn't to contribute. Rather, he turned and sprinted back the way he came, and he returned minutes later with two other mine employees. Walhart and Farber didn't recognize them as comrades. These two were beyond their pay grade, and they had little respect for the miners. One was a priest with a healing stave. The other was a security guard with a large axe. The foreman took one last look at the hopeful worker and shook his head dismissively. "Cut him out!"

Walhart and Farber looked at him in shock. "What?!"

The worker's face went white. "WHAT?!"

"The rock isn't moving. We'll need to cut him out! The healing stave will seal the wound."

Walhart's face became consumed by rage. The foreman had no sympathy for the injured worker under his care. He couldn't even be bothered to speak directly to the man. He only cared about ending the inconvenience as quickly as possible. Farber stood up and pleaded with him. "Hold on. Hold on! Walhart and I can't lift this thing, no, but we did make it budge. If we can get more miners, we can lift this clean off!"

"It'll take a least a dozen miners to do that, and I'm not going to lose that kind of productivity. The mine will not shut down for even a minute just because one man got hurt!"

"You can't be serious!" The worker exclaimed. Farber was almost just as shocked.

"But-"

"I'm not taking a hit in productivity rates to gather a dozen men and pull him out just so that a healer can tell us his legs are already too far gone." The foreman turned to the security guard. "Cut him out!"

"NO!" The man begged.

"Now!"

Farber tried to step between them. "You can't! We can get him out! Just give us time!"

"Do it!"

The guard hesitated, but he finally complied and shoved Farber out of the way as he approached the man. The trapped worker begged for his legs with all the breath he could muster, but it didn't stop the axe from falling. One swing. Two.

The "inconvenience" was over.

Walhart watched in stunned silence as the guard pulled the now crippled worker out, two trails of red following him where his legs used to be. The priest immediately applied his healing magic, and the worker's injury closed. "What do we do with him?" The guard asked. The foreman turned. He couldn't even look the man in the eye.

"Give him a hundred gold and dump him in town."

"Town?"

"Well he doesn't work here anymore. Miners need legs."

The guard complied and dragged the worker away, and the foreman turned back to Farber and Walhart. The two men just stood there, short circuited by the raw apathy and callousness they'd just seen from their own superior. The only true emotion they could register at the moment was rage, and they silently directed it at the foreman as much as they could. To speak, to criticize, would be insubordination. Neither man could afford to lose his job, so they just glared at the foreman. The one act of protest they could manage. The foreman had seen their rage a thousand times before. It didn't affect him. He just returned their glare for a few seconds before ordering them back to work, leaving the two miners unable to do anything but seethe with hate and frustration.

At least, not yet.

Walhart looked uneasily at Farber as he killed his third glass of ale. It had been two days since the traumatic event, and despite the foreman's best efforts to keep the gold flowing, the city of Sakdrisi had chosen to close down the mine until its structural integrity was guaranteed. The two miners had little to do but kill their time until it was reopened. At least, that's what Walhart had believed. Farber had just revealed he and several of the other miners had been working on something in the meantime.

"A strike? You want to shut the mine down?"

"Mine is already shut down." Farber responded without setting his glass down.

"You know full well what I mean. You want to shut it down permanently?"

"If need be." Farber looked into Walhart's eyes. "We need to stand up for ourselves. Walhart, they cut off a man's goddamned legs just because they couldn't be bothered to get a few miners to stop working for even a few minutes. We're nothing to them. We need this strike to make a statement."

"A statement, huh?"

"Come on, Walhart. I remember when I was nineteen and I first came to that mine. Heh, it was only three years ago, but it feels like it's been a lifetime."

Walhart took a sip of his own ale. "Mining does that to you."

"I remember when I met you. Seemed like a quiet guy with no personality. I figured I could stay near you to look good in front of the supervisors. Maybe I'd even get you to do some of my work for me." Farber smiled at a waitress as she brought him a fourth glass. He was becoming a little uncoordinated in his movements now, but he eventually reached his glass after a bit of fumbling. "Mmm, nothing like a glass of ale after a hard day of work. Thought that back then too. One day I figured to myself, why don't I talk to that Walhart? Invite him for a drink? That's when I realized just how much you have to say about things."

Walhart returned a small smile. It wasn't a common sight on his stern face. "My secret is that I write while I work. Then I jot it down when I get home."

