"Well hello there, new friend."

Walhart had been drifting in and out of consciousness for some time, and it took a great deal of effort to suppress the groggy feeling in his head. The former gold miner felt resistance as he tried to rise, and he scowled as his metal chains were made known to him. The chains on his feet still allowed him to spread his legs apart and even walk, but going anywhere was impossible as they connected to the leg bindings of men adjacent to him. His handcuffs were his alone, but they were more restrictive. He could still bring his hands to his face and try to ease his pain, but that was about all he could do. "What… bah! What is this? Why am I… where are we?"

"Finally coming back to us?" Walhart recognized the second voice, and he turned to his left to see Farber. His face was cut and bruised, but Farber didn't appear to have been knocked out as he was. "The Magistrate's boy toy roughed you up pretty good."

"What?"

"The guard captain. What do you remember?"

"I… the strike." Walhart looked down to his hands. He still vividly recalled the soldier's blood on them, and his clothes were still stained dark red. "That accursed woman! She, she made me kill that man!"

"Ha!" Walhart turned to his right to see who had first spoken. "That's one way to justify it."

"Where am I now? Tell me!"

A smile crept across the man's face. "The prison ship Mae. We're heading to an offshore prison facility. The place they send people they really don't want to see again."

"Mae?" Walhart focused, willing through his dazed state. "A mage that accompanied Celica."

"Very good."

Walhart glared at the man. "Who are you?"

"A potential ally." He extended his hand, though Walhart had no intention of shaking it. "Ruger, at your service."

Long before he'd someday take Cynthia and a handful of mercenaries for a bit of a ride, Ruger had been a drifter, con-artist, and general all around scumbag who regularly scoured Valm in search of opportunity. He'd been apprehended by the law plenty of times, but he never seemed to stay caught. Though his reused Awakening portrait doesn't do him justice, Ruger actually did have a bit of a resemblance to Chrom, especially when he was younger. His hair was dark blue, and he had similar facial features. The main differences were his height, scrawniness, and the slimy smile usually plastered on his face. "Out with it. What do you want?"

"Hold on." Farber interjected. "Ruger here says he has a plan to get off this ship."

"That I do. Today is your lucky day, new friends. I'm going to give you a chance for freedom, and I won't even charge you."

Walhart raised an eyebrow, but he didn't completely dismiss the little man he was chained to. He didn't make a habit of underestimating people. "You think you can escape this prison?"

"No need to escape the prison when you came for the prison."

"What do you mean?"

"You'll find out. Anyways, I'm going to need you two to help. I know what you're capable of." The trickster looked into Walhart's eyes. "Especially you, big guy."

Walhart's mind flashed back to the soldier he'd killed. To the last, tortured expression on his face. "That… that was a mistake. I don't belong here."

"Oh? Fifteen soldiers were injured in that revolt—that's what they're calling it—and two were put into critical condition, but only one actually died. And you say you don't belong here, Walhart."

"How do you know about that?!"

"Well I wasn't there." Ruger looked over his fingernails. "I'm not the laborer type. The other miners here have been talking quite a bit about you. You're rather infamous."

Farber cleared his throat. "To clarify, I-I wasn't one of those people."

"I don't belong here! I swear so long as I live that I will never take another life again!" (Ha!) Walhart struggled against his chains. "I'm no criminal!"

"Everyone who finds themselves on the wrong side of the law is technically a criminal. Rapists and murderers right alongside tax dodgers and public drunkards." Ruger smiled to a passing guard. "Now you see why you shouldn't be so quick to judge."

"Enough, you pathetic excuse for a man!" Walhart sat back against the wall. "I will have no part of this!"

Walhart thought he saw the guard slip something to Ruger out of the corner of his eye, but it was too subtle a motion to register. Ruger looked like he hadn't moved at all when Walhart turned back to him. "Whatever. I'm sure you'll change your mind." Ruger didn't say anything further. He just stared at the passing guards that made their way through the ship's lower deck until he finally focused on one in particular. He hung his head as the guard walked by, but quickly sat up as soon as his back was turned. "Hey, bozo!"

The guard looked back and readied a club. "What do you want, pipsqueak?!"

"Oh, nothing much." Ruger materialized a throwing knife from Naga knows where. "Just a clear shot at your neck."

