With no other leads on where Caeldori or Tiki had gone, Mercer, Ophelia, and Soleil flew back to Mercer's town. Mercer figured that Tiki would surely meet them there, and they could then look for Caeldori. Mercer also needed time to recover from his injury, and he still very much wanted his damn drink.

The three were only able to rest at Mercer's homestead for about an hour before they encountered visitors. Like the other people who had been looking for Mercer in the past few days, they were unwelcome. These people were not strangers, however.

"Mercer!" Ophelia shouted as she ran into the living room. "You need to see this!"

Mercer was deeply enjoying his chair, and his injured leg was propped up. He silently pleaded with Ophelia to let him rest, but she didn't relent. "Oh, what? What is it now?"

"You have to see this!"

Reluctantly Mercer got up and walked outside. Once on his porch he saw Soleil looking uneasily at a gathered crowd of people. Almost everyone in Mercer's town had gathered outside of his house, and they brandished torches and pitchforks. As soon as someone noticed Mercer, he turned to the rest of the mob and pointed at him. "There he is!" The man howled. The crowd roared and charged at Mercer's house in a frenzy. Soleil instinctively stepped back, but Mercer charged forward. He stepped to the edge of his porch and frantically waved his arms around.

"W-what are you doing? What is this? What is this?!"

A man stepped out from the crowd. "Chrom!" He shouted. Mercer froze. He was beginning to figure out why the townspeople were here. In an instant his confusion turned to fear as the horrible realization of what was happening dawned on him.

"What did you just call me?" Mercer asked. He was unsure of his words even as he said them, and he ended up almost whispering.

"We know your secret you blue blooded prick! How dare you! How dare you live among us! You think you can be normal?! You think you can live a normal life?! You should have died thirty years ago with the rest of your kind!" The crowd raised their weapons and roared in agreement.

"W-why are you doing this to me? I haven't bothered any of you? I've lived here peacefully for twenty years!"

"You hid this from us! You had no right! The Grimleal want your head! They've been looking for you for thirty years! To live in our town like this, you put a target on all of us. They could raze the whole town just to find you! You've endangered us all!" The crowd once more went into an uproar. "And you killed Courtney and his lieutenants! You think that won't bring them here?" A woman shouted. "We ought to bring them your head! That's the only way we can make sure they won't come after the rest of us!" Another man roared.

"Please! I've never done anything to you people!"

"You're putting us all in danger by living here, so you can't stay here. We're giving you until next morning to pack up your things and leave. If we come back here tomorrow, and you're still here, we'll tie you to four different horses and bring your remains to the Grimleal to prove that we didn't help you. You put all of us at risk! You're lucky we don't kill you now!"

Mercer desperately looked to the people of the crowd. Not everyone was as angry as the lead man, but no one gave him any sympathy. "You-you all can't be serious?!"

A teenaged boy ran forward with a flaming object in his hand. "How's this for serious?!" The boy threw the object at Mercer's house, and it erupted into flame as it hit his wall. Mercer was too stunned to react, but Ophelia quickly drew her Missiletainn tome and extinguished the flames with a blast of icy wind. The crowd responded to the boy's unprovoked cruelty with mocking laughter. Soleil reached for her blade, but Mercer stuck his arm out in front of her.

"Get out of here, old man!" The lead man shouted. "This is your only warning." With that the crowd dispersed back towards the town. Soleil and Ophelia were shaking with anger, but Mercer just stood with a blank look on his face. Long after the townspeople were no longer in view, Mercer continued to stare off into nothing. Ophelia and Soleil tried nudging him back inside, but Mercer wouldn't budge.

"Come on, Mercer!" Soleil said as she waved her hand in front of him. "We have to do something! Let's go after them! Maybe we could start packing? We have to do something! Don't just stand there!"

"Twenty years." Mercer said in an emotionless tone.

"What?"