"To be honest, most of what you say goes over my head. You'd go on for hours about feudalism and inequality and privilege, and I don't remember any of it." Farber began to drink. "But you'd ask these questions I had no answer for, and that I remember. 'Why should the nobles be in charge just because of who their parents were?' 'Why is it so hard for uneducated workers to move up in life? To find opportunity?' 'Why do the people allow the landed elite to live off the backs of their work?' 'Why does there need to be a landed aristocracy?' I never really thought about those things before. Lords are lords. Nobles are nobles. Kings are kings. I didn't think things could be different… but why can't they be? You made me really think about the way the world is, Walhart. Now I'm finally doing something about it. I told everyone about what the foreman did, and they all agree it was out of line. What if that happened to us? What if the whole mine collapsed? They wouldn't do a damned thing to help, and this proves that. We have to act. The Kingdom of Valm needs the gold from this mine, so our strike has the potential to cripple this economy. They'd have to listen to us." Farber slammed his glass down. "Think of what we could have. Real safety regulations. Accountable bosses. Paid leave! This kingdom needs us, so it's about time we got some respect!"

Walhart placed his hand on Farber's shoulder. "If I truly did inspire you to think about changing society, then I am proud, but we need to work. You told me yourself that day I need to focus on what's real. I want things to be different, but I can't afford to be out of a job. My wife and I barely scrape by."

"I promise you the strike will make things better for all of us. You know, Walhart, something you said once really stuck with me. Us manual laborers are one injury, one accident, away from redundancy, and redundancy is one step away from death. An objective way of telling how important someone is in society is seeing what people will do to keep them around. If a lord is injured in battle, the army will do anything it can to save him. If a conscript is injured, he becomes another statistic. If an old nobleman falls ill, they'll do anything to buy him a few more years. If a young miner is hurt, they leave him to die. Society doesn't care about us. We need to protect ourselves. This strike is the only way we'll be heard."

Walhart was silent for over a minute, and he took the time to finish his ale before answering. There was uncertainty in his eyes as he spoke. The ferocity of his older self hadn't yet taken hold. "You're sure this will work? They'll have to rehire us eventually?"

"They need this gold. They can't ignore us." Farber extended his hand, forcing Walhart to decide. "Do we have your support?"

Walhart eventually extended his own arm, and the two clasped each other's fists. "Alright. Let's control our own destinies."

"What do you mean you're not working right now?!"

Walhart lost his parents when he was just a boy, and he'd been supporting himself off of manual labor for almost twenty years now with nothing to show for it. His wife, Hildegard, was the one real thing he lived for. A thin woman of average height, Hildegard's husband towered over her, but she brought out a gentleness from him virtually no one else had seen or ever would see. Walhart thought about their marriage as he held her. As he brushed away her light, almost white blonde hair and looked into her brown eyes. Hildegard was a merchant's daughter, and she'd grown up relatively comfortable. That changed when her father's business failed, and he died in poverty just before her marriage. Hildegard depended entirely on her husband now, though even so, she was still considered of higher status than him in the eyes of the feudal society. "I didn't quit, darling." Walhart spoke as softly as he could, and his wife's frustration slowly eased. "The strike is temporary. When it ends, we'll have better pay. The mine will be safer. This will be good for us."

"Gods, I still can't believe what happened to that man. Still, Wally, you know our savings are so limited. How long will it be?"

"I… I cannot know."

"You don't know and you still agreed to be part of this?!"

"The strike is very organized. Any miner who refused to be a part of it wouldn't be able to work anyways. We'll protest by blocking off the mine."

"So you're not really in control of anything? You're being strong armed?"

Walhart was being forced into it in a way, as the striking workers wouldn't allow their less angry comrades to continue working. He had been given a choice between not working and contributing to the strike, or just not working. Still, he did believe it was a good idea. "I promise you this will work." Walhart took his wife's hands and brought them to his face. "I'll take care of you, Hildy. You know that."

"What if we lose the house?!"

"It won't come to that." Walhart scowled. "And our savings will last longer if we cut down on unnecessary expenses."

"Don't say it."

"Like the donations to the church your mother keeps making."