With but a quick flick of his wrist, Ruger brought the guard down with blood spurting from his neck. Walhart froze, and Farber, who'd seemed on the verge of falling asleep, jerked forward. "What the?!"

"Stand up! Both of you!" Ruger snapped.

"Why?"

"I need to reach his keys!" Walhart and Farber stood up, allowing Ruger to do the same. In fact, they actually forced him up by virtue of their leg chains being connected. The three moved as far forward as their bindings allowed, and Ruger began fiddling through the guard's clothing. He didn't stop as another guard rushed towards them. He only waved towards his direction. "You two can still move your arms well enough. Take care of him."

"What?! I won't just kill a man for you!" Walhart protested. Ruger didn't even look up.

"You will if you want to live." Farber and Walhart looked back nervously. "Running out of time, you two! RUNNING OUT OF TIME!"

The former miners finally sprung into action as the guard reached Ruger. Their handcuffs restricted their movements, but they still managed to seize the man and hold him through sheer strength. Walhart simply kept the guard in place, but Farber managed to gouge out his eyes before striking him in the throat, and Walhart couldn't help but look back uneasily. "Farber?!"

"What?! I don't want to stay here!"

Ruger finally retrieved the keys and freed himself, then Walhart and Farber. "Alright! I love it when a job comes together. Now get whatever weapons you can and kill every guard that fights back. The ones who don't are on my payroll."

"I-I won't kill people!"

Ruger rolled his eyes at Walhart before tossing him the keys. "Fine, then free the miners who will."

"Quaestor! Uh, hey! Q-Quaestor! A moment of your time, Quaestor! Sir!" A young dark mage brushed his dark bluish hair aside and turned towards the diminutive man sprinting after him. "Quaestor! Sir, please!"

The Quaestor lifted his right arm and held it near his face. He notably kept his middle and ring finger curled up while extending only his index and pinky fingers. Perhaps he did it to show off his carefully maintained nails. Perhaps it was simply a nervous habit. "What is it?!"

"Quaestor Excellus, s-sir!" The official had to stop and catch his breath. "You forgot to fill out some of the paperwork Magistrate Commodia requested. The council's minutes are in need of your-"

Excellus wasn't such an assault on the eyes as he would be in his later years now. His hair had more color, and he wasn't nearly so corpulent. Still, he couldn't be described as physically fit, and his youthful face could still twist into a very unsettling expression. He was already possessed of his vanity, as his elaborate gold and purple robes and copiously applied makeup would attest to. "I am the Quaestor of Sakdrisi! My job is to apply judgement through delicate wisdom, and you bring me forms to fill out?!"

"But-"

"I serve the people and interests of the Kingdom of Valm. Would you have me serve through minutia?"

"N-no-"

"Then begone, worm. I have matters of consequence to attend to."

Excellus turned, making sure his cape flew into the face of the official, and retreated towards his private office. Two security guards stood by the double doors leading to it. They opened them for the Quaestor but quickly sealed them shut to keep out the unwanted guest. Commodia's official looked to the guards, then to the massive emblem of a lion on the doors, and finally decided to turn and walk away dejectedly.

The Quaestor was a position in the Valmese government responsible for public finances and audits. It was one of the lowest positions in a city government, but it gave Excellus access to the city treasury, and he made good use of that power.

Nobody really knew where Excellus came from. He was well versed in the internal affairs of Valm, and he didn't speak with a foreign accent, but his lineage couldn't be proven. It was as if Naga herself had spawned him, or perhaps he'd simply congealed somewhere. Regardless, Excellus was a wizard when it came to finances, and at this time he had a nest egg that could give the average Anna a run for her money. If he had lived in our society, he might have been an accountant. He wouldn't be a young, wide-eyed accountant trying to get a job at a nice company like Apple or Google either. He wouldn't even be a jaded, middle aged freelance accountant hopping from one contract job to another. No, he'd be a skeevy, take you for everything you have and be out of the country before you ever realized it, Enron/Worldcom tier accountant. He served Commodia well by engineering complex financial schemes that dragged her enemies into the red while leaving the Sakdrisi government to rake in the gold. Of course, much of that wealth would find its way into Excellus' hands, but that kind of corruption was hardly abnormal in Valm. He was also an extraordinarily powerful dark mage. It was almost as if a secretive, ancient cult had trained him.

