Outlaw Knight

by Ernestrunningaway

Beaten by his nemesis, abandoned by the man he gave all he had for, and lingering on the brink of eternity, Arthur was certain his time was at an end as he looked to the dawn one final time. But by the will of fate, or some silent, unknowable power, he awoke to a foreign land, tended to by strangers. Among them, none confounded him more than this cobalt-haired girl with a sword...

10. Goneril: Duke Tancred's Folly, Part 2

"Who goes there?"

The outlaw looked around. The coast was clear, for now. "It's Arthur. Open up!"

"Oh, good... you're just in time. Door's unlocked. Come on in, Mr. Morgan."

Arthur took a breath before pushing past the door to Captain Jeralt's living quarters and stepping inside. "Bernhardt said you was looking to see me. Well, here I am."

Jeralt was sitting upright behind his desk, a pensive look on his face. Gone were the stacks of paperwork, unsigned contracts, inkwells and ledgers on the desk's well-worn surface. Now, maps, reports and battle plans occupied most of the captain's desk, with no bottle of alcohol in sight. "Shez said you weren't planning on joining the festivities today. Is that right?"

Arthur shrugged at the captain. After all these months defending the fortress on Duke Tancred Goneril's behalf, the garrison was understandably very pleased to hear the news about the duke and his fully-mobilised army leaving Findolheim and marching east to bring a quicker end to the invasion, preferably with Emir Haashid's mangled corpse strung up on top of the highest tower on the walls. Bizarrely, the knights who delivered the news also brought word from the duke himself, proclaiming that the garrison must throw a feast on the day of his arrival, emphasising the need for a knightly tournament to be held as well. And now, with Duke Goneril and his grand army set to arrive later in the day, General Holst and General Fischer had given the order to start the feast.

Most of the garrison took to the order like clockwork, obviously looking forward to partaking in the festivities themselves. Of course, plenty of the local knights and some of the more talented and experienced common-born defenders chose to spend the time training for the joust, melee, and duelling events instead. As for Arthur, the outlaw was among those few souls who chose not to join the others in seeking some measure of relief from the war. Like them, he was much more concerned about the possibility of an enemy attack, volunteering instead to stand guard and watch for any sign of Almyrans while the others participated in the events.

"Unlike some people, I find it difficult for me to forget we're still in the middle of a goddamn war here." The outlaw said, closing the door behind him. "That said, what'd you call me in here for?"

The older man sighed. "Right, pull up a chair and have a seat. This could take us a while."

"Can't tell if that's a good thing or a bad thing." Arthur did as he was told, picking up the closest stool he found. "Anyone else coming along?"

"No." The captain exhaled through his nose as he leaned his elbows against his desk. "Right now, you're all I need to see.

Arthur paused for a moment. "There, uh, some kinda problem between us?"

Jeralt twisted the corner of his mouth. "I'm not sure yet. Just... sit down, Arthur. Let me think."

Unsure of what to say, Arthur opted to keep quiet as he propped the stool in front of the captain's desk.

After a minute or two of complete silence, Jeralt opened his mouth, then closed it again. He shook his head and leaned back against his seat. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"It's been more than three moons since you and Byleth came back from rescuing Tekla. I remember asking you back then, if you saw something I should know about out there. I also remember you saying no... you said the mission went smoothly... and that there had been no issues."

"Like I said, there ain't much to tell. 'Sides a few cuts and scrapes, we was back in one piece, and we got Tekla back." Arthur squinted at the other man. "This about Byleth losing her sword? Want me to pay for a new one, or something?"

"Arthur, you damn well know that's not what I'm talking about." Frowning, Jeralt crossed his arms, sounding as though he was making an effort to keep calm and professional. "You saw something out there, didn't you? And now... somehow, you know about Byleth's condition."

Arthur instinctively tamped down the flash of panic he felt and feigned a look of oblivious concern. "What happened? Did the girl get sick, or something?"

Jeralt's severe expression immediately made Arthur regret giving in to his old outlaw habits. "You know better than to lie to me, commander. For what reason could you be keeping this from me? Do you think I'm going to have you punished for this?"

"No, but I wouldn't have cared even if I thought you would, captain. I mean it." Arthur said. "Hrr, I was hopin' we could just put this behind us and forget about it."

"Were it not for a certain ginger-haired noble from the Empire, I never would have known." Jeralt said. "Boy needs to learn how to hold his liquor. He rambles when he's deep into his cups."

Arthur shook his head, scowling. "Ferdinand... shoulda known. Kid's got a big damn mouth."

"I had a talk with him — made a few things clear. Needless to say, I don't think the company's taking any contracts on his family's side in the Empire any time soon." Jeralt uncrossed his arms and leaned forward with his hands on his desk. "But this isn't about the Aegir boy — I don't care about some high-sounding, puff-sleeved duke's heir with his head in the clouds. This is about you deciding to keep quiet about discovering my daughter's secret. After all this time, Arthur, I expected better from you. Why didn't you tell me what you saw?"

"I didn't think this was such a big deal to you." Arthur closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look, Mr. Eisner, as far as I'm concerned, I don't reckon anything's wrong with your daughter. She's still the same young woman who likes swords, sewin', and starin' at things. Why the hell's this such a big goddamn secret?"

Jeralt just stared at him.

Arthur sighed. "Damn it, fine. It ain't any of my business, anyhow."

"Do you care for us, Arthur?" Jeralt suddenly asked. "For this company and everyone in it?"

Arthur almost scoffed. "By now, you should know what I've got to say to that. Without the bunch of you... I ain't got no one, and nowhere to go."

"Yes..." Jeralt nodded solemnly. "I know."

"So tell me." Arthur pressed. "Help me understand, and I promise you this, Jeralt — I'd give my life to protect this secret, if it means keeping Byleth safe."

"Do you swear?"

"Sure. Can't think of anything better to die for."

"Not good enough," Jeralt shook his head. He made a show of pushing himself back from his desk, standing up, and walking over to stand next to Arthur. "I ask again, Commander Morgan — do you swear?"

"For chrissakes..." Arthur sighed. He hadn't seen Jeralt this grim and uptight about anything before. "Okay, I swear it."

The captain walked back to his side of the desk and sat down. "Good enough." He proceeded to bend down and reach for something under his desk. "Know this, Arthur... I've told no other soul about what I'm about to tell you. For the company's sake... for Byleth's sake, everything you'll hear from me here, stays here. Understand?"

Arthur had no choice but to nod his agreement. "Whatever it is you're tryin' to dig up from under there, it better be whiskey."

As expected, Jeralt brought up a bottle and two wooden cups from under his desk, though Arthur didn't expect the bottle to look so ornate. "We're not drinking that throat-burning brew made for rogues and degenerates. Not for this occasion."

"You make it sound like this'd be the last time we'll ever drink together." Arthur mused lightheartedly. "Where'd you get that thing, by the way? Looks mighty expensive for a bottle of grog."

"This was gifted to me an age ago, from a place where I left behind a lot of memories. Some good, others bad, and a few... a few I'd really rather forget." Jeralt poured himself and Arthur a cup from the fancy bottle. "This is gladewine, made by monks from the monastery of Garreg Mach and aged naturally over decades... without the use of magical techniques of any kind, as most wines worth a damn tend to be fermented nowadays."

The captain put the bottle down and locked eyes with the outlaw. "You've probably heard of Garreg Mach before, have you?"

"That's where Catherine and her knights come from. Yeah, they won't shut up about it." Arthur off-handedly replied. "What's so special about that damn place?"

"You must have noticed how I tend to avoid the Knights of Seiros like the plague. Truth is, a long time ago, before Byleth was born... I was one of them." Jeralt said. He paused to take the first sip of his drink before continuing, "Before I started dabbling in mercenary work, I was a knight, fighting in service to the Order of the Broken Lance — one of the many knightly orders in Faerghus."

He set down his drink and looked to the side, his eyes becoming unfocused. "That was a lifetime ago, but I still remember how long I lasted there. Two months, sixteen days, and four hours. After that, the Broken Lances were no more — wiped almost to a man in a war everyone alive had already forgotten." He then shrugged as he shifted his bulk on his seat. "Fortunately for me, my actions in that little dispute between the nobility and the local clergy drew some attention from a crusader high up in the Knights of Seiros. With nothing left to lose and wanting to put Faerghus behind me, it was only a matter of time before I was wearing white and gold."

Arthur tried to ease into his seat as Jeralt proceeded to regale him with his story, about working his way up the ranks of the Knights of Seiros. He fought bandits, apostates, foreigners, and even Imperial soldiers once, in an Adrestian civil conflict in which three different claimants to the throne crowned themselves at the same time and immediately declared war on each other. Jeralt had apparently spent decades serving in the Knights of Seiros, and after the retirement of its captain due to old age, the supreme head of the Church of Seiros — Archbishop Rhea — personally appointed Jeralt as the new captain and leader of the church's military arm.

"Didn't you tell me you was a knight before?" Arthur questioned, after a moment spent in silence. "That was a year back, I think... not long after I started runnin' with you fellers."

"I may have implied I had been a knight." The captain's smile was barely noticeable, but it was there. "You weren't having a very good day back then, as I remember."

Arthur sipped at his wine. He was never one for fancy drinks, but he felt like he could get used to this one. "It ain't all bad, though. Byleth showed me how to swing a sword. Well... tried to, at least."

"And the two of you went fishing, of all things." Jeralt said, his poor excuse for a smile widening for a fleeting moment. "Later that day, I was surprised to hear her speak so eagerly about catching fish — before you joined us, the kid barely took an interest in things other than swords and fighting. It was a struggle getting her to like something, anything, other than those two things. In the end, she decided she liked patching up holes in torn pieces of gambeson and leather. With time, this eventually turned into a hobby about clothes and textile work."

At that, Arthur found himself smiling as well. "She's a practical young woman, your daughter."

"She has to be, with the life that's been forced on her." Jeralt said, with some bitterness. "Which leads me back to my stint in the Knights of Seiros. To make a long story short, it was during my time in the church that I met Byleth's mother, a priestess named Sitri."

The look on Jeralt's face was nothing like Arthur had seen on the man before. When he next spoke, the warm, longing tone of his voice made Arthur certain that Jeralt loved this Sitri woman very much. "The first time I met her, she was... well, she was a lot like Byleth. I thought she was hard to read, and I rarely ever heard her speak out loud. It took some time for her to open up to me, but when she did, I realised this girl was one of a kind."

The outlaw's own thoughts drifted to Mary Linton. Even after all this time, even after she made it clear in her letter that it was over between them, he still couldn't find it in him to let that woman go. The fact that he still kept the ring she sent back to him in the breast pocket of his favourite duster was more evidence to his foolishness.

"I guess I can relate, once." Arthur said, willing away all thoughts of love nearly rekindled and now forever lost. He assumed Sitri was no longer around, with how Jeralt referred to her in the past tense. "What's she like?"

Jeralt chuckled, though his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "She was a delicate soul. Quiet, but gentle and kind. Liked flowers and books... but for some reason, she loved to hear me tell her about the battles and wars I've been in even more. And she was beautiful... out of everyone in the monastery, I still have no idea why she picked a crusty old fighter with a drinking habit like me." His lip quivered so slightly, Arthur almost didn't notice it. "I've known her for a year when I proposed to her. I don't remember having been as happy as I was, when she agreed to be my wife."

Arthur let the man linger in his memories for a moment. "Must've been one hell of a woman. Would've liked to have met her."

"I think you'd have liked her, Arthur. Sitri liked to fish and ride, if her health allowed it." Jeralt said. "We were happy, for a time. I think we were married for just a little over two years before she told me she was with child. We were over the moon when we realised it, and I've never seen her so... radiant. But this... this was also when everything changed for us. This is where our quiet life in the monastery started to fall apart, day after day."

Arthur listened as Jeralt told him about the pains Sitri had to endure while pregnant with Byleth. He learned that Sitri was not blessed with a healthy constitution, and being with child only seemed to have made her weaker with each passing month. When the time arrived for their daughter to be born, it seemed as though it would prove too much for poor Sitri, and Jeralt had to be restrained by his own knights just so he wouldn't do anything drastic as she screamed herself hoarse in the company of her sisters-turned-midwives. In the end, everyone breathed a sigh of relief as the infant was delivered successfully after hours of exhausting work... until it was discovered that the little girl did not have a heartbeat.

"I've stared down impossible odds, volunteered for suicidal charges, taken prisoner and faced torture and execution more times than I can remember... but I never felt as much fear as I did that night, when I held my daughter in my arms and realised her heart was still and dead." Jeralt continued. "For a while, I almost thought things could not get any worse... then she stopped breathing. I laid her down and checked her arm for a pulse — I was relieved to find one, but that too stopped not long afterwards. She began to pale, some of the sisters panicked, and I remember almost losing control of myself then and there. Even after all this time, I still have nightmares about that night."

The captain had been mostly successful at keeping a brave face, but Arthur could tell his resolve slowly crumbled as he told his story. At the outlaw's suggestion, they stopped to drink for a moment, both men spending the time silently draining the bottle of wine they had between them.

"So, uh..." Arthur began, after some time. "Bottle's halfway gone, captain."

"So I've noticed." Jeralt emptied what was left of his cup and set it down. "I'm halfway done as well. Ready to hear the rest?"

"Only if you is."

The other man gave a stoic nod, "As I held her in my hands, I was sure my daughter wasn't long for this world... then my wife, she... told me to leave the room and get the archbishop. She refused to answer any of the questions I asked her, only that I must come get Rhea and tell her what was happening."

Arthur had no idea where Jeralt's story was headed, but at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to hear how it ends. "So, you did as you was told, yeah? What happened next?"

The captain sighed. "I hurried over to the archbishop and begged her to come see Sitri. When I told her she had gone into labour and our child was dying, she readily agreed to go, but she then forbade me to return to my wife's side until the following day. I argued, of course, but she insisted that I rest for the night, swearing to do everything she could to save our daughter's life."

He grimaced. "I never should've listened to that woman. The following morning, I was told that Sitri died, but our daughter was saved by some kind of magical intervention from the archbishop."

"Shit, captain. I'm... sorry to hear that." Arthur shook his head, trying not to think about his own losses.

"Don't be. I've come to terms with it long ago." Jeralt stated, in a flat voice. "You know, I didn't question it at the time, but after months of grieving, I couldn't help but notice several holes in the story I was told about what happened that night. Whatever it is Rhea did to save Byleth's life, it didn't fix her physical abnormalities, and as an infant, she never laughed or cried, or even made noise. She just... stared, and I could never tell if she needed anything."

Arthur imagined this infant version of Byleth staring holes into him the way her adult version did, silent and unblinking. He was quickly forced to conclude that indeed, such a thing would be disturbing for most. "You think this woman's got something to do with it?"

"I do." The captain nodded. "She refused to tell me exactly what happened that night whenever I asked, and I suspected she might have been planning something for Byleth. Whatever it might have been, I had a feeling it couldn't be anything good. I certainly didn't stick around long enough for her to pull it off."

With that said, Jeralt sat back and stared at the empty cup in his hands for a moment, looking as though he was trying to decide on something. After a moment, with a huff and a shake of his head, he set it aside. "With the help of a few others I trusted, I started a fire in my quarters and pretended my daughter with Sitri died in the flames. With that, I left my post as captain of the knights and made my excuses as I packed up and left the monastery behind, taking only Byleth and what few belongings I didn't let burn. I told the others it was best if I never set foot in Garreg Mach ever again, and indeed, I don't plan on coming near that place any time soon. It's been many years... and yet, I still fear for what might happen should the archbishop realise Sitri's daughter had been alive all this time.."

"So, that's it, then? All this secrecy's to keep the church from learning who Byleth really was? Think they might come take her from you if they did find out?"

"I wouldn't put it past them. Rhea's the kind of woman who wouldn't let anything get in between her and her goals, whatever they might be. I used to admire that about her, but now, it just might prove to be our undoing."

Arthur nodded as he considered everything Jeralt had told him. He thought he could trust Catherine, Shamir, and the other Knights of Seiros, but now, perhaps getting too familiar with them was not such a good idea, if they posed that much of a threat to Byleth as Jeralt believed. "You know what? Maybe I'll come join the party outside after all."

Jeralt squinted at him. "Did my story get you feeling festive all the sudden, Mr. Morgan?"

"Not really, but I heard Byleth signed up for the duels and the melee. Thing is, I know Catherine and a bunch of other knights would be there, too." Arthur said as he stood up from his seat. "I ain't stupid enough to write myself up for the events, but someone's gotta keep an eye on the kid, with all them church folks running around."

The captain looked pleased at that. "Then I'll rest easy, knowing she's in good hands."

...

---

"You mustn't look so glum, little one. This is an opportunity for our house — to show the rest of the Alliance that we have not completely fallen from grace." Father said. From the sound of his voice, she could tell he meant every word. "The Empire had left us broken, but we remain unbowed. In time, you will exact retribution for us all."

She leaned against the window of their carriage and cradled her head in her hand. "I don't care about the Empire. I just want to go home."

Father only sighed. "As do I, my child. But if we are to regain our image and reverse our fortunes, we must..."

"Just stop. Please, just stop." She couldn't help but let her temper get the best of her. "You know what they did to my siblings. You know what they did to me. You know how much time I've got left... and yet, we're spending it here, in a military convoy heading east. And for what — to fight in somebody else's war? Just look how that turned out the last time!"

"We do this for the future of our line..."

"Don't you get it? This is the end of our line!"

Father tried to put up a brave face. "I'm sorry, Lysithea."

She grit her teeth. "So am I."

Lysithea von Ordelia turned her head to look at her mother beside her. As usual, the woman only stared into the window, silently gazing at the Goneril countryside with dead, withered eyes.

It was a little past noon when one of the knights in the convoy rode up to able beside their carriage and hailed the drivers. The man and his mount were wearing armour and barding emblazoned with the heraldry and colours of House Goneril. "The duke sends his regards, Count Ordelia. His eminence would like to inform you that we are nearing our destination. Are there any requests you would like to make before we proceed any further?"

"I see." Father looked past Lysithea as he addressed the allied knight. "Give the duke our thanks, sir knight, but we have need of nothing for now."

"Understood, my lord." The knight saluted him before returning to his formation amidst Duke Goneril's own carriage.

The count leaned back against his seat. "This time... things will be different. "

Lysithea kept silent. She'd rather not waste her energy arguing with her father any further.

Their journey reached its end not long afterwards. The towering walls of Fódlan's Locket loomed over the convoy as the sentries at the western gates bid them welcome, and soon enough, Lysithea and her parents had to leave their carriage behind and proceed into the fortress on horseback, flanked by their knightly retainers and accompanied by other noble personages whom Duke Goneril had rallied to his side over the previous moons.

"I am surprised to see your banners here, my lord." Lysithea heard Margrave Stanislaus von Edmund's deep, measured voice as he rode beside her father. "I have heard many speak about the state of your forces... they believe it won't be in a war-ready state for many years."

"No thanks to the Alliance's collective refusal to come to our aid." Father responded curtly.

The margrave scoffed. "Recall that you have no one but yourself to blame for the current state of your house. The lords knew from the beginning that your war was a fool's errand, and responded accordingly to your requests for aid. You should have left the Adrestians to sort out their own."

"We had a defensive pact with House Hrym, just as you do with the Gonerils. We had no choice!"

"Of course you do. You just chose the illogical one."

Lysithea stayed out of their argument and kept her eyes on the path ahead. She could think of many better uses for her time than to put herself in between squabbling old men.

Soon enough, once word of their arrival reached the ears of the local defenders, the nobles quickly found themselves beset on all sides by a horde of clamouring men-at-arms from the fortress garrison, very visibly pleased to see their liege coming to their aid. Fortunately, with a quick wave of his hand, the knights who accompanied Duke Tancred broke ranks and started making a path for the nobles and their retainers.

"Stand away, you fools!" One of the duke's knights could be heard shouting. "Yield ground for his eminence, or be rode down!"

Lysithea studied her surroundings as she rode onward. The inside of the fortress was impressive, as to be expected from the Alliance's greatest bulwark against eastern aggression, but she could tell from the many signs of conflict here and there and the scruffy, battle-worn states of some of the local defenders that the Locket had seen better days. No wonder they were received so warmly by the garrison.

"Welcome back to the Locket, my liege." Lysithea turned to see Duke Goneril bidding his steed to a stop in front of a well-dressed House Goneril military official. She noticed how the woman's gaze seemed to linger on Margrave Edmund before she collected herself and stood straight in attention. "The garrison is standing by and awaiting your command. My lieutenants are eager to begin integrating my forces with yours. I have also compiled a comprehensive report on our defences and the state of our supply..."

"Yes, yes, all in good time, Wilhelmina. I don't want to hear all that right now." Duke Goneril his vassal away with a dismissive gesture. "I ordered a feast to be held prior to our arrival. Where is it?"

"Over by the list fields, your eminence." The woman said, her face remaining as neutral as ever. "As per your instructions."

"Then that's where I will be." The duke said. He looked behind his shoulder to address the other nobles. "I don't know about you blighters, but our journey has put me in the mood for some sport. There will be a tournament held in the middle of the feast, and everyone who can swing a weapon can come prove their worth."

Lysithea resisted the urge to roll her eyes as most of the nobles and their retainers cheered and spoke their approval of the news.

"You know this isn't the best time to indulge in revelry, Tancred." Margrave Edmund, however, was quick to chide his fellow lord. "We should be preparing the forces we brought to integrate itself with the garrison. That would be a much more productive use of our time."

"Seiros' heaving teats, go be a stick in the mud somewhere else, Edmund." Duke Goneril laughed the other noble off. "These soldiers have been holding my fortress for quite some time now. They could all use a bit of revelry before returning to the thick of it, I say."

"In that case, you'll have plenty of my knights scrambling to sign up for the events your people have arranged for us." Father said. "Isn't that right, Leopold?"

"Positively champing at the bit, my lord." Father's new master-at-arms, a rather formidably-built young knight from House Karnten named Sir Leopold, raised his visor. "The lads are eager to show what they've learned."

The duke snorted in unmasked contempt. "For your sake, your men should give us a good showing, sir knight, lest you all meet the same fate as your predecessors."

Lysithea flinched at that. She remembered all too well how her family's armies fared against the entire might of the Adrestia's provincial armies. House Aegir, in particular, managed to take on the armies of both House Ordelia and House Hrym on an equal footing until flanking elements from Houses Bergliez and Hresvelg arrived to finish both insurrectionist armies off in a day-long smorgasbord of bloodshed and destruction, culminating in a total rout for the Empire's enemies. With the collective refusal of the Alliance's noble houses to enter the war on House Ordelia's behalf, Lysithea knew from the beginning that her family's side of the war stood no chance of winning.

Thankfully, the young woman didn't have to think back on Hrym Insurrection for too long, as she soon found herself being helped down from her palfrey by her father's knights and escorted to her seat next to her parents by one of the tribunes reserved for nobles next to the tiltyards. As knights from all over the Alliance and elsewhere in the continent unhorsed each other for glory and the amusement of the gathered lords, Lysithea tried to occupy her unruly thoughts by taking in her increasingly chaotic surroundings.

As legions of hapless squires and camp followers scrambled back and forth in the pursuit of their masters' fickle whims, banners from House Goneril, Gloucester, Edmund, Ordelia, and countless other minor noble houses swayed and fluttered in the cool morning wind. Below, mounted knights couched lances and charged each other down just next to where Lysithea and her family were seated, giving the young lady an unobstructed view of the event's shining participants.

House Goneril's knights proved just as ferocious as their reputation suggested. Duke Goneril's knights seemed to go out of their way to knock their opponents down from their saddles instead of simply splintering their lances, for better or for worse.

Most of the participants of the joust appeared unremarkable to Lysithea, with their drab plate armour and mostly-forgettable performance in the lists, but House Gloucester's knights stood out from the others thanks to the opulent make of their armour and their colourful liveries.

House Edmund knights were the most careful and disciplined out of the lot, though not always to their advantage. A few times did Lysithea see an Edmund knight fail to splinter their lance because they waited too long, or failed to make use of openings in their opponent's defence.

And the inexperience of House Ordelia's newly-sworn knights were made clear to everyone that day. Lysithea couldn't help but notice her father wincing or shaking his head as yet another of his knights was unhorsed rather violently, often by their House Goneril counterparts. Only Sir Leopold and a handful of others in his inner circle seemed to be managing to hold their own, though mostly through raw tenacity and their opponents underestimating them, rather than skill or technique.

"I've been sitting here for days!" Duke Goneril could be heard bellowing from elsewhere in the yard. "Start the damn joust before I piss myself!"

Lysithea sighed, sinking further into her cushy seat. While most of the nobles seemed to find the knightly sport quite entertaining, nothing in this place held the girl's interest as she found herself slowly becoming tired of watching tin-plated brutes splinter their lances against each others' shields and armour over and over again. Indeed, she would rather be preparing herself for her impending academic year in the Officer's Academy in Garreg Mach, but as the sole surviving child of Count Loukas von Ordelia, her father felt it necessary to have her remain close to his side, wherever he might go... even if that meant putting her at the doorstep of a battlefield.

"Would the young lady care for some tea?"

Lysithea pushed herself to sit upright to face the source of the voice next to her, whereupon she found a House Goneril servant carrying a tray impressively stacked with a mountain of snacks and a jug of something steaming.