Walhart's marriage was a special one. A lot of men love their wife's body. Fewer also love her personality. Walhart was all that and one better. He truly loved his mother-in-law. A deeply religious woman, Hildegard's mother had been on good terms with Walhart since they'd met, and he came to view her as their mother. The closest thing to the mother he never really knew. Unfortunately her mind had been slipping away for several years, and now her dedication to the church had come to dominate what was left. "Stop it, Wally. Not one more word on that. I don't want to fight."

"You've let them use her!"

"They're not using her."

"They use everybody. The church is a corrupt business. They use people's faith in Naga, Tiki, and Mila to conflate themselves with morality. People think they're doing good in the world by donating, and all they do is line the pockets of the clergy. Furthermore, people become so obsessed over these ridiculous legends of overgrown lizards that they allow it to dominate their lives. The government uses religion to subjugate people. After all, people might rise up against their leaders, but they'd never forsake their gods. The government uses religion to justify its rule, and the church takes advantage of the privileges working with the monarchy gives it. It keeps the people pacified. Religion is to society what alcohol is to an individual."

"Mm-hmm." Was Hildegard's only response as she leaned closer. "Speaking of which, were you drinking before you got here?"

"That does not invalidate my point, woman!"

Hildegard didn't engage in the debate her husband seemed to want. She just began to cuddle up to him, and Walhart took a few startled steps back. "Oh, look at my big strong writer. Those big thick hands can use a pen as well as a pickaxe."

"You're mocking me."

"Not at all." Hildegard jabbed her fingers into her husband's abdomen, and his face scrunched up as he tried to suppress an undignified giggle. "You're so cute when you get all serious. Go on. Talk more about feudalism and whatnot."

"S-stop mocking me, I'm s-saying something important." Walhart's lips finally have way to a smile. "S-stop!"

"There's that smile. I don't seem to see it much these days." Hildegard softly moaned as she wrapped her arms around her husband's neck and stood on her toes to meet his lips, and Walhart bent down in turn. The two kissed before holding each other, a look of understanding between them. "I know this is serious. I'll… I'll talk to my mother."

"Thank you."

"I'm just worried. My father worked his whole life to build our family business, and it still came crashing down around him. He died with nothing. I need you now. I need you to take care of me. To make me happy."

"I will."

"And we're a partnership, so it's also my job to make sure you're happy. Walhart, you talk about necessity, but is this really what you want to do?"

"All I want is to protect our future. I love you, darling. More than anything. We'll stand by each other's side as we march down the path to success. To prosperity. I'll make a living for us. A home we can bring a child into. I promise."

"Prove that to me. That's all I'm asking." Hildegard rested her head against his chest. "And be careful. I can't lose you too."

"I won't leave you alone. I'll support us."

"It's not just money." Hildegard looked back into his eyes. "I need you. I love you. I want you to succeed, because we need money, yes, but also because I want you to feel like you've achieved something. I can tell you're not happy." She ran her hand along his cheek. "You look so much older than when we met. Life is eating at you."

"Fate is a cruel thing. She gently caresses some, but forcibly molests others."

"Well that's… one way of putting it. Just don't go out and do anything too stressful, huh?"

"Everything will be fine." Walhart and Hildegard went back to holding each other. "Thank you for understanding. The strike will be over soon, and we will be at peace again."

Hildegard eventually retired to their bedroom, but Walhart didn't immediately join her. Instead he walked to a small, out of the way room and lit a candle. The flickering light revealed stacks of notebooks, each one filled with Walhart's writing. Smiling at the sight, Walhart sat down at a table, opened the notebook on top of it, and continued writing his latest treatise. The very same one he'd been thinking of two days ago.

"I don't understand why we have to be here at all. Why can't we just drive out the miners and be done with it?"

The miners of the Sakdrisi subterranean gold mine had planned their strike carefully. The city devoted just one week to repairing the mine. The day it was to reopen, the miners blocked the entrance and refused to work. Two months had passed since then. For two months the Kingdom of Valm's gold production had fallen by over seventy percent. For two months the miners had protested. For two months negotiations were made, but no compromise could be reached.

The Kingdom of Valm was the smallest and least significant country on the continent. Its King was only about as powerful as the dukes of other countries, and the likes of Ylisse, Plegia, and Chon'sin had economies over twenty times bigger. Truly it was only significant for having the same name as the continent. Gold mining was the only thing that gave Valm any kind of influence, and the loss of the gold mine was unacceptable. The gold had to flow. Thankfully, the Magistrate of Sakdrisi had found a solution, and a rather ingenious one at that if she did say so herself.

