The next year was truly miserable. The bandits took full advantage of the town's resources, working us like slaves. They grew crueler with each passing day as their confidence surged. No one dared to speak up against them, especially not after the horrible punishments they inflicted on the mysterious old man. That old man… some of us started to believe that he was an omen of doom from God himself, since he seemed immortal. We had begun to call him the Prophet. I had personally witnessed his otherworldly escape from the pillories, and many townspeople had seen his public executions. The bandits had chained several iron balls to the old man's body and thrown him into the frigid ocean waters. They had stabbed numerous daggers into his back and then thrown him into the frigid ocean waters. Every time, after a few months, he would miraculously reappear alive in our town square, spewing more talk about Lord Augustus and the inevitable destruction of the world that he would cause. He bore all the signs of the bandits' previous execution attempts: the pillory board around his neck and arms, the iron balls chained to his limbs, and the daggers deep in his back.

Every so often, a townsperson would be executed for committing a minor crime. We were outraged, but we could do nothing as our numbers had dwindled. We could only watch as they would throw the body onto a wagon and cart it off to the Albion estate. If the stories were true, there were many places that corpse could be going: it could be food for the squealing monsters that supposedly lived in the Warrens; It could be used for dreadful experiments by the Hag that hunted in the Weald; or it could be reanimated through necromancy, bolstering the ranks of the undead that patrolled the Albion keep. I had yet to see any of these things in person, but from what I gathered from the other townsfolk and the scant whisperings of the brigands themselves, this was the situation.

But everything changes. Slowly but surely, more and more bandits left our wretched hamlet of a town until all of them had departed. They still came into town every once in awhile to demand some food, but I soon found out that most of them had gone to live permanently within the twisted trees of the Weald or prey on travelers on the Old Road leading to our town. This relieved us greatly, but part of me wondered what had caused this change. Had Lord Augustus decided to grant us mercy? Maybe he believed that we had learned our lesson.

I didn't notice until this point that the relentless stream of diggers had stopped going to the Albion estate as well. They had been coming through our hamlet regularly for this whole time that everyone had forgot about them. Had Lord Augustus finished his digging? Maybe he didn't need their services or the bandits' services anymore. Whatever he was up to was finished. Did that mean it was safe to go see him? Perhaps it was time to pay him a visit. I had saved up my money for the past year, thinking about what the bandits had done to the hamlet and our precious abbey. I asked the blacksmith for his sharpest dagger and presented him my gold, but he refused payment and gave me the blade for free.

"Do what needs to be done, child," he growled, patting my shoulder.

I needed to find out the truth of what Lord Augustus was doing, and if he was guilty, then I needed to kill him.

Going by foot through the Weald to the Albion manor was too risky, so I made my way to the hamlet's pier once again. I prayed that Stanley would be there to give me another boat ride to the Albion estate, and luckily, my prayers were answered. He and a large group of rough-looking men were hauling chests and barrels onto a massive ship. There were a series of enormous wooden crates still on the pier. How were they planning to load those onto the ship?

"Mister Stanley! May I have a moment of your time?"

"Sidney, is that you? So yer still alive...!"

He put down the small wooden crate he was carrying and walked up to me. It seemed like he had gotten taller. He was adorned with expensive jewelry and glittering chains. There were injuries on his face that weren't there before, most noticeably the eyepatch over his left eye.

"Are you working as a merchant now, Mister Stanley?"

"Aye, you could call it that. And it's Captain Stanley to you, girl."

"Captain? Wow, so that's your ship?"

"Yes it is, little missy. The past year, she's been kind to me!" He chuckled and patted me on the head. His face suddenly darkened. "Now off ya go then. Me and me men got work to do."

"Well, actually, I have a request to make of you, Captain Stanley." He seemed to like hearing his new title.

"And what could I do for ya?"

"I need another ride to the Albion estate."

"Ah… what's yer reason? Did he call for ya?"

"Yes he did."

He eyed me suspiciously. "You know, these days he only takes visitors if he requests them personally, and we're the ones he sends to pick them up. My memory's bad, but still, I don't remember him mentioning you. At all. So why don't ya run along, now?"

He rested his hand on the hilt of the scimitar strapped to his waist. Behind him, I noticed men were boarding Stanley's ship with digging tools. So that's how they were getting to the Albion estate.

"Okay, Captain. I don't want any trouble," I said, backing away with this new information.

"Good. I don't want to see you on this pier again. It's for your own good."

I reluctantly turned around and headed back towards the hamlet. So Lord Augustus was still going on with the dig. The best way to get to his manor now was to make the arduous journey along the edge of the peninsula, bypassing the Weald through the rocky crags and unexplored sands of the coast. I would then ascend the mountain to his manor, find him, and put an end to all of this. I spent a few days preparing myself physically and mentally. With my dagger sharpened and my wits about me, I set off for the pier once again.