"Twenty years. That's how long I've been in this town. Twenty years. I've put twenty years into my life here. Now it's all gone."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Ophelia asked in a gentle tone. Mercer didn't respond. He just slowly walked off his porch and onto the ground. Ophelia was about to walk after him when Mercer stopped and produced an absolutely primal howl of rage that seemed to be directed at the whole world. Soleil and Ophelia stopped dead in their tracks, and a chill ran down Ophelia's spine. Mercer's almost feral rage at life itself lasted several seconds, and when he finally stopped shouting he drew his Falchion and furiously hacked away at the air. He swung and swung, a piercing shout accentuating each swing, before throwing the Falchion back at his house. He then beat at the ground with his fists for several seconds before rising to his feet and unleashing one last shriek of all consuming hatred, a hatred that he seemed to direct at the whole universe. When Mercer turned back to Ophelia and Soleil, he found them stuck in a stunned fear of him. Mercer looked back towards the town, and fell over unconscious.

Mercer woke up in his bed with Ophelia looking down at him. She gave a warm smile. "Hey." Mercer tried to get up, but a sharp pain in his chest forced him back down.

"Ah! Ah, gah. Ow. What, what happened?"

"You tell me? You were enraged for awhile, then you passed out. We had to drag you back inside."

"I think he's just getting old. His heart can't take it anymore." A masculine voice said. Mercer thought he recognized it, but it sounded too good to be true.

"D-Donald?"

The town bartender smiled at Mercer as he stepped over him. "Hello, Chrom."

"Please tell me it wasn't you."

"No! No. I kept your secret. I've always kept your secret. I don't know how the town found out. I'm sorry, Chrom. I'm so sorry. I tried to talk them out of it. I'm probably the only reason why they're giving you a chance to leave. They're scared. They're afraid that the Grimleal will destroy the town for letting you stay here. Gods you shouldn't have killed Courtney. You should have just ignored that kid's death. None of this would have happened."

"You're right, Donald." Mercer sighed. "You're right." Donald hugged Mercer. At first Mercer was shocked by it, but slowly emotions he'd been keeping inside since he saw Conrad's body came flooding out. "It's all wrong, Donald! Everything's wrong! The world! My life! It's all wrong! My kids! My parents! My wife! Gods! Where did I go wrong?!"

"Hey, hey come on now."

"I know I shouldn't have gone after Courtney, but I just wanted to fix things! I just wanted to make things right! There's no damn justice in this world so once, just once, I wanted to make some. I can't deserve this!" Mercer was fighting back tears at this point. "I can't deserve this!"

"If anything, it's this town that doesn't deserve you." Donald patted Mercer on the shoulder and handed him a bottle. "I wish I could do more for you. Really, I do. I can do this though. You deserve this."

Mercer took the bottle from Donald. It was a bottle of ale. "Donald! How much is this worth?!"

"Nowadays? 900 gold."

"I can't take this from you!"

"Yes, damnit yes you can! It's the least I can do!" Mercer and Donald gazed into each other's eyes for a few seconds, each knowing that their time together had ended. "Please take it, Mercer. Please take it."

"You're a good friend, Donald. Thank you."

"You're a good friend too, Chrom. You're a good man. You're a hero. I know you don't think much of yourself anymore, but you are a good man. You deserve much better than this world. I'm so glad I was able to meet you." Donald turned to Ophelia. "Take good care of your great uncle, huh kid?"

"I will."

Donald looked at Mercer one last time. "Goodbye, Chrom."

Mercer looked solemnly at the bottle of ale as Donald left. Ophelia gently took it from him. "Well should we open it? I'm sure Donald can stay awhile longer."

"No. Let's just… let's just pack."

"You're really leaving?"

"You saw that mob."

"You don't have to be intimidated by them. We can-"

"NO!" Mercer took a deep breath. "No. Those people are just scared. We're not hurting them. They're just looking out for their families." Mercer forced himself out of bed and rose to his feet. "Come on. Let's start packing."

Mercer's house was full of junk, but Mercer reassured Ophelia that it was extra material he had scavenged. The only things he actually considered to be his possessions were in a small chest he kept hidden under a floorboard. Mercer pried off the board and lifted the chest up. Inside were only a few items. Ophelia noticed that Mercer froze when he opened up the chest, and she realized that the items probably sent memories flooding back to him. Ever since the crowd had forced Mercer to leave the town, Ophelia had wanted to make him feel better, but she really didn't know what to say. Now Ophelia figured that talking about the memories Mercer was reliving could be a way to help him. Ophelia always liked having someone to listen to her. If it could help Mercer, then there was no harm in trying. Ophelia's eyes were drawn to the Falchion sheathed by his side. When Ophelia had first seen it, it was covered with dust and cobwebs. It really looked like it hadn't been used in decades. Now though Mercer wielded it like he'd never stopped using it. "Mercer?"