Nah. That's just crazy talk.

"Oh, Nelson!" Excellus said in a cheery tone as he plopped himself in his padded chair. "Where are those two things I asked for?!"

"C-coming, sir!" A young man with short, well kept grayish hair stepped forward with a sheet of paper and a tray of food. Nelson was a good natured and excitable young man who yearned to someday have a position of his own in the government. He was a long way away from becoming the man that Severa would despise. Time has a way of changing people, and Excellus' influence probably didn't help. "I made it exactly as that Ylissean chef told me to. Then I had him deported as you requested."

"Oh gods yes. I've been looking forward to this since brunch. Finally I can have my ortolan." An Ylissean dish, the ortolan was… actually, I'll let Excellus explain this one. "Ah, the ortolan. That delicate little songbird. They prepare it by plucking out its eyes. This artificial night causes the bird to gorge itself until it's as fat as possible. Then they take it and drown it in brandy, which kills and marinates it. Then you eat it whole. It's… ingenious. I've never seen food like this. I think it's the cruelty that really makes it."

"Heh, those crazy Ylisseans." Nelson chimed in as he placed the tray down on a table in front of Excellus. He then readied the paper. "Shall I read you your reports?"

"Hold on! Let me savor it." Excellus poured himself a glass of wine, enjoyed it slowly, then finally devoured the ortolan in one bite. He slumped into his chair as a smile crept across his face. "Proceed."

"Acknowledged, Quaestor Excellus." Nelson began to read. "There's been a mercenary revolt in western Ferox. Basilio, the fairly new Khan of West Ferox, is negotiating for an end to hostilities."

Excellus took another sip of wine. "Salt both sides with extremists to stoke conflict. When the fighting ruins the value of the local land, we'll buy it up and sell it much later once things settle down."

"Acknowledged." Nelson wrote that down and began reading again. "Exalt Caracalla is continuing his crusade against Plegia, and his forces are driving the Plegians back. It looks like he's about to capture the port of Viipurias."

"Ah, Caracalla. That loveable warmonger. I was afraid he'd mellow once Emmeryn was born. I'm glad to see he hasn't. War is great for business."

"The Plegian government is increasing funding to dark mages in hopes of finding a way to turn the tide. A group of them claimed to have developed a tome that allows instantaneous communication between any two people, regardless of distance, so long as they have the tomes. They're calling it the farakveða tome. Shall we invest? Get in on the profits?"

"Nelson, darling, you think too small. Real profit is not made by jumping on a bandwagon. Real profit is made by dominating a market. Contact our mole in the Plegian government and have him lobby to give funding to competitors. Ruin those dark mages, then buy their project from them for far less than it's worth through a shell business. Then we'll make the tomes ourselves." Excellus giggled. "Or better yet, we'll sell the idea to someone else, then do the same thing to them. Infinite profit!"

"Brilliant idea, sir! Brilliant!" Nelson wrote that down and continued reading. "Remember how you had me bribe one of Commodia's guards? It seems that's paid off. He finally gave me a first hand account of what happened at the gold mine."

"Hee hee, I knew Commodia couldn't keep it suppressed forever. So, do tell?"

"The strike was violently put down. Several miners were killed, and the survivors are being shipped to prison."

"Why haven't I heard of this?"

"They aren't being sent to The Rig, sir. They're being shipped to an offshore facility."

"Keeping secrets from me, Commodia?" Excellus seized the paper from Nelson and read it himself. "Ooh, this could be good."

"How so?"

"This will create instability, and instability is another word for opportunity." Excellus' lips curled into an unnerving smile. "This looks promising. Extremely promising."

"They told me I was crazy! They told me it couldn't be done! No one can seize an entire prison ship from the inside out! Ha! Who's laughing now?!" Ruger, standing on the ship's aftercastle, extended his arms towards the rest of the Mae, now nearing the port it had originally set sail from. Thankfully for the miners, Ruger's plan had been put into motion not long after the ship began the journey, and sailing back only took a few hours. "This is officially the biggest thing I've ever stolen!" Ruger turned back to his new friends. "Though not the most valuable."