"Oh! Uh, I'll have some tea blended in southern fruits, and five teaspoons of sugar, please. I'll also have two — no, three of those cakes over there."

To her credit, the servant did as she was told without comment, or even a change in her carefully-neutral expression.

"Do my eyes deceive me, or is that knight attempting to draw your attention, my child?"

Lysithea looked to her father beside her, who was gesturing near the tilts, directly at the throng of armoured figures on horseback. She followed where his hand was pointing to see another unremarkable-looking jouster dressed head-to-toe in unornamented plate and chain.

"He's waving at you, I am sure." Father said.

"You're just imagining it, father." She huffed and folded her arms as she waited for the servant to finish brewing her tea. "It's more likely he's waving at you."

"Oh no, I'm quite certain." The count insisted. "I wonder who he is."

"Well, whoever he is," She picked up her knife, sliced one of her cakes in two and promptly stuffed the more substantial half into her mouth. "I've nho interesht, mhm, in him."

"Truly? This one's performance thus far has been nothing but exemplary, I say." Father said, in the tone he used for when she was in her sulky moods. He looked like he was also going to scold her for talking with her mouth full when she turned to look at her, but thought better of it at the last moment. "...he has been unhorsing other knights all morning, and has yet to be brought low himself. From the speed in which he manipulated his lance to the way he manoeuvred his steed down the tilt, this horseman is clearly in a league of his own, above most of the competition."

She swallowed her food. Deciding to humour her father, the girl leaned forward and had a closer look at this competitor. Indeed, it seemed more obvious that this particular knight was waving specifically at Lysithea herself, and not her father as she initially thought. "Hrm, he doesn't seem to be wearing any heraldries, or carrying a banner. Which lord does he fight under?"

"Who knows? I have been keeping an eye on him, and he refused to have his name be announced at the start of bouts. He does not appear to have any squires, either." The count said, before adding in a conspiring, mock-serious tone, "He could be a lord himself, for all we know."

"Don't be ridiculous, father." Lysithea shook her head at the fanciful notion.

Ahead, the mystery knight seemed to have realised that he managed to catch Lysithea's attention at last. He put on a show of bowing in her direction and proceeded to make a gesture with his gauntleted hands in an obvious signal for Lysithea to keep her eyes on him. He repeated the gesture twice before he reached down into one of the bags pinned to his saddle and started rummaging inside.

Lysithea elbowed her father beside her. "What am I looking at here?"

"It looks like he wants to show you something." He answered. There seemed to be something about the situation he found amusing, if his growing smile was an indication. "Perhaps he means to give it to you later, as a gift."

"A gift... for me?" She gave him a flat, dubious look. "But whatever for? I don't even know him."

"A few reasons come to mind... but, I think in this case, courtship is the most likely." He chuckled at the surprised look on her face. "Not to worry. I can have Sir Leopold keep him away from you, if you're uncomfortable."

Lysithea groaned her annoyance. She had grown to despise having her father's armoured thugs follow her around and watch her every move, but in this case, she found that having them around quickly deterred unwanted company, suitors being the worst out of the lot. "Please do. I've no time for games of this nature."

When Lysithea turned her head to regard the mystery knight, she looked just in time to witness him pull an object from his saddle before holding it up to the sky. What she saw clasped in his hand was nothing like anything she expected. The sight of it caused her eyes to go wide in shock as she wallowed in the tide of dreadful memories that suddenly flooded her mind.

"Oh, it's an axe. How... hm, interesting. Perhaps I was wrong to think he intends to court you." Father stroked his beard in contemplation. "I wonder what his intentions are. Surely he does not mean to hand you that dreadful thing."

Lysithea barely heard him, struck dumb as she was at the sight of the terrible weapon the knight was hoisting up in the air. She was sure she was just imagining it, but she thought she spotted arcs of yellow lightning dancing along its jagged edge for a moment.

"Saints..." There could be no doubt — this axe was none other than the personal weapon of a former captor of hers — the one who called himself Chilon.

"Are you well, Lysithea?" She found her father looking at her in concern. "You look pale."

"I... no. No, I am not." Lysithea mumbled as she tried to will herself back to reality. She tried to steady herself with some tea, only to lose her grip and almost end up spilling her drink. "I don't feel well at all. Please excuse me."

"Lysithea, wait." The count reached out to his daughter before she could stand up and leave. With naked desperation in his eyes, he proceeded to give her a thorough once-over before examining her tea and what was left of the cakes she requested. "Great goddess, please don't frighten me like this. How do you feel — do you think that servant put something in your food?"

The young woman shook her head as she shrugged off her father's hand on her shoulder and pushed herself up to stand. "I need to leave. I'm sorry."

"Lysith—! Lysithea!" She heard her father calling out to her as she hurriedly strode off, away from the list fields. She hadn't a clue where she was going, but at that moment, all she cared about was getting away from everyone. Soldiers and knights alike stared and looked surprised to see her as she hurried past, obviously recognising her as a noble. Some of them who were wearing House Ordelia colours called out to her in varying degrees of worry and concern. She paid none of them any mind.

Eventually, Lysithea found one of the only secluded places in the busy fortress, which was, ironically enough, the decrepit, half-scorched remains of an unfortunate alehouse that took a direct hit from a siege weapon. The inside of the damaged building was completely deserted from what she could see, and only a sparse few pieces of furniture remained after its proprietors likely stripped it down to salvage what they could from the ruins.

Rubbing her eyes with her sleeve, Lysithea strode further into the building and picked one of the more intact rooms up in the second floor and closed the door behind her. She then made her way over to a lonely, pitiful-looking stool next to what once had been a fireplace. She bravely held her tears until she left the others behind, and now that she was alone in this gloomy, ash-caked room, she wasted no more time.

The familiar mix of despair and fury washed over Lysithea as she sobbed away, then balled her hands into fists as her sobs turned to anguished growls when her anger had grown to overwhelm her sorrow.

She hated being there, wasting what little time she still had helping her father try in vain to restore some measure of prestige to their broken noble house. All could see that House Ordelia was finished, but in his pride, her father could not comprehend this fact, and was willing to risk everything he still had to his name just to claw out the smallest scraps of pride and glory he could, by whatever means he thought necessary.

She hated the lords of the Alliance, for their cowardice, selfishness, and opportunism. It had been repeatedly drilled into her head as a child that the many oaths of loyalty the nobles of Leicester swore to each other were the Alliance's greatest strength... and when they proved that their words meant nothing after all, it shattered her faith in her nation, and revealed to her the true nature of snake den that made up her country's nobility.

She hated those cruel, black-robed mages, for what they did to her family. What sinister goal did they hope to accomplish by inflicting such depravity and horror upon mere children? Did they even have a goal in mind, or were they simply revelling in their sadistic perversions?

Above all, she hated herself. What right did she have, to cling to life while her brothers and sisters died in agony? Her, the overbearing, mean-spirited eldest sister who treated her younger siblings like rubbish while they still lived?

"Lysithea!"

"Ahh!" The young woman gasped and jolted from her stool as she suddenly heard a voice calling her name. The thought of this building being inhabited by lost souls who happened to know her name had her struck frozen in terror. Covering her mouth and attempting to ignore the rising urge to scream, Lysithea sat still, hoping she only imagined it.

"Are you in here?" The voice continued to shout. The soot-covered floorboards creaked under the weight of armoured boots elsewhere in the building.

Ghosts don't make such noises, Lysithea repeated to herself as she attempted to calm down. You're not a child, stop being afraid.

"Wh-who is it?" She shouted back, hating how small and pathetic she sounded.

"Lady Lysithea, is that you?" She realised she didn't recognise the voice. It must be one of her father's knights coming to check on her. "Where are you?"

"Over here!" She cried out, more sure of herself this time.

The sound of footsteps grew louder as the knight followed the sound of her voice. Moments later, a gauntleted hand pried open the door to the room she had hidden herself in, and in stepped a fully-armoured figure not too unlike many of the knights she had seen before.

"Are you alright?" From the sound of the knight's voice, as well as his height and build, Lysithea could tell this one was a young man underneath all the steel and leather, perhaps not too older than herself. "I overheard that you suddenly fled from the tribunes some time ago, in the middle of the jousting event. Count Ordelia had been most concerned at your disappearance — he sent scores of his trusted servants to scour the fortress for your whereabouts."

She sighed. "I'm fine now. Just... leave me alone, I can make my way back."

The knight shifted on his feet and cleared his throat, as though unsure of what to say. "I, um, apologise if my display during the tournament caused you distress. I simply wished to show you that I had been successful in the task you entrusted me with, and not give you cause for fright. Rest assured that I mean you no harm... I am not one of them."

"One of... them?" Lysithea stared at him with an incredulous expression on her face. "You're not making any sense. What are you trying to tell me, sir knight?"

He bent at the waist and bowed. Something about the gesture seemed familiar to Lysithea. "My apologies. I hadn't realised it has been some time since last we corresponded... you may not even remember our exchange." He reached behind his back. "Please, allow me to present this to you."

Once again, Lysithea found herself shocked to see Chilon's axe in the knight's hands. "You... y-you're that knight who was trying to get my attention. How did you... where did you get that thing?"

"I gathered a small group of experienced fighters and followed the directions you specified in one of your letters, my lady." The knight said. She noticed how his armoured shoulders drooped slightly. "Some of my comrades were killed along the way, but their lives were not spent in vain. Justice has been summarily exacted for all those murdered by your wicked gaoler's hand."

It was then that the pieces fell into place in Lysithea's mind. Not long after Lysithea survived those tortures the dark mages inflicted on her, Count Loukas received a peculiar series of letters from an anonymous source, who claimed to be a noble from the Empire who possessed an awareness of those responsible for the suffering that House Ordelia was subjected to following their defeat in the Insurrection of Hrym. This source had asked for diplomatic and military assistance from her father in order to locate and expose the dark mages, and also requested whatever scraps of information her family had about their previous tormentors.

Unfortunately for whomever sent these letters, her father dismissed them as a part of another insidious Adrestian ploy to undermine his shattered domain. The count decided to put the letters away, hoping to use them in some capacity to strike back at the Empire when the time was right. It was by chance that Lysithea had found one of the letters by her father's desk, and consumed as she was at the time to exact some measure of revenge on the mages who experimented on her and murdered her siblings, the young woman took it upon herself to correspond with the letters' mysterious sender, two moons after they were sent.

Of course, she was not foolish enough to trust this sender out of hand. In her letter, she wrote details about places in Fódlan where her former torturers could most likely be found, and only promised the full extent of her aid to its recipient if they managed to deliver to her proof that they were indeed working to undermine the dark mages as they claimed they were.

A week later, Lysithea found herself surprised at the speed in which she received a response to the letter she sent off, addressed specifically to her and inconspicuously tucked on a branch of the tree she often frequented in Castle Ordelia's courtyard. In it, the sender wrote that they knew about the extent of the suffering she endured at the hands of the dark mages, and promised to deliver exactly as she asked in due time. This letter also asked if she could provide more information — about the infamous Duke Ludwig von Aegir's dealings with the dark mages.

Lysithea knew little about the Imperial prime minister other than the fact that he was a greedy wastrel whose army of scoundrels and blackguards swept through the Ordelian countryside and conducted numerous acts of murder, pillaging, and rape on every settlement it crossed, but she readily penned another return letter, once again promising to tell what she could upon receiving her proof.

And now, that same mysterious source of the letters stood before Lysithea, presenting to her exactly as she requested, and in person no less. It had been several moons since she sent away her last letter, and she had long since believed it was a mistake to even have considered involving herself in something that was clearly too good to be true. Now, however, she had never been so glad to be proven wrong about something.

"That murderous creature..." Lysithea took the axe from the knight and held onto it with shaking hands. "What he did to us... what he did to my..."

She grit her teeth as she looked up to the knight, her eyes beginning to well with tears anew. "Do you know how many of our servants did he kill with this? We've known them since childhood, and some weren't any older than me. They did what they could to aid our attempts to escape, or even just find a way to ease our suffering. They paid for their kindness with their lives."

"I know it is a small comfort, but they have been avenged." The knight's words were spoken in a quiet, empathetic tone. "Chilon and his followers are no more, I assure you."

She wiped her eyes, sniffling. "Good. I hope he suffered like we did."

The knight sighed as he went down on a knee to face Lysithea at an equal level. "My companion took his arm, then gouged his throat. The villain bled out on the stones, gurgling his final breaths. It was not an easy death."

"Then I hope you rewarded your companion as they deserved. Chilon can't have been easy to defeat." She handed the axe back to him. "And you should keep this. I don't want it near me. Just looking at it... to look at it is to be driven mad."

"As you wish." He put the axe away. He raised a metal hand and looked like he wanted to reach out and comfort her, but thought better of it and stood up. "Once again, I apologise for the horrors I may have dredged up with this meeting. I completely understand if you feel like putting all thoughts of those dark mages behind for now. Shall we meet again to discuss them at a later date?"

Lysithea nodded, breathing in and out to calm herself. "Yes, that would be for the best. I will need some time to myself, I think." She also stood up, dusting her hands on her dress. "You're, uh... not a knight, are you? In one of the letters you addressed to me, you wrote that you were..."

"I have yet to receive the honour of knighthood, but I am a noble by birth, yes." He nodded back, the plates and chains that made up his armour clinking together with each small movement. "I am the son of an important man in Emperor Ionius' own court."

"May I know who you are, at least?" She asked, wringing her hands together. "I see you're trying to conceal your identity from the others here, but I feel it is necessary that I know who I'll be working with going forward."

"Ah, but I have not been trying to hide my identity... the garrison already knows of my presence here, I am afraid." He shook his head, not sounding too pleased about the fact. "Truth be told, I have been attempting to keep myself from being recognised too often. Regretfully, I had been the subject of cruel mockery and angered tirades from some of the defenders here. Such conduct is never good for morale."

"But why would they do that to you?"

"I will not lie — my father, a duke, had left behind a legacy of adultery and general unpleasantness in this side of the Alliance. He is not well loved in many places... least of all here, suffice it to say."

Lysithea knew of one such duke from the Empire who matched this lord's description. It was then that she realised exactly why he wrote to her for information about Duke Aegir's connections with the dark mages. "You are... no, you're not just another one of Ludwig's bastard spawn, aren't you? You're the only one he deigned to legitimise — his trueborn heir by Adrestian law."

"Yes, and I hope... well, I hope this does not drive a rift between us. My house had not treated yours with the grace and honour usually afforded to the losing side of a war." He sounded quite nervous — a strange contrast to the formidable, self-assured image he presented himself with during the joust. As though just remembering his courtly manners, the lord quickly unfastened his helmet, shrugged it off, and pulled down his mail coif.

"I am Ferdinand von Aegir." He bowed. "Truly, I am most pleased to make your acquaintance at long last."

Ferdinand had the dashing looks of a true and well-bred young nobleman from the Empire, with coiffed ginger locks, a well-defined square jawline, and a smile that he could use to charm his way out of a potential diplomatic incident. He was certainly a striking young man, Lysithea observed clinically, but the dark bags under his eyes, the unsightly scar that snaked from under his jaw and ended at his cheek, and the hint of a stubble growing on the lower half of his face took away some of his boyish appeal.

"Likewise." Lysithea smiled back, hoping she didn't look too sad or too angry. "And no, I don't really care about the Insurrection in the way that my father does, stuck in the past as he tends to be."

"Then I am pleased." Ferdinand's smile appeared less nervous and more genuine this time. "I look forward to working with you, my lady... but for now, shall I escort you back to your parents?"

"Oh, thank you, but that won't be necessary. Like I said, I can make it back—"

"VON AEGIR!"

Both nobles winced as the muffled sound of a man bellowing in anger echoed downstairs.

"Where are you, you spineless Empire dog! I know you're in here. Come out, so we can finish what we started in the lists!"

Ferdinand muttered an oath as he slowly and reluctantly dropped into an alert stance. "The more time I spend here, the more enemies I seem to make."

Lysithea recognised the voice. It belonged to her father's master-at-arms, Sir Leopold. "What did you do?"

"I withdrew from the tournament just before my bout with this knight, a man called Leopold von Karnten. I had hoped he would be grateful and not take my departure from the competition as a personal slight, but here we are."

"You withdrew... really? I hadn't been paying much attention to the event, to be honest, but from what little I've gathered, you seem to be poised to win the jousting event outright."

"Ah, that may be so, but when I learned that Count Ordelia's daughter stormed out from the tribunes and could not be found, I simply had to take my leave. I could not help but feel that your disappearance was my doing, and therefore it became my responsibility to find you and make amends — to set things to right."

Lysithea was used to hearing meaningless platitudes from nobles and knights alike, but something about how Ferdinand spoke and his apparent willingness to forsake personal glory in order to do what he thought was right made her inclined to believe that the other noble might truly be sincere in his words.

Perhaps her being forced to stay in Goneril wouldn't be so terrible after all, if she had someone like him around.

"Again, my apologies." Ferdinand pulled up his mail coif and started putting his helmet back on. "Let us meet again soon, but for now, I must attempt to reason with this fellow. I do hope this does not end in bloodshed..."

"You shouldn't trouble yourself with my father's lackeys, especially Leopold. That one's always been full of hot air." Lysithea said, her hands reaching behind her back. "I can't even begin to repay this favour you did for me, Lord Ferdinand, but I can start by getting you out of this mess. Where do you wish to go?"

"I see you are offering to aid me, but I must admit that I do not understand how."

"I know a bit of magic. It's hard to explain. Just... I'm going to need you to trust me with this, okay?"

"In that case, then I wish to return to the tribunes. I recall leaving a cup of tea behind."

She smiled. "Tell them to brew one for me when you get there. I like anything sweet."

Ferdinand only had time to look confused before Lysithea blasted him with the warp spell she had been channelling behind her back. Ferdinand stood before her in one second, and in another, he seemed to vanish without a trace.

Sir Leopold and two other knights barged into the room not a minute later, their swords drawn from their scabbards.

"You can't run from me, von Aeg— oh, Lady Lysithea! By the goddess, what are you doing here?" Her father's master-at-arms quickly put his weapon away and saluted his lord's daughter and heir as soon as he caught sight of her.

"I could ask you the same thing, sir knight." She said, folding her arms. "Well, go on then, do what you came here to do. I'm going back to my family."

"Wait, let us escort you." Leopold all but demanded. "We, uh, came here to find you, on Count Ordelia's behalf. Yes, that's it."

Lysithea couldn't resist rolling her eyes. "Well, you found me, I guess. Can we leave now? I've had enough of this place."

...

---

Since the arrival of Duke Goneril and a small coalition of other Alliance nobles and their armies arrived in Fódlan's Locket, the fortress had been much busier, filthier, noisier, and much more crowded... too crowded for Arthur's tastes. The place had a tense, martial atmosphere once, now it felt like a small, bustling city composed of soldiers, hunters, smiths, fletchers, cooks, healers and other such people who worked to see to the needs of the fortress many, many inhabitants.

Unfortunately, Emir Haashid had not been content to let his own forces stagnate. For each man the nobles had brought with them to reinforce the Locket, it seemed as though five Almyrans popped out of thin air to flock to the enemy's ranks in response. Worse, swarms of wyvern riders had begun to bypass the Locket by flying far above the range of the defenders' ballistae, before coming back down to wreak havoc on their supply lines almost unopposed.

As for the constant raids that had long plagued the fortress, with the arrival of the duke and many other Allied nobles to the fortress, the raiders were disturbingly quick to change tactics from suicidal attacks on the garrison to suicidal attempts to assassinate the nobles. Most of these attempts were unsuccessful, of course, but a few assassins had managed to dispatch a handful of minor nobles and some of their knights before they were inevitably overwhelmed. As a result of these deaths, manpower was diverted from the walls and the patrols meant to combat the raids to augment the nobles' bodyguard details, which did no favours to the fortress' general security and morale.

Their prisoner-turned-informant, Sheikh Armid, had been of little help when he was asked how the raiders had been bypassing the walls. The princeling, much like the other captured Almyrans who were willing to talk to the Fódlanese, alluded to rather fantastical feats of engineering and magic, such as sturdy tunnels made out of rock and steel that snaked past the disgusting waters that filled the fortress' eastern moat and under the walls, as well as cabals of white magic specialists who were trained to magically displace small groups of warriors over long distances. This information had proven to be all but useless, however, as the raids continued and the defenders were unable to find any sign of the tunnels or develop a feasible countermeasure to such magic, if it even existed.

With the rapid swelling of the eastlander hordes in the past few days and the increased frequency and scale of their regular harassing actions, it was clear to Arthur and many others that the Almyrans intended to soften up the defenders in whichever way possible before commencing their assault on the fortress at long last.

But not all things seemed bleak. Thanks to Sheikh Armid's information on his brother's war plans, as well as diligent intelligence-gathering from the Knights of Seiros under Shamir Nevrand, the defenders had been able to acquire a rough estimate on when Emir Haashid would finally choose to attack the fortress. Duke Goneril had been quite pleased with the work of the church's agents, and ordered the garrison to intensify their regular drills and increase the production of arrows, arms, and armour. The duke had also specifically asked for Arthur, Jeralt and Byleth to join him and his fellow nobles in the castellan's war room a few times, usually to get their input on some manner of strategy as well as to recount some of their experiences in fighting the Almyrans.

It was certainly awkward for Arthur to be in the same room as Margrave Stanislaus von Edmund once more, but the taciturn nobleman didn't seem to hold as much animosity for him as before. While he remained as cold and withdrawn as Arthur remembered him being, the margrave seemed to have forgotten that he and the outlaw were at odds the last time they met. Arthur also couldn't help but notice how the margrave seemed to gravitate towards General Fischer, and she did with him. Whenever Edmund spoke up to add to the conversation or suggest tactics to the duke's defensive strategy, Fischer was quick to support his ideas, just as he was quick to support hers.

And now, after two more weeks spent waiting for the end of this war, Arthur stood atop the outer curtain wall, leaning forward against the parapets as he watched Sheikh Armid and a small group of his fellow eastlanders be escorted out of the fortress' eastern gates at spearpoint. As part of the agreement he struck with the Knights of Seiros, the Almyran princeling would be freed from his cell and be allowed to return to Almyra with a fabricated story of his heroic escape.

"I have to say, I'm actually sorry to see him go," Catherine said from beside Arthur. "For a barbarian, he's not so bad."

"I wouldn't go that far. But sure, he's been useful." Shamir folded her arms as her eyes tracked the former prisoners below.

Duke Goneril scoffed. "The whoreson's usefulness has been spent long ago. It would have suited our goals if we simply killed him before we let him step foot beyond our gates."

"Respectfully, my lord, I disagree." Shamir said, not deigning to look at the duke. "Should we manage to kill Haashid or otherwise render him unable to become king, Armid stands a chance of inheriting Sulaaiman's titles instead. He could be a useful ally to Leicester after we put an end to this war."

"Respectfully, ranger, you should know better than to trust these underhanded, goat-fondling eastlanders." The duke's words dripped with undiluted vitriol. He turned on his heel and started to make his way down from the walls. "One day, I will lead a grand army straight across the desert and burn down every Almyran hovel in my path. All of Almyra will burn if I had my say."

Hilda tugged at her brother's sleeve. "Holst, I think you should try to calm him down..."

General Holst ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. "Excuse me."

Arthur watched the two Goneril men walk away and out of sight. Shaking his head, he leaned on his side against the parapet. "Wish these Almyrans would just get it over with and march west. Startin' to get a little antsy staying in this place... too many folks around nowadays."

"Well, you might soon get your wish." Shamir said. By now, Armid and his group were no more than tiny shapes in the horizon. "From what we've learned from our prisoner, and the information our forward observers have provided, we have reason to believe that the Almyran attack is imminent. Perhaps later this week, or the next."

"Then we have best prepare ourselves for the worst the emir's forces can throw at us while we still have time." Byleth said. Arthur made sure to stand in between the girl and the two knights of Seiros in their midst. "This might prove to be the defining battle of our lives."

"That's if we're lucky. If not, it'll be our last one." Shez was quick to add.

Hilda nudged him with an elbow. "In an optimistic mood today, are we?"

"Hey, if you want positivity, talk to Ferdinand over there." Shez offhandedly gestured at the noble.

"Wow, you are so right! Why didn't I think of that?" Hilda's cheerfully sarcastic tone never wavered. "Ferdinand! Shez is making me sooo upset! I could use some of your positive energy right now!"

"Never fear, Lady Hilda. Our training and discipline will see us through this. We should not dread the coming of the foe, but rather await them with our weapons at hand, and courage in our hearts!" Came Ferdinand's grand declaration, confidence radiating off of him. He seemed to remain oblivious to the shared looks of amusement from Shez and Hilda. "I, for one, am eager to put to practice what Lady Mayu had been attempting to teach me in the training yard. I feel as though we have accomplished much to improve ourselves in such a short period of time."

Nearby, Mayu whittled away with look of concentration on her face. By now, the hunk of wood she had been carving into shape had begun to resemble some kind of mask, with a smooth visage without a nose or a mouth, only curving slits for eyes.

"Yes." The warrior, after months of persistent tutoring from Ferdinand and his knightly retainers, could now manage to speak full sentences in Fódlanese, although at a rudimentary level and with a rather pronounced accent. "Learn much. But still... plenty more to learn."

