Harpstring Moon, Imperial Year 1175

The first step on their little band's journey was Remire Village. Even with its proximity to Garreg Mach the farming village had never been all that prosperous and the ongoing tensions between the Empire and the Kingdom had made things even worse. Half the population had fled, and Jeralt couldn't blame them. Even this close to the border he couldn't see the Empire diverting troops to save a farming village with less than a thousand people in it. The people would rather take the risk traveling and settling elsewhere than be on the frontline of a war.

With half the people the other half had to work twice as hard just maintaining their fields. Which meant there wasn't much time for keeping the village infrastructure in tact. The roads had become nothing more than well-traveled dirt paths marked by holes and ditches every third step. The wall was nothing more than a knee-high mound of dirt. Half the houses were showing signs of damage: broken windows, shattered boards, collapsed roofs and scorch marks.

Which was too much damage just for a lack of repair. Remire had been hit by bandits, and no one had done anything about it.

The half of the village still occupied was barely better off. The windows were cracked, but still there, the roofs leaky but whole and there was some semblance of roadwork in stone steps. The villagers shot him hard glares when he came up to discuss the situation. Though the houses were better off than their lower tier counterparts, most of them still had the injuries of attack prefacing their structure. The windmill barely spun, half the wells were collapsed.

They'd just have to fix that.

He hoped to just get permission to camp outside limits, but with all the empty houses they could fit the entire group in with no difficulty. It took some haggling with the village leader, but Jeralt was able to convince him to let the mercenaries stay in the town limits in return for repair work.

Not just taking care of the bandits either. He directed his band of followers to go about easing the burdens of the villagefolk as much as possible. Some of the knights grumbled, of course. This kind of thing was done by squires and commoner infantry, not the glorious former Knights of Seiros—which he was damn quick to remind them off. This was the kind of work they'd be signing on for. They needed to get used to it now.

With able sets of hands the villagers directed the mercenaries to repairs. Cutting trees, making them into boards to repair the damaged homes. Gathering the thatch and stone to repair roofs and floors. Clearing out the wells again, making sure the windmills innards were working all correct.

Then came making sure nothing else happened after they left. Duscur was proof enough that all the Kingdom honor and chivalry didn't apply if they felt slighted. If war came, they'd attack, and defenseless civilians or not Remire would be a target. They had to defend themselves as much as they could manage. Jeralt set up a rotation to train the healthy men and women as a militia, even the kids getting a few lessons because it wouldn't hurt. Byleth proved surprisingly adept at it, when Jeralt wasn't taking the lead. The stoic nature of his son was received better here then the actual Officers Academy.

Cassandra, Christophe, Alois and even Glenn all rotated in to giving instructions to the militia. None of the villagers ever got good with a sword, but they could put out a pretty mean stab with their pitchforks at least. The few hunters they had already knew how to aim, so teaching them to teach the others became that matter of course. Maybe a fifth of those who took up the bow could hit a target but it was better than nothing. If bandits did attack, they might have a chance on their own, at least.

While that was going on, Jeralt also led a reconstruction of the villages defenses. The buildings were nestled in a valley opposite a river, using it as a moat, more or less, with the dirt wall on the village-side. It wouldn't do much against a determined foe, so they set about bolstering it up. They had to start with reinforcing the river sides so any work didn't just fall into the water. Bringing the wall up as tall as Jeralt, flattening the top and putting up some wooden scaffolding and fencework to make it a pain to try and climb it from outside. With only a single bridge into town a decent defense could be mustered when it came to it.

They added on some watchtowers too, for good measure. Two on the inside of the village itself, near the far ends of the walls along with one afield for scouting purposes. There was a lot of brush on the outskirts that a sneak thief could use.

It all proved useful when the bandits did come calling. Barely more than twenty. All their weapons were rusted and chipped. Deserters, or desperate men, didn't matter. A demand to surrender was ignored. So they ran the bandits down. Between Jeralt's group and the militia they took all of them down without a single fatality.

All the dour looks and glares that had slowly faded during the week where replaced entirely with big fat grins and cheers. Jeralt turned down a feast in their honor, no use in wasting food like that.

The win was a good morale booster too. Aside from Christophe and Glenn a lot of the men were getting antsy about aiding a tiny village against bandits when they came to fight a war. Even if it wasn't a feast, there was enough of a festival that Jeralt had to lay down some rules about not spending the entire night drinking and dancing.