Walhart looked around uncomfortably. He'd adamantly refused to kill any of the ship's crew, but his fellow miners didn't feel the same way. About half of the ship's crew had been summarily overpowered, executed, and thrown overboard. Walhart could still see the image of the bodies floating in the endless blue. It was as burned into his eyes as the soldier's face. "So you have your ship, little man. Now what becomes of us?"

"Now we disappear." Ruger pointed his finger towards a settlement rapidly eating up the horizon. "That's Kronshtadt. The port this ship departed from."

"Seemed like an alright place when they were dragging us through it in chains." Farber added. "You were still out of it, Walhart."

"We'll be leaving the ship in a rowboat. The city guard obviously wouldn't be very receptive if we sailed right into the port. My friends will take it from here." One of the crooked sailors handed Ruger a sheet of paper. "Oh yeah, this was quite the haul."

"What's that?" Farber asked as he craned his neck over.

"None of your business!"

"It's a shipping manifest." Walhart responded casually as he scanned over it. "It details the cargo, passengers, and crew of the ship."

"How do you know?"

"Because I read it."

Walhart didn't understand why Ruger was looking at him inquisitively until he remembered how rare his relative level of education was amongst commoners. "You can read? Can you write too?"

"I can."

"Hmm. I'll keep that in mind. How'd you learn?"

"My wife is a merchant's daughter. She taught me."

"Heh, well I guess we know who wears the pants in your family."

Walhart scowled. "My wife and I have a cherished partnership a disgusting slime like yourself could never comprehend!"

"Yeesh! What's the world come to that I can't tell a good misogynistic joke in the company of strangers I just killed several guards with. So anyways, I'm guessing you two won't be returning to the mine?"

"What do you think?" Farber said, annoyed. He took a deep breath as he looked over Kronshtadt and thought about the situation. "We can't really go back to Sakdrisi, Walhart. If they recognize us, we'll be right back where we started."

"We didn't do anything wrong." Walhart's mind flashed back to the soldier. "I mean, I was forced to… I didn't mean to… I don't deserve this!"

"Deserve's got nothing to do with it." Ruger actually seemed to have genuine sadness in his voice. "Some men are born princes, and they get everything handed to them. History remembers them for millennia. Others are born in the slums, and they have to do things like this to make a living. They spend their whole lives working just to scrape by, and then they're forgotten… but oh well." Ruger's slippery smile returned. "Hey, if you two need work, I can hook you up with something."

Farber squinted at him. "I don't think we want anything to do with whatever you're offering."

"It's honest. I'd swear on my mother, but I sold her." Ruger looked between the two. "That was a joke. Laugh would you."

Walhart shifted in place. He was in very desperate need of a stable income, after all. "What kind of work?"

"Ugh, now where did the servants put those fruit preserves? I'm hungry!" Within the royal palace at Kremnica, the seat of Valmese power, lived the King and his family. The youngest was currently in the process of furiously rummaging through a pantry attached to one of the palace's many kitchens. "If I have to wait for dinner, I'll… oh… oh!" The princess's face turned pale as she nervously backed away from the shelf. "AAAAUGH! Adalhaid!"

The King of Valm had two daughters. Adalhaid, fifteen years old now, was heir to the throne. One day the entire Kingdom, such as it was, would be hers. Annalisa, fourteen years old now, had far less expectations on her shoulders, and so was more childish. The differences between the two were made especially evident by their appearances. Adalhaid wore a regal yet practical outfit of both cloth and plate armor colored in the gold and purple that symbolized the Kingdom of Valm. She notably kept her long, navy blue hair loose, letting it flow past her shoulders. Annalisa preferred a simple blue and white form-fitting dress that ended at her thighs and boots that went up past her knees. She notably kept her own navy blue hair tied up in two girlish chin length pigtails.

"Gods!" Adalhaid said to herself as she turned. "I don't think I've ever seen Annalisa run that fast." The monarchs of Valm were expected to be proficient in fencing, and the King hadn't made his eldest daughter an exception. Adalhaid drew an elegant but entirely functional rapier and sprinted towards the pantry. "Sister, are we under attack?!"

"Aah-haaauugh! Haidy!"

The crown princess gripped her sister by the shoulders. "Breathe, Ann. Just calm down. Now tell me what happened!"