"Hmm?"

"Why did you keep the Falchion? You said you swore never to use a sword again after the Shepherds fell, and it seems like such a painful reminder of your old life. Why keep it at all?"

Mercer sighed. "This sword has been passed down by my family for over two thousand years. I regret ever picking up this sword. I regret ever becoming some gods-damned militia leader instead of following in Emmeryn's footsteps. I have no right to give it up though. I'd be dishonoring my ancestors if I did that. So I keep it."

"But you were going to go on a one man rampage against the Grimleal until they killed you. You would have lost the sword then."

"That was different."

"What was different about it?"

"I'd be dead."

Ophelia recognized when Mercer was getting grim. She quickly decided to change the subject. "Tell me about your family. Tell me about your parents." Ophelia quickly grimaced, and Mercer noticed.

"What?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot that your parents died when you were young. I didn't want to bring up any painful memories."

"No it's fine. I can't tell you much though. I was very young when they died. I don't remember much of my mother. Just feelings really. Blonde hair, like Emmeryn and Lissa's. Blue eyes. The scent of flowers. Gods. I can't even remember her name." Mercer looked down. "I remember more of my father though. He was a cruel, demanding, and sometimes abusive man. If I ever did anything to make him proud though, he would shower me with praise. For a second, a moment, I would feel closer to him. Even as a child I knew that as bad as he could be, Emmeryn got it much worse. I think he actually resented her. He saw his legacy in me. He was so happy when I said I wanted to take up the Falchion. He knew that I could carry on his legacy of war and fighting, a legacy that Emmeryn didn't want anything to do with. I would be his successor." Mercer stared off into space, a solemn look taking his eyes. "Once by coincidence, a soldier was being arrested by guards when my father and I were walking through the palace courtyard. The soldier had been trying to steal weapons from the armory. He told a story about how he was just trying to feed his starving family for all to hear, but the guards didn't care. The standard punishment for stealing under my father was to lose a finger. The guards stopped when my father went by though. They waited to see if my father wanted to decide the man's fate personally. He looked at me, a horrible look in his eyes, and he took out a knife and gave it to me. He told me to carry out the punishment. He told me that I would have to enforce the laws of Ylisse one day, and that I had to learn sometime. I thought it was some kind of cruel joke, but the guards took it seriously. They actually forced the man's hand down and held out the man's finger. I… I threw the knife away." Mercer shook his head. "My father was infuriated. He drew the Falchion and drove it into the soldier's skull. Right in front of me. He told me that when I had to protect Ylisse, I couldn't be weak. He told me I had to learn sometime. He stormed off, and I didn't see him for the rest of the day. I was only five years old!" Mercer looked back to his Falchion. "I regret ever picking this thing up… but I can't get rid of it now. I can't dishonor my ancestors. Still… it disgusts me to think about how many people have fallen on its blade. How many people did my father kill with it? How many did his parents? How many did all the conquering Exalts kill? Emmeryn was right to not want anything to do with it."

"Why do you talk so dismissively about being the leader of the Shepherds? Maybe you couldn't save the world then, but that doesn't mean you didn't do good. You defeated Walhart and Gangrel. Do you really think you could have done that with pacifism?"

"You're not seeing the big picture, Ophelia. Sometimes you might find yourself in a situation where violence is the only way out, but even then you may not be justified in using violence because the situation might have been of your own creation. Without violence I couldn't have defeated Gangrel and Plegia, but the only reason why we had to fight Plegia at all was because of violence. If my father hadn't waged his crusade against Plegia, then Plegia wouldn't have hated Ylisse and Gangrel never could have risen to power. Violence breeds violence. If my father had been like Emmeryn, then we never would have had to fight against Plegia." Mercer shook his head as if he couldn't believe what he was about to say. "When I was alone with Keith back in Veslil, he told me that the heroes of legend were probably terrible people. They lead very violent and traumatic lives after all. They are remembered as heroes not because of who they were, but because of what they did. I don't know if I would agree that they weren't good people, but he's right about why we remember them. People remember them as heroes because of their actions, and people remember their violent actions more than the rest of their lives. Alm and Celica united Valm and ushered in a new age of peace for the continent, but people remember them more for kicking butt." Mercer had a contempt in his voice as he said the last words. "Alm's legacy created a fetishzation of violence in Valmese society. It lead to men like Walhart trying to follow in Alm's legacy without understanding the context of it. Walhart knew that Alm dedicated his life to fighting, but he didn't understand why. Walhart knew that Alm fought against gods, but he didn't understand why. Walhart knew that Alm united the continent, but he didn't understand why. He was inspired by the violence, so he became some mass murdering tyrant in the name of a hero that was nothing like that. Marth has this too. The Hero King united the continent, but people remember him more for fighting against Medeus. The First Exalt of Ylisse has this bad. He created the Halidom of Ylisse, but people mainly remember him for defeating Grima. Nobody even remembers his name, but everyone knows that he defeated Grima. Why does our society idolize violence so much?"