Most of his little command staff set up in the inn. Still maintained despite the lose of people. The same inn from four years ago. Just like then a creak in the floorboards sent Jeralt reaching for his lance. This time it was only a simple mouse. He had to laugh at that. A knock at the door. "It's me," Byleth said through the wood.

Jeralt got up and let his kid in. Who'd butchered another new coat to open up the upper sleeves. "I'm gonna stop paying for new clothes if all you're gonna do is wreck them."

Byleth just nodded and the two went back inside. "What's wrong? The dreams?"

"The war. But no. It's about when we were in Fhirdiad."

"Still can't remember anything?"

"I remember snow. But that can't be true." Dry as summer when Jeralt got back. "Are we leaving because of what happened there?"

Kid was always sharp. "What brought this on?"

"This village recalls memories."

"Well…" Jeralt debated the truth within for a moment and settled. "If it happens that going south finds the perpetrator, then that's a lucky break for us."

Byleth started for a few moments. "I see."

Was he interested in the truth? It was always damn impossible to tell. "Do you want to find out who stabbed you?"

"No."

He should be surprised but he still was. "Why not?"

"I don't know why."

Jeralt scratched the back of his head. There wasn't much he could do here. "Well, maybe you'll find something along the way. Like… you looked fine when you were teaching?"

"The villagers gripe less than the students."

That was for sure. When you're entire life is spent being told you're better than everyone else it's hard to accept teachers. Even Cassandra was full of herself even if she was friendlier about it. "Maybe we can come back here one day." The idea didn't elicit any reaction from Byleth. "Now get to bed. Can't have one of my lieutenants marching about half-asleep." Byleth nodded and left, leaving Jeralt to recall the past.

He focused his mind on piecing together what happened in Fhirdiad so long ago. Volkhard had vanished. Byleth had been injured. Volkhard had to know about Duscur, he was gone by the time Jeralt returned to the city. Well in advance of when anyone should know. But there was no reason for Byleth to go looking for him. Nor was he found collapsed near the exile's estate either. He'd been found in the Fhirdiad Castle grounds. A stab to the shoulder and a heavy beating to the face. Not a single piece of evidence as to who assaulted his son.

Beyond Volkhard the only thing close to a lead was the Western Church. But if they'd been behind the attack there were too many things inconsistent. Why hurt, instead of kill? Why hurt instead of kidnap? Why make no noise about the action entirely?

There existed the chance of just random violence but such a thing didn't sit well. So, he focused on what he could. And what was beyond reach. When Volkhard left the Kingdom he returned to Enbarr, the Imperial Capital and never, ever left. Not even when his territory was being threatened by the Kingdom. Just another mystery to solve.

Which led to the stab wound Byleth received… which healed without scarring. There were some Crests that could restore one's life. Ceathleann, or Reigan. But Marigold was most assuredly neither of those and the Crest of Seiros Jeralt had couldn't account for it. It was some unknown Crest. Whichever one it was, surely had to be the reason Rhea was so interested in him. He'd kept Hanneman from investigating for years. Maybe it was finally time to make sure the plans were utterly undone and just leave.

The anxiety troubled his sleep.

So long when morning struck a slight headache was forming. The last thing he needed.

The whole of their group was gathered back at the village's outer wall. The villagefolk gathered around to see them off.

"All right people, we're moving out."

"Where are we headed, Captain?" asked Alois.

"City of Valm. I've heard it's where Count Bergliez was stationed."

"What if he isn't?" Alois wasn't alone in looking worried.

"Well, whoever's left in charge would be trusted enough to get us a recommendation to the count. Lean on our rep a bit and a meeting shouldn't be too hard to get." And from Bergliez, to Arundel.

"Right on then! Move out… errr… hmmm, we're not the Knights of Seiros anymore, are we?"

"That's right."

"Then we need a new name!" Cassndra threw herself into the conversation. "A real tough name that'll get us taken seriously." She got a few nods from others.

"Anyone got any ideas?" He didn't particularly care but if they did, why not?

A couple threw up some. Nothing particularly good.

"I know," Cassandra shouted, "how about the Broken Blade mercenaries?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Was it a play on his title?

"Well, are you familiar with the Kingdom's dagger custom?"

"Yeah, cutting your own future and whatnot."

"Exactly. See, we'll be 'breaking' the future that Dagda and Brigid want to make."