"B-bug! Big, scary bug! Huge!"

"A bug?" Adalhaid gave an expression that would generally precede a facepalm. "You're this worked up over a bug?"

"A huge bug! It's hairy, and it's got so many legs! It's a nightmare!"

"You're telling me all this screaming and flailing was over a bug? Surely you jest? I thought there was an intruder!"

"AAAAHH! It's back!" Annalisa darted behind her sister. "Help me!"

"Come now, I don't see why this is so-" The heir to the Valmese throne finally got a good look at the creature herself, and her stoicism melted. "EEEEEK!"

"See! SEE! It's the stuff of nightmares!"

"Nightmares?!" Adalhaid responded as she backed away. "This is like one of Duma's abominations from the legends!"

"Kill it, Haidy! Ki-hill it!"

"I'm not going near that thing!"

"Oh, come on! How are you going to rule the kingdom if you can't kill this bug!"

"Those two things are completely unrelated!"

"You're the oldest! Daddy says you have to take care of your little sister." Annalisa waved towards the critter. "Now go protect me!"

Adalhaid sighed as she nervously approached the unwelcome guest and took a wild swing with her rapier that had no chance to actually hit it. The arthropod responded by turning towards her and jumping out of sight. Neither of the princesses could tell where it landed, and they didn't plan to stick around to find out. They were both on the opposite end of the kitchen a split second later. "Gods!" Adalhaid cried as her rapier quivered in her hands. "It's a demon out of the seven hells!"

"AH-HAAA! It can fly! Naga has forsaken us!"

"What the bloody 'ell is going on here?!"

The young women turned as a man clad in heavy purple and gold plate armor stepped into the kitchen. "Cervantes!" Annalisa cried with glee. "Help us!"

Cervantes was a long ways away from being the high ranking general that the Shepherds would someday face, but unlike Walhart, he was already a soldier. One of the most distinguished knights in Valm, and the pride of its military academy, Cervantes had dedicated his life to serving in the military. He yearned for a life of adventure and honor. A life of glory and ambition. Perhaps someday he'd rise to command his own nation, and then his greatness would be remembered throughout history. At just twenty six years old, Cervantes had already made a name for himself within the kingdom, and he saw the King's offer to serve as an officer in his royal guard and as a personal retainer for his daughters as a major stepping stone for his career. How could he refuse such a generous opportunity?

With every passing year, Cervantes continued to think of more reasons on why he should have.

"You have need of my services, eh wot?" Cervantes smiled as he drew his tomahawk. "The ladies would stand back now. I'll deal with whatever intruder that dares violate the sovereignty of his majesty's palace!"

Adalhaid couldn't suppress a relieved smile herself. "Thank you, Cervantes." She pointed her rapier towards where she'd last seen the supposed monstrosity. "Over there! A huge, massive insect!"

"Ha! No burglar is a match for… wait. Did you say… insect?"

"Yes!" Annalisa answered as she moved from hiding behind her sister to hiding behind him.

"You mean those buggers that crawl along the ground? This isn't some armed lunatic determined to harm you?"

"Just because it isn't armed doesn't mean it's not dangerous." Annalisa stuck her finger out. "There-it-is-there-it-is-there-it-is!"

The critter made its triumphant return and began to skitter towards the group. The princesses clung to the wall as if trying to avoid a passing carriage. Cervantes just stood there in annoyed disbelief. "Honestly, you two. All this commotion over a silly little bug? Besides, this isn't an insect. This is an arachnid. You can tell by the number of legs, and the abdomen is all wrong. Don't you remember your tutoring?"

"Who cares about what kind of demon it is!" Annalisa shot back. "Besides, what arachnid can fly?!"

Sure enough, the arthropod of undetermined ancestry flew directly onto Cervantes' face. The young women froze up in abject terror, but the career soldier simply stood there. If anything Cervantes was just glad it didn't get in his neatly combed light brown hair. His elder self might have had an issue with it getting in his beard…

But this Cervantes was entirely clean shaven. The King himself mandated it.

"Ugh. You two are impossible." Cervantes simply plucked it off and crushed it in his armored gauntlet. "There. Are you happy now?"

"Alright, Cervantes!"

"Yay!" Adalhaid herself exclaimed. "I mean, thank you, Cervantes."