"You look down on the heroes of legend for fighting?"

"No. Of course not. They didn't have a choice. I just don't see why their legacies are remembered mostly for all the time they spent kickin' rear." Mercer answered bitterly. "It only inspires young people to go out and get themselves killed, or become monsters. Almost anyone who experiences war can tell you how horrible it is, but for some reason people are quick to glorify it when there's no emotional connection to the violence. When the war is 'somewhere else' or 'a long time ago', then it's an epic adventure. When it actually happens to you, it's nightmarish. The way our society glorifies warriors, people never realize how horrible it is until it happens."

"So you… you really wish you could have been more like Emmeryn?"

"Yes. The happiest moments of my life were with my parents, my sisters, my wife, my children, and my friends. I was never happy when fighting, or killing, or leading. I made a lot of friends along the way sure, but it was in spite of my violent lifestyle, not because of it. My violent lifestyle got them all killed."

"What… what about Grima? How could pacifism possibly defeat Grima?"

Mercer sighed. "It couldn't, but that's not what I'm trying to say. It's not that violence is never necessary. It's that we shouldn't idolize it. We shouldn't glorify it. Emmeryn didn't completely disband the military. If I had followed in her footsteps, then I could have directed an entire war effort. I could have done so much more than lead, what, forty people around?"

Ophelia was very nervous about what Mercer might say to her, but she had to ask. "What about me, Mercer? How do you feel about my fight against the Grimleal?"

"It's pointless." Mercer responded without any hesitation. "The Grimleal's power is infinite. Nothing you do can change anything. Just live a normal life while you still can."

"It's not impossible you know! It's not! All we'd have to do is perform the Awakening ritual, then kill Grima with the Exalted Falchion. Grima would be dead for at least a thousand years, and the people would rise up against the Grimleal then!"

"As I grow older I've found that young people easily fall in love with ideas, but they don't think or care about how difficult it is enact those ideas. An idea has no merit if it's only ever going to exist in your head. How could you get past the thousands of Grimleal soldiers? How could you kill Grima?"

"You could help us!"

"I'm not helping you!" Mercer snapped. He took deep breaths and calmed himself before he said anything else. "I'll help you find Caeldori, but then I'm going home."

"But you don't have a home anymore?" Ophelia didn't realize how cruel that sounded until she said it. She only wanted to convince Mercer to stay, and she could tell that Mercer took her words pretty hard. "Wait! No! I-I didn't mean it like that!"

"I'll find something. I am a survivor. I don't want to be, but I am a survivor."

Once again Ophelia wanted to change the subject. She looked down as Mercer opened up his chest. Inside were a number of small items. The largest was a short sword. "Do the items in your chest all have stories?"

Mercer looked back to his chest of possessions. "Yeah." He smiled at Ophelia. "Each one has a story. Pick them out and I'll tell them to you."

Ophelia was relieved that Mercer was friendly again. She tried to pick out the item that would bring up the least painful memories, but it was impossible to tell. Given the things that Mercer had seen in his life, any of the items could have brought up horrible emotions. Ophelia decided to point to what looked like baby clothes. "What are those?"

"Those are clothes Lucina bought for her mother."

"W-what? These are for infants?"

"Yeah. My wife told me the story. Let me see if I can recall it properly." Mercer thought for a second. "Lucina wanted to buy her a gift, but it became clear that the two had very different fashion styles. Lucina ended up buying her mother baby clothes for her younger self. I… I don't remember why I had them when they both died, but now I couldn't part with them. They remind me of both of them." Ophelia grimaced again. Her attempt to bring up positive memories for Mercer had completely failed, and again Mercer noticed. "It's okay, Ophelia. Everything in here is going to bring up some unpleasant memories for me, but I'm fine with telling you these stories. Pick something else out."