"I… guess that makes sense." In a really tortured way. "Shouldn't we be Dagger Breakers, then?"

"Well, blades are more imposing than daggers…"

"Then we'd just end up with fifty-odd 'Blade Breakers'. OK, I see your point. Anyone else got a better idea?"

Everyone else offered even worse examples or shrugged and went along with it. "All right, then. Broken Blade it is. Move out!"

"Here comes the Broken Blade, oh yeah!" she cheered as they began their first march.

Second day of their trip to Valm was already rife with eagerness. Despite being well north of where any combat would be occurring, half the 'Broken Blade' were still willing to march in their armor. They didn't complain or grumble or lessen their pace west at all, so Jeralt let it slide. It might impact them in the future, but for now, .

The forested road they walked through was well-traveled enough to get a road of wooden planks. A boon for a group like them. The weather was clear, but if it had rained on pure dirt roads their entire column would be held up to drag out the wagons from mud.

Jeralt rode at the head of their whole column listened to Glenn share stories with Byleth behind him. The state of the Kingdom as a result of the war - bad - his own affairs back at home and even his love life. Kid had been engaged since his fiancée's birth. That was the Kingdom for you.

Byleth didn't have much to share back but the other kid listened intently anyway.

Christophe rode up next to him, initiating a conversation, "Captain… I'd just like to say… thanks."

"What for?"

"For helping those people."

"Well, we got free lodging out of it so it wasn't pure altruism."

"That's still better than most I've seen the past few years…"

Jeralt hadn't been back to Faerghus since the punishment. Everything that filtered in was terrible and worse. Someone has sensitive as Christophe living it… well, it made sense he looked half-dead. "So, what have you been doing about it?"

"I…" Christophe looked away. "Nothing."

"Cassandra said something about your father adopting some kids, that's not nothing."

He sighed at the idea. "I… enjoy my new brothers, my new sister. They're good kids. Bright and cheery despite everything. Ashe, the oldest, is one of the sweetest boys I've ever met. But…" He shook his head. "It never feels like enough. It feels like I should be doing more. But I've seen what happens to those who defy the regent. It's… nice… to actually do something to improve people's lives."

Even if the regent was still threatening them? Though he'd keep that thought to himself. "Well, you're always welcome to join us on knight business when you stop by." Anything they could be doing was easily less ridiculous than these circumstances."

"Maybe…" Christophe paused for a moment. His eyes twitching in some form of indecision. "Jeralt—"

—"Something's wrong," Byleth cut in.

"What is it?" Couldn't be Brigid or Dagda this far north. Bandits? Again?

"It's—" arrows came flying in from the north! Hits to armored glanced off but the wagon drivers got an arm stuck full and fell off clutching their wounds.

"Behind the wagons, now!" Armor up front, cover everyone else!" The convoy lurched to a halt as his orders ran down the line. Smart unarmored people jumped to the south side as another spread of arrows pierced the air. Then stopped. The volleys were small and far apart. The ambush wasn't much of one. Maybe fifteen men from the shot speed. Well practiced shield formations stepped forth and covered their comrades grabbing their own protection.

Byleth bolted into the woods south. To the utter bafflement of Glenn. Maybe he was thinking him a coward, but that wasn't it. "Cavalry, cover the wagons! Infantry into the front woods, watch your steps!" On command the armored foot soldiers advanced to the tree line. Arrows still coming to little effect, only a few taking hits from smart shots at joints. The five other horses in their column set up near the van and rear, ready to ride down anything that emerged.

And emerged a dozen men, covered in brown leather, short bows on their backs and small swords drawn. They skirted around the advancing infantry line and charged at the soldiers trying to put on their gear behind the wagons but Jeralt's troops were ready. The cavalry cut them off, taking down two and forcing the rest of the attack team to back off. Stopped by cavalry and with half the infantry realigning to surround them, the ambushers cut their losses and faded back into the treeline. Vanishing entirely within the greenery before anyone could stop them.

Through the tree lines he could see Alois and Cassandra forcing back the rest of the ambush party. The assailants were fast and the leather gave them a resistance to some attacks but they'd chosen to ambush for a reason. In direct combat they couldn't compete with the hard defense of metal.

So, why did they continue to attack? A few vollies and a retreat would have done more damage than their current actions. Why take such a life-threatening risk like that charge? Because it was a misdirection! "Other side, now!" Jeralt brought his horse round—to see Byleth emerge from the southern trees. Splashed in blood that wasn't his and dragging another ambusher. His kid had sensed the misdirection immediately. "Good work."