"I heard that. The crown princess of Valm does not say 'yay'. This is unbelievable. You two are almost grown women yet you can't deal with a simple arachnid… thing."

"Don't look so grumpy, Cervantes." Annalisa said playfully. "You're our retainer, so you have to do whatever we say."

Cervantes had been serving the royal family for five years now. What was just a few years from the perspective of a grown man was several years of important psychological and emotional development for the young princesses, and they came to view Cervantes almost like an uncle. Cervantes himself would give his life for the princesses because that was the duty expected of him, but he wasn't sure he actually liked them. "I'm afraid this is my default expression, milady. Besides, true as that may be, I have far more pressing matters to attend to, I tell you h-what. Surely you two can try just a little harder to take care of yourselves?"

"I'm sorry, Cervantes." Adalhaid perked up. "Is there anything I can do to help you?"

"Simply absurd. I need to go inspect the armory for worn and damaged equipment."

"Do you need any assistance?"

"I cannot allow that. You could trip on something or cut yourself. Besides, I'm not sure I trust you around those weapons. You're still very much in training, and I saw how uncoordinated you are with that steel by your side."

Adalhaid hung her head somewhat. "Oh, I see."

"Speaking of which, I'm sure you two have a tutor expecting you, wot? Isn't it about time for your algebra instruction?"

Both of the women scowled. "Argh!" Annalisa whined. "I hate algebra! It's useless!"

"Is not, milady."

"Is too! If in a thousand years they someday have a society with horseless carriages, instant communication, and fancy, insect free metal buildings, I'll bet they still won't need the average person to learn algebra! It's useless!"

"Well you're not the average person, kid, I mean, milady. Your education is of great importance."

"Do you use algebra?"

"Well… no… just go."

"Fine."

Adalhaid nodded. "Goodbye, Cervantes, and thank you for dealing with the… intruder."

"Of course, milady. Don't mention it. I mean, you really shouldn't mention it."

The two women walked out of the kitchen. One of Cervantes' subordinates tried to enter the room right as they left, and he respectfully stood to the side as they exited. He then stood at attention by his superior. "Cervantes, sir! Do you need any help?"

Cervantes scoffed. "No. The princesses were just showing me how far they have to go in terms of maturity. At ease, soldier."

"Heh, I know what you mean. Being around them will always give you some kind of excitement."

"Hmph. They shouldn't be acting like this."

"Ah, don't take it so seriously, sir. Why, they're downright adorable."

"They are far too old to be 'adorable'. They take nothing seriously. How can we trust matters of state to people like that?"

"So why don't you whip them into shape?"

Cervantes looked down. "Because they're the princesses. My career could be over if they ever became genuinely upset with me. This was supposed to be a way to advance my career, but now I feel that I'll be stuck here in this gilded cage. I've no choice but to be their baby sitter. If I was dismissed, I'd never work as anything but a mercenary ever again. You know, my boy, I've never actually seen a battle. My training is still just that. I've never had a chance to prove myself."

"And you want one, sir?"

"I know it seems strange to wish that the peace would collapse… but I'm a soldier. I need war to truly be a soldier, just as much as the princesses need the feudal system to be considered princesses." Cervantes glanced down to the dead creature. "There has to be something more for me beyond these walls. I can't just stay here until I'm old and gray. I can't die with this thing as my greatest kill."

"Be careful what you wish for, sir. If you spend your life looking for trouble, you'll find it."

Cervantes sheathed his weapon. "Trouble is at the root of ambition. No one ever rose to greatness by rotting in a palace all day."

Walhart, Farber, several other escaped miners, and Ruger eventually managed to row into the Kronshtadt harbor and slip into the city through the back alleys. Ruger had promised to help them find work, but he didn't take them to anywhere Walhart expected. He quietly whisked them away to a seemingly abandoned structure on the very edge of the city. Stepping inside, the group found themselves in the seating area of a large, arena like venue. Ruger lead them all into a dedicated viewing box, the kind a VIP might spend massive amounts of money on, and from there Walhart could see just how large the arena truly was. The arena itself had actually been dug into the ground, extending far below the ugly, brutalist building that seemed to exist just to hide it. It was large enough for a company to hold exercises on. Surrounding it on all sides were four rows of seating extending all the way to the building's roof. Small holes on the ceiling allowed enough light in to illuminate the pit, but it was still rather dark in places. It was almost as if this was intentional. The darkness would certainly give opportunities for tactical ambushes and blind side attacks. There was enough seating for a few hundred people.