"Legally, this sort of thing has to be done on site. Formalities."

"I don't like it. They won't like it, Magistrate Commodia."

Just twenty eight years old, the same age as Walhart, Commodia was a short, slender woman. Her thighs were barely the same thickness as Walhart's arms, and the top of her head wouldn't have gone past his pectorals. On the other hand, her net worth was greater than a thousand Walharts. It would literally take decades for him to make enough money to afford the dress and jewelry she was wearing at the moment. What greater metaphor for the nature of power in a feudal system could there be?

If it even needs to be said, Commodia was of noble birth, and her position as magistrate was hardly earned. Still, she took legal matters very seriously. It was Commodia's hope that she would someday be part of the noble court in the capital itself, but for now she was stuck dealing with dreadful places like this. The magistrate's well armed guards surrounded her on all sides, but she could still bring her light green eyes on the tired and dirty miners as she brushed her silver hair aside and looked around. "I know they won't like it." Commodia answered as she turned back to her white haired male assistant. "Liking it is beside the point." The young woman simply waved her arm, and the captain of her guard stepped forward to get the attention of the striking miners. "These places are disgusting. These miners are degenerate scum, only capable of manual labor. They're uneducated. They're stupid. They're like animals. However, we need the mines. We need the gold. Our kingdom is nothing without these resources. What we don't need are these pathetic wrecks. You're right. They won't like it." Commodia smiled at her assistant. "But perhaps you have me confused with someone who cares. That's what the soldiers are for."

The striking miners were soon gathered in assembly in front of the mine, and Commodia, her assistant, and her many soldiers stood in front of them at a podium. The miners had been made to believe the magistrate was here for final negotiations, and the guards were unnerving them. "As you all know, the Kingdom of Valm depends heavily on gold. The ore produced by this mine sustains our country, and we have you brave and hard working men to thank for it." Commodia's voice boomed. "You can all rest easy now. The King thanks each and every one of you for your contribution. Your work here is at an end. For all of you, this will be your last day at this mine." The miners erupted into booing and worried talking, and Commodia spoke louder. "Thanks to our friends in the Church of Naga, we have found a way to automate the mining production. In exchange for a small cut of the profits, the priests are allowing us to use Einherjar. We no longer have need for human laborers. The strike is over, for you all are no longer employed at the mine from this moment on. You need no longer face long hours and dangerous conditions."

"WHAT?!" Walhart roared, though his voice wasn't any louder than the other angry miners. Farber was standing nearby, and he turned to him. "You said the strike would work!"

"I… I-"

"I could lose my house!"

Commodia continued, even as the men howled at her. "I know this seems like a traumatic change, but I assure you this is an opportunity. No more danger. No more dust. No more dirt."

"WE KNOW IT'S AWFUL DOWN THERE!" One miner shouted. "BUT WE HAVE FAMILIES TO SUPPORT!"

"You all will be given severance pay for your work here. All of Valm appreciates your contributions to society, and Valm takes care of its people."

Walhart's blood boiled as he heard those words. He looked at Commodia. He looked at her expensive dress, which she would most likely throw out if she found that the dirt had left even one stain. He looked at her gold jewelry, possibly produced at that very mine. He looked at her soft, feminine features–maintained only because manual labor was never required of her. He then looked over to her guards. They were there for her, not them. They'd cut them all down if she gave the word. They readied their shields and held their weapons at the ready even as Commodia pretended to respect them. Valm cares for its people. Walhart thought to himself. Is that what they call caring for their people?

"Don't disguise what you're saying with pretty words!" Another miner shouted. "How much money are we getting?! It has to be enough to live off of while we find new jobs!"

"The amount will vary depending on your specific circumstances."

All the miners booed louder than ever. "That's crap!" The miner continued. "You just don't want us to get angry while you kick us out!" The man turned to his fellow workers. "These greedy parasites profit off of our work! They have more gold than anyone because of us, but they can't spare a decent amount when we need it! They can't even be bothered to pay us what we deserve! They'd rather bring in those soulless things than increase our pay! That's the kind of people we're dealing with! We're the ones that make them rich!"