"But you just kept prodding at him with a stick for an entire afternoon!" Arthur did not expect Lysithea von Ordelia turning out to be a temperamental fifteen-year-old with white hair and pink eyes. He had a mind to confront Count Loukas von Ordelia about bringing a little girl to a battlefield, but when he saw the little girl in question incinerate a training dummy with a concussive blast of umbral magic, he decided to simply keep an eye on her for the time being. "What's he even getting out of these so-called training sessions aside from potentially getting his eyes poked out?"

Black brows knit and brown eyes narrowed, Mayu stared at Lysithea as she took some time to consider what to say. "You are... not easy to understand, small child."

Lysithea scowled, "I am not a child, and I am most certainly not small!"

"Really? But you're so tiny!" Hilda chimed from her spot, smirking. "Like a cute, toy-sized version of a girl! Ohh, I could just pick you up and swing you around!"

"Shut up! I wasn't talking to you!" Lysithea sharply turned on her heel to yell at Hilda. "As if you're one to talk! Why are you always trying to aggravate me?"

"Because it's funny." Shez drawled from beside Hilda, shaking his head with a half-smirk of his own. "If you want Hilda to stop, you shouldn't give her what she wants by blowing up every time she mentions your age... or your height."

"I'm not the one "blowing up" if you continue these ill-advised attempts to irritate me, mercenary!" The young lady said, and for a moment, Arthur could see how her pupils seemed to become engulfed in a purple haze.

"I don't understand," Byleth put her hands on her hips, frowning at Shez and Hilda. "For what purpose does provoking your own allies serve? This cannot be good for morale and group cohesion."

"Finally, someone who speaks sense!" Lysithea said, nodding approvingly at Byleth. "This behaviour is entirely inappropriate! Am I not wrong, Lord Ferdinand?"

"Ah, but of course, my lady..." Ferdinand looked like he'd rather not involve himself in this discussion, however.

As the young ones filled the air with their voices anew, Arthur took a step back and let them continue behaving their age. He couldn't help but remember that some of them might not live to see the end of the week, as Shez pointed out.

"Look at all this youthful energy," Catherine said as Arthur approached her and Shamir. "Reminds me of my time in the Officer's Academy. Hell, those were the days! The things me and my old friends got up to... I kinda miss being a teenager."

"I don't." Shamir was quick to say. "Puberty was horrible, and Dagda was a shithole. My family had to endure famines, constant warring between petty clans, and the Empire breathing down our necks. I remember feeling a lot of uncertainty about whether or not I'm going to live to make it to the end of the month during those days."

"Yeah, I get that." Arthur nodded at the ranger. "The things you gotta do so you don't sleep with an empty stomach as a kid... well, I guess I was lucky I was a bigger, angrier kid than most others in the streets. Not so lucky for the other boys, though."

"You lived in the streets as a kid? That's rough." Catherine said. "Where were your parents?"

"My mother got sick and died when I was about five or six. My father was a thief who got caught trying to make off with some rich bastard's furniture, or something like that. Got himself strung up by lawmen the next day, and I ended up livin' in the streets by the end of the week." The outlaw shrugged. "Not really much of a story, if you ask me."

"Even so, who would've thought a random orphan would grow up to become a famous mercenary, travelling the continent and rubbing shoulders with knights and lords?" Catherine patted him on the back, almost hard enough to make him stumble. "You've done well for yourself, Arthur. Make no mistake."

The outlaw stared at his boots, nodding slowly. "Guess I did. Just wish I coulda done some things a bit differently back in the day."

Shamir arched at brow at him, a inquisitive glint in her eyes. "Don't we all?"

As more days passed with little incident and the weather took a gradual turn for the cold, it became even more clear that the Almyrans were preparing for an all-out assault. Eastlander flying skirmishers had stopped restricting themselves to harassing Allied supply lines and began attacking reinforcing units before they could arrive. What few trebuchets the Almyrans still possessed started lobbing flaming rocks over the walls again, and even more telling, the raids had ceased completely.

As for Arthur, he was in the middle of his sleep after participating in Jeralt's evening drills when he was stirred by an insistent shaking of a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey..." Arthur awoke to the sound of Tekla's voice. Opening his eyes, he saw the healer standing next to his bunk, looking a little apprehensive about something. "I'm sorry to bother you at this time of the night, but I think we need to talk."

"Yeah? This about me breaking Shez's arm while we was training?" He rubbed his eyes and covered his mouth with the back of his fist as he felt the urge to yawn. "Hrmgh... I said I was sorry for that, didn't I?"

"What are you talking about? When did you—" Arthur saw Tekla's eyes grow wide for a moment as she kept herself from laughing too loudly. "That was five moons ago. And no, I don't recall if you ever apologised for that one."

"Shit, this goddamn place's gettin' to me." The outlaw sat up and ran his hand through his hair. "Well, what's this about, then?"

"Not here." The girl shook her head. "This one's about... well, me. The real me."

Intrigued, Arthur stood up from his bunk and took his coat where he left it atop his trunk. "Where to, then?"

Tekla glanced around before taking a deep breath. "You might want to put on your armour, just in case. And don't forget your scarf — it's cold outside."

Arthur shrugged. These days, he rarely went anywhere without wearing parts of his armour as a matter of course.

After giving their excuses to the night watch sentries patrolling the company's perimeter, the Arthur and Tekla proceeded into the now-familiar streets of the Locket. He kept a watchful eye on their surroundings as she led him further away, wary of any sign of the Agarthans or anything else that might put the healer in danger again. One rescue mission was more than enough for a single member of the company, or so the outlaw thought.

"You know, I've been going through a few books about crests, and the power behind them." Tekla began to speak, perhaps as a way to fill the relative silence during their walk. "There was a small section in one of the books, about crest stones. Ever heard of them?"

"Can't say I have. Not really much of a book person." Arthur sleepily replied, still mostly focused on their environment. "Been hearin' you get crests by getting 'em from your parents. Like an inheritance, or somesuch."

"You're born with them, more or less."

"And these crest stones... they're what, a buncha magic rocks?"

"In the simplest terms, sure."

"Jesus. Was there a lotta hard liquor involved, or were these some real attractive rocks?"

The healer let out a breath of a laugh. "Ha! Not like that, you oaf. Crest stones... well, they are, as you said, ancient stones infused with magical power. They are known for their unusual properties, the most well-known being that they can imbue other objects with... erm, some sort of energy, so to speak."

"Hm. I'll remember that," Arthur tried to sound like he found the subject interesting. "So, uh, where're we headed, exactly?"

"Through here. Come on, keep up." Tekla said as she picked up the pace. "Anyway, as I was saying, these objects, when empowered by crest stones, are a sight to behold. We've already seen one of them in action, namely the famed Hero's Relic your friend Lady Catherine wields into battle."

"Huh. Okay, I'll remember that," Arthur said, and he meant it this time. "Thunderbrand... name like that leaves an impression. Y'know, when I look at it for too long, I swear it's like the ugly thing moves on its own. And what the hell's it even made out of — some kinda bone? It's one hell of a weapon, for sure."

"You... saw it move?" Tekla briefly stopped to look at Arthur, appearing surprised and impressed. "Not many people do. It's like the sword itself is alive... animated by the power of the Crest Stone of Charon forged into its pommel." The healer continued on their path, with a new spring in her step. "You just gave me something new to consider, Mr. Morgan. But for now, I think we should hurry before you fall asleep."

He suppressed a yawn. "Hrmgh, no kidding."

Their destination became less and less clear to Arthur as they proceeded to the move to the more opulent, less battle-damaged areas of the fortress, where the nobility and their retainers, subordinates, and bodyguards had taken residence for the length of the siege. In particular, Tekla led Arthur to a secluded, nondescript-looking structure that appeared to be used as a siege workshop. Banners decorated with the symbols and colours of House Ordelia could be seen hanging from many fixtures in the area.

"Watch your step," Tekla said as they descended into the structure. Voices could be heard from deeper within. "They're expecting us, but let's not make them think we're anyone else, alright?"

"It's not just us two, then." Arthur checked their surroundings and looked for an exit route, just in case.

"We both know our way around a fight, but I don't fancy the chances of taking on the Scions of Agartha with just the two of us." Tekla said.

"You ain't wrong, miss, but I thought you said this was about you." Arthur frowned, face set in uncertainty. "That business with your kidnapping aside, what do them freaks got to do with you?"

Tekla put up a smile, though she looked anything but happy. "You're about to find out. Come on, let's go see the others. I'll explain soon."

Eventually, Tekla led Arthur through a door to one of the rooms in the workshop. Byleth and Ferdinand were there, as he expected. The girl and the young lord appeared to be in the middle of a discussion about tactics for the upcoming defence of both the outer and inner curtain walls from enemy flying cavalry, though not without making themselves comfortable with a pitcher full of tea in between them.

There were a few others in the room however, that Arthur was surprised to notice.

"So, the Austrians surrendered, then? From the odds you described, they cannot have lasted for much longer against more than a hundred thousand Ottoman besiegers." Lysithea von Ordelia seemed to be getting along well with Corporal Victor Sturges, if only because she wasn't yelling at him at the moment.

"They wouldn't have, sure. But during the summer, two other European realms have been amassing their armies. By Septem— uh, I mean, Horsebow Moon, they marched all the way southeast and lifted the siege around Vienna with a massive cavalry assault." As for Victor, he appeared in his element as he recounted some sort of historical event to Lysithea. "No less than eighteen-thousand horsemen charged down the hills. The Ottomans, already demoralised from the previous setbacks I mentioned, almost immediately broke as their lines were dashed against the rocks."

The soldier smiled, a wistful look in his eyes. "I'm sure it must have been quite the sight for everyone watching from behind the walls."

The young lady put a hand to her chin in thought. "I would like to read all about this. Even if I still think the tactics involved are a bit far-fetched, you make it sound like there's an interesting story behind this war."

"Well, you're in luck. My mates gave me a lot of shit for it, but I brought most of my textbooks with me before I shipped out to fight in France." Victor said. "They're a bit stained and scratched from all the marching I do, not to mention the dog-ears. But I made sure to keep them in a readable condition. Want them?"

"Yes, please. I'll never say no to books, even the scruffy ones." Lysithea said, nodding eagerly.

Arthur also spotted Mayu sitting in a corner of the room, quietly watching the others with her longbow slung across her torso and her arms resting on her knees. Every now and then, the outlaw could see her closing her eyes for a moment, before opening them again. It seemed that he wasn't the only one fighting the urge to lay down on the floor and embrace the sweet release of oblivion.

To both his annoyance and amusement, Arthur also found Shez amidst the people inside. As soon as the boy spotted him back, the bored look on his face quickly disappeared, a smug, mocking grin immediately appearing in its place.

"You look surprised to see me here, old man." Shez said as he took Ferdinand's seat next to Byleth after the former stood up to bring Mayu a cup of tea. "Did you seriously think I'm going to let you and Byleth take down those robed freaks all by yourself? Those little bastards made me an invalid for a week, you know, and I'm in the mood for some payback."

Arthur gave him an exasperated look before turning to Byleth. "How much does he know?"

"About as much as we do." The girl replied. "I made sure he was thoroughly informed about what he's getting involved in."

"You see, Morgan?" Shez was still grinning as he wrapped an arm around Byleth's shoulder and pulled her close. "Byleth's a good girl who knows better than to leave her friends in the dark. Isn't that right, my friend?"

Byleth squirmed next to the other mercenary, looking unsure of what to do. "Please don't make me regret this."

"Alright, alright! Saints alive..." Shez chuckled as he disentangled himself from her. "Just when I thought you're starting to lighten up around people. Or was it only when you're with a really good "friend" like Arthur?"

Byleth wisely decided to remain silent.

Arthur sighed. "Boy... don't even start."

Shez looked like he wasn't finished trying to get under Arthur's skin, but thankfully, Tekla decided to come to his rescue. "Shez, I was just thinking about finding you in the morning to talk about how grateful I am that you tried to stop me from being abducted. Not many would have done the same in your shoes."

"Eh, it was nothing." He waved her off, though he couldn't keep himself from smiling. "I didn't really think about it, all I knew was that you were in danger. I kinda had to step in and do something."

As Tekla distracted the boy, Arthur found himself a seat, took out his journal, and waited for whatever it was that made Tekla drag him out of bed in the middle of his sleep. He was half-way through an entry when he heard a chair being pushed along the floor, and to his surprise, saw a certain white-haired noble taking her spot right next to where he was sitting.

"Arthur Morgan," The outlaw hurriedly put away his journal just as Lysithea sat down on the chair she pushed. "I don't think we've been formally introduced. As you know, my name is Lysithea. I'm certain Ferdinand mentioned me once or twice."

"Arthur's just fine, ki— I mean, my lady." He sat up straight, clearing his throat. "So, I take it you and Ferdinand are friends now?"

"I consider those who would willingly take a stand against the Agarthans as my friend." Her response sounded carefully-measured, as though having already known what he was going to ask. "And I was told you were the one who landed the killing blow on Chilon, my former captor and tormentor. This makes you my friend as well."

"That right?" Arthur nodded slowly, a smirk appearing on his face. "And what about her," He pointed at Mayu, who seemed livelier and much less sleepy with a cup of tea in her hands and Ferdinand sitting next to her. "She your friend, too? Girl hates the Agarthans more than anyone in this room, I reckon."

"Hmph!" Lysithea didn't look too happy to see who Arthur was referring to. "No one holds the Agarthans in contempt more than I do, Mr. Morgan, don't you forget that."

Arthur leaned back on his seat. "I get that, sure. What I don't get is why you always seem to be picking fights with Mayu. You got some kinda bone to pick with her?"

The young lady huffed, looking on at Ferdinand and Mayu drinking tea and getting along with poorly-hidden disdain. "That woman is quick to ingratiate herself with Ferdinand by playing the role of a vulnerable, traumatised foreigner. She may have him fooled, but to me, it looks as though she is taking advantage of his caring nature. At least his knights have enough sense to be wary of her intentions for their lord."

"Yeah... sure." To Arthur, it looked like Lysithea was simply jealous of Mayu's growing rapport with Ferdinand, but he was not feeling self-destructive enough to let the girl know what he thought. "Sorry I brought her up, then. Tell you what, let's find something else to talk about, yeah?"

"A good idea." Lysithea took a breath to calm herself. She gestured at Byleth, Shez, and Tekla, who seemed to be discussing about what they will do after the war. "I take it these three are your associates from Captain Eisner's company? I'm afraid I have not made their acquaintance yet."

"Right. Well, let me give you the basics..." Arthur pointed at Tekla. "This blonde girl with the cloak? That's Tekla Schneider, a white mage. She's the reason why I'm sitting here, and not a pile of bones propped up against a mountain in Faerghus. I owe her a lot."

Heaving out an exaggerated sigh, he then pointed at Shez. "And over there, the little shit with the purple hair and the big mouth? Boy calls himself Shez. You don't know him, but that look on your face says you'd rather not."

"You assume correctly." The young lady frowned. "I have little patience for the likes of him. Do you?"

"Don't get me wrong. The kid's got a way of gettin' into your nerves, but he's smarter than he looks and he's always got your back in a fight." The outlaw said. "You just gotta learn how to put up with his attitude out of one. I think you'll learn to get used to him."

"Hm. I'll be the judge of that..."

Shrugging, Arthur then pointed at Byleth, whom he just noticed was already looking their way. "Long night, eh, kid?"

"There is nowhere else I'd rather be, Mr. Morgan." The girl said, in her usual monotone that made it hard to tell if she was sincere or not. "I can introduce myself to her, if you'd like."

Lysithea looked up at Arthur, who nodded, then over to Byleth, who simply stared. "I think I remember my father hiring you for a contract once, to clear out a den of renegade nobles attempting to form a smuggling ring in our domain. You are the one they call the Ashen Demon, correct?"

"Yes." She nodded. "But I would prefer to be just "Byleth" to you, Lady Lysithea. "Ms. Eisner" is also fine."

"Then we are well met, Ms. Eisner. And, um, thank you for having my back during our "discussion" with Lady Hilda and the others." Lysithea bowed her head. She then regarded both Arthur and Byleth. "I admit, I was wary of you at first... but now, I see that for mercenaries, you two seem to be decent company. I can see why Ferdinand trusts you as much as his own retainers in the Astral Knights."

Arthur would rather Ferdinand be slower to trust people, though he kept his thoughts to himself.

Moments later, Ferdinand returned to his original spot, looking a little annoyed that Shez had taken his seat, but opting to just stand instead of telling the other boy to move. "My friends, please may I have your attention? I believe it is time I revealed why I summoned you here, at this ill-timed hour."

Arthur threw a pointed look towards Tekla, who simply shook her head at him.

"This siege appears to be coming to a head, and there may not be another opportunity for us to meet like this." Ferdinand continued, speaking with all the gravitas of a leader. "I called you all here because for better or for worse, you have been made aware of the secret war that is being waged in the shadows — the war between our world in the surface, and the one underground."

Ferdinand paused to lock eyes with each of his audience. "But before we proceed, I would like to know... is there anyone here who would rather not become any more involved in this matter? If so, you may leave now and I will not hold it against you." He cleared his throat, looking just a little less sure of himself than before. "...I only ask that you continue to keep what you know to yourselves, at least for the time being."

"You know I can't just back out of this one, kid." Arthur shook his head. "I'm just as involved as you are, and I ain't pretendin' otherwise."

"These Agarthans must be stopped," Byleth said, matter-of-factly. "I will not stand idle while they carry out their atrocities."

"Like I said, I don't take kindly to being the victim of an attempted murder." It was Shez's turn to speak. "And I don't make a habit of letting my friends get into a good scrap without me."

Lysithea's eyes shone with the promise of violence. "These Agarthans have done my family a great wrong, one that can only be satisfied with their destruction. As the only surviving child and heir of Count Loukas von Ordelia, I pledge myself to this cause, Lord Ferdinand."

"Wherever Arthur goes, I'll be there. Us boys from the old world have to stick together." Corporal Sturges said. "That, and I lost friends to those robed freaks. I won't pass up the chance to put more of the bloody lunatics on the ground."

Mayu grimaced, her fingers strumming at her bowstring. "Agarthans must die."

As for Tekla, she visibly took a moment to steel herself. "Please proceed, my lord."

"Then it is decided." Ferdinand looked pleased to see none had chosen to leave. "Let this moment mark the beginning of the Fódlanese struggle against the insidious threat lurking beneath our feet. From now on, I ask all here to correspond with me, and with each other. We must keep ourselves informed of any sign of activity from the Scions of Agartha, and with the resources and manpower afforded to me as the future Duke Aegir, we will attempt to mount an appropriate response to curb whatever horrible scheme these villains may have planned."

The young lord paused for a moment to let his words sink in. "I also ask that you search for any opportunities to expand our ranks. By this, I mean people from all walks of life that we would stand to benefit from with the skills and influence that they may wield. By ourselves, we stand little hope of defeating the Agarthans... but as a legion of like-minded souls united in the collective desire to see this threat extinguished... even if many of us fall, our cause will live on. May the goddess watch over us, and grant us the will to see that justice be done."

Arthur was never one for grand undertakings and righteous causes, and his experiences with Dutch van der Linde had permanently soured his attitude towards following others. But hearing Ferdinand speak with such eloquence and conviction made Arthur feel just a little less cynical about his choices. If anything, Ferdinand was a much more convincing orator than the likes of a pretender like Dutch.

"Before we part ways again, I believe there is someone here who wishes to speak," Ferdinand then raised a hand and indicated for Tekla to come forth. "Ms. Schneider? If you would please."

"Yes," The healer stood up and made her way to Ferdinand's spot as the young lord stepped back. "Thank you, my lord."

Arthur watched Tekla fidget in place for a moment, as though suddenly struck by a nervous thought. "I... please, bear with me. Kn-know that I have chosen to remain here, and that I am fully committed to the cause of putting a stop to the Scions of Agartha... but... but I am..."

"Is everything alright, girl?" Arthur spoke up as Tekla continued to stammer helplessly. "Havin' second thoughts?"

She shook her head. "No, it's just that I... I-I am..." She gulped down, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. When she opened her eyes again, she looked equal parts terrified and resigned to whatever fate that awaits her next. "I am not who you think I am. In Verdant Rain Moon, everyone believed I was abducted by Chilon's agents, but the truth is... I sought them out. And when they arrived, I went with them on my own volition."

Silence.

Tekla licked her lips and forged on, "I had a device with me. It functions like a waypoint for arcane portals active elsewhere in the continent. This is how they got into the fortress, and this is how I ended up under their custody."

Arthur could feel a steadily-mounting pressure in the air above him. "By "had", you mean you don't have it no more?"

"No. Chilon's purpose for being here was to find others like you, Arthur. You, Victor, and Mayu. And you've all seen what happens to those he did manage to find." The healer explained over Victor cursing out loud. "When Chilon refused my request to leave you be, I... protested. I argued you could be swayed to our cause with the promise of a way back to your world. Needless to say, I was unsuccessful. From that moment on, I was no longer recognised as a simple deserter, but also a traitor to the Scions. Every piece of equipment I had with me was taken from my hands, including my waypoint generator."

Arthur was stunned. Was there a way to return to America after all? The thought that Tekla knew all this time threatened to overcome him with anger, but he forced himself to remain calm. There were other things he felt he must understand. "So... all this time I'd known you, you was workin' for them, for the Agarthans."

Tekla grit her teeth as she endured the looks of shock and betrayal the others were giving her.

"The truth is worse than you think, Mr. Morgan." For a moment, Tekla looked like she was about to turn tail, but then, just as some of her former companions prepared to lunge at her before she could flee, she dropped down to her knees and pulled down her cloak. "I am Agarthan."

Everyone watched as though frozen on the spot as Tekla's head seemed to dissolve with a barely-audible hiss, the skin that used to be her face seeming to turn to dust before being blown away by a gust of magical wind. In its place, there remained the visage of an unfamiliar, pale-skinned woman with short, glossy dark hair, and blue eyes that seemed to glow in the dim light of the workshop.

"What you see is the true form of the magister who assumed the face and identity of the girl known as Tekla Schneider, who died long ago." The Agarthan that used to be Tekla spoke again, disrupting the quiet. Arthur found it extremely disquieting to hear the healer's voice being spoken through the mouth of another person. "Taken by consumption of the lungs, along with most of her family. She aspired to be a healer... instead, she died in agony and was forgotten. But I didn't forget."

Arthur ran his hand through his hair, struck silent by the disorienting assortment of warring emotions within him. He tried to speak, but words failed him. What was he even supposed to say?

"Lysithea, no!"

Ferdinand's sharp cry of alarm cut through the fog that clouded his mind. He turned his head to see him holding onto Lysithea's arm and shoulder, as the spell she was channelling blazed and crackled in her hand.

"Unhand me." Lysithea's voice was strangely devoid of emotion.

"Remain calm!" Ferdinand persisted, even as tendrils of dark energy leaped out from Lysithea's palm and struck him directly.

"She needs to die." Tears flowed down the girl's eyes.

Arthur decided to act. He strode over next to Tekla and reached out to her. "Come on."

Tekla stared at him as he hoisted her up. "What are you doing?"

The outlaw ignored her as he faced Lysithea. "You want her dead that badly, kid? Then come on. Take us both."

Byleth shot up out of her seat, her face twisted in panic and dismay. "Arthur, no!"

"Don't do something stupid, old man!" Shez also stood up, his visible eye moving back and forth from Arthur and Tekla to Lysithea. "Come on, this isn't funny!"

A flash of uncertainty appeared on Lysithea's expression as she stared down the outlaw. "I am not a kid."

"Really? Then act like it!" Arthur barked. He was alarmed to find himself unafraid of imminent death. In fact, he embraced it. "Calm down, and let's sort this out like goddamn adults."

Ferdinand dared to let go of Lysithea as he stood beside her, a pleading look on his face. "Lysithea, please. Tekla is not our enemy."

"That woman is not Tekla!" Her hand trembled as she continued to channel her spell. "She's one of them! A traitor! A spy! A monster!"

Arthur was surprised to find himself pushed away from Tekla by a sudden rush of pale golden energy. "What the hell— Tekla!"

The Agarthan shook her head at him as she stood still in front of Lysithea, arms outstretched and head held high. "I hope my death brings you peace, Lysithea von Ordelia," She said to the girl, showing no fear. "Hold nothing back. Let me taste oblivion."

Lysithea took aim with her spell. "You took everything from me. My siblings, my mother, my dignity... my future!"

"I am sorry." Tekla closed her eyes. "Truly, I am."

Arthur started to panic, his hand instinctively reaching for his holster. He hadn't shot children before, and he was disgusted and horrified at himself for even considering something like so. "Shit, shit, shit! Goddammit!"

"Why do you wish to die!" Lysithea screamed.

"I wish to keep my life." Tekla's admission was almost inaudible from the sonorous thrum of Lysithea's magic. "But I will not beg for it. You hold it in your hands now... make your choice."

"You... why do you... gah!"

In the end, the ball of entropic power dancing in Lysithea's palm fizzled out as the girl collapsed on her knees. Ferdinand had gone down with her in an instant, enveloping the young lady in his arms as she sobbed into his chest. His face showed a mixture of sadness and relief as he stroked her back.

While Arthur still reeled from the madness that he had just participated in, Byleth had rounded over to stand in front of him in an instant, her hands balled into fists by her sides as she glared at him in unmasked anger. "I can't believe you just tried to get yourself killed, you stupid, reckless man. What in the world were you intending to accomplish by provoking her? Saints, don't you ever pull another foolish stunt like that."