"There were thirty, I think," said Byleth. "No swords. Just bows and a few arrows in each quiver."

Jeralt nodded. A raiding party this far north was completely cut off from normal supply lines. They were probably attacking them to claim their supplies.

Alois and Cassandra's units returned with a glorious cheer and three more prisoners. Count Hevring was gonna be mighty pleased with this effort.

He took stock of the situation. Three dead; eight wounded. Byleth's faith training and a few others could take care of the body wounds, but couldn't do much for the blood loss. They had four prisoners in good condition, six more ambushers who were wounded, three of those so severe they had to be granted a final mercy and another nine enemies dead. All told not a bad start to their campaign.

Still, even with their victory they could have done better. If Byleth hadn't sensed the misdirection coming the hit would have been twice as bad. Jeralt used the experience to institute some new changes to their marching formation. Everyone had to go armored out. It'd slow travel time, but it was better than getting hit like that again. He had outriders made of his cavalry and looser formations set in. And prisoner detail for their walking gifts, as well.

Everyone's spirits were riding high so they accepted the changes with good morale. Hopefully that would stick towards the end of the war. Hopefully.

"I don't understand the Brigid tongue," said Jeralt. At least, he thought it was Brigid. Byleth certainly seemed to think so according to his time spent in the library. "But I wager they were supposed to be ambushing caravans up north so no place in the Empire was beyond their reach."

Count Hevring leaned back in his chair. An extra large wooden piece for the man's great height. It was a rare man indeed Jeralt had to look up at. Slim, despite his height, with a dark coat that only accented it. With hawkish features and a sharp, pointed beard in green. His jadelike eyes narrowed behind his square-framed glasses. "Horace has presumed as much, yes." He leaned back. "Yours is the first group to survive an encounter with these raiding parties. It's why I condoned this… meeting."

"Send us south and we'll be just as successful."

"You think this small success would deem you fit for such a position?"

"It earned me an audience with you." Getting a face-to-face with the Empire's Minister of Domestic Affairs so readily wasn't something Jeralt was expecting so soon. He thought he'd have to lean on his name a bit more, but all it took was the prisoners and he was led into a fancy noble room.

Count Hevring sniffed at the idea. "Horace is busy enough with directing the military's counterattack. A band of sellswords such as yourselves is beneath his notice."

The room certainly matched that level of superiority. The floors and walls were marble, with a thick crimson carpet decorating the floor. A golden chandelier hung overhead with scented candles (vanilla) drifting down. The desk was large and imposing, size of a bed and neatly stacked with papers. "So all we need to do is earn some fame to get an audience, eh?" Jeralt needled at his words.

"You presume overmuch."

"I think I understand enough of Count Bergliez."

"Do you now?" Hevring raised an eyebrow at the idea and studied him with a narrow eye. "Then enlighten me." The delightful condescension of a noble humoring a commoner.

"Let's start with the simple. You're at war. You always needed more bodies. And mercenaries are more expendable than home troops."

Hevring crossed his fingers at the idea. "I very much doubt you're offering yourselves as sacrificial pawns."

"Of course not. We're tough, some of the toughest around. Just ask your brand new prisoners."

"A better point. But hardly a reason to recommend you to Horace."

"Because war with the Kingdom is still a possibility. That's why you're up here after all."

Count Hevring leaned in. "So you're not entirely without wits, it seems."

"The Empire is fighting without its full strength. It needs every sword it can get. And Count Bergliez is well known for his utilization of strong fighters. His war groups are renowned for their relentless attacks."

"You've something of a point now, but lack in some overwhelming credence to recommend yourself."

Overwhelming, eh? "How about knowledge the Church of Seiros isn't gonna come riding to save your hides."

"As if the Empire needs such assistance."

"The raiding party suggests otherwise."

Hevring recoiled like he'd sniffed something foul. "How would you come by such knowledge anyway as a simple sellsword?"

It was time for Jeralt to recline in the chair. "Simple. I was a knight of Seiros who left the organization because they weren't willing to fight. We all were." More or less.

"And you expect me to believe such a tale?"

"The truth? Yes. We haven't been properly introduced, have we?" Jeralt stood up and offered his hand. "Jeralt Eisner."