"What… what is this place?" Walhart wondered aloud, in awe of how much effort had been put into both constructing it and hiding it from prying eyes.

Farber scanned the area. "This place isn't exactly known to the city authorities is it?"

Ruger shrugged. "Come now. They aren't that stupid, but a few bribes here and there helps to dull their perception. Besides, the officials see the need for the working classes to have an outlet."

"Outlet?" Walhart asked nervously. "Ruger, what is this?"

Ruger extended his arms out towards the arena. "Welcome, new friends, to the pits. Historically speaking, what pray tell do the workers do to blow off steam when booze, whores, and meager pay isn't enough? What will the rich and bored pay massive amounts of money to see? Fight clubs! Underground, unregulated, gladiator matches!"

Farber and Walhart looked at each other as the other miners whispered amongst themselves. "Excuse me what?" Farber spoke up. "This is the work you have for us? A fight club?"

Ruger gestured for them to come to the glass window. Looking towards the arena, Walhart and Farber could see a group of men taking the field. They wore metal armor and carried metal weapons, but their equipment was designed to be more visually interesting than practical. They seemed to be segregated into three color coded teams, and their armor was irregular. For example, one man had an armored right leg and left arm while his left leg and right arm were kept bare. Another had a full, military grade shield and nothing else besides a loincloth. Their weapons seemed random. One had a trident and a net. Another had a short sword. Another had a large hammer. Some of the weapons were so bizarre that Walhart didn't recognize them at all, and some seemed like simple farming and mining tools. Ruger waited until the men began to spar to continue talking. "Hear me out. I'm a very well connected man. I know you all used to work at the Sakdrisi gold mine, and I know how important that mine is to the kingdom. However could they get by without the miners?"

"That's what we thought." Farber groaned.

Walhart frowned. "That woman mentioned something about Einherjar. What are those?"

"Ah." Ruger answered. "Now you're talking about magic. Now I ain't no mage, but I have some knowledge of the more esoteric parts of magic. Einherjar are replications of real people that can be summoned and controlled. They can do anything a human can do. They can even pretend to think and have a personality. Thing is that they don't have souls. They're mindless. They'll do whatever you want. Think about it. Why pay human laborers when Einherjar will work for free, without food or sleep? Why get married when you can screw an Einherjar that will never say no or be too tired? Why have human soldiers when you can make Einherjar of a few good warriors and deploy them endlessly? If Einherjar were more widespread, they'd change the face of society, but they're rare. Only a few mages have access to them."

"So how did the government get them?" Farber asked. Walhart scowled as he remembered.

"The Magistrate mentioned the church."

"The church has mages and a bunch of suckers that will willingly donate money. They can recruit Einherjar, and they'll let the government use them." Ruger gave a twisted smile. "Think about how puny this kingdom is. Once the other more prosperous kingdoms realize what Valm is doing, nothing will stop them from doing it too. Chon'sin and Ylisse will automate their farms. Plegia, Roseanne, and Tarsque will automate their port facilities and ships. Ferox and Veslil will automate their own mines. There won't be any jobs left for uneducated workers. There won't be a place in the world for men like you two. They'll finally do it. They'll get rid of all the poor people. Create a nice, pretty world filled with the rich, privileged, and educated. They won't need us. They find us disgusting."

Walhart scowled. "You're just trying to scare us. Make us want to come running to you for work."

"Everything I'm saying makes sense. You know it does."

Farber didn't seem to know what to think. "We wanted honest work."

"And I want to plow our lovely Queen. Maybe with a nice glass of wine on a resort island off the coast of Ylisse. We don't always get what we want. Look, this is good work. It pays well."

"How much?"

"A thousand gold per match as a starting pay, and that's just for participating. It's fifteen hundred if your team wins."

Farber looked back to the practicing gladiators. "But this is so dangerous."

Ruger turned to them. "We don't fight to kill. No one really gets hurt." The three recoiled as they saw one gladiator strike another in the knee with a mace. "Well… no one ever dies. We have healers for minor injuries. Killing isn't allowed."