The fact that Byleth wasn't shouting seemed to frighten Arthur more than if she did. "It's okay... I'm okay. I'm—"

"Damn you." She crossed the distance between them and embraced him. "If you die, who will put up with me?"

He sighed as he returned the gesture, patting her on the back as he did. "You've got other friends now, girl."

She let go, looking more vulnerable than he'd seen her been. "None like you."

Victor leaned against the wall and wiped down his sweaty palms on his trousers. "Christ... not how I imagined my night to go."

Shez chuckled beside him. "You better get used to it, if you plan on sticking around."

Mayu refused to put away her bow and arrow, and instead made her way to stand next to Ferdinand and Lysithea. The warrior had been glaring at Tekla the whole time, silently daring the unmasked Agarthan to give her a reason to finish what Lysithea started.

Tekla herself simply stood in place, as though surprised she was still alive.

Arthur was the first to try and talk to her. "Why'd you do it?"

The healer pivoted to face him, the rattled expression on her face remaining. "Wh-what do you mean?"

"You said so yourself — you was one of them." Arthur said. "Why'd you rat yourself out?"

Unexpectedly, the woman let out a short bout of laughter. "I was one of them." Her pale face began to dissolve again, and in a moment, Tekla's old face reappeared as quickly as it vanished. "I was given orders to assimilate into a noble's household, many years ago. It was there that a local girl had managed to befriend me, in my original guise as a travelling sorceress looking for a patron. She opened my eyes... she showed me that there is a life to be had in the surface world, one where I could forget the endless struggle that raged below."

Victor scoffed loudly. "Rubbish. After lying to us about who you are all this time, you expect us to believe all that?"

"Tekla has shown me nothing but warmth and kindness, in a way that I have trouble believing that her gentle nature has been insincere all along." Ferdinand spoke up after helping Lysithea to sit on a chair. "And now, she has chosen to be brave, and reveal her true self to us. I believe we should give her the benefit of the doubt."

"I have known Tekla for longer than everyone here." Byleth said. "The fact that she's an Agarthan is... unsettling, but she does not seem to have changed at all. I think we should keep an eye on her for now."

Shez didn't look too affected by what he just bore witness to. "Well, if she's one of them, but decided to leave long before we're even aware of all this Agarthan business, then I guess we can keep her around? I mean, she could tell us all about their plans and whatnot."

"I'm afraid I haven't been privy to much of Thales' plans even back when I had been a magister." Tekla shook her head at the boy. "With a society like ours, your plans must be hidden to everyone except those poor fools you hold absolute power over. The grand archon hadn't survived for a thousand years without knowing who to entrust with—"

Without so much as a warning, the door to the room was suddenly forced inwards with a startling crash of steel against wood. Arthur immediately drew his revolvers as what was clearly a blood-spattered Almyran raider charged into the room, weapon and shield in hand.

"Ya 'iilahi!" The raider appeared surprised to see that the room was occupied by eight local defenders, some of which had began to pull out their weapons and magic in response to his intrusion. The unfortunate eastlander looked like he was about to turn around and flee, only to be run through with a spear through his back.

"Hey! What the hell are you people doing in here?" The spear's wielder, a faceless House Goneril soldier, pried his weapon loose by kicking down the dying Almyran it was plunged into. "Hrgh, don't answer that — the fortress is under attack! Come on, you sloths, we need everyone who can swing a weapon!"

Arthur and the others needn't be told twice as they scrambled after the soldier. Once outside, the outlaw was shocked to find the street they were in engulfed in a bloody struggle between the defenders and more Almyrans than he'd seen participate in a raid before. When a swarm of wyvern riders suddenly strafed the group with arrows from above, unceremoniously killed the soldier they were following and forced them to seek cover, it was made clear to Arthur that this one was no ordinary attack.

"Look out!" Ferdinand used his arming sword to swat aside a thrown axe from the air before it could hit Lysithea, who immediately responded by obliterating the offending raider and a few others who were standing next to them. "Are you alright?"

"I'm f-fine..." The young lady looked unnerved, staring at her hands as though she couldn't believe what she just did. The moment did not last long, and soon, she was casting spells and blasting apart any foe who dared to stand in her sights. "Flee while you can, eastlanders!"

Arthur pushed himself out of cover and used his twin Webleys to lay down suppressing fire for Shez and Byleth as the two of them closed the distance to the nearest formation of enemies. Meanwhile, Victor and Mayu seemed to put aside their animosity towards Tekla as the three of them fought as a three-man front, holding off the eastlanders as they appeared and freeing up some of the nearby defenders to engage other threats.

After a short bout of intense close-quarters combat, as expected, several mounted knights who formed one of the many anti-raid patrols thundered in from somewhere else in the fortress and proceeded to bring carnage and ruin upon those eastlanders caught out in the open with their long-hafted axes and spears.

"The foe is breaking!" Ferdinand shouted as he swept aside the body of the Almyran sergeant he just beheaded. As though galvanised by the sound of his voice, many of the nearby defenders rallied around him. "Push forward, comrades! None shall withstand our might!"

Within moments, the defenders cleared the street of every Almyran who hadn't found the sense to run or hide, though from the sounds of fighting and killing elsewhere, and the intermittent rain of flaming projectiles hurtling down from above, the battle had only just begun.

"You down there! What in the name of the goddess are you doing in our district at this time of the night? Who are you?" In the darkness of the night, Arthur had to squint just to see the make out of the mounted figure yelling at his group. To his annoyance, it turned out to be none other than Count Loukas von Ordelia himself. "And who are you, young man, to order my own troops around?"

Ferdinand stood still, visibly taken by surprise. "Ah... well, you see, my lord, I am..."

"That's him, Count Ordelia. The coward who fled from our bout." One of the noble's knights gestured accusingly at Ferdinand. "Did you think you can keep hiding from me, Ferdinand von Aegir?"

Count Loukas' brows shot up. "Ferdinand von Aeg— you!" He raised his lance, menacingly pointing its tip towards the young lord. "What manner of wickedness is your blubbery wretch of a father up to now, sending his spawn to accost me?"

Ferdinand flinched at the count's harsh words. As a show of peace, he proceeded to put his sword back in its sheath. "I have no intention of accosting you, my lord, nor was I sent here on my father's word! I am here to fight for House Goneril!"

"What utter rot! Even now, you accursed Imperials come to torment my house! Have we not suffered you enough? Must we continue to endure your vileness and depravity?" Count Loukas trotted forward on his steed, his face twisted in fury and disgust.

"He's not lying, father."

The count bid his steed to a halt as he gaped at the sight of Lysithea walking over to stand in front of Ferdinand in a protective gesture. "And we have much more urgent matters to address. A new war is upon us... now is not the time to linger on what had already come to pass!"

"What is this? What have you done with my daughter, you bastard!" The count cried out in dismay. "Lysithea, come! Step away from these villains!"

"Go." The young lady said to the group. "I'll calm him down."

Arthur gladly lowered his guns. He wasn't looking forward to killing a lord that night.

"Saint Cethleann keep you safe, my lady." Ferdinand said to his Ordelian counterpart, wiping the blood from his face.

"I'll be alright." Lysithea nodded at him as she made her way over to Count Loukas and his retinue. "Until next time, my lord."

"You have ten seconds to get from my sight," Count Loukas sneered at them as soon as Lysithea was within his reach. "Scatter, fools, before I have you run down like the filth you are!"

"Stop it, father." Lysithea stamped her shoe into the pavement. "Touch my friends, and I'll never forgive you."

The count sputtered in anger, before deciding to shout his frustration at the retreating backs of the group. "Curse you and your vile bloodline, von Aegir! Saint Cichol weeps at what the heritors of his crest had become!"

Arthur rolled his shoulders as he strode away from the Ordelians, in step with the others. When they had gone far enough, he nudged Ferdinand with an elbow. "Couldn't you have picked a better place to meet up, boy? That count and his bastard knights coulda killed us."

"My apologies," The young lord brushed down the drops of blood staining his evening ensemble. He was either bold or clueless enough to not wear armour. "I had thought the siege workshop in this district was suitable for our purposes. It was secure, out of the way, and it had soundproofing enchantments weaved into its walls and columns."

"Soundproofing... does that word mean what I think it means?" One by one, Victor inserted fresh cartridges into his rifle. "And is it why we didn't hear the fucking war going on just outside?"

"Most likely." Byleth nodded as she loaded new shells into her shotgun. She then gestured forward. "More eastlanders ahead. They appear to be waiting for us."

Mayu nocked an arrow, drew back, and promptly shot down an Almyran bowman standing on the roof of a nearby building. The warrior then proceeded to turn her head and give Tekla a warning look. "I am watching you."

Tekla wasn't cowed. "Watch the foe, Mayu, not me."

"Well, right now, you ladies should be watching this," Shez twirled his blades, his mouth twisted into a vicious smirk. He wasted little time charging forward, weapons raised. "Last one to the fight gets no beer tonight!"

...

---

"This does not look good..."

"It doesn't. But it's what we've been preparing for."

Catherine licked her lips as she stared down the walls. Even without Morgan's fancy sighting devices, her crest allowed her to see past the darkness of the night to catch glimpses of the Almyran horde amassing in the valley below.

It wouldn't be long before they would reach the fortress.

"Wish I shared your confidence." The knight said. "Seeing them stay in place is one thing, seeing them moving towards us... well, we're gonna need every advantage we can get tonight."

Shamir nocked another arrow and took aim.

An enemy wyvern rider, already the last of their cadre after Alliance archers in the towers and barbicans had feathered them down, attempted to flee east. After a moment, the ranger loosed, her arrow finding its mark on the skirmisher's back before they could get too far.

Catherine whistled as she watched a dark shape fall from atop the eastward wyvern. "Good one."

"Let that warrior be the last one you kill, westlander scum!" One of the raiders Catherine and her knights had subdued and taken captive spat on the floor close to where he sat. For a nameless barbarian, he spoke quite well. "Our king will see that you suffer. All of you will suffer!"

"King?" Catherine scoffed lightheartedly. "Last I heard, your king is dead."

"A new one will be crowned soon. Oh, yes." The raider grinned through bloodied teeth. "He will succeed where Qasim failed, and bring the west to heel!"

"And what do you think he gains from conquering the Alliance, let alone what lies further west?" Shamir nocked another arrow, but pointed her bow towards the floor. "Nothing but large expanses of unfamiliar land, too wide to effectively occupy, filled with angry, rebellious people, and within striking range of two separate nations who would stand much to gain from having a common foe."

The raider seemed taken aback, a confused look descending on his face. Even his fellows began whispering among themselves in their tongue. "What are you saying, westlander?"

Shamir rolled her eyes. By then, from the sound of things, Catherine could tell the fighting in the streets behind the walls had begun to die down. "I'm saying your precious emir doesn't want to conquer the west. He started this war so he can get rid of the other claimants to his father's throne."

A round of laughs erupted from the bound Almyrans. "I am looking at an idiot!" The Fódlanese-speaking raider jeered. "Did you suffer a blow to the head? What could have made you believe in this foolishness?"

"Ikram," Another of the raiders, an older woman with a coagulated ruin that was her right eye, nudged the first raider with her shoulder. "Kam eadad alakhuat aladhin qutiluu, hataa alan?"

Something in the old raider's words seemed to shake her younger comrade to the core as his grin faded, replaced with a thoughtful frown. The other captive eastlanders also seemed to come to the same realisation as him, as they all fell silent with looks of dread and horror in some of their faces.

"Cat got their tongue?" Catherine said, amused at how quickly they seemed to lose their defiant attitudes.

"You could say that." Shamir put away her bow as more allied soldiers and knights started to stream up the battlements from below, their arms and armour visibly stained with patterns of red and black.

The presence of elite House Goneril bowmen and axe-wielders in the battlements indicated that an important noble was nearby, and before long, Catherine and Shamir were standing to attention as Duke Tancred Goneril strode over to them with a greataxe in one hand, jagged shield in the other.

"Lady Catherine, Mistress Nevrand, report." The old noble was wearing his armour, a fur-collared suit of ornate plate and scale painted in red and black, with an equally striking heavy silk-and-leather cape trailing behind him. His bascinet-style helmet was a dreadful-looking thing, crowned with decorative, brass-tipped spikes that jut around its sides.

"The Knights of Seiros kept the dungeons and the surrounding district secure, your eminence." Catherine said, with a lazy salute. "As planned, we then made our way here and cleared the battlements."

"Casualties?"

"Light, for now."

"What is the state of our wall-mounted defences?"

"Three of the towers along the northern length of the walls were overwhelmed by raiders, but we sorted them out. Another tower was destroyed by sappers. One barbican along the central length took a direct hit from a stone-caster, but it looks intact aside from the giant hole in the ceiling. I'm no engineer, though."

"And that is all?"

"Yes, my lord."

Duke Goneril nodded gruffly. "Good." He then gestured at the bound eastlanders Catherine and Shamir had taken prisoner. "Get them out of my sight."

Catherine tried to force herself to look elsewhere as the duke's soldiers seized the Almyrans, forced them to stand, then dragged them off to the edge of the walls. Most fought and struggled, others were unsurprised and accepting of their fates. There were a few who broke down into hysterical sobbing and begged for mercy. None of them were spared as they were all pushed off, to meet their fate at the bottom of the fortress' walls.

Shamir watched the last raider be stabbed in the gut and kicked off the edge with a dull-eyed, indifferent expression on her face. "Their friends will be here soon. All we need to do is locate the remaining princes and eliminate them, especially the emir. With their deaths, the rest of the eastlanders should have no more reason to continue this siege."

"Then let them come." Duke Goneril said as he leaned over a parapet, gazing at the sea of banners and torches below as it slowly inched towards his fortress. "I've been looking forward to this. Father... I hope you're watching, you shrivelled, cowardly excuse for a noble."

Eventually, more defenders climbed up the battlements to man the parapets, towers, ravelins and barbicans. As Shamir directed the archers under her command to their positions, Catherine found herself a tower to lean against and waited. After some time, she caught sight of what she was looking for — a big man wearing a wide-brimmed hat, with a cobalt-haired young woman by his side.

"We gotta stop meeting like this, Morgan." Catherine smiled at the annoyed look the mercenary put up, knowing it to be just for show. She then turned to his companion. "Nice to see you, Ms. Eisner."

"Lady knight." The Ashen Demon nodded at her, her face set in its usual, impassive expression.

"Don't mind us," Morgan said. Strangely enough, Catherine noticed that he only had his small guns with him. "We're just here for some target practice with live targets."

"Is that so?" Shamir walked over to them. "Can you handle a bow?"

Catherine had no clue why Shamir was pretending not to know that Morgan was one of the best archers in the fortress, but she kept her mouth shut. She wanted to see what her partner's game was.

"Sure, but we're here to practice with rifles, Ms. Nevrand." Morgan said. He pivoted on his heel and looked around. "If Sturges could just hurry along and bring 'em to us..."

Shamir gestured for an nearby archer to come close, before snatching the poor man's longbow from him. "Give me the quiver."

The soldier looked at Shamir, then Catherine, then Morgan and the Demon. "...yes, Mistress Nevrand."

"Report to an armoury and get your equipment reissued." Shamir handed him a pouch full of coins from her satchel. "Should be more than enough in there."

Morgan looked bemused as Shamir handed him the soldier's bow and quiver. "That ain't necessary. I got one of these back in our camp, y'know."

Shamir tilted her head to the side. "Why didn't you bring it here?"

"We was... uh, we was out drinkin'. Didn't have all my shit with me when things got hairy and we was attacked. Barely got outta there in one piece." The man's explanation came out rather awkwardly as he rubbed the back of his neck. "We got lucky back there, didn't we, girl?"

Ms. Eisner took a moment to respond. "Ah. Yes. I regret... that we had to cut our time short. What a waste of... um, alcohol."

"Suuure you were. And just how "lucky" are we talking about here, Morgan?" Catherine couldn't keep herself from grinning at their poor, stilted excuses. Morgan was bad at lying, but the Demon was adorably terrible at it. "On a scale of one to ten, how steamy did your afternoon get?"

As soon as realisation hit him, Morgan reacted to Catherine with immediate, abject disgust. "Aw, goddammit, woman! Not you too."

"I'm... afraid I don't understand." The Demon appeared confused. She was almost convincing.

Catherine winked at her, still grinning. "When your squeeze said the two of you went "drinking", that's not some kind of euphemism for something else, is it? I know you don't drink."

"Don't answer that, kid."

"An euphemism...? What for, lady knight?"

Shamir loudly cleared her throat. "Never mind her. She's just trying to mess with you."

Morgan threw up his hands in a helpless gesture. "I know."

"Was she?" His companion continued to act oblivious. "Oh."

Catherine put her hands on her hips and shook her head at her partner. "Always gotta ruin my fun, do you?"

The ranger made a disgusted noise. "Not the time for it, Catherine." She pointedly turned her back to her partner as she addressed the Demon. "I don't suppose you know how to use a bow, do you?"

The girl shook her head. "Arthur showed me how, but... they do not hold my interest."

"A pity. Do you mind, then, if I borrow Arthur for some time?"

"I won't mind if he does not."

Shamir nodded. "Mr. Morgan?"

He sighed, rubbing his brow. "What, got someone you need killed?"

"I have a few in mind." The ranger said. "Come on. Let me show you something."

Morgan shrugged and walked after Shamir as she positioned herself behind the parapets.

"Lady knight," Catherine turned her gaze from Shamir and Morgan to the Ashen Demon beside her, who stared back with those large, doe-like eyes of hers. "I'd like to ask you a question, if you have the time."

"Sure, lay it on me." She put up a smile. Even if the younger woman was harder to read than most, Catherine could tell she was feeling uneasy about something. "Better make it quick, though. They'll swarm through here any minute now."

"I understand," The Demon said. "Have you... do you remember when we first met, in the Hrym countryside?"

"Not real well, but I remember making a fool of myself after a few sips of that sweet drink Morgan brought," Catherine replied, scratching her head. She blew off a lock of her hair from her eye before continuing, "And there was one other thing... something about a crest? I don't... remember..."

"You mentioned that I have a crest." The Demon finished for her. "You weren't so sure about it then. What about now?"

To be honest, Catherine still wasn't completely certain about whether or not the young woman truly possessed a crest. She could see that she was possessed with some sort of otherworldly power, but its nature remained obscured to the knight.

"Look, kid, I... I don't know." She put up her palms in a helpless gesture. "I can see there's something there, but... but I'm not sure what. And before you ask — no, I haven't been drinking this time."

"What's this about drinking?"

Catherine turned to see a strangely-dressed young man approaching them, carrying several rifles by the straps over his shoulder and across his torso, along with multiple bulging rucksacks and pouches. He had a greasy head of reddish-brown hair parted to the right, dark brown eyes, and a full beard that was very obviously well-maintained and groomed, unlike the rugged, unruly mass of hair growing out of Morgan's face.

"Good to see you, Corporal Sturges." Ms. Eisner acknowledged this man with a dip of her head. "You're just in time."

"Got here as quick as I could. All this gear ain't easy to lug around, especially the ammo." Sturges, who was apparently a corporal, said. He quickly began setting down all the things he had with him on the floor. "This looks like a good spot."

"That's a lot of stuff." Catherine nodded approvingly as she appraised Sturges. "Are you part mule, or are you just built like a siege tower under that coat?"

Sturges snorted, obviously trying not to smile. He stood straight and dusted his hands. "Was that a compliment?"

"Take it however you like, soldier." Catherine threw him a cheeky wink. She found his accent charming, if a bit unusual. "You're Morgan's new buddy from his neck of the woods, aren't you? He said something about getting a "stubborn English boy" to start wearing armour and take his hand-to-hand training more seriously over some drinks a few weeks back."

"Yeah, I just don't think all this medieval shite's any good for me... not while can shoot guns and lob grenades." Sturges said, shaking his head. "And if that won't do, I'm pretty good with a bayonet. Isn't that right, Byleth?"

"Indeed. But Arthur does not intend to stop training you to be more proficient with melee weapons." The girl said. By then, she had equipped herself with the same rifle Sturges was holding, along with a revolver with its requisite gun-belt. "And neither do I."

"Bloody hell, you're just as bad as Arthur. With him, I walk away with bruises and dirt all over my clothes, but with you, I walk away bleeding and with my ego smashed to pieces. You don't hold back with the harsh words at all."

"I only meant to criticise — to let you know what you were doing wrong. You do not lack for strength and vigour, but your footwork is unimpressive, your swings are too wide, you are slow to react, and you must to learn how to mask your intentions from your foe."

Catherine chuckled to see Sturges wincing with every word out of the Demon's mouth. "You know, corporal, I'm not so bad with a sword myself. Maybe you'll respond better to my kind of training. And don't worry, I promise I'll be gentle."

"Is that right?" From the knowing smirk on his face, Sturges seemed to respond well to Catherine's clumsy, unsubtle flirtations. Perhaps, she thought, impending bloodshed and the possibility of death was what it took for her to be able to talk to men. "Well first, we gotta make it past the next several hours... but I'm sure you'll have no problem with that, if you're as good as they say."

"I'll be fine, but you better watch yourself, corporal. Wouldn't do for a gentleman like yourself to disappoint a lady."

"Huh. In that case, I'll see you in the morning. No way I'm dying any time soon."

After another tense moment spent waiting, the bulk of the Almyran army had marched within range of the fortress' defences. Ballista crews took aim and unleashed giant bolts on enemy formations below, catapults and arcane bombards returned the same kind of destruction the eastlander trebuchets had sown, and archers in the barbicans, towers, and behind the parapets had begun loosing arrows into the roiling sea of banners and torches amassing by the moat.

Of course, the eastlanders did not let this go unanswered. The constant barrage of flaming, tar-coated rocks being lobbed over the walls became more frequent, wreaking havoc on the districts where the defenders kept their supplies and set up their stables and healing stations. Swarms of wyvern riders had begun to descend on the fortress once more, and this time, they also began to drop explosives and incendiaries as they flew over the entrenched defenders. And where the Almyrans had gathered by the moat, as one, dozens of robed eastlanders rushed out from the cover of their siege towers and battering rams to stand by the edge of the putrid body of water. Even as some of them were killed by stray arrows, magic, and other projectiles, they did not show fear as they began to channel some kind of elemental spell.

"Arthur, one moment." Shamir tapped Morgan on the shoulder. "You see those mages down there? They're trying to cast a spell to freeze the moat."

The mercenary stopped reaching for another arrow in his quiver and gave the ranger a confused look. "They can do that? Shit, let me kill more of 'em, then."

"Wait. Don't waste your time on them." She said. Reaching into her jacket, Shamir handed Morgan a piece of paper with a man's face sketched on it. "Remember the list of names we got out of Armid? This is his brother Yazid, another claimant to the Almyran throne."

Morgan took the paper and examined it. "So?"

"He is a mage. He could be one of those robed eastlanders by the moat." Shamir continued. Her stoic expression soured a little. "But I'll admit, I'm not completely certain. Armid also mentioned Yazid knows his dear brother Haashid means to have him killed in battle and is likely to be staying behind, out of the way of stray arrows and ballistae."

"Really?" Morgan lowered his bow and used his free hand to reach into his satchel, then brought out his binoculars. "Why don't he just run if he knows he's s'posed to die here?"

Shamir observed Arthur as he peered into his device, affecting an expression of cool disinterest. "Because if the tries to, the other eastlanders will riddle his back with arrows. Almyra has no tolerance for the weak, nor the craven."

Morgan grumbled. "Somehow, I ain't surprised..."

Unlike Morgan or Shamir, thanks to her major crest, Catherine had eyes good enough to make out specific people in a crowd of other people, even from a far distance if she focused enough. It only took her the good part of a minute to spot a robed figure huddling behind a formation of shielded Almyran troops.

"Over there, next to that fourth siege tower slightly to the left," Catherine said, gesturing distantly ahead. "You see him?"

Morgan made a sound of approval. "Yep. I see 'im."

Shamir furrowed her brows as she nocked a fresh arrow. "Are you sure it's him?"

"Feller's the only mage I see who ain't standing next to the water. He's cowerin' under one of them siege towers, with about three dozen armoured men up front." Morgan replied as he hung his device on his neck and also nocked an arrow on his bow. "Hey, uh, y'all sure we have to kill this one? He ain't even here to fight... poor bastard just wants to live."

Shamir didn't hesitate. Loosing the arrow she had just nocked, her shot sailed through the air with such speed, even Catherine had trouble tracking it until it found its mark. As expected from a talented archer like Shamir, her shot was a direct hit. "Hey, that was a good shot, Shammie. Got the bastard right in the gut."

"Did I? Ah... shit." Shamir didn't seem too pleased with herself. "I was going for the head, or at least the neck. Must've misjudged the trajectory."

Catherine watched Yazid struggle on the rocks with an arrow sticking out of his stomach. Several of the nearby eastlanders must have heard his screams, as they quickly dropped out of formation and started to crowd around the fallen princeling. "Okay, I see how this is bad. The other eastlanders are closing around him now."

"Damn it, they'll try to heal him or get him out of there." Shamir scowled, nocking another arrow. "Gods, this'll be a harder shot..."

Morgan sighed. "Spot for me," He handed his binoculars to Shamir, drew his bowstring all the way back and took aim. "He's mine."

And sure enough, the mercenary delivered. His arrow's flight was true, and this time, it struck the downed prince right in the eye, immediately putting him out of his misery and causing some of the surrounding eastlanders to scramble backwards in surprise and fear.