Ophelia pointed at a ring. "Is that your wedding ring?"

Mercer smiled. "Yes. I can't part with that."

"Would you like to talk about you wife?"

Mercer's smile faded. "No."

Ophelia pointed at a book. She picked it up and dusted off the cover. "A Tale of Fates. What's this?"

"Let's see if I remember. That's a fairy tale about two kingdoms called Hoshido and Nohr. They were always at war until a hero related to both royal families managed to end the fighting."

"Did that really happen?"

"No. No, no. That crap is made up. When I was young, there wasn't anyone who hadn't heard the fairy tale. My nana used to read that to me when I was little. She raised me when my mother and father were busy, and she continued to raise me after they died. She and Emmeryn parented me more than my actual parents did."

Ophelia looked to the last two items in the chest. She pointed to another book. "What's that?"

"That's a book Robin wrote. It's full of tactics and maps and unit positions. Robin used that when we were planning battles, and he wrote it in frequently."

"Were you and Robin very close."

"Yes." Mercer was silent for almost a minute. "I've never known a greater man in my life. To have him by my side, and to have my sisters, children, and wife there also, I… I couldn't ever imagine that I would be that happy. Of course it was too good to last."

"Did you ever learn that Robin was the Hierophant before the Shepherds fell?"

"Yes, but it didn't change how I felt at all. Robin was one of us. No destiny was going to change that. Lucina didn't feel the same way though. I thought the two of them were so close. I thought everyone was so close. I thought that fighting against Grima really did unite us. When Lucina tried to do what she did…" Mercer shook his head. "It factionalized us. From then on there were murmurings and whispers in the camp. Some people tried to tell me that our time traveling children could no longer be trusted. Who knows what they said about Lucina behind my back. She ruined our unity, but she thought she was doing the right thing. Walhart thought he was doing the right thing. My father thought he was doing the right thing. It's not enough to think you're doing the right thing. Violence must be tempered with empathy and restraint. Never forget that."

Ophelia quickly pointed at something else to change the subject. The last item in Mercer's chest was the short sword. "What's that?"

Mercer smiled fondly. The memories the sword brought back to him seemed much less traumatic. "Oh that's Donald's old sword."

"The bartender?

"Yes. When I first met him almost twenty years ago, he was a mercenary. Well actually, he was really a brigand."

"Really?!"

"I was scavenging when I came across a caravan being held up by a group of brigands. They were threatening to take away the children and do horrible things to the young men and women. I couldn't just stand there. I confronted them. All I had on me was a dagger, but I couldn't just do nothing."

"What happened?"

"I accused them of being slavers, and I desperately called out to them to see that what they were doing was wrong. I knew the leaders wouldn't listen, they're always hardened people, but I thought that I could convince the younger members. The ones who hadn't had their empathy worn away by years of doing what they do. The ones who were just in it for the money. One man seemed to listen to me. He didn't turn on his comrades. All he did was drop his sword, but I guess the leader was afraid of his men listening to me because he had everyone turn on that man as soon as he dropped his sword. I couldn't let him get hurt because of me, so I charged in there. I don't know how we got out of there, but we did. At some point the brigands stopped fighting and fled. The other man stayed behind. We've been friends ever since."

"That was Donald?"

"Yeah. The people of the caravan were very grateful. They offered us a lot of money. I couldn't take anything from those people, but Donald accepted without a second thought. I told him he had no right to do that just because he didn't let himself be a monster. We got into an argument, and in the end Donald promised to use the money to do good for the people in the area. He said he'd open a business, and he gave me that sword to proove that he was done with his old life. He ended up opening that bar, and we've been in this town since then. He's about the only person I've really gotten close to since… since it happened." Mercer smiled at Ophelia. "Well and you two, of course."

"Why did you tell him who you were?"