Several of the miners roared in agreement, and Commodia glared at that man in particular. "I assure you, there's no-"

The man shouted as loud as he could now, and Commodia gave up trying to compete with him. "YOU SHAKE US OUT FOR ALL WE'RE WORTH, AND NOW YOU WANT US TO SAY THANK YOU!"

Commodia turned to the captain of her guards. "Captain Decius, this one is an instigator. Make an example of him."

The captain nodded, and he silently approached the man. His back was turned to the soldiers, and he didn't notice. "The nobles will take and take, and they'll never stop. They have to be told to stop! They have to be made to stop!" The man's righteous fury ended as the shaft of a spear struck him in the back of the head. He was knocked to the ground, and the nearby miners quickly backed away as Decius stood over him. "Agh!"

"Get back!" Another soldier commanded as they moved forward to surround the injured man. Decius himself drew a club and began striking him. He cried out with each blow, but his screams became more muffled as blood poured from his mouth.

"No! Help, help me! Someone! AGH, ugh… gack… mph."

Decius stopped just before actually killing the man, leaving him squirming as a bloody, pulpy mess. "Get back! All of you! This is for your own protection!"

Commodia pretended to be horrified. Of course, she did nothing to rein in the guards. "Workers! Brothers! Please! Let's be reasonable!"

How dare she call us brothers. Walhart thought.

"If you just stay calm, I'll take you through the terms of the severance pay. I think you'll find the terms quite generous. We'll give you exactly what you deserve."

Walhart exploded with rage. He didn't think. He just acted on pure emotion. "I NEED THIS JOB! I CAN'T SUPPORT MY WIFE WITHOUT IT! YOU'D DRIVE US OFF LIKE ANIMALS! YOU SCUM OF THE EARTH!" He noticed a nearby rock, seized it in his hand, and hurled it at Commodia. The magistrate was struck in the shoulder with enough force to send her tumbling to the ground.

"Tiki's green scales!" Decius exclaimed in shock.

"Magistrate!" Commodia's assistant cried as he rushed to her side. "You people hurt a woman! And a noblewoman at that! Disgusting savages! Soldiers, pacify them! ALL OF THEM!"

Personally motivated by the potential loss of their own employer, Commodia's soldiers surged forward and drove the miners back with spears, clubs, maces, and even tomes. The workers scrambled away from them for their very lives, and they were quickly driven into the mine itself, but they were able to hold their ground there. Walhart had simply been angry. He hadn't been thinking. He'd acted on instinct. He had no way of knowing what kind of powder keg his actions would ignite, and now he could only sprint away from the violence. He'd been in street fights before, but nothing like this. A part of him also didn't want to hurt the soldiers. His own writings described soldiers as workers exploited by lords same as them. He had no intention of joining his angry comrades as they grabbed mining tools and fought back as best they could, but then he noticed a soldier striking Farber with a club.

It was a moment that would change history.

Walhart stormed forward and struck the soldier in the head with enough force to send his helmet flying off. Hitting the metal with his bare fist was less than pleasant, but a lifetime of manual labor had made him incredibly strong, and the soldier had to take a moment to collect himself. An uneasy smile took Walhart's face as he raised his fist. He'd just injured a soldier. The same people the government used to enforce the laws. He wasn't powerless. He could fight, and by doing so, he couldn't be intimidated into silence. Walhart had never felt power before, and he couldn't stop himself from striking the soldier again. Then again. Then again.

The man eventually managed to knock Walhart away from him with his armored gauntlet, and the two then grappled for their lives. Walhart was stronger than the soldier, but not by much, and he desperately wanted to end the fight quickly. Screaming at the top of his lungs, he seized the soldier's head and slammed it against the wall of the mine. The man hit a jagged rock that protruded out of the wall, and the rock punctured his skull and sent blood spurting out of the wound. He crumpled to the ground, unmoving. The first time Walhart ever killed anyone. Walhart slowly looked down to his hands. They were shaking uncontrollably. He looked down. His clothing was stained red with the man's blood.

The same color as the armor he'd wear.

"Oh no. Oh no, no. No-no-no… oh no. What have I done? …WHAT HAVE I DONE?!"

Walhart just stood there, overwhelmed by everything that had happened, until Decius struck him in the back of the head.