Walhart shook his head. "I'm not a criminal! I will not be part of your schemes, little man!"

"You are a criminal, Walhart. Anyone who resists the law is a criminal. You're a criminal just for participating in that miner revolt. You know, I'm sure Commodia won't forget about the man that threw a rock at her. She's a powerful woman. When she finds out you escaped, she'll look for you."

Walhart squinted at him. "So you really do know what happened?"

"Like I said, I'm well connected. We can shelter you. See, a lot of nobles and government officials come to see the games. They like to see men beat the snot out of each other as much as anyone else. They'll never crack down on this because then they'd get in trouble for watching the games! The law doesn't apply here! We can keep you safe from Commodia." Walhart thought about it, and Ruger knew he was convincing him. He pressed forward, taking a more ideological approach. "Besides, there's nothing wrong with it just because it's illegal. Say we have two men. One desires a woman and doesn't feel like courting her, so he rapes her. The other has to feed his family and doesn't like his pay, so he works with smugglers. Both men are equally criminals, but you can't stand there and tell me they're both equally vile. Don't conflate the law with morality. The law exists for the benefit of the law makers. Surely you have come to suspect what I have long since realized. Kingdoms don't care for their people. The majority cannot legally rise to positions of power, so we do it outside the law. Crime gives us a way out. It lets us make society work for us. You can spend your whole life working in a mine, or on a farm, or in a workshop, and they will never thank you. Why do you think we get men to be gladiators? Why would they fight for the entertainment of other people? It's because here, men can be men! You can fight for your own fortune! Your own glory! Your own name! They'll all cheer for you! Men and women! Peasants and nobles! Rich and poor! Anyone can be someone here! All you have to do is be a good fighter! See out there, you'll spend your life working, and the rich will profit off of your back. Here, you'll fight for yourself! The blood you spill and the money you'll make will be in the name of your own free will and nothing more! Here, unlike out there, people actually rise through merit!"

Walhart still didn't trust Ruger, but he'd be lying to himself if he said that didn't make sense. Walhart thought about it, but Farber didn't. He seemed to have made up his mind. "I'll do it."

"Farber?!" Walhart exclaimed.

"What? He's right. We need work, and this sounds good to me." Farber stared at the practicing gladiators and actually blushed. "All those young men fighting. Brushing up against each other. Sweat dripping from their muscles. It's too good to be true."

Ruger shifted around. "Uh… I think your friend is a little too into this… but at least he said yes. How about you, big guy?"

"I… I don't know. I don't want to fight to entertain other people like some barbarian."

Ruger knew when to give up on one advance and concentrate an another front. "Hmm. You said you knew how to read and write didn't you?"

"Yes?"

"We could still use you. We need writers."

"You do?"

"About two thirds of our income comes from the admission fees. The other third comes from selling writings about the fights. People who didn't get to see the matches will pay to read them, and they help to advertise our next fights. We want good writers to describe the fights in graphic detail. How does that sound?"

"You'd… really pay me for writing?"

"We would."

"How much?"

"We'll cover your expenses, but the only profit you'll see comes from what we make selling the writings. We figure that'll encourage you to be good."

"But I can't stay here. I have a wife in Sakdrisi. I can't leave her."

"Bring her over. We'll shelter your family."

"What if she won't go? Could you… send my profits to her?"

"Sure. I don't see why not."

"Why should I trust you?"

"Well workers don't work very well if they're not being paid. We need you."

Farber smiled at him. "I think this is a real opportunity, Walhart. There's nothing for us out there. I want to do this, and I'd hate for this to be goodbye."

Ruger gave the most slippery smile yet. "Besides, without us there's nothing protecting you from Commodia."

As much as Walhart didn't trust Ruger, he was secretly ecstatic at the idea of being a paid writer. For once in his life he could forge his own destiny with his mind. For once he wouldn't be expendable. "I have one request. I'll need to see my wife one last time."

Ruger nodded. "I'll take that as a yes. We'll get you started as soon as you come back." Ruger motioned to the arena. "And remember, we can always get you work as a gladiator if you change your mind. Who knows. Maybe one day everyone will know the name of Walhart."