Mercer thought about it. "Donald has some stories. He told me that he was actually born in Valm. In fact, he was born in the same village Walhart himself was born in. He joined Walhart's army and was part of the force Walhart sent into Ferox. He was one of the enemy soldiers the Shepherds fought against when we went to protect Ferox. He said that when the fighting got close to him, he panicked. He said he was attacked by a red haired woman with, in his words, 'a freakin' winged horse'. He played dead, waited for everyone to leave, then ran away. He's been in this continent ever since. We started talking about the Shepherds and… that's when I told him. I guess I just wanted someone to talk to. Someone to hear my pain. I'd been completely alone for so long. I needed someone. Donald has kept my secret. He's been a good friend." Mercer sighed. "I don't deserve people like him in my life anymore."

Again Ophelia wanted to change the subject, but there wasn't anything else in Mercer's chest. "You may not think much of yourself Mercer, but you mean a lot to us. To me." Ophelia tried to give a warm smile. "Thank you coming this far with us, and thank you for talking about these memories with me. I feel closer to you now."

Even after all the pain he had just relived, Mercer smiled himself. "You know? Talking about them makes me feel a little better. Thank you for listening, Ophelia."

The moment of serenity was suddenly obliterated by an ear shattering scream from Soleil, and an even more agonized howl from some kind of beast. Mercer and Ophelia got up and ran back into the main room. Soleil had climbed onto the top of the couch and clung to it for dear life. Below her a flaming creature of some kind ran back and forth in a confused bout of terror. The poor animal shrieked at the top of its lungs as it crashed into furniture and jumped around in a desperate attempt to relieve itself of its agony, and it spread fire throughout the room as it did so. Mercer ran back into his bedroom and retrieved the Falchion. He chased the terrified animal across the house and ended its misery as quickly as he could. He wasn't proud of it, but there was no other way to save the animal, and at this point the animal had caused considerable damage to his house. Ophelia used her Missiletainn to extinguish the fires before using it on the animal's corpse. When the flames were finally out, Mercer, Ophelia, and Soleil gathered around to see that the animal had been a pig.

"Oh my gods!" Mercer exclaimed. "What the hell was that?!"

"Who could have done this?!" Ophelia cried out.

Soleil just knelt beside the body and took a whiff. "Mmm. Pork."

"How can you be thinking about food at a time like this?!" Ophelia yelled. Soleil just smiled even wider than usual.

"I'm sorry. It just smells good. It's seared up nice and juicy." Soleil inspected the corpse more carefully. "It's looks like someone coated this poor pig with resin and set it on fire. This poor guy would have ran around all over the place to get away from the pain, so he couldn't have ended up in your house unless whoever did this drove him here. I'm sure they're still nearby."

The three were so distracted by the pig that they didn't notice a very large and heavily armored man casually stroll into Mercer's house. Before Mercer could turn around, the man kicked Ophelia in the back. Ophelia crumpled to the ground, unmoving. Everything was happening so quickly that Soleil barely had time to draw her sword before the figure was on her too. She narrowly avoided a strike to her head and stabbed the man through his right arm. The man didn't wince at all, and the blade felt like it was lodged into wood. Soleil realized she couldn't pull it out.

"My turn!" The man roared in a raspy and brutish voice. He struck Soleil in the head with his right arm; the man apparently completely unaffected by the sword impaled in him. Soleil went down hard. She didn't move anymore either. By this point Mercer finally retrieved his Falchion and confronted the man. The man was wearing a rudimentary black suit of tactical gear fashioned from leather and segmented plate armor over black mage robes. The man's face was obscured by a mask reminiscent of a skull. On closer inspection the man was missing his right hand. His right arm ended in a socket of some kind, and a gauntlet was fitted over the socket. The end of the gauntlet was like the end of some war hammer. The man stared right at Mercer. Though the mask the man was wearing had very small eye holes, Mercer could still see an intense expression grip the man's face. "There you are you son of a whore! Oh I've wanted to see you again!"

The man charged at Mercer and furiously struck at him with his gauntlet on his right arm, and brass knuckles on his left hand. Despite having a weapon, Mercer was taken back by the sheer ferocity of the attack. The man's gauntlet hit incredibly hard. Each punch Mercer took was like a shield bash. The man managed to force Mercer into an awkward position and then knock the Falchion from his hands. With another punch to the chest from the man's gauntlet, Mercer was sent flying to the ground. The man would have struck him again had an icy blast of wind not hit him in the back. The man shrugged off the blast and turned to see Ophelia with her Missiletainn tome. "Mercer!" She called out. She unleashed another icy blast of wind at the man, but he tanked the blast. He pulled out an arcfire tome with his left hand.