A flicker of recognition flew across the man's face. Not enough to be obvious, but Jeralt could key into that kind of subtly when he wanted to. "And I'm to believe you're the Blade Breaker?"

"Ask everyone in camp and they'll all say the same."

"A readied farce."

"So, is it a farce when Volkhard von Arundel told me you helped strip Emperor Ionious of power?"

Fierce as a storm the man rose. Eyes alight with indignity and wrath. "You forget your place—mercenary. For such a tactless tongue you could well be removed from the Empire permanently. And that's a kindness."

"Have you forgotten? I quit the Knights of Seiros. Who rules what government isn't my concern anymore. Unless it's Dagda putting their own puppet on the throne."

The man's eyes were slit-wide in rage. "And you expect such glib tongue to ingrain yourself a favorable position with me? Ha, you've accomplished the opposite."

"Even should I be willing to divulge that the Kingdom is putting pressure on the Central Church to avoid taking sides?"

"Blackhearts." The man grit his teeth. "Perhaps lead with such a thing next time."

"Yet you believe me now."

The words cooled the man's disposition and he rejoined his seating. "So, this was all a ploy to get me to listen?"

"I would have preferred you just believe me upfront but I do what works." Jeralt rescinded his hand and sat back down. "I'm here because the church can't officially help because of the Kingdom. The sooner this war is over, the better for everyone. Everyone I convinced to come with me thinks the same."

"I've not known the Central Church to be so timid in its matters. Why bend knee to the Kingdom now?"

"Making sure the Duscur weren't exterminated was a hard-fought battle itself. They aren't happy to get their revenge taken from them like that." Jeralt tipped his head and indicated Hevring's very presence.

"You've made your case. But I still see very little reason to send you directly to Horace."

Jeralt leaned unto the desk separating them. "We aren't some random squires or newly coined knights. These are some of the best the Knights of Seiros had to offer. More than a match for the best Dagda and Brigid have and an equal force to the Imperial Guard. Guaranteed." He tapped on the desk for emphasis.

Hevring stroked his beard for a moment. Good thoughts since he didn't immediately fight back about them being a match for the Empire's best. "And you would be willing to follow orders?"

"Yes."

"Even ones you disagree with personal?"

"No. Drawing the line is important."

"So is survival."

"So is the survival of what we fight for."

Hevring responded with a slight nod. "An interesting line of thought, is it not?" Speaking to himself more than his guest. "Why do you think it is that I sided against my emperor?"

Not the line of questioning he expected. "That really something you should be asking me?"

"Indulge me."

"You didn't want your power taken." Like every person in power ever.

Hevring rolled his eyes. "Please. Peerage or not I'd still be Minister of Domestic Affairs." He leaned forward and bridged his fingers. "Power concentrated in the hands of one person is tyranny."

"That's what monarchies are." Join the Alliance if you want a spread of power.

"A country is more than its emperor." He stood up. "More than one man, or woman at the top."

This was gonna be a 'for the people' speech, wasn't it? "Its people."

Hevring through his arms wide. "A country is everything. Its leaders, its people, its culture. Ionius's attempt at force spat on everything the Empire represented over its entire history. If he had succeeded there we'd well have been a civil war and a fourth power in Fódlan. We preserved the Empire." His hands clenched into tight fists as his words ended.

For the Empire. Now and forever. What a farce. "Then you did good work." Wasn't his place to comment. "Dagda and Brigid are can only be stopped because of your actions."

Hevring nodded self-satisfied at the answer and returned his hands behind him. "And the Empire needs not a hand of outside assistance to stop them."

"Then strip us from the history books, I don't care. But that speech showed how much you do care; so don't deny us the ability to help."

"It is easy to speak nothing of glory and recognition now. What when you receive it? Will you turn it down? And pay besides?"

"I've thrown aside my post already," his answer quick. "My name, my title. And the pay has been handled," and a lie.

"We shall see about that." Count Hevring retrieved several cuts of paper and took quill to them. Showing Jeralt the contents of his recommendations when finished. "Will these suffice, for you and your band?"

"We're calling ourselves the Broken Blade. If it pleases the count?" The count did so. "Yeah, it looks in order." If it was sent.

Hevring sealed the letters inside envelopes and stamped them with his seal. He handed off two of the letters to Jeralt. "The messenger shall depart posthaste for Valacia, where Horace is mustering troops for his counter attack. You will be expected within three days or not at all. Understood?"