"Indech's teeth!" Catherine gave her mercenary friend a quick, gauntleted round of applause. "Great hit, Morgan! He's not getting back up from that one, that's for sure."

As she lowered the binoculars from her eyes, even Shamir appeared impressed, managing to smile a little. "You got him... a clean headshot. That was well done."

"Just got lucky." Morgan said, not sounding too enthused. He took Yazid's sketch, held it up to the air, and let the wind carry it from his fingers. "So, who's next on your shitlist?"

Shamir took a moment to reply as she studied Morgan's expression. "Don't feel bad about him. One way or another, his death means a quicker end to this war. Remember that." She reached into another of her pockets and brought out another sketch. "This is Mufid, Sulaaiman's third-youngest. He leads a formation of elite shock infantry."

"Reckon he's down there somewhere?"

"Probably. I don't see him yet, but I'm sure that's because he's in one of the siege towers. Armid said this one lives for a good fight."

"Right. Anyone else you need put to sleep?"

"Two more. Our priority target is Haashid, of course, but according to his brother, he's not the one who came up with the idea for this invasion. It's this one," Shamir then produced a third sketch, this time of a young man with brownish-black hair, green eyes, and the beginning of a stubble on his jaw and around his mouth. Unlike Sulaaiman's other sons, this prince had the looks and a complexion light enough to pass for a westlander whom had spent too much time under the sun. "This is Khalid. I've been told you met him before."

Morgan shrugged. "I'd remember him if I did." He stared at the face on the paper, his eyes rounding. "He's... just a boy. A goddamn teenager."

"A teenager who is ruthless enough to plan for his brothers' deaths so that only one would be alive to inherit his father's kingdom. Not only that, but I've reason to believe he leads a formation of winged skirmishers, responsible for the deaths of hundreds of House Goneril soldiers and counting." Shamir said, before taking the sketch away. "I haven't seen or heard any sign of him yet, which is to be expected at this stage of the battle. All the same, we need to keep watch on the skies."

"Okay..." Morgan wiped under his nose, his brows meeting down the middle in consternation. "Okay." He sighed. "Lemme know if you see him."

Despite his words, Catherine could feel the man's reluctance. Shamir also seemed to notice, when she reached out to pat him on the shoulder in a reassuring, if awkward gesture.

"It's alright if you don't feel like going through with this." The ranger said, losing her curt monotone for a moment.

Morgan shook his head. "No, no, I'm good, Shamir. I'm just... well, it's gotta be done, right? Little bastard has to go, if it means endin' this godforsaken war."

"Are you certain?"

"I'll make it quick for him."

Shamir retracted her hand, nodding solemnly. "Then get ready."

Catherine stepped up next to Morgan behind the parapets. "You okay, Arthur?"

"I'm fine, lady knight." He responded like an annoyed boy to his scolding mother. "Just occurred to me that I promised myself I won't cross this line, so I know I ain't gone all bad. Now... well, there's always a first time for everything, I guess."

"If I can shoot a bow myself, I'd do it for you." Catherine said. She shook her head in disbelief. "And you're never a bad guy. Hell, I just admitted I'll put down this Khalid kid and not feel bad about it. You're probably a better person than me."

The mercenary's frown only seemed to deepen. "I did a lot of bad things, Catherine..."

"So did I, if you can believe it." She put up an uneasy smile. Up until now, she hadn't known Morgan to be anything less than an extremely principled, if gruff, mercenary. She wondered what kind of skeletons he might be hiding in his closet, and whether or not she even wanted to find out. "We all did things we eventually come to regret."

"Yeah." He nocked an arrow and returned to his task, just as Shamir did a minute ago. "Guess you're right, 'bout that."

Another half hour passed as the evening turned to night, and the siege continued its course. By then, the moat appeared to have hardened into solid ice, allowing Almyran infantry equipped absurdly long ladders to make their way to the foot of the walls and attempt to scale the towering edifice. An enormous battering ram with an equally enormous roof had also crossed the ice, the soldiers manning it wasting no time using the siege weapon to smash down the fortress gates. Worse, the Almyrans had begun to push monstrously-tall siege towers forward, past the valley and through the ice. Catherine was half-expecting the mobile structures to sink under the ice from the combined weight of the wood and metal used in their construction, not to mention the many soldiers standing in each of them. But alas, the eastlander mages must have also taken the pains to reinforce the ice, as the siege towers continued on their course to dock on the walls.

"Alright, soldiers, here it comes! Get ready!" Catherine rallied her fellow Knights of Seiros as they waited for the ramp on the closest siege tower to descend. "This is why we're here! After all this time, we've been given the chance to prove our worth in the eyes of the goddess!" She brandished her relic, waving it in the air as one would a battle standard, or a lord's banner. "Let's give these bastards a proper welcome to Leicester, shall we?"

The Ashen Demon put away her rifle and pulled out her shotgun as the other defenders surrounding them cheered. "Ready, corporal?"

"Yeah." Sturges had a distant look in his eyes as he went down on a knee and took aim, pointing his weapon at the siege tower's soon-to-be lowered ramp. "Abdul won't know what hit him."

Morgan prepared a fire bottle. "Any sign of Khalid yet, Ms. Nevrand?"

Shamir worked with other archers as they continued to shoot arrows into the Almyrans trying to climb the ladders and those still at the foot of the walls. "Not yet. Just focus on that siege tower and keep them off us."

With that said, the siege tower's ramp crashed down against the parapets, revealing the Almyrans inside. Catherine watched as Morgan lobbed his fire bottle shortly after the ramp went down, causing those eastlanders in the front to become engulfed in flames. Of course, their comrades behind them simply pushed their screaming comrades aside as they charged forward, into the waiting guns and bows of the defenders.

"Now!" In a series of lightning-fast movements, Morgan unholstered his revolvers, took aim and opened fire. "Light 'em up!"

The initial wave of Almyrans were swiftly decimated before they could even make contact with their foes, thanks to the amount of bullets and pellets Morgan, Sturges, and the Demon could put downrange with their weapons. When they stopped to reload, however, the Almyrans took this as their cue to descend on the defenders in force, using their shields to block arrows and thrown projectiles.

"Ha ha ha hah!" Thunderbrand cleaved through Catherine's foes as they arrived, both armour and shield rendered useless against he mighty greatsword's magically-charged edge. Those who managed to run past her were cut down by the more mundane swords and axes of her fellow knights. "Witness me, Saint Seiros!"

Ms. Eisner jabbed the barrels of her gun into the face of an eastlander who got too close, stunning him. As the warrior reeled, the Demon reared back with her weapon before swinging it like an improvised club, striking her opponent across the face and sending him hurtling over the edge of the wall. She didn't spare the falling man another look as she turned and put two more buckshot volleys into the mass of encroaching foes. "I'm reloading!"

"On your right, coming up from behind!" Sturges warned the girl as he moved to cover her, his shots almost always finding their marks at near point-blank range. "Arthur! Get back from there! Did you run out of ammo already?"

"Don't need ammo for this lot!" Morgan hadn't bothered to use his revolvers again after emptying them, instead opting to charge ahead and join the Knights of Seiros in the melee. "Just keep shooting and mind yourself, boy!" He used his axe to pull down an eastlander's shield before sinking his knife into her neck.

After emptying her current quiver, Shamir set aside her bow and picked up a spear from a fallen ally. The ranger proceeded to use the weapon to push off a ladder from the wall, before hurling like a javelin at a nearby eastlander, impaling the unfortunate foe clean through his stomach. "Don't want to alarm you all, but it looks like the Almyrans below are about to breach the gates!"

"They'll find Holst and the other nobles waiting for 'em!" Catherine shouted back at her partner. "I almost feel bad for those sorry barbarians. Almost!"

Morgan was in a much less lighthearted mood as he hacked off a man's sword hand and stabbed him twice in the gut before shoving him off the edge of the wall. "We should worry about what's happenin' downstairs later! Over there!" He pointed down the battlements, towards the southern section of the walls. "The bastards are swarming 'round the duke and his boys!"

Catherine looked to where the man was indicating, and sure enough, found Duke Goneril and his elites fighting tooth and nail to keep the unrelenting wave of Almyrans from drowning them. It seemed as though someone from the enemy's side had spotted the duke among those atop the walls, which caused the eastlanders arriving by the docked siege towers to divert their numbers to the part of the walls he and his retainers were on.

"I'm headed down there!" Morgan was quick to volunteer himself. "Could use that big goddamn sword o' yours, Catherine! Mind giving me a hand?"

The knight needn't be asked twice. "You, you, you, and you two! Fall in with me. The rest of you, stay here!"

Ms. Eisner also rushed forward, shotgun in hand. "With you, Arthur!"

"This area's secure enough. Get going." Shamir waved them off. "You stay right there, corporal. We need that... loud thing you got."

Sturges looked like he was also headed off with the others. He tried not to look too disappointed at having to stay behind. "Yes, madam."

Catherine and the Demon led the charge up front as the group fought their way south of the battlements, with five knights holding the centre of their formation and Morgan at the rear by himself, keeping their backs secure and providing covering fire with his revolvers. The group passed a few docked siege towers on their way to the duke, but they didn't stop to fight the Almyrans coming down from them, opting instead to keep pushing their way onward.

"Look there!"

Catherine had just run through an eastlander when she saw the Demon take a hand from her gun and point west, down the defenders' side of the walls. "It appears the enemy has broken down the gates! They are swarming into the bailey!"

The knight pried her weapon loose from her dying victim's chest and stared at the sight. The expansive courtyard that made up the fortress' outer bailey became host to thousands of invaders before Catherine's eyes as they overwhelmed the sentries manning the gate defences and kept going. Fortunately, the eastlanders did not proceed unopposed for long, as formations of Alliance soldiers and their auxiliaries blocked their advance, keeping them from entering the fortress' streets and districts. Banners decorated in the symbols and heraldries of many noble houses of the Alliance could be seen in the distance, and if Catherine looked hard enough, she could make out individual figures among the chaos below.

General Holst held his greatsword in a defensive stance as he stood at the front of his men to receive the tide of eastlanders coming to wash over them. His sister Hilda was also there, standing close to her brother as she contributed her own axe and her crest-augmented strength to the war effort. Just a short distance behind the Goneril siblings and their soldiers, General Fischer could also be seen as she took personal command of a formation of archers and skirmishers. The lady castellan pointed here and there in crisp, authoritative movements, directing her soldiers' volleys to where they needed to be.

In contrast to Holst, Margrave Edmund and Count Ordelia led their combined forces from the rear, both nobles making liberal use of messengers and standard bearers to communicate orders to their men at the front. But while Margrave Edmund sat on the saddle of his steed with a calm, almost indifferent air as he observed the battlefield and relayed his commands with the occasional simple gesture of a hand, Catherine could make out Count Ordelia shouting at his subordinates and making bombastic, exaggerated gestures with his arms. Something must have been agitating the count to make him behave as such.

As for the mercenaries under Duke Goneril's employ, Catherine was unsurprised to see Captain Jeralt Eisner's company holding its ground far better than the others. Each individual mercenary under Captain Eisner's employ seemed much better trained and twice as bloodthirsty as the regular Alliance soldier, at the cost of having poor discipline. Captain Jeralt himself could be seen riding backwards and forwards as he and his elite retainers, personally addressed battlefield issues as they appeared.

And finally, following the brilliant flashes of purple energy in the distance, Catherine realised what had been making Count Ordelia so distressed. Lysithea von Ordelia conjured devastating explosions in the enemy ranks as she stood in the centre of a mixed formation of soldiers, knights, and mercenaries that seemed to be following orders from none other than Ferdinand von Aegir. Flanked closely by his Astral Knights, the adventurous Imperial noble seemed to emulate Holst nearby as he traded blows with the enemy at the front, and in Hilda's place, a mysterious warrior with a face hidden behind a wooden mask and with a glaive in their hands fought by the young lord's side, keeping his flanks secure in an aggressive, much more reckless way than Holst's sister fought.

"Lady knight!" Morgan shook Catherine by the shoulder, keeping her from spend any more time gawking. "We gotta keep moving! The duke's—"

It came without warning. A massive explosion at the foot of the the section of the walls they were standing caused Catherine and the others to lose their footing. One knight was unfortunate enough to be standing close to the edge, and Catherine could only watch in shock as he was sent tumbling off the edge without so much as a scream.

"Shit, floor's breakin' apart!" As the wall they were standing on started crumbling to pieces, Morgan practically hauled the Ashen Demon from the floor and back to her feet before shoving her shotgun into her chest. "Move, move, MOVE, GODDAMMIT!"

The frantic dash to safety claimed the life of another of Catherine's knights, and by the end of it, they were facing another horde of eastlanders ahead, only with the path behind them having turned into deep, smoking chasm. The only way out of their situation, Catherine realised, was forward — right through the waiting blades of the foe.

"At least we know they won't come at us from behind." The Demon put away her shotgun and unsheathed her arming sword by her side. The blade was a pale, unremarkable replacement for the one she lost in Ferdinand's expedition, but for the bloody work she had ahead of her that night, it would have to suffice. "I hope everyone is ready."

"Haven't had this much fun in a while!" Catherine flourished her Hero's Relic, its blood-soaked length crackled and snapped with red lightning. She spun and twirled the blade in her hands, letting the eastlanders ahead take a good, long look at their impending doom. "Hey, what are the odds we'll run into Haashid here?"

Morgan scoffed as he picked up a hefty two-handed axe from a dead foe, wielding it like a woodsman about to take a swing into a log. "If we see him, he's getting a bullet in the brain, courtesy of me."

With that said, the six of them charged onward, with Catherine at the front and centre of their formation, Morgan and the Demon at the sides, and their remaining three knights holding up the rear. In the relatively narrow confines of the battlements, the Almyran rank-and-file's superior numbers was not as significant a factor when up against four Knights of Seiros and two of the continent's most infamous mercenaries. As Catherine and her companions cleaved and hacked their way through the foe, they soon claimed the upper hand.

"Westlander! Face me!"

Catherine angled her head to face the voice and saw an Almyran quickly approaching. Wielding a bardiche and kitted out in heavy armour decorated with the pelts and bones of animals, Catherine recognised this one through the open visor of his helmet. "Well, hey. Fancy meeting you up here... Mufid."

"You know who I am? Good, my reputation is spreading!" The eastlander princeling shoved aside a subordinate in his way as he faced down the Knight of Seiros, hefting his polearm in preparation for a charging attack. "And your death by my hand will only add to it. Haashid will shower me with titles!"

"Oh, you don't get it, boy!" Catherine easily sidestepped Mufid's charging overhead, then jumped back to avoid his sweeping follow-up. "Haashid sent you here to die!"

"I am the emir's champion! The executioner of his will!" The prince continued his reckless assault, oblivious to the fact that Catherine was just toying with him. "Be still and fight me, woman!"

Catherine laughed. As Mufid reared back and brought down his weapon to split his opponent in half, the knight swiped upwards with her Hero's Relic, intercepting the eastlander's weapon and catching it in one of Thunderbrand's hook-like protrusions.

"You really should be paying more attention, your highness." The knight relished the look of mounting dread on her victim's face as the steel of his bardiche began to crack and split, sundered by the violent miasma of energy that Thunderbrand emitted in the heat of combat. "How many of your brothers have died so far? Do you know—"

Catherine was startled by the sharp cry of pain from Mufid. Morgan, who had just plunged his scavenged two-handed axe into Mufid's spine, pried his weapon loose, seized the prince by the back of his collar, and proceeded to fling him off the side of the battlements. Mufid's terrified screams could be heard as he plummeted down the dizzying heights.

With Emir Haashid's supposed champion unceremoniously disposed of in front of them, the rest of the Almyran soldiers seemed to finally they were up against vastly superior foes and started to give ground. Their efforts proved in vain, as before they could attempt a full retreat, allied reinforcements in the form of several mercenaries from Captain Eisner's company had arrived from a nearby stairway and wasted no time engaging the Almyrans from behind. Attacked from two fronts and with shaken by the fact that they had nowhere to run, those eastlanders who failed to retreat back to the docked siege towers either died fighting or were pushed off the sides of the walls.

"What the hell are you doing here, kid?" With the area clear of threats, Catherine watched Morgan and his young ward run up to their fellow mercenaries. Morgan in particular was putting up a face that was equal parts relieved and annoyed, and upon spotting a shock of bright purple hair, the knight realised why. "Shouldn't you be down there with the old man?"

"Yeah, but he said he wanted volunteers to help relieve the pressure up on the walls." Shez said as he scraped a piece of gore from one of his blades using the other one. "It was a good call, from the looks of things up here!"

Morgan took a second to catch his breath. A moment ago, he was severing limbs and splitting skulls with a reckless ferocity Catherine hadn't seen on him before, causing him to sustain a few cuts to his arms. "And what about you? Thought you'd be down by them healing stations."

"At times like these, Mr. Morgan, my skills would be better put to use out here on the front." A woman dressed in light armour and a hooded, fur-trimmed cloak said. She looked vaguely familiar to Catherine, as though she knew her from somewhere. "And as you now know, I took lives first before I learned how to save them instead."

A strange look formed on the older mercenary's face. "Let's just forget about all that for now, alright? Just... do your thing, Tekla. And prove me right about trusting you."

The woman — Tekla was her name — nodded at her colleague. "Then let me start by healing you. Hold still, please."

Shez nodded in greeting at Catherine before he fell in beside Ms. Eisner. "The Almyrans are really wrecking the place down there. No matter how many we put down, more come to throw themselves at us. Doesn't help that the bastards are blowing gaps in the walls."

Catherine was quick to order her knights to form up with the mercenaries Shez and Tekla brought. "Then we should hurry up here. Not fair if Holst gets all the glory tonight."

After making some quick preparations, the group moved further along south of the battlements until finally, they came across the barbican where Duke Goneril and his retainers had made a fighting retreat into. Dozens of dead House Goneril elites could be seen in various states of dismemberment in the area, though not without four or more equally dead eastlanders surrounding each of the slain defenders.

"Y'all hear that? They're still fighting in here!" Morgan dropped his axe, drew his revolvers and picked up the pace. An Almyran straggler tried to take a swing at the mercenary as he passed by, only for Morgan to duck under the blow and whip the eastlander across the head with his gun. The eastlander could only let out a strangled cry as Morgan proceeded to give him a powerful tackling shove to the midsection, quite literally sending him flying off the side of the wall. "Inside, now! Come on, you lot!"

"Watch out!" Ms. Eisner blasted down another charging straggler before he could attack Morgan from behind. She wasted no time running after her companion. "Careful now!"

"Hey, wait up, you two!" Shez also rushed after them as they entered the barbican. The other mercenaries followed after him.

Catherine examined the structure built into the wall and shook her head. The barbican's cramped interiors wouldn't be ideal for the size of her weapon, not to mention her usual style of fighting. She instead ordered her subordinates to head inside before taking a defensive position by the entrance.

"Do you require healing, lady knight?" Tekla also stayed behind.

The knight took a few good hits from her bout with Farid, but so far, she felt great. Must be the adrenaline. "Nah, I'm good. Well, so far."

As expected, another throng of invaders climbed up the walls through a nearby docked siege tower and moved to attack Catherine and Tekla. The knight prepared herself to hold the line, confident of her ability to stay alive until the others returned, but as it turned out, she needn't have bothered. With an elaborate gesture of Tekla's hands, a pillar of black fire descended from high up in the sky and struck directly in the middle of the charging Almyrans, engulfing the lot of them in sorcerous flames and keeping the rest from advancing any further, lest they too become consumed by the flames.

"Whoa!" Catherine put up a gauntleted hand to shield her eyes from the glare of the mage's baleful spell. The screams from the other side of the barrier of dark flames were nothing short of disturbing. "Where'd you learn magic like that?"

Tekla simply shrugged at the knight and said nothing.

Catherine squinted at her. "Don't I know you from somewhere?"

"I was the one who was captured by Almyrans in Verdant Rain Moon." The mage said. "I think most of the fortress has heard of me by now."

"Ohh, you were that missing girl! Nice to meet you at last." Catherine said as she relaxed her stance. It didn't seem like the flames Tekla conjured would disappear any time soon. "Some of my people who ended up in the infirmary mentioned you. They say you'd make for a good priestess."

The mage chuckled. "Ah, but I've no love for religion, lady knight. I hope you understand."

"No worries. Just thought I'd say it." She nodded.

Before long, Morgan, Ms. Eisner, Shez and the others returned from inside the barbican, with Morgan holding up a battered-looking Duke Goneril by the noble's arm over his shoulder.

"Gimme a hand here, Tekla!" Morgan set down the wounded duke to sit and lean against the side of the barbican. "Looks like he took a hit from behind. See anything you can do?"

"Worthless, damnable, feeble children! Dagh!" Duke Goneril brought down his fist into the shattered breastplate of one of his dead retainers next to where Morgan sat him down. "You should know by now to die on my command, not before! Hrm!"

Tekla waited for the duke finish taking his anger out on the dead elite's corpse before tentatively approaching him. "Is there anyone left in your retinue, my lord?"

"What do you think?!" The duke scoffed as he pushed Morgan away from him with a disgusted grimace on his face. "Stop wasting time and get me some healing, woman!"

Tekla sighed as she got to work. "Our positions on the outer walls are taking a beating. Perhaps it is best if we let the eastlanders take them and let our men fall back to the bailey."

"Don't you tell me what to do!" The duke hissed as Tekla closed his wounds with her magic. "Hrrm! Listen to me, you churls. The barbarians will use the fortress' outer defences against the garrison if we let them take these walls. We need to..."

The mournful wail of an Almyran warhorn caused the rest of the duke's words to die in his throat. The mellow tone resonated in the air for a time, and when it ended, a clamour erupted on the ground. Peering over the edge of the battlements by the defenders' side, Catherine watched in shock as one by one, entire elements of the enemy's forces slowly inched backwards from the fray, before disengaging entirely. "What in the..."

"Above! Incoming!"

Any ordinary person wouldn't have reacted quickly enough, but there was nothing ordinary about Catherine, who jumped back just before she was flattened by the mass of teeth and scale that just landed where she was standing a moment before. As the knight brought up her weapon to deal with the wyvern sprawled before her, the beast's rider, a slight young man wearing light armour over loose clothing and a voluminous, armoured turban obscuring most of his face in cloth and shadows, held up his hands in a frantic gesture of peace. "Whoa, whoa! Slow down there, lady! Didn't you hear us sounding retreat? The battle's over!"

"Over... retreat?!" Duke Goneril's voice thundered from behind his helm. "What is this foolishness?"

Catherine almost laughed. "In that case, why did you just try to crush me under that overgrown lizard of yours, then?"

"Yeah, sorry about that. Kinda hard to make a smooth landing when I'm trying to dodge arrows and ballistae left and right." For what it's worth, the wyvern rider sounded genuinely apologetic. He then turned around on his saddle and pointed directly at the duke. "Anyway, you're a surprisingly hard man to find, Duke Goneril. This is the last place I expected to see you. Didn't you hear all those explosions just then? These walls aren't the safest place to be standing on... especially for someone your age."

The duke snarled, "Lady knight, I order you to bring me this idiot's head."

Catherine sighed. She wanted to hear what this one had to say, but the duke didn't find him as entertaining as she did, apparently. "Sorry, kid, but you made a mistake coming here."

"Hey," The rider held out a palm with one hand, and gestured above with the other. "Before you take another step, my knightly friend, take a look up there. You see them?"

Catherine smirked. She wasn't about to fall for a measly, childish trick, but then she heard Morgan cursing out loud. Turning her head to look at him, Catherine saw the man put down his binoculars and shake his head at her. "Wyverns, whole flocks of 'em. I think they're just high enough to keep outta ballista range."

"That's right," The Almyran leaned forward on his saddle, sounding as smug as could be. "They're watching, waiting. One wrong move, and you're all going to see what a wyvern's guts look like from the inside." He chuckled at the looks on the faces of the defenders. "But don't worry, we'll be out of your hair and out of your life in a moment."

"I recognise your voice," Ms. Eisner spoke up. "You're Khalid. Emir Haashid's brother."

"And I always remember a pretty face." The wyvern rider, Khalid, nodded at the girl. "I met some of you here before, have I? Yeah, it's been a while! Wish I could stick around and catch up, but I've only got time to speak with his lordship over there." He turned to face the duke again, who had been silently glowering at him the entire time. "If he's calmed down enough."

"You and all your kind will burn." Duke Goneril declared, his already rough voice made even more grating when spoken through his helm. "I swear this, as the ruler of these lands."

"Spiteful old bastard, aren't you?" Khalid shook his head. "Whatever. I'm just here to let you know that Haashid's done with this invasion. He got all he wanted out of it, and he's free to return to Almyra and start working towards his real goals."

"Tell us the truth, boy!" Morgan stepped forward, looking almost as angry as the duke. "What the hell did Haashid even start this war for? Is it really 'cause he wanted his brothers dead, so he can be king? Was all this bloodshed, all this fighting and killing... it's all so that some bastard can get the most out of his daddy's inheritance?"

Khalid breathed in and out, as though preparing himself to speak in length. "Okay, look, mister... you want the truth? The truth is that Haashid's fighting for the Almyra that our father left behind. Those brothers he sent to fight and die? Growing up, they've been told all sorts of rubbish by their mothers, who, I might add, were always competing amongst themselves to be our father's favoured wife."