"Bad girl! You get a spanking!" The man unleashed a stream of fire at Ophelia, blasting her backwards into a wall. The man quickly turned and blasted Mercer as he charged the man in a fit of rage. Mercer was forced back by the heat, but he didn't give up. The man put away the tome and drew a levin sword. He removed his gauntlet and wedged the sword into the socket on his arm before taking his tome again. "Ready for round two, Chrom?!"

"Who are you?! Why are you doing this?!"

"You don't recognize little ol' me?" The man removed his mask to reveal a badly scarred and deformed face. The man's face was almost wavy and warped with deformations caused by bad electrical burns. The man was also missing his right ear. Despite the severity of the man's injuries, Mercer could still recognize the face.

"C-Courtney?!"

"You burned me, tore out some of my hair, and cut off my right ear and forearm! Still, I think I look good, all things considered."

"No! No, no, no! You're dead!"

"Obviously not you blue haired, blue blooded prick. You have a bad track record for killing important people. You thought you killed Gangrel, but you didn't. You thought you killed Walhart, but you didn't. You thought you killed Aversa, but you didn't. You thought you killed me, but you didn't." Courtney put his mask back on and made lightning arc from his levin sword. "I'm going to cut off your ears! See how you like it!" Courtney charged at Mercer, firing blasts of fire from his tome as he did. Mercer managed to avoid the blasts and grabbed his Falchion. He parried as Courtney slashed at him with his sword, but the electricity from the levin sword jumped into his body. Mercer screamed in pain as the current flowed through his body, and Courtney held the sword there, knowing that it was causing Mercer agony. Mercer willed himself through the pain and slashed off Courtney's wooden forearm, depriving him of his sword. He then slashed Courtney across the chest and kicked him away. Courtney's armor was able to save him, but the attack still left him stunned. He stumbled backwards and Mercer menacingly walked towards him. "Alright, alright! You beat me fair and square! Unfortunately for you, I ain't playing fair no more." Courtney raised his left arm towards Soleil's unconscious body.

"Wait!" Mercer exclaimed. Suddenly all of his anger was replaced with panic. He couldn't imagine something happening to Soleil. The fear of it made all of his determination melt away.

"Drop the sword or I'll fry her up nice and crispy!"

"N-NO! Please no! STOP!"

"Drop the sword!"

Mercer dropped the sword and fell to his knees. He knew that Courtney couldn't be trusted, and he knew that he was actually defeated and desperate, but the fear of something happening to Soleil was crushing. It overwhelmed him, and all he wanted to do was keep Soleil safe. "Please! I surrender! Stop it, Courtney! Stop!"

Courtney walked over to Mercer and kicked him in the face, almost breaking his nose. Courtney retrieved his levin sword with his left hand and held it to Mercer as he struggled back up. "Oh this would be so sweet. Sadly I was told to bring you back to The Rockpile alive. Nobody ever leaves The Rockpile though, so you might as well be dead." Courtney sheathed his sword and put away his tome. He equipped his brass knuckles in his left hand again. "You have to wake up again, so I'd better get all my beating in quickly. I wouldn't want to break you."

The last thing Mercer could remember was desperately looking up to see if Ophelia and Soleil were okay while Courtney punched and stomped him until he blacked out.

Deep within The Rockpile, Inquisitor Altman drew a tome and fired a blast of magical energy into the air. The blast paused in flight and suspended itself in the center of the room. From the magical energy materialized a humanoid figure. Slowly but surely the image became more and more clear, until finally a flickering but otherwise detailed image of High Inquisitor Aversa appeared. She didn't look like she'd aged a day in thirty years, and she still wore the same unsettling smile she had during the war so many years ago. Altman stood at attention as soon as the image was clear.

"Altman! My favorite Ylissean inquisitor. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I'm contacting you to provide a report on my research, as you requested me to update you regularly."

Aversa rolled her eyes. "Always so literal. It was just a saying. I know why you're contacting me. What do you have to report?" Altman was about to speak before Aversa quickly cut him off. Altman immediately held his tongue and acted like he'd always been silent. "I do hope you've made progress. The last time I had the 'pleasure' of speaking to Grima, the Fell Dragon threatened to unleash Tunnellers on northern Plegia if we didn't get progress. For such an old being, Grima isn't much for patience anymore."