"You've made your point perfectly clear." Jeralt stood up and offered another handshake, which got stared down. "Look forward to working with you."

Hevring wrinkled his nose. "Dismissed."

Jeralt returned to the Broken Blade's encampment outside the city limits. Their encampment one among dozens of Imperial regulars and other mercenary groups looking for a contract. The latter group giving him some hard glares on return. Some of them had been here a while, hoping for work and Jeralt was let in on his first hour.

He wasn't expecting trouble but he'd set an extra watch just in case.

Jeralt broke the news. A few nods, some questions and whatnot, nothing worth worrying about.

With their destination set, everyone settled in for a diner with a surprise chef. Swordplay wasn't the only thing Byleth had improved on over the years. Everything they ate had his touch on it. Damn delicious considering the quality of ingredients was middling on average. His food got more cheers than the actual announcement. Shame they couldn't keep him on cooking duty full time without compromising their combat potential.

Even if they were only a few days out he still had to take care of administration duties. Making sure the fallen got their dues sent to their families or friends or whoever they wanted their pay sent to. Inspection of equipment followed. Mostly in good condition. Wagons, tents, food and water. Other supplies that were just as essential but easy to forget. Everything passed inspection.

Keeping up with his subordinates came next. He found Byleth and Glenn and Cassandra engaged in a rigorous round of sparing after meal time. Despite losing her arm she hadn't slowed in the least. Surpassing Glenn in no time and going toe-to-toe with Byleth.

After a few rounds she stepped aside, letting the two men go a few rounds with other mercenaries looking for a spar. "You're as good as ever," Jeralt commented on her performance.

"I was hoping for better than ever," she replied with a half-slack smile.

"You'll get there, one day." He looked around the camp, at the merriment for so little. "What did you think of the Brigid soldiers?"

"One fight's not enough to get a real read on them. Especially one as… pathetic as that."

Pathetic, huh? "You think this is gonna be easy?"

"Not what I was getting at. If they're attacking up this far north, attacking as under equipped as they are? They're desperate. Desperate men fight the hardest."

"You just said they were pathetic."

"Well, that was. But once we get to a proper fight? It's gonna be hard. They were fast, they were organized and they moved through the brush like it was a paved road. We fight them on their terms we're gonna lose."

He nodded along with her assessment. "You've still got a good eye for combat."

"And your's has been slacking off."

He guffawed at the idea. "And right after I praised you too."

"Hey, Byleth was the one to catch the ambush, not you."

He smiled at that. "Yeah. First real battle, and he embarrassed us all." His son was back to dueling with Glenn and winning again.

"Hey, I came out the winner in our duel." The two of them locked eyes… and laughed. "I missed, this, really. Everything in the Kingdom's so miserable these days." She looked around, searching for Christophe probably.

"Is that why you really came?" Had to ask.

"That obvious, am I?" She tried to smile, but her eyes weren't in it. "Well, you're half right. I've never been one for politics in the first place. Give me a sword to swing and I'll be happy. But what's happening in Faerghus is just…" she scoffed at the mere idea. "I'm all for taking down whoever did this. But it wasn't the Duscur."

"So, you think fighting for the people who might have done it is better?"

"Maybe that's why I'm here." She shrugged. "Maybe that's why you're here, too."

"Heh. Maybe."

Their conversation went on for a few more minutes before Cassandra went back to her training. So Jeralt went back to keeping up to date on his camp.

Christophe was doing the same as Jeralt, ensuring everyone who came with them was as comfortable as possible. Some more color had returned to his face, even if his grooming wasn't quite back to noble standard yet. Alois was about raising moral in his own Alois way. His boisterous nature made sure there were plenty of smiles on faces everywhere he went and made sure no one stepped outside the bounds of good conduct to the local populace.

Finally Jeralt planned out their route southwards. Three days wasn't a lot of time. If they got distracted they might not make it and with the conditions Count Hevring gave failing the time check could spell an inability to get work at all. There were a couple sizable towns on the way. Gossip he pulled from other troops suggested some of those were being hit by raiding parties. Brigid was doing a good job this time around. So, Jeralt picked a small, unimportant village to travel to. They would be cutting their time tightly, but it looked to be the safest option.

AN: Hey, the title finally makes sense.

Superherofan: I've actually got what happened in Fhirdiad written down already. In fact, nearly everything important from Byleth's perspective is written so far. It'll come up when the story starts to follow him.