Arthur scowled. "The hell does that even mean?"

"The ways of Almyra are different to yours. Our father has many consorts, and kept around plenty of concubines... my mother included." Khalid explained. The young man adjusted himself on his saddle as he continued, "Our brothers... those entitled wastrels I happened to share blood with, each one believed it was himwho should be the one to hold the most power and influence above the rest. They have done nothing but undermine each other and plot to rule, and let me tell you right now — our brothers' ambitions won't keep them from being satisfied with just holding Almyra, should any of them be allowed to become king."

The prince laughed airily, his jovial, carefree attitude returning as quickly as it disappeared. "I don't really blame any of them. I, for one, think the king's taste for headstrong and ambitious women is the real cause of this issue. Those two-faced harpies were the ones who groomed their sons to be just as ambitious and cutthroat as they are."

Morgan grimaced. "And what about Haashid — for a man who's so willing to have his own family be killed, is he any less of a bastard compared with his kin?"

"They're his family, sure, but some of them already tried to have him assassinated. A pair of twins were even bold enough to try and kill him themselves. No prizes for guessing how that turned out for them. Turnabout is fair play, right?" Khalid shrugged. "And Haashid knows how pointless it is to invade the west. Almyra is already struggling enough as it is with this succession crisis going on — invading another nation and holding a bunch of foreign land isn't going to help bring order to all this chaos back home. Besides, the trade agreement we had with you was profitable, until... you know, my father died and nobody bothered to renew it."

The young man tugged at the reins of his flying beast. "Anyway, thanks, I guess. For doing our dirty work and doing such a good job decimating the armies our brothers sent your way. With most of those air-headed schemers either dead or about to be, and their personal armies crippled by the losses they sustained in this false invasion, Haashid's forces in Almyra should be able to swoop in and keep any dissenters in the realm pacified until he's officially crowned as king. Who knows, maybe five or ten years from today, our nations could attempt diplomacy again! Isn't that neat?"

"So... what, that's it?" Shez lowered his blades, sounding disappointed as he observed the Almyrans below stream out of the fortress' gates. "It's really over, then?"

"What do you think?" Khalid patted his wyvern and whispered an Almyran phrase to it. In response, the beast spread its wings, as though preparing to take flight. "Go get a drink, or find someone to fuck, or whatever flavour of degeneracy it is you westlanders usually get up to. For us, our work's just getting started. But for you... yeah, I guess it's over. Do have fun, but not... too much fun, if you know what I mean."

"You vulgar, insipid, pathetic whoreson!" Duke Goneril, who Catherine observed getting angrier and angrier as Khalid continued to talk, finally snapped. "Your cowardly excuse for a lord is a fool to think this is over! Do you bastard eastlanders truly believe you could simply walk away from war? War is in your culture! War is in your blood! WAR IS ALL YOU KNOW!"

Khalid simply laughed at the duke as he took to the air. "I think you should sit down, old man, before your heart gives out!" A speeding bolt from a distant ballista would have directly struck the prince's mount, had he not twisted aside at the last moment. "Haha! Fare thee well, Duke of Death! And do say hello to your daughter for me, eh!"

Catherine planted her weapon on the stone next to her feet as she watched Khalid turn east and start gaining altitude, making zig-zagging patterns in the air as he did. Above, the enormous swarm of wyverns flying in wait also turned east before retreating from the skies above the fortress. Unlike Khalid, none of them bothered taking evasive action.

"Why did you not shoot him?"

"What?"

"The Almyran, you imbecile! With those damnable weapons of yours, you could have kept him from getting far!"

"Sure. But why the hell would I do that? The war's finished."

Just as Catherine thought she could let herself go still and wait for the adrenaline to fade, conflict erupted between Duke Goneril and her mercenary friend. The duke seemed to have forgotten his earlier injuries completely as he tore off his helmet and got into Morgan's space, teeth bared and with a frenzied look on his face.

"You are even more of a witless churl than I thought if you think wars simply cease to be as soon as one side decides it's had enough!" Duke Goneril roared at the mercenary. Every word out of his mouth was accompanied by sprays of froth and spittle.

Morgan simply stared down the lord, much of his expression hidden by his wide-brimmed hat and his beard. "With all due respect, my lord, I think you should calm down. We don't—"

Catherine's eyes rounded as she watched the duke seize the mercenary by the collar before pulling him down to his height. "I do not pay my lessers for their vapid thoughts, mercenary! I paid you to fight, to kill, to die! In that order!"

As Morgan's eyes flared in anger, Catherine moved to try and break up the fight before it could begin. Unexpectedly, the duke relinquished his grip on the target of his ire and turned about, facing Ms. Eisner.

"And you! I was told many stories about you from your former contractors, girl. I was told you are a merciless killer, but all I see before me is a doe-eyed waif who hesitated to shoot an important target!" Overcome with fury, the duke started to make his way to the Demon. "Your inaction cost us a major strategic gain! This incompetence is inexcusable, and I should have the both of you worthless children flogged for violating your contracts!"

Before the duke could get too far, Morgan gripped him by the shoulder, his strength alone arresting his momentum completely. "You leave the girl out of this, partner."

Catherine couldn't believe what she was seeing. "Arthur! Hands off the duke!"

"Control yourself, my lord." Ms. Eisner showed no emotion on her face as she put up her shotgun, daring to point it at the duke. "We have done nothing to deserve this treatment."

"You dare to presume, by commanding me?" Even as he tried to force his shoulder out of Morgan's grip, Duke Goneril laughed in the girl's face. "No, a mere flogging is less than you deserve, Demon. After I have this man eviscerated for daring to lay a hand on me, I'll have you stripped and beaten. Then, I'll let my men off the leash, to do as they wish with you as I force your worthless father to watch! You will stand as a lesson, to remind my warriors the price of fail—"

Morgan abruptly whipped Duke Goneril around to face him mid-sentence. The noble appeared too caught up in his infuriated rant to properly defend himself as the mercenary's gauntleted fist collided against the side of his head with such force, some of his teeth were knocked loose in a spray of blood and saliva. As the duke hobbled backwards and struggled to regain his balance, Morgan spared him no quarter as he proceeded to lunge forward and seize the noble by the neck with a hand, then forced him down on his knees with another.

"Hhhrmm! Glrghm!" The duke gasped for breath and impotently clawed at his assailant's arms. "Youuu... gkkh!"

"Then maybe I should just kill you right here?" A sense of imminent danger surged within Catherine as she listened to the harsh, menacing edge in Morgan's tone. She almost couldn't believe this hulking, rough-voiced brute was the same amiable mercenary she thought of as a friend. "It's a long way down from these walls, friend. Plenty of time to think about how stupid it was to threaten us after getting all your stooges killed. Guess wisdom don't always come with age."

"Unnnh-hannd me, peashhannn-t!" The duke gurgled out his words.

"Listen to me when I'm talkin'!" In a startling display of strength for a crestless man, Morgan proceeded to lift the duke from where he was kneeling, dangling his victim in the air as he started to throttle the life out of him.

"Nrrrgkkh!" The duke clenched his teeth, eyes rounded in equal parts outrage and terror.

Morgan lowered the duke to level with his height, "You heard what I can do. You saw how capable I was. Want me to show you what I do to goddamn pissants who think they can threaten my folks?"

"Grhhm! I... am a noble!" Duke Goneril wheezed, his frenzied attempts to escape the mercenary's grasp weakening by the second. "Yyyou w-wouldn't..."

"And I'm about to toss your wrinkly, blusterin' hide off the side of this goddamn wall!" Morgan's broad-shouldered frame seemed tremble in sheer rage with each spoken word, causing the duke to be shaken in a way that reminded Catherine of how wolves shake the bodies of prey in their jaws. "At the end of the day, you ain't any different from all these folks I killed for you. You hear me, old man?"

At this point, however, the duke was no longer paying attention to the man. He was instead looking to the side, staring at Catherine and her knights with eyes shot with blood. No sound escaped from his opened mouth, but Catherine understood his wordless plea for help all the same.

"Arthur, stop this!" The confronting sight returned Catherine to her senses. The knight put up her greatsword as she rounded on Morgan and Duke Goneril. She silently reminded herself of her duty as she prepared herself to condemn a friend to the hereafter for a second time in her life. "You're way out of line. Drop him, before you force me to drop you!"

The mercenary scoffed, "I'd die before I let this bastard hurt the Eisners."

"That's enough, Mr. Morgan!" Tekla cried out, a look of horror and dismay on her face. "He can try, but he won't be able to move against the company like he thinks he can... not without getting himself and half of the garrison killed. Leave some other poor fool the task of putting him out of his misery!"

"What's happening to you, Arthur?" Even the Demon seemed frightened of her companion, showing more emotion than Catherine had seen from her before. "Please, stop this madness. This isn't like you."

And just like that, the enraged, murderous glint to Morgan's eyes seemed to disappear at the sound of the girl's voice. Just as the duke's crest-empowered strength appeared to have failed him at last, his assailant released his hold on his neck, letting the noble drop to the floor, sprawled on his back and wheezing hard.

"Shit." The mercenary stared at his own hands, clenching and unclenching them as he did. After a moment, another scowl formed on his face as he bent down and pulled the duke up by his shoulders, forcing the old man to look him in the eye. "Don't think I won't make good with what I said. Cross us, and you'd best believe I'll drag you down to hell myself."

The duke continued to cough and wheeze, looking too dazed to even comprehend what Morgan had said to him. Within moments, his body went limp as he seemed to have slipped into unconsciousness.

"Goddammit." Morgan shook his head and beckoned for Tekla. "He ain't dying, is he?"

Tekla briefly examined the duke before shaking her head. "Not yet. I can give him some healing, but he will need some time to recover."

Morgan ran his palm over his face and rubbed his brows. "This ain't good."

"No shit!" Catherine all but yelled at him. "What the hell was that, you overgrown idiot? Did you really just try to murder one of the Alliance's high nobles? What were you thinking?!"

Morgan had the decency to look regretful. "I... shit, I lost control of myself. I thought this won't happen again..."

"Again?" Shez gaped at him. "You mean this happened before? What..."

"You better have a good explanation for this behaviour, Arthur Morgan!" Catherine demanded. "I'll admit, the duke had no right to treat you and Ms. Eisner like he did just then, but that doesn't justify what you did to him! I don't know how you do things back where you came from, but out here, you can't just pick up and strangle nobles!"

At this, Morgan's remorseful demeanour suddenly vanished. "What did you just say, Lady Catherine," His drawl took on the same, intimidating rasp it had before as he handed the duke over to Tekla and stood up. "Was I hearin' you correctly, or did you just suggest that I shouldn't have done what I did when he said he'd try to have me gutted? Or when he threatened to have Byleth beaten then raped by his men? Or how about when he said he'd force Jeralt to watch them?"

He craned his head to look at Catherine, rage and hatred simmering in his shadowed eyes. "I'd have done the same goddamn thing over again, if I could."

The knight grit her teeth as her surviving comrades moved to stand beside her in a protective half-circle, their hands resting on their sheathed weapons. "Morgan, we're on the same side here. You probably already know this, but Duke Tancred Goneril is known for his explosive temper, and he never forgets slights. What you did to him... when he wakes up and remembers everything, he's not going to be happy. He might invalidate your company's contract with House Goneril, or worse... try to have you killed."

Catherine's words seemed to give Morgan some pause, but not as much as Catherine hoped. "The old bastard can try. Hell, he might get lucky and give me what I deserve. God knows how long I've had it coming."

"Arthur!" Ms. Eisner cried out in dismay.

Morgan only stopped to look at the girl for a moment before he regarded Catherine again. "But what about Byleth? What about Jeralt? I'm the one who did this to him. Is this bastard gonna come for them as well?"

Catherine forced herself to nod. They deserved the truth. "Yeah."

"This son-of-a-bitch... these goddamn nobles... shouldn't have bothered coming here..." Morgan did not take the news well. He spent some time walking back and forth, muttering and cursing to himself before turning on his heel, a look on his face that promised bloody murder. "Won't matter how many assholes they send after the Eisners, I'll slit as many throats as I have to. In fact, let me get started on that right now!"

Catherine gasped as the man turned to the side and seized the Duke Goneril's limp body from his startled colleague and drew his knife from its sheath, faster than the knight could react. "Shit! No, don't do it, Morgan! Don't you dare move another inch!"

"And why the hell not?" The mercenary barked, his mouth split into a feral snarl. "Far as everyone knows, this snake got himself killed by the Almyrans. He damn well would have, if we hadn't had come!"

"You don't understand," Catherine gestured for her surviving soldiers to form up and get ready for combat. "The archbishop... she sent us here not just to fight the Almyrans, but also to protect the duke, to keep him safe from harm so long as we stand here in his lands." She adjusted her stance and took a step forward, hoping Morgan understood what she intended to do next. "I have my orders from her holiness, my friend. I'd rather not have to fight you, but if I have to strike you down to uphold my duty to Lady Rhea, then... then this is goodbye."

"Goddamn it..." Some of Morgan's fight seemed to have left him, but he recovered quickly with a frustrated sigh. "Do we really have to do this, Catherine? I thought you said we was on the same side."

"Not if you intend to murder him!" She was quick to say, past caring how desperate she sounded.

The man shook his head. "I owe everything to Jeralt and his kid, lady knight..." He pressed his knife against the duke's throat. "...just as you do with your archbishop. I'd put down my life to protect them. And if I read you right, you'd do the same for her. Am I wrong?"

Catherine stood frozen from where she stood. Her hands shook as she felt herself falter, having realised Morgan was more similar to her than she thought. "No. I'd do anything for Lady Rhea."

"Then you know why I need to do this," Morgan looked up. Blood dripped down from where his knife had began to dig into the duke's skin. "Wish there's another way, but there ain't."

"Wait!" Tekla put up her hands just before either Catherine or Morgan could make another move. "Stop! There is another way — a solution to this. No one else has to die here."

Catherine gestured for her knights to stand down, if only to keep Morgan from going ahead and murdering the duke. She sighed in relief when the man drew back his blade.

"I... know another spell. It's been deca— um, a long time since I've used it, but I think I can still pull it off." Tekla continued as she put her hands on the duke. "Mr. Morgan, if you'd please move back. I don't want you affected by this."

Morgan kept his sights on Catherine and her comrades as he shuffled aside. "What're you doing, girl?"

"Preparing myself. I need a refresher." As Tekla spoke, she put down her rucksack and started to rummage through it. It took her a few seconds to bring out a tattered scroll, the contents of which she took a moment to study. "Okay... alright, I can do this."

"What sort of spell is this?" Shez warily asked.

"I can make him forget certain memories, by making his mind fixate itself on recent experiences." The healer replied, even as she scanned the contents of her scroll. "It's an old magister trick. Useful in my former line of work."

"Tekla..." Morgan continued to stare at Catherine, though he looked less angry and more worried about something.

"What?" Tekla put aside her scroll and followed Morgan's eyes. When she realised he was looking at Catherine, a mortified look appeared on her face. "Oh. Umm... right."

Catherine squinted at her. "Is there a problem?"

"No, no, lady knight, just... remembered something important. It's okay." Tekla put away her scroll and turned away from Catherine. "Here I go."

Catherine kept her weapon at the ready as she observed the healer perform her unusual spell on Duke Goneril's unmoving form. Unlike most, as a holder of a major crest of Charon, she could sense the tendrils of arcane energy that surged from Tekla's palms into the duke's unconscious mind, and to her surprise, discovered that she had used a portion of her own vitality to grant her spell its power. The knight could see why the mage had forgotten this particular spell — casting it too often would likely drain the life out of her.

"Tekla." Morgan put his hand on his companion's shoulder. "You alright?"

It appeared to take some effort for Tekla to pry her hands from the duke. She looked a shade paler than she was before. "Yes... I'm fine." She breathed in and out, shuddering a bit. "It's done. He should have no memory of what happened here, other than coming into combat with the Almyrans."

"You're sure?"

"This spell hasn't failed me before."

Morgan helped her up to stand when he realised the mage was having trouble using her legs. "Let's hope it don't start now, for all our sakes."

Catherine strode up to them, putting herself within reach of the duke's body. "So we're good, then? No more murder attempts on the duke?"

"It's his lucky day." Morgan stowed away his knife and stepped back with Tekla.

Catherine kept her guard up around Morgan as she bent down and hefted Duke Goneril from the floor and over her shoulder, effortlessly carrying his armoured bulk. "Come on," She gestured for her knights to fall in as she stood up. "The garrison would want to know their precious duke hadn't gotten himself killed despite his best efforts."

"Lady knight!" Before Catherine and her fellows could depart, she heard Morgan speak up. "I can understand if you don't wanna see my face again after all this... but I don't take back the things I said."

"I don't expect you to." She turned to the side after telling the other knights to stop and wait. "I'll admit, you were terrifying back there. The way you behaved, you were like a different man... different from the Arthur Morgan I know. Before tonight, if someone told me you'd be willing to murder a high-ranking noble for any reason, I'd have told them to eat shit."

He grimaced, "And now?"

She grinned, "Just give me a heads-up whenever you get the urge to kill nobles next time, yeah?"

"What?" The stunned look on his face was priceless. "You... ain't upset?"

"Are you serious? I was livid!" She said, finding it hard to keep a straight face. "But... you acted to protect the people you care about, even if it puts you at odds with your friends. I'd probably have done the same, had I been in your position."

Morgan stared at Catherine in disbelief. "...okay."

"Hey, don't look at me like that. We're can still be friends, right?"

"Seriously? I dunno..."

"Look, big man, just buy me a drink after this, and we'll call it even, alright?"

"Mm. Guess that's fair enough."

...

---

Upon returning to the ground, Arthur, Byleth, Shez, and Tekla were accosted by the chaotic sights and sounds of the Almyran horde in full retreat, with the victorious defenders hot on their heels and hurling arrows, thrown projectiles, and many flavours of deathly sorceries as they did. On their way to the rest of the company, more than once were the mercenaries forced to stop to deal with groups of fleeing eastlanders in their path, in one way or another.

"Hang on!" Arthur held up an open hand, bidding the others to stop as a scattered throng of eastlanders hurried past the path they were taking, pursued by a hail of arrows from the Alliance soldiers attempting to cut them off. He waited for them to move along before bringing his hand down in a gesture to return on the move. "Alright, go."

"They're really hauling ass..." Shez said, more to himself than anything. "Looks like they're not even bothering to fight back."

"Why should they? They stay here, they die." Byleth said. "They should run while they still could. This battle is over."

Tekla's gaze lingered on an Almyran on the ground, propped up against a wheel of a ruined supply wagon with the haft of a spear jutting out of his guts. She let out a small sigh as she tore away from the sight and forged onward. "Yes, the time for killing has passed. Now, my work as a healer begins."

Arthur looked behind his shoulder to her, brows knit. "You really mean that, Tekla?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"You're Agarthan."

"And? Simply because I'm an Agarthan doesn't mean I'm a monster... not anymore."

"Relax, I ain't tryin' to pick a fight. It was just a question."

Tekla scoffed. "Well, what do you expect me to say, Arthur? That I've only been playing a role all this time, and that I have ill intentions towards all you primitive surface dwellers?"

Byleth directed her impassive stare to her. "Do you not?"

Arthur put himself in between them. "Look, I'm sorry for going 'bout this the wrong way. I'm probably still rattled by what happened up on those walls back there." He paused as a host of dismounted House Edmund knights hurried past them. "I'm just trying to figure you out, girl. You said so yourself — you ain't Tekla. So who're you, really?"

The Agarthan looked away. "Do you think there's anything more I could tell that you don't already know? I was a magister, and I was given the goal of infiltrating the court of an Imperial noble house."

"Which house?" Shez inquired as they walked past a string of ruined fortifications. "I know more than a few of 'em."

"Martritz." Tekla said.

"Oh." Shez spent a moment in thought. "Hm... okay, never heard of that one."

"I'm not surprised. It was dissolved long ago, when its house head suddenly died in an accident." Tekla explained. "And no, before any of you ask, I didn't have anything to do with it. Baron Gerold von Martritz was in the middle of a mounted training exercise when his horse bucked him off the saddle and into a frozen river... while wearing a full suit of plate and chain armour."

Arthur grimaced. "Not the best way to go."

Tekla nodded, turning to face Arthur again. "Indeed. The baron's abrupt death and the dissolution of his house forced me to leave his court to avoid persecution from those who thought he was killed by an assassin... I was one of those suspected to be behind his demise, you see. Fortunately, a courtier who was sympathetic to me had offered me a place to stay in the retinue of the late baron's widow. This courtier was one of Baroness Luitswind von Martritz's ladies-in-waiting... the girl whose face I am wearing right now."

"The true Tekla Schneider, the one who passed from the same illness Arthur had." Byleth said, looking contemplative. "What happened next?"

The Agarthan mage took a moment to speak up, "I... used my influence in our group to persuade the baroness to accept a marriage offer from Baron Anton Bartels, an Imperial lord who governs a prosperous coastal city in the northeast corner of the Empire. I thought I may have missed my chance to complete my original objective, but I could still infiltrate another noble's court while my allotted time in the surface realms remained."

"You don't look too happy about it." Shez observed.

"And you would be right. I have come to realise, it had been a... a terrible mistake." Tekla said, voice charged with emotion. "The baron, he... too late did we come to know that he was cruel by nature — a callous, opportunistic lord, who quickly proved that he only married his new wife for her crest of Lamine. The depravities that he inflicted on her every night, I..." She swallowed, looking more and more distressed. "It only worsened when she bore him a son with her crest. With Lord Emile's birth, Baron Bartels got what he wanted out of his marriage, and soon, he and his entire court began treating us as though we were unwanted and unwelcome... like he would rather we leave and never return. As the years went by and our treatment did not improve, one by one, each of us decided to do just that."

The outlaw spotted a small group of cornered Almyrans making their stand up ahead. He bid the group to stop to avoid getting themselves involved. "Was this how you ended up in Jeralt's gang?"

"Yes." Tekla answered. "I will never forget those years I spent in the baron's court. It was there that I learned that malice and evil truly did exist in the hearts of surfacers, as I had been led to believe all my life... but it was also in that dreadful place that I witnessed the truth — that surfacers also have the capacity for compassion, generosity, and selflessness, to such an extent that I had never seen before. Certainly not in any other Agarthan."

She put up a wan smile. "And it was thanks to Tekla that I realised that Thales was wrong, to think that the surface dwellers are monstrous usurpers that should be eradicated like vermin. Despite how we were treated by the people around us, and even despite slowly losing her family to the disease that will eventually come to claim her as well, Tekla refused to change. I strove to emulate my friend's virtues... even now, I still do."

The mage took a deep breath, "When Captain Jeralt's company passed by the baron's lands, I jumped at the chance join them and to put House Bartels behind me. I tried to get Tekla to leave with me, but she refused to leave her family behind, even as they died one after another. It was only a few moons later that I learned that she had died, having lasted longer than the rest of the Schneiders." She scowled. "If only I tried harder to convince her, I could have... she might have... no."

Closing her eyes, she took another breath, then another. When she next spoke, her voice was heavy with regret. "No. How selfish of me, to think that she would leave her loved ones behind for anything. It was I who should have stayed, at least until the end."

Arthur remembered not being there for his loved ones either, when they needed him most. It was then that he came to realise that bad men can't hold on to good things for long. He wondered how much time he still had left with Jeralt's folks, before they too were inevitably ripped away from him.

"I recall a time when I was much younger, when the company travelled to House Bartels to resupply after a major contract much like this one," Byleth said. "A mysterious mage approached the captain, asking to join. I remember finding this newcomer unremarkable, but I have not forgotten her eyes through the darkness of her hood — it was a very vivid shade of blue."

"Eyes like these?" As she turned to face the girl, Tekla's irises took on the same colour and glow that Arthur saw when she dropped her guise. "I remember you too, Ms. Eisner. You were about..." She held her hand up to her belly, smiling despite herself. "...yea high? You've certainly grown since then."

"Was I truly that short?"

"Oh, yes. You were even shorter than Lady Lysithea until about four years ago."

Arthur smiled at that. "Well... that musta been a funny sight, knowing what she looks like now."

"You tell me. Now she looks... uh," Shez cut himself off before he could say something embarrassing. "Yeah."

"I look like what, Shez?" Byleth turned to him, her face set in a picture of innocence.

"Uh, well... you, umm." Shez looked like he was trying to speak his mind, but his mouth just would not cooperate. "Ah, shit."

Arthur shook his head, barely keeping himself from laughing. "You got him all flustered, girl. Was there something you ain't tellin' us, Shez?"

"Hey, don't you start, old man!" The boy pointed at him in warning, undercut by the hint of redness on his face.

Byleth stared at the two of them for another moment before she decided to ignore them, facing Tekla instead. "That mage... she disappeared some time after entering our ranks. A few weeks later, just as the company was about to leave the Empire, another mage named Tekla Schneider appeared, also asking to join."

The girl folded her arms. "Little did we know that this mage and the one that disappeared had been one and the same, all this time."

"I suppose this is my way of honouring my friend. She always wanted to travel the world and use her growing powers to heal the ailing and the injured." Tekla said. She shook her head and straightened herself. "You three might find all this to be a far-fetched, maudlin story, and you might not even believe a word of what I just said. I won't fault you for it, and you'd be right to mistrust someone like me. All the same, I am grateful for the opportunity to speak about my past. It feels... strangely liberating."