"Everything is proceeding as planned, High Inquisitor. We've captured Caeldori, the daughter of Severa, granddaughter of Cordelia, Pegasus Knight in service to the ancient order of all female soldiers/police officers/guards that has protected Ylisse for thousands of-"

"Yeah, yeah. Get to the point."

"I've performed the procedure on her, and we've extracted a small amount of material that tests positive for radiation."

"Is it enough to work with?"

"Not even close. It does prove that her mother was exposed to a massive amount of radiation though. If we could capture her, we'd have enough to run experiments on. We could understand the magic Naga used to open the outrealm gate."

"What about the others?"

"Ophelia and Soleil will be captured soon, High Inquisitor. We've sent an agent after them, the former Lord Lieutenant of Sector 141 in fact."

"Courtney, right? One of Gangrel's lackeys?"

"Yes. He is skilled enough, and he wanted revenge on Chrom. He volunteered."

"You did tell him that I want Chrom kept alive, right? I would very much like to have a few words with him after all these years."

"I made it very clear. I suspected you'd want him alive."

"Very good, Altman. I'll mention your successes to the Fell Dragon when I next see it. I'm sure Grima will be pleased with your work."

"Thank you, High Inquisitor."

"That was a joke. Grima is never pleased with anything."

"Apologies, High Inquisitor. Your intellect in the field of humor vastly exceeds mine."

Aversa rolled her eyes again. "Goodbye, Altman."

Altman bowed as the image disappeared and took out a notebook from a desk. He dipped a quill pen in ink and began writing in it. "Project: Xenologue Status Report # 24. Subject Caeldori (female, red hair, red eyes, Pegasus Knight, ID # 3286) tested positive for radiation. Initiate plan to capture Severa (female, red hair, red eyes, last known class Mercenary, ID # 0028). High Inquisitor Aversa pleased with progress."

Meanwhile in the camp's courtyard, prisoners loitered and mingled with each other, enjoying the little free time they were granted. Among them was Caeldori. She had finally been deprived of her armor, and she now wore unassuming rags. On her shoulder was now a small but noticeable tattoo, 3286 in black numbers. The tattoo was so recent that the skin around it was still red and irritated.

"A-and then he looked right at me, looked me right in the eye, and said to me 'I have no son. A daughter maybe, but no son.' He said that to me! I was only eight years old!" A man about three times larger than Caeldori sniffled as he told his story. Caeldori nodded sympathetically as she braided the man's hair.

"You know what? If he can't accept you for who you are, then you don't need him in your life. He may be your father, but the only person you need to accept you is you. You don't need abusive people like him."

The man perked up and nodded his head. "You're right, Caeldori. If he can't accept me, then I don't need him!"

"Always happy to lend an ear, Bonesaw."

"Why are you here anyways, Caeldori? You seem like such a nice person."

"I'm a prisoner of war. I was resisting the Grimleal. Isn't that why you're here?"

"No. I'm here because I hacked my sister's boyfriend apart with a bonesaw."

Caeldori couldn't help but be unnerved, but she didn't let it show in her braiding. She kept her hands steady to hide her wariness. "Uh, is that… is that why they call you Bonesaw?"

"Nothing gets past you huh?"

The two were interrupted by a number of prison guards storming into the courtyard. They yelled and shouted at the prisoners to line up. Caeldori studied them carefully. "What's happening?"

"It's time for us to take our medicine."

"Medicine?"

"Pills that keep us docile and controllable. Do yourself a favor and take the pill when they give it to you. They'll beat the right Sunday out of you if you don't."

Sure enough a guard eventually did approach Caeldori and Bonesaw. He held out a pill in one hand and a club in the other. He shot Caeldori a menacing glare. "You first, new blood." Caeldori wasn't intimidated, but she did take the pill and made a swallowing motion. The guard turned and gave a pill to Bonesaw, and the massive man swallowed it obediently. Caeldori waited for the guard to leave before spitting the pill back into her hand. Bonesaw was shocked. He seemed genuinely afraid.

"You didn't take it? Do you know what they'll do if you don't take those?!"

"I think I know how to get out of here."

"No one ever escapes from The Rockpile."

"Well they've never had to deal with me before. Now are you in?"