Shez put up an easygoing shrug. "I dunno about these two, but I think you're alright, Tekla. Or, uh... whatever your actual name is."

"Heh. I appreciate the vote of confidence, Shez." Tekla said, smiling again. "At least one person doesn't see me as a threat."

"I don't see you as a threat, but not because I trust you. Not yet." Byleth said. "Forgive me, but you will have to work to earn it again."

"I understand. The fact that you are giving me a chance is already more than I expected, much less deserve." Tekla said, bowing. She then turned to Arthur. "Um, Mr. Morgan? I'd like to know... why did you stand up for me, when I was about to face my death by Lady Lysithea's hand?"

Arthur licked his teeth as he looked for the right words to say. "Y'know, when I saw you was about to get yourself turned into a black smear on the floor, I just couldn't do nothing. Agarthan or not, you're the reason I'm still here, and I ain't the kind to forget what I owe."

It was only half a lie. Tekla was not the only one there with a past as a monster, and unlike him, at least the girl was no coward — she knew the consequences of revealing her true nature to a group of people who despised her kind, and yet, she steeled her resolve and went through with it.

Arthur knew for a fact that he would never be selfless enough to do the same.

"Consider us even, then." The mage replied, oblivious to the outlaw's dark musings. "Please don't risk yourself on my behalf from now on. I was a magister — I can take care of myself. And besides, your life is more valuable than mine."

"Let's agree to disagree on that one, miss." Arthur sighed. When he examined their surroundings again, he was satisfied to see the coast was now clear. "Come on, let's get back to it. No use standin' around here."

By the time the four of them arrived at the bailey and reached the rest of the company, Arthur was surprised to find Victor already there, having had busied himself by helping those wounded but still able to walk to make their way to the healing stations.

"There you are! Where the bloody hell've you been?" Victor was quick to hand the wounded mercenary he was helping over to a nearby Alliance white mage as Arthur's group approached him. "Just when I was startin' to think you all went and died."

Arthur scoffed lightheartedly. "And I thought you'd still be where we left you. What're you doing down here, boy?"

"We didn't last too long up there. Some time after you left with that knight lady, flocks of those big flying lizards showed up and started coming at us from above. We tried to hold our position for a while, but then the bastards blew open the bloody floor out from under us."

"Jesus. Sounds like you was lucky to make it back here in one piece."

"Damned right. I would've died if Ms. Nevrand hadn't pulled me up from where I was hanging on. I hope she's doing alright."

Arthur nodded. "You and me both."

Victor then turned to Byleth, "Ah, Ms. Eisner? You also might want to find your father somewhere here. I heard he's been worrying incessantly about you ever since the Almyrans started breaching the walls."

"Thank you, corporal. I will do just that." The girl said, before turning to face the outlaw. "It may be best if you accompany me here, Mr. Morgan."

"Yeah, I'll come with. Jeralt's gonna want to hear 'bout what happened up there." Arthur frowned.

"And don't forget about what almost happened up there." Shez was quick to say as he stowed his blades in their scabbards. "You know what? Maybe I should tag along, too. You're going to want me backing you up when the captain starts asking questions."

Tekla made to take her leave. "And I must tend to the wounded. Excuse me."

Victor stared at Tekla's back as she walked away. "Hmp, "tend to the wounded"... who does she think she's fooling?"

The outlaw rolled his eyes. "If you still think the girl's up to no good, then why don't you run along and keep an eye on her?"

The soldier didn't seem to pick up on the sarcasm in the older man's voice as he tentatively unstrapped his rifle from his shoulder. "Good idea. No way I'm trusting one of those pale freaks around our wounded."

As Victor jogged off to catch up with Tekla, Arthur shrugged at the looks Byleth and Shez were giving him. "Let's just find Jeralt and get this over with. Reckon we've spent enough time here in the Alliance."

"I would prefer to return to taking regular contracts." Byleth fell in after him.

"Aw, come on. This place hadn't been that bad." Shez strolled after them. "We got to rub shoulders with important people, got to be heroes for the Alliance, and are about to get paid more money than we've ever had."

"And that's if Tekla's magic worked as she said it would." Arthur reminded him. "If it doesn't... well, y'know..."

"It's not something we can do anything about now, so why worry?" The boy said, shrugging. "We'll cross that bridge when— no, if we get there."

"That is... surprisingly insightful advice, coming from you." Byleth slowly nodded as she looked at Shez.

Shez chuckled at that. "See? There's more to me than just my dashing good looks and amazing skill in battle."

"Humble, too." Arthur cracked a grudging smile. "Yeah, I guess you're right, kid."

Finding Jeralt proved to be easier than Arthur thought, given that the captain's presence was given away by an inconspicuous circle of mercenaries in one corner of the bailey. Upon reaching the man himself, however, Arthur was caught off-guard by how ghastly he looked.

"Ah, you two. About time." Jeralt put up a pained smile at the sight of Arthur and Byleth. He had splotches of blood on his face and staining his beard, fresh scratches and dents all over his armour, and a massive impact dent on the left half of his breastplate, indicative of a glancing hit from a couched lance. "Good to see you too, Shez. How was it up on the battlements?"

"Going by how you look right now? About as bad as it was down here, partner." Arthur spoke as Byleth hurried past him, to stand next to her father. "You alright?"

Byleth reached out to Jeralt, but he held up a hand before she could touch him. "I've been struck by worse. I'll live."

"Which is more than I could say for myself, captain, had you not blocked the blow meant for me with your own body."

To Arthur's surprise, Margrave Stanislaus von Edmund appeared in their midst. Flanked by a small detail of knights and archers, the noble wordlessly bid the nearby mercenaries to be at ease with an off-hand gesture of his gauntleted hand. "Frankly, I am astonished that you would put yourself in between a swooping wyvern and its target. This behaviour is something I expect out of my knights, not a mercenary out for coin."

"I've a lot of experience taking hits meant for others, my lord." Jeralt said. "And I knew I would survive that one I took in your stead. Aside from my right arm, I feel fine."

Hesitantly, Byleth put her hands over Jeralt's fighting arm, which earned her a pained wince and a mildly annoyed look from her father. "What happened?"

"Got thrown off my horse... guess I must have landed on it." The captain said. He seemed surprised at the amount of concern his daughter had been showing him. "Believe me, I've been through much worse than this. I'll get this fixed up with some healing soon, so don't worry about me, kid."

"If... if you say so, captain." Byleth stepped away, her emotionless demeanour soon returning. "We've come to deliver a report, about our defensive action at the top of the outer curtain walls."

Jeralt sighed as he relaxed. "I'm listening."

"We held out for as long as we could, but then a more pressing issue arose: we spotted Duke Goneril's position on the verge of becoming overrun by Almyran besiegers." She explained, to Jeralt's visible displeasure.

"Curse that man. We tried to warn him this will happen every time we went through our plans, but he's too damned proud and too arrogant to listen." Jeralt shook his head. "The duke tempted disaster by positioning himself and his bodyguards at the top of the walls, but the old man just couldn't resist proving he's still as fierce as he had been when he was at his prime."

"You should not make a habit of speaking ill of your betters, captain, but we are of the same mind in this instance." Margrave Edmund nodded stiffly. "Tancred has always been a stubborn, quarrelsome fool, who imagined himself as much as a warrior as Goneril had been. Time has done little to cool his disposition, it seems."

Byleth patiently waited for the margrave to finish speaking before she continued, "An attempt to relieve the duke's position by Arthur and myself, and with support from Lady Catherine and the Knights of Seiros succeeded at pushing past the besiegers and through to our objective. We arrived in time to defend the duke, but we were too late to save his retainers. There were none left standing by the time we reached them."

"The knights did their duty to their liege. They will be remembered." The margrave intoned. "Was there anything else you wish to report, mercenaries?"

Remembered for getting themselves killed protecting a damn fool? Arthur had to tamp down the urge to scowl. "After getting the duke outta danger, we was stopped for a chat by this young feller named Khalid. Boy dropped out of the sky on a wyvern and told us the emir got what he wanted out of this little war he started, now that we done killed the lot of his brothers for him. With most of his competition gone, Haashid's poised to inherit his daddy's place as king back in Almyra."

"So that's why they're retreating from the field," Jeralt said, a look of realisation dawning on his face. "I had my doubts, but it seems that ranger from the church was right; we only needed to kill a handful of men in an army of thousands to bring this invasion to an end."

"Right or not, it matters little now." Margrave Edmund said. He gestured for his bodyguards to fall in as he made to leave. "My thanks once again for your efforts, Captain Eisner, but now I must take my leave. I must see to the my wounded soldiers... and tally our dead."

Jeralt saluted them as they walked past him. "My lord."

Arthur held his tongue until the margrave and his retainers were out of earshot. "There's... one other thing, Jeralt. It's about the duke."

The captain stared at him. "That look on your face says I'm not going to like what I'm about to hear."

"Yeah. You won't." The outlaw took a deep breath. "Khalid... he sought the duke out. Told him things, about why Haashid's abandonin' the siege and pullin' his boys outta the fortress. When he realised the war's over, the dumb bastard lost his temper."

"Biggest understatement I've heard in a while." Shez drawled. "I always figured old Tancred was a little crazy, but I didn't think he was crazy enough to turn on Byleth and Arthur like he did back there. Aren't we supposed to be on his side?"

Jeralt's expression instantly turned sharp. "What happened?"

Arthur sighed. "The duke didn't take too kindly to me letting Khalid fly off without shooting him in the back. He decided he'd take his anger out on us — made threats to get us killed, among other things."

"Goddess." Jeralt grimaced. "Then what?"

"Well, I..." Arthur suddenly found himself hesitating. "Y'see, I, uh... well..."

"Arthur came to blows with Duke Goneril." Byleth spoke up. "He overpowered him. The duke was fortunate to have survived such a mauling."

Jeralt turned on his heel to face Arthur. "You what?"

Shez stepped forward, holding up a hand. "Whoa, easy there, captain. It's not his fault."

"Yes. Arthur acted in my defence... in our defence." Byleth added. "The duke threatened to—"

A distant commotion soon found its way to the group, forcing Byleth to cut herself short as a tense atmosphere descended upon them. Jeralt's mercenaries stopped what they were doing and made way for a column of knights from the church, as well as a much smaller formation of House Goneril soldiers.

"Hey, isn't that Lady Catherine's partner?" Shez pointed at the knights. "The quiet one with the bow. What was her name again?"

"Mistress Nevrand," Jeralt nodded in greeting to the ranger, who seemed to be leading her fellow agents of the church. "What brings you to us?"

Shamir glanced towards Arthur and Byleth before facing the captain again, "I've come to warn you — we got a problem. The duke has just given the order for the entire garrison to start mobilising. Generals Holst and Fischer are trying to talk some sense into him, but he doesn't seem to be listening." The woman folded her arms and shook her head. "I think he intends to sally out of the fortress and pursue the Almyrans."

Arthur felt his heart sink. "For chrissakes..."

"My father's gone mad!" Hilda revealed herself amidst the small detail of Alliance soldiers. "Completely and utterly mad! You have to come with us and help me convince him to back down!"

Jeralt sighed. "Just when I thought this contract's over and we're all about to get paid. Alright, lead us to the duke, young lady."

They hadn't need to go far. As legions of knights and men-at-arms from elsewhere in the fortress abandoned their defensive positions and poured into the bailey, Arthur stuck close to Byleth and Jeralt on their way to Duke Goneril, who appeared to be embroiled in a heated discussion with his son and heir.

"This is strategically unsound, your eminence! Leaving the protection of our fortifications to run down a numerically superior foe... many armies have been crushed attempting this!" General Holst argued.

"Enough! Have I spent all this time moulding you into a strategist fit for the Ten Elites for nothing?" Duke Goneril boomed, seeming to tower over his son despite their difference in height. "The goddess herself granted us this opportunity to destroy Almyra's forces and leave them without the means to do this again! The fact that you failed to grasp this is testament to your failures as my ward! You have learned nothing, Holst Sigiswald Goneril!"

Holst took the duke's words like a gauntleted smack to the face. "I... father, if you value the lives of—"

"Men!" Duke Goneril abruptly turned aside, facing the massed ranks of defenders gathered before them. "Our enemies are wise to think they cannot match us here! As I speak, they scramble over their own dead in their ill-considered bid to flee from our just retribution! I ask, as your duke: will you let these cowardly, shit-skinned, goat-fondling mongrels, return to their hovels in the east, to renew their tattered ranks and lay siege to our fortress once more?"

Arthur winced and covered his ears as the soldiers around him thundered as one, sharing in their duke's hatred for the eastlanders and proclaiming their desire for vengeance and justice in equal measure.

"By dawn, we will finish what our forefathers started!" The duke shouted as he raised his axe above his head. "They will write songs about this day! This day, we herald the beginning of Almyra's end!"

The gathered defenders responded in bellowing war cries and manic shouts for an Almyran reckoning.

"Hmm, maybe he's got a point!" Shez had to raise his voice to be heard over the clamour. "The Almyrans can't have gone too far... maybe this is our chance to put an end to these eastlander attacks once and for all!"

Jeralt looked at the boy, disappointment radiating off of him. "We're mercenaries, Shez. We here to fight and get paid, and right now, the House Goneril ought to be opening their coffers to us, as is our due."

"Do we really need to get this war started again?" Arthur drawled, still finding it hard to focus with all the noise coming from around. At that moment, all he wanted was to put Goneril behind him.

"Best not." Byleth said, simply.

Shamir's expression remained as impassive as ever, and yet, Arthur could see the corner of her eyes twitching in annoyance once in a while. "I'll admit, I hadn't planned for the Almyrans withdrawing as quickly as they did. If we do end up leaving the fortress, perhaps we could use this opportunity to find Haashid and eliminate him."

"Something tells me you'll get what you want at some point, Ms. Nevrand." Victor said, cradling his rifle.

"Of course. I always get what I want." She replied, a disturbing lack of humour in her tone.

"No, no, no, this isn't right!" Hilda stared at her father up ahead, a horrified look on her face. "We'll be slaughtered out there! The Almyrans tried this exact same tactic before, and it didn't end well for the Alliance the last time!"

"You have the right of it!" Ferdinand von Aegir emerged from the crowd of soldiers with his Astral Knights, a mask-wearing Mayu, and Lysithea von Ordelia in tow. "I cannot claim to know much about the first Almyrans wars of conquest, but the geography favours the eastlanders significantly should we attempt to pursue them past the protection offered by the Locket's defences!"

"I can!" Lysithea raised her voice. "Imperial Year 997, on the 24th of the Guardian Moon — during the Second Battle of the Dhaafir Pass, a small force of Almyrans goaded Duke Dietpold Goneril's forces into pursuing them eastward, where the bulk of the eastlander forces lied in wait. A massacre ensued, and the duke paid for his blunder with his life, as well as those of his people!"

"All the more reason to nip this farce in the bud." Jeralt grumbled. Pushing his way past the defenders in front of him, the captain quickly made his way over to the two Goneril men. "Duke Tancred Goneril, your eminence! May I have a word?"

The duke had been basking in the frenzied state he had whipped his warriors into with a bloodthirsty grin on his face, and it took him some time to finally notice the mercenary captain standing before him, looking unamused and decidedly unenthusiastic about what he had planned.

"Captain Eisner. Surely you do not mean to abandon us now, do you?" The duke said, with a look on his face that dared the other man to say otherwise. "We are on the verge of making history! In one fell swoop, we will render Almyra defenceless — ripe for a counter-invasion!"

"So that's what this is all about, then?" The captain said, just as Arthur and Byleth made their way over to his side. "Save it for the young and the gullible — believe me, I've heard it all before. I'm here to talk about the terms of our contract."

"Make it quick."

"It's specified that the company's services are only to be used in the defence of Fódlan's Locket, to augment your forces in the event of an invasion."

"And?"

"That invasion had just come and gone. If you intend to attack the Almyrans on their own territory, then the company won't be joining you."

The duke scowled. "Is that so? Then I hope you would not take offence if I had my men put your entire company to death here and now?"

Jeralt's eyes flared, his hand subtly moving to lay over the hilt of the sheathed blade by his side. "For what reason?"

"In the likely event that the foe had paid you off! What else?" The duke put up an imperious smirk. "Every soul in this fortress is either with me, or against me. And if you are not willing to do what I hired you for, then I will not give you the opportunity to stab us in the back. You understand this, surely!"

Arthur almost couldn't believe what he was hearing. "The old fool's lost his goddamn mind. What do we do, captain?"

"Commander Morgan," Jeralt looked behind his shoulder to Arthur. "Whatever happens, keep my daughter safe."

"Yeah... okay." Arthur glanced around, preparing himself for the worst as he held out an arm and nudged Byleth to stand behind him. "Stick close to me, girl. Let's not draw attention to ourselves."

"We'll get through this." Byleth said. "We always do."

With a simple gesture of his hand, Jeralt bid the mercenaries around him to start forming up. "We are not your enemies, my lord."

The duke's laugh was nothing short of unhinged. "The eastlanders are my enemies. You are but mere peasants. Such arrogance, to think you present even the most miniscule of threats to one such as me."

"This is madness," Holst dared to stand up to his father and lord. "Father, Captain Eisner's company hadn't sold themselves cheaply, but they've more than proven their worth as allies throughout the extent of this war." To Arthur's horror, Holst proceeded to extend his arm in their direction and pointed at him and Byleth, singling them out from the crowd. "Certain mercenaries in particular, such as Arthur Morgan and Byleth Eisner, had accomplished deeds far and beyond what could be expected of them. You cannot mean to simply have them executed after all they have done for us!"

Arthur usually cared little for the approval of others, but Holst drawing attention to him and Byleth made his stomach drop, especially as the duke turned his head to where his son was pointing at and began to examine him and his ward with a judging, critical eye.

The outlaw wallowed in dread as the thought that Holst may have just unwittingly condemned him and Byleth to their demise pulsed through his mind, over and over.

"Tch," After a short moment, the duke sneered and turned away, seeming to have made a decision.

"Shit." Arthur braced himself for the worst, already eyeing the Alliance soldiers standing closest to him and Byleth. "Ms. Eisner, come—"

"You mean to say these two peasants are supposed to mean anything to me, boy?" The duke said to his son, to Arthur's surprise. "I haven't heard of them, nor do I recognise them. As far as I know, they are just as useless and insignificant as any other two-bit sellsword I made the mistake of hiring."

Arthur detected no hint of deception in the old man's words, and from his dismissive expression, he seemed as though he truly did not recognise him nor Byleth. "Tekla..." He turned his head to look at the disguised Agarthan standing a few paces aside, "Just what kinda spell did you put on the bastard?"

"I... I didn't think..." Tekla could only look back at Arthur plaintively, before hanging her head in shame. "This is not going as I planned..."

Holst stared blankly at his father. "Surely you do not mean... you've been in contact with both of them several times before!"

"Enough! Whatever asinine farce you're trying to involve me in, boy, I want no part in it!" The duke bellowed. Before Holst could say more, his father turned aside to face Jeralt once more. "You have had more than enough time for deliberation, captain. Decide now! Be you an ally, or a foe?"

Jeralt warily eyed his surroundings. As the moments passed, more of the local garrison began to pour into the area, forming an array of blades, arrows, and sorceries around him and his mercenaries. "You're not leaving us with plenty of choices."

"Take heart. You will either become a part of history by morning... or you will be buried under it, one way or another!" Duke Goneril declared. "Make your choice!"

Arthur could only watch and keep his head down as the company was once again forced to mobilise for war at a blistering pace. As the last remaining elements of the Almyran horde still in the fortress began their attempts to leave through the gaping holes their sappers made in the outer curtain wall, Duke Goneril gave the order for the garrison's mounted skirmishers to break off into small groups and begin riding down the fleeing eastlanders. He then wasted no time ordering General Fischer to prepare the bulk of the garrison to abandon their posts and also leave the fortress — to march east and meet Emir Haashid's forces in battle before they could get far.

As for Jeralt's company, the mercenaries were given precious little time to gather their equipment and climb onto their saddles before they too were forced to leave their encampment behind by the duke's knights. Arthur himself had just enough time to put on the rest of his armour, fill his pouches with bullets, and pick up whatever bit of gear he thought he would need, including a brace of throwing knives, a pair of lightweight axes clipped to his belt, and a torch. His companions were similarly armoured and equipped, their faces obscured behind sallets, visored bascinets, armets, chainmail coifs, hoods, and other headgear of varying degrees of protection and enclosure.

If only the gang could see him now. Dressed head-to-toe in plate, chain, and hardened leather, carrying an assortment of weapons made for killing men up close... he looked almost indistinguishable from one of the poorer local knights, if not for the weathered black duster he wore over his armour, the Litchfield repeater hanging from his shoulder, the holstered revolvers by his sides, and the many pouches strapped to his ironclad form, each practically bulging with ammo.

"That's a lot of steel, old man. Can you even see out of that thing on your head?"

The outlaw turned to the side as he rode, to look at Corporal Sturges riding alongside him through the slitted visor of his armet. "Not real well, I'll admit." Sighing, he reached up and lifted the visor so he could see more clearly. "Most days I go without a helmet, but the captain insisted I wear one before leaving camp."

"A sensible command, to be sure. You now hold the same rank and responsibilities as I do, and the captain is likely to assign you another mounted cohort to command." Likewise, Byleth was also clad in more armour than usual, complete with a closed-faced helmet similar to Arthur's. "Needless to say, you have become much less expendable these days, and dying from an errant strike to the head is... not quite the dignified end warriors like us deserve."

The English soldier let out sardonic chuckle. As usual, he declined to put on a full suit of armour, and by virtue of not actually being in Jeralt's employ, he couldn't be ordered into one. At least in this instance, Victor seemed to realise the gravity of their situation and conceded to wearing a lightweight outrider's cuirass over his usual set of brown fatigues and his greatcoat. "Can't say I'm looking forward to getting my first taste of how people around here fight their wars, but I'll happily take not having to keep my head down for enemy marksmen, or spending hours hiding from artillery."

"Artillery?" Byleth swivelled her visored gaze to Victor. "They do have artillery, but I cannot imagine those stone-casters will pose much of a threat to us. They seem suited towards bringing down fortifications."

"Ah, I didn't mean those things." He shook his head, the straps hanging from his bowl-shaped helmet swaying with each movement. "I meant, um, field guns and such. Howitzers, mortars, great big cannons that shoot explosive death... or worse, shells filled with poison gas."

"Jesus." Arthur imagined such a thing. He hadn't cared enough to ask Victor about the state of the world they both left behind, but now, he felt he should at least catch up to recent events. He hoped America wasn't affected too much and the Marstons were doing fine, at least. "Well, we ain't got those here, but we do have to look out for mages and those little bastards flyin' around on winged gators."

The soldier frowned. "Yeah, I'm still getting used to the fact that some people here can throw bloody fire and lightning around. And that trick they pulled with the moat? I'll admit — I thought you lot were being daft when you said to shoot the ones wearing robes first, and not the ones charging at you with an axe or shooting at you with arrows. Guess I was wrong... again."

Some time later, the company had ridden away from the inner districts of the fortress and encountered several elements of Margrave Edmund's army holding their positions. Arthur found it strange that the blue-clad soldiers and knights hadn't linked up with Duke Goneril's own troops yet, and a conversation he overheard between Captain Jeralt and a knight who claimed to be the margrave's master-at-arms revealed why.

"Our lord feels he has fulfilled his duty as House Goneril's ally by coming to the fortress' defence, and sees no need to join the duke in an offensive action he is conducting outside his territories," The knight said as he marched alongside the captain's steed. "Although our lord was willing to keep supporting the duke's war effort, he does not feel it necessary to risk his life commanding his armies further east. The duke... disagreed."

"No kidding." Jeralt said, shaking his head. "The duke did the same with us — with the siege's end, our contract with him came to an end... and yet, he resorted to threatening us with treason and summary execution to keep us fighting for him."

"It's an oppressive move, but it's within his power to do so." The knight replied in a heavy, reluctant voice through his helm. "You may be in charge of the strongest mercenary company in the continent, but the fact remains that if a noble like Duke Goneril asks a commoner to jump, the laws of the land dictates that you ask him how high."

"And I've lived long enough as a commoner to know better than to go against nobles like him. Not while I'm sitting in the middle of his own turf." The captain grimaced, flexing his injured hand. "But enough about us jumped-up plebeians. What about your margrave? Surely the duke can't just force another noble with a standing similar to his own to fight his battles."

"Of course not. Which is why I'm wondering why he hasn't given the order to pack up and return west yet." The knight said. "Something is afoot, captain. I've spread word around for my men and my brother knights to be on their guard... you'd best be on yours."

Sure enough, upon the company's re-entry to the bailey once again, amidst a crowd of minor nobles, knightly retainers and other hanger-ons, Arthur witnessed Duke Goneril in another argument, and this time with Margrave Edmund, with a tense-looking Count Ordelia lingering nearby.

"What devilry has gotten hold of you, Tancred?" The margrave sounded unusually spirited as he spoke. "This offensive is a fool's errand. You will soon find nothing but death waiting for you out there, and I refuse to be a part of it."

"You were never one for warfare, Stanislaus, but all that time spent counting coins and playing with your damnable ships has eroded your mind and turned you into an ungrateful fool!" The duke shouted. He looked as though the only thing keeping him from striking the margrave was the fact that Stanislaus held the same amount of standing and power as he did. "For generations, our house stood against the Almyrans on your behalf! The safety of your realm is paid for in the blood of my soldiers, and this is how you repay us?"

"Have a care to remember that your continued success in defending this fortress is partly due to our commercial treaties and House Edmund's commitment to supplying your armies so long as our alliance stands!" Margrave Edmund was quick to retort. "An alliance that is purely defensive in nature, need I also remind. There is nothing defensive about this action you are about to commit, my lord."

The duke snarled and bared his teeth as he turned this way and that, bloodshot eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets as he visibly tried to rein in his mounting fury. In the end, some sort of clarity made itself apparent on the duke's raging expression as he straightened himself, his stance becoming less outwardly aggressive. "Ah... I see what this is."

As the company rode up closer to the nobles, Arthur watched as Margrave Edmund took a step back, his knightly retainers instinctively moving up and closing ranks behind their liege. "I do not like that look on your face, Tancred."

Duke Goneril raised his head, locking eyes with the other noble. "You... are afraid."

"Don't be ridiculous. I see a doomed endeavour before me, and you expect me to fling myself and my people into it?" The margrave scoffed. "I had hoped that my overt unwillingness to participate in this farce would discourage you from—"

"You've not taken a wife, and you've no heirs!" Duke Goneril suddenly cut the other man off, a disturbing, unhinged smile blooming on his face. "It is for this reason that you're afraid, isn't it, old friend?"

A brief flash of equal parts anger and surprise took over the margrave's expression before it quickly disappeared behind a severely displeased frown. "Hrm. The closest thing I have to an heir is my doleful adoptive daughter. She is much too young... barely fit to marry into a noble's household, much less inherit my title and govern the realm I will leave behind, should I perish here."

"Then forget about that mewling orphan girl." Duke Goneril dismissively waved a hand as he turned to the side. "Wilhelmina! Come here, and bring that soldier-boy of yours!"

"Tancred," Margrave Edmund's eyes flared in cold fury. "You are treading on dangerous ground."

The duke all but ignored the other noble as General Fischer obediently approached, with a young man wearing a lieutenant's uniform following close behind. "That's close enough, Wilhelmina. Let me have a look at the boy here."

Arthur could tell General Fischer was trying hard to keep a neutral expression. "Yes, your eminence." He noticed her glancing now and again in Margrave Edmund's direction. "Lieutenant Hans, attend to your duke."

"At once, lady castellan." The young man known as Lieutenant Hans dutifully saluted the general before turning on his heel to face his liege. "By your command, my lieg—"

The duke wasted no time seizing the lieutenant by the shoulder and dragging him over to Margrave Edmund. "There you have it, Stanislaus. A proper heir, as diligent and capable as they come."

Margrave Edmund closed his eyes and winced, as though in pain.

"Wh-what?" Lieutenant Hans had to hold up his jaw to keep it from dropping, the stoic mask he was trying to put up completely shattered. "That can't be... no..."

The margrave sighed. "Goddess take you, Tancred..."

Duke Goneril snarled, "Enough! Legitimise your bastard and be done with it!"

As those gathered reacted in shock and surprise, Margrave Edmund opened his eyes, his face set in a blank, unreadable expression. "You have well and truly gone mad. Do you believe this stunt will convince me to join you in your folly?"

"If I hear even one of your soldiers leaving through the western gates, you may consider our alliance forfeit, Stanislaus." The duke said.

"You care little for the problems of others... you never did. Even now, you only think in terms of what I can offer to alleviate yours." The margrave replied, cold disdain in every word. "Fine, then. Let this be the last time I allow myself be taken along your foolish little schemes."

The duke put up a taunting smirk. "That wasn't so bad now, was—"

"Be quiet for once, you old fool." The margrave cut him off, before abruptly turning aside and facing the slack-jawed form of Lieutenant Hans. "Stand to, soldier. I have need of you."

Being directly addressed by a high noble seemed to shake the lieutenant out of his stupor as he immediately stood straight and snapped a salute in the margrave's direction. "By your will, Margrave Edmund."

"Very good." The older man nodded, a subdued look of satisfaction briefly appearing on his face. "Come with us. I believe we must exchange a few words, before everything else."

The soldier immediately complied, seemingly having had returned to his old self. "As you say, my lord."

With Margrave Edmund and his retainers turning their backs on him and leaving, Duke Goneril wasted no time directing his attention to the other nobles. "Loukas, I trust that House Goneril can count on your continued support in this war?"

"Why, of course, my lord." Count Ordelia quickly replied, clearly having had already known what the duke was going to say to him. "Unlike some others, I never had any intentions of departing from this battlefield without a satisfying conclusion for the Alliance. Let this day be a reminder, that not even the mightiest of the Empire's armies can keep House Ordelia down."

House Ordelia's elaborate declaration of support for the war seemed to discourage the minor nobles present from any notion of ending their own support of House Goneril, as one by one, the duke cajoled, intimidated, and threatened them into mobilising their soldiers to march alongside his own. By the time the duke had made his way to Jeralt's mercenaries, the captain had just finished introducing Arthur and Byleth to the two small groups of mercenaries that would be taking direct orders from them.

"Captain Eisner, you will be taking your orders from my heir." Duke Goneril intoned. "I have reason to believe he is already making his way east with his army. Marshal your forces and report to him as soon as possible."

"Yes, your eminence." Came Jeralt's flat reply. "Mercenaries, you heard the lord. Pack up and move out, double time."

Arthur spent a moment lingering behind, staring knives into the duke. A part of him screamed at him to pull down his visor and move on before the old man returned to his senses and recognised him, but another, much less rational part hoped for the opposite, if only to see the terror-stricken look in the wretched fool's face once more.

"Does your captain make a habit of employing slack-jawed fools in his company?" The duke eventually said, upon spotting Arthur staying behind. "You are one of Captain Eisner's mercenaries, yes? Mayhaps you are one of that pathetic emir's spies instead?" The twisted grin the old man put up made Arthur wish he could simply put a bullet in his skull, while he still could. "...would you like to see what I do to spies?"

The outlaw scoffed, a biting retort at the tip of his tongue. He was interrupted by hoofbeats fast approaching from behind.

"Arthur, what are you doing?" He heard Byleth speak. "Come on, you don't want to get left behind."

"Whatever you're thinking of doing, mate... don't." It was Victor who spoke next. "One war at a time, right?"

"Yeah..." Arthur tugged on his reins, bidding his steed to turn away from the duke. "Goddammit. Let's go."

...

---

Ferdinand wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his gauntlet. For the past several hours, he had been involved where the fighting was the heaviest, where he led his followers in battle and contributed to the war effort in the most direct way one possibly could.

Now, just when he thought he could finally put his poleaxe away and make his preparations to return to the Empire, Duke Goneril's newly-declared intent to continue the war put an immediate stop to his plans. It was clear there was more fighting to be had before he could return home.

Exhaling softly, the young lord let go of the reins of his warhorse and stared at his armoured hands. It hadn't been too long since he took the choice to embark on his journey. It was scarcely a year since he claimed his first life, and since then, he had added more than a hundred souls to his tally of slain foes.

It was almost absurd, how bruised and worn his hands were now underneath its covering of steel and leather. He no longer had the delicate, unblemished hands of a sheltered heir... he now beheld the calloused, blood-stained hands of a seasoned killer.

Ferdinand shook his head to steady himself. He was never under any illusion of staying innocent when he decided to take up arms against the conspiracy brewing under the soil beneath his feet. He only hoped he does not lose himself along his journey, and he took a grim sort of comfort that he now had more companions whom he trusted to steer him along the righteous path, should he find himself straying from it.

Or failing that, he trusted them to put an end to him, before he too became a monster in his quest to end all monsters.

"My lord!"

Rousing at the sound of Sir Volkmar's voice, Ferdinand turned on his saddle to look at the man, who trotting along at a hastened pace towards him.

After quietly gesturing for Lady Rosamunde and the other Astral Knights to be on their guard, Ferdinand rode over to meet with his second-in-command, "Is there a problem, sir knight?"

"We'll see soon enough," The knight bid his mount to a stop as soon as he reached his lord. "A large gathering of soldiers from House Ordelia are making their way over to us. From what little I saw before I fled from where I was hitched, they do not seem to have Count Loukas among them. What are your orders?"

"We have little to fear from them." Ferdinand said, trying to sound reassuring. "Surely they will not cause us harm while we remain among the fortress' defenders."

"What if they're led by that knight, Sir Leopold?" Questioned Lady Rosamunde. "He clearly has it out for you, my lord."

"Then I will stand my ground." Ferdinand answered, firmly. "If he intends to fight me, then perhaps I should show him that it is not in his best interest to start rivalries with nobles far above his station."

"You want him dead?" Mayu asked. Although Ferdinand always felt proud to have given the warrior a good start to her journey towards Fódlanese mastery, he also found himself disturbed at how callous she was at times. "I could kill him."

The young lord wondered what horrors Mayu had been subjected to by the Agarthans to have made her see killing as a first resort to most problems. "Um... no, my lady. That is a little extreme, perhaps. I am not opposed to violence, but not like that."

Mayu nodded, her expression hidden behind the pale wooden mask she wore over her face. "Then I will stand guard, and observe. It is what I trained for."

Ferdinand reclined on his saddle. Mayu never spoke much about herself, and he had always been curious about where she was from, and what she did before her capture at the hands of the dark mages.

Unfortunately for him, before he could act on his curiosity, Ferdinand spotted the banners of House Ordelia approaching from a short distance ahead. Gesturing for his people to assume a defensive formation, the young lord was soon forced to belay his own orders when he noticed these Ordelians were taking orders not from a potential foe, but rather, a friend.

"Lord Ferdinand!" Lysithea raised a gloved hand in greeting to the other noble. Wearing low-profile riding gear and bestride a barded steed much, much larger than herself, Ferdinand almost didn't see the slender, diminutive girl from behind the neck of her mount. "A word, please!"

"I am at your disposal, of course." Ferdinand relaxed as he waited for the Ordelians to draw close. "I assume your father would not be taking action against me?"

"No... it took some time and a lot of patience on my part to convince him that you didn't abduct me, but I managed to reason with the old fool." The young lady said, as she rode up to him. "Ugh, never mind my father. War is upon us once again, and I would like to avail myself of your talents, if you are willing."

"I had planned to link up with Lord General Holst in the vanguard force, but if you wish gain our aid, then you may have it." Ferdinand said. "These soldiers are following your directions, I take it?"

"They better. Their lives depend on how well they follow my instructions." Lysithea was quick to say. "And now, they should follow your orders as well."

"You... want me to assume a command position? Over your forces?"

"Naturally. I've seen you take command of those soldiers when their captain was killed, and I noticed you seem to be quite suited to giving orders from the front. We stand much to gain from a frontline commander."

Ferdinand wasn't sure if he agreed, as he always thought his true battlefield talents laid in organisation and logistics — exerting control over factors he could influence to tip in his favour long before the actual battle. Still, after everything she'd been through, he felt he couldn't say no to Lysithea.

"Well, in that case, I will strive not to let you down. Shall we proceed?"

By the break of dawn, Ferdinand was riding alongside a small troop of knights sworn to House Ordelia, though at a pace that matched the marching speed of the much larger body of foot soldiers Lysithea herself was commanding. As his company advanced eastward, wherever he looked, the young lord found columns of allied soldiers from dozens of Leicester's noble houses moving in the same direction — through the desolate valley in pursuit of Emir Haashid's retreating army. Behind, the tarnished walls of Fódlan's Locket became smaller by the moment. Soon enough, they would be too distant to expect any assistance from the fortress' wall-mounted defences and artillery.

"You seem at ease at the head of your own army, Lady Lysithea." Ferdinand heard Lady Rosamunde speaking to his Ordelian counterpart. Earlier on, he ordered his retainers to position themselves close to both him and the young lady. "If I didn't know better, I would think you have some experience with leading soldiers into battle."

"And you would be correct, lady knight — the siege had been my first taste of true battle... this would be my first time taking to the field in a commanding role." Lysithea said, showing no hint of doubt nor trepidation despite her words. "Rest assured, as the heir of House Ordelia, I have been trained by the most resourceful, most experienced generals and tacticians in our employ... well, those who survived the Insurrection, at any rate."

"Hm." It was a rare occurrence, but Ferdinand had been around Rosamunde long enough to know when she was displeased at something, even while fully encased in her suit of armour. "Would one of your tutors be General Kunegund Berthildis Teufelshohen?"

The mention of this specific general made Lysithea straighten up in interest. "Why, yes. She was the one who discovered my talent for command, as a matter of fact. Lady General Teufelshohen—"

"Was a butcher, not a general." Ferdinand was startled at how spiteful his retainer sounded, a far cry from her usual self. Fortunately, she was quick to realise her error. "Goddess, please accept my apologies, my lady, I... let my emotions get the better of me. If you would be so kind as to disregard what I just said..."

Lysithea was quiet for a while. "You were there, during the war. Weren't you, lady knight?"

"As a simple foot soldier, yes... at an age not too older than yours. I took up arms after my would-be husband was woumded in the fighting." Rosamunde eventually admitted, muffled voice set in resignation. "You must have heard stories, about Teufelshohen's gambit near the end of the Battle for Hrym."

"Of course I have." Lysithea tentatively began. "If I recall correctly, the general took command of a small force of skirmishers and manoeuvred themselves into an advantageous position behind enemy lines. With the element of surprise, they destroyed several Imperial convoys meant to reinforce House Bergliez's armies at the front."

"Reinforce? My lady, forgive me for my impudence, but you have been misled. Those convoys carried wounded House Aegir soldiers and were moving away from the front." Rosamunde said, shaking her armoured head. "They were only defended by a token force of inexperienced levies and a handful of white mages... Teufelshohen saw an easy target and slaughtered them all, down to the last man."

Lysithea visibly tensed. "Even if this is true, you must realise that it was war, lady knight. The general completed an offensive action against our enemies, and no matter how unsavoury you think it is, as a soldier-turned-knight, even you cannot deny her actions were..."

"There are better ways to fight wars, my lady." Rosamunde relentlessly pressed, even as Lysithea spoke her mind. There was no hint of anger in her voice, only weariness. "This was an atrocity, conducted against defenceless targets by a woman who was out for blood, for very little strategic gain. By that point, defeat was inevitable, and yet, Teufelshohen stubbornly..."

Ferdinand listened to the two of them carrying on with their discussion for some time.

"There are times when I think Rosamunde should have laid down her arms and returned to her family after the Insurrection." Ferdinand heard Volkmar say from beside him. "But every time I see her fight, I am reminded that many of our fellows would have either been maimed or killed in past battles, were she not there to watch their backs."

"This... Insurrection. What is this?" Mayu also spoke up. Unlike the others, the foreign warrior wore no proper head protection, only a woven straw hat and her mouthless wooden mask. She stood out from the sea of heavily armoured soldiers she rode alongside. "This is... name for war. Yes?"

"If you can call it that. The Insurrection of Hrym was a short-lived conflict between the domains of House Hrym and House Ordelia, versus the Adrestian Empire and its loyal vassals." Volkmar told her.

"I see." Mayu reached up with a hand and adjusted the pins in her hair. "This is... different war. Past war." She looked to Ferdinand. "Hm. One of many?"

The young lord sighed, bowing his head. "It pains me to say that you will soon find that Fódlan is not a very stable place, my lady. Fighting between local and regional powers break out on occasion, and historical records point to at least one major war occurring between two or all three continental realms every century."

Mayu nodded slowly. "I am not unused to this. It is the same where I am from."

"Truly?"

"Yes. Once, I thought I could escape war... but in the end, war was my... I do not know the right word. Escape? Yes, war was my escape."

"Escape? What from, my lady?"

"From duty. To ensure peace between clans, my father felt it right to send me away as... um, a sokushitsu. I also do not know the word for this."

"What does it mean, if I may ask?"

"It is... like a wife, but lesser. My duty was to bear children for an allied daimy— lord. That was... until northlanders arrived and... and destroyed my home."

Ferdinand's eyes widened underneath his helm. He wanted nothing more than to get more answers from Mayu, but as luck would have it, he was then interrupted by the thundering of several mounted figures fiercely galloping towards their formation from the rear.

"Allied mercenaries, my lord." One of the Ordelian knights said, gesturing to the side. "They appear to be a mix of heavy and light cavalry. Better equipped than the usual sellswords, too."

"I think there's a reason for that, sir knight." Lady Ulrike raised her visor. She waited for the new arrivals to approach before waving her arm in greeting. "Look who it is! Took you long enough to show up!"

Ferdinand was briefly taken aback upon realising who it was Ulrike had been waving so enthusiastically at. Encased in more armour than Ferdinand had seen them before, Arthur Morgan and Byleth Eisner looked dressed for much more than simple mercenary work. Also among their company was Corporal Victor Sturges, who stood out amidst the mercenaries thanks to his foreign dress uniform. "Well met, friends! What news do you bring?"

"Nothing good," Arthur began, reining in his steed as Byleth held up a hand and began ordering their fellow mercenaries to slow down. "Holst caught up with Haashid's boys further east and started a fight. Thing is, the eastlanders knew they was comin'... they got Holst pinned down, and it's just a matter of time before the bastards cut their way through to him."

"Grave tidings..." Lysithea said, nodding slowly.

"We must postpone our discussion for later, I'm afraid." Rosamunde said.

Byleth soon joined Arthur's side. "The captain ordered us to take our riders to the southeast while the rest of the company maintains their formation amidst Duke Goneril's forces, to discourage attacks from airborne threats. Meanwhile, a sizeable force led by Margrave Edmund is rallying for an assault, to open up a new front and relieve pressure off the main eastern advance. We intend to join them."

Lysithea folded her arms, eyes narrowed in thought. "A good strategy, but perhaps not the best considering the factors at hand. Margrave Edmund habitually favours a careful and methodical approach to battle — it is possible he could take too long before Lord Holst is overwhelmed."

"You have another strategy to suggest?" Byleth tilted her armoured head to the side.

"Well, of course. I would not have spoken up otherwise." The young lady replied, an unsubtle element of defensiveness to her tone. "There is a pass along the mountains northeast of here, which leads directly into the desert further afield. Should an adequately-sized force manage to get through the pass, they will be in a position to strike the Almyrans from the north, where the lay of the land disfavours them."

Lysithea shifted on her saddle. "At the minimum, this should cause enough chaos to relieve the pressure off of Lord Holst's forces and give them enough time to organise a fighting retreat. At best... we could very well turn this fight around."

"Hmm. Not a bad plan..." Arthur drawled, raising his visor. "But what happens afterwards? Think those eastlanders would just sit there and let you come at their friends from the side? Even if you manage to pull this plan of yours without a hitch, you'd have put yourself in a place where the bastards could easily sweep through you from behind."

The young lady scoffed, "I don't plan on staying there long enough to let the Almyrans mount an effective counter-assault, if that's what you're thinking. If all goes well, most of us should be able to return from this alive."

"But what of the pass itself?" Byleth leaned forward on her saddle. "I am certain the Almyrans know of it, given their greater knowledge of the local geography. They would have taken measures to keep us from exploiting any potential gaps in their defence such as this, and by the time it takes you to bypass them, any strategic advantage you would have from surprising the foe would have been lost."

Lysithea furrowed her brows, clearly displeased. "I'll admit... I hadn't thought of the likelihood of the Almyrans knowing about the pass. Lord Ferdinand? Might you have anything to suggest?"

Ferdinand breathed in and out. "None but one — we join forces and make for the enemy posthaste." Before any of the others could protest, he pressed on, "We can strategise and debate tactics all we like, but the fact remains that no amount of planning could account for every possibility. Running afoul of something we could never have planned for is inevitable... but together, I am certain we could withstand whatever the Almyrans have in store for us."

Corporal Sturges tilted his bowl-shaped helmet up by the brim. "Makes sense."

Arthur shut his visor, his muffled chuckle reverberating through his helm. "You always know what to say, do you? Heh, what d'you think, girl?"

Byleth turned to her mentor. "The captain did mention we may act as the situation demanded." Then to Lysithea. "Well?"

"I won't turn down help from the likes of you, of course." The young lady brushed off the sand from her riding outfit and straightened herself. "Right, we should get going. Commander Morgan, I have reason to believe you have experience with scouting for armies. Would you like to take your positions at the front?"

"Already on it." Indeed, the older mercenary's troop of light cavalry were already in the process of moving ahead of their combined forces. Arthur himself only stayed behind to nod at Ferdinand before hurrying on his way to lead his people from the tip of their formation.

"Commander Eisner? You seem to have brought along a troop of heavy cavalry. Perhaps they'll serve best alongside Lord Ferdinand's knights and retainers." Lysithea suggested.

"As you say." The Ashen Demon proceeded to order her own people to fall in with Ferdinand and his group. "I'll admit, I'm looking forward to fighting with you and the Astral Knights once again, Ferdinand."

"Likewise, my lady." Ferdinand nodded, smiling behind his helm. "I only hope there will not be any need for you to risk your life on my behalf this time."

Byleth's body language remained stiff and inexpressive, but Ferdinand could detect a hint of amusement in her muffled tone. "From the way you've been training all this time, my lord, I say there might be a time where I might need you to step in on my behalf."

Ferdinand was hard-pressed to imagine such a scenario. "Ah, but let us not forget who is the better fighter out of—"

"Alright, that's enough socialising!" Lysithea suddenly proclaimed, looking annoyed all the sudden. "Get back in formation, you two. As for the rest of you, forward march! Follow those scouts!"

The better part of an hour later, the detachment of Ordelian soldiers and their mercenary allies reached the base of the mountain pass Lysithea had mentioned. On their way northeast, thanks to Arthur's perceptive scouting, they encountered enough signs of Almyran occupation to confirm Byleth's earlier suspicions. When the Almyrans decided to make their appearance and engage the Fódlanese, the eastlanders quickly learned they fell upon combat-ready troops, standing prepared to receive their ambush with spears braced, arrows nocked, and spells at the ready.

"Fuck, they're closing in!" Corporal Sturges could be heard shouting amidst the familiar sounds of battle, along with the rapid staccato of gunfire. "What now, Arthur?"

Arthur put his rifle away and took up his bow. "Let's give the Ordelians some space! Get outta there, you bastards! Fall back!"

As the mercenary light cavalry began retreating to better positions at the back of the formation, harrying the encroaching foe with arrows and other projectiles as they did, Lysithea gave the order for the footmen to stand their ground and resist the charging throng of Almyran infantry ahead.

"Now your training is put to the test!" She shouted as she raised her gloved hands, black flames gradually dancing to life in her palms. "Knights, make your attack!"

Clapping his visor shut, Ferdinand signalled behind for Volkmar to blow the war horn. With Lysithea in the process of synchronising her spells with that of the mages under her command, the young lord bid his destrier from a canter and into a gallop as he charged onward. Battle cries and enraged shouts spilled from their throats as Ferdinand and his mounted troop thundered past their footbound comrades, lances couched and leaving enormous clouds of dust in their wake.

As though in response to the Fódlanese heavy cavalry entering the fray, eastlander mounted troops also emerged from where they were hidden. Sporting composite bows and polearms of their own, the enemy riders loosed a few volleys at Ferdinand and his troop before tightening their formation and mounting a countercharge.

Ferdinand was surprised to see the Almyrans resorting to such an ill-conceived move, and as he stared down the fast-approaching enemy cavalry, he had to remind himself that he ought not feel a sense of satisfaction at the impending bloodshed he was about to partake in, for such a thing was the domain of butchers and the dishonourable. His knights' momentum remained unimpeded by the arrows and they were much more armoured and better-suited for fighting up close than their eastlander counterparts, who appear more specialised for skirmishing and using their mobility to attack their foes from the flanks.

Indeed, when the two opposing forces finally crashed against one another, Ferdinand impaled the enemy officer through the chest, tossed aside his ruined lance, and watched as his knights proceeded to smash right through the opposition before drawing their sidearms and engaging them in melee. Screams and panicked shouts in the eastlander tongue filled the air not long afterwards.

The Almyran riders who survived the initial clash attempted to resist the Fódlanese, but the significant amount of casualties they sustained moments before and their gradual realisation that their leader was among the first to be slain did much to hamper their combat effectiveness despite outnumbering their foes. As for Ferdinand, the young lord carved a path deep into the ranks of the eastlanders, sprays blood and brain matter creating morbid patterns on the surface of his armour as he used his poleaxe to violently unhorse his victims one after another. Those who tried to come at Ferdinand from the front immediately found themselves outmatched, their limbs hewn off, hearts impaled or skulls caved inwards. Those who attempted to attack the noble from the side or behind were quickly ran down or smashed aside by his retainers, if Mayu hadn't already put an arrow in their throats.

Within moments, Ferdinand's mounted troop shattered their opponents' morale, causing those few eastlander cavalrymen still alive to turn about and attempt to disengage. Having suffered only minor casualties and with much of their momentum still intact, Ferdinand led by example as he continued to advance, extending his charge into the enemy infantry their mounted comrades had abandoned, swinging his poleaxe in deadly arcs as his warhorse trampled the hapless eastlanders underfoot.

While Ferdinand and his knights reaped a bloody toll on the ranks of the foe, another blast of a Fódlanese war horn sounded from the rear. It wasn't long before Byleth and her own mounted troop arrived from the south, their barded steeds smashing into the Almyrans as Ferdinand's people continued to hammer them down from the north.

With the enemy force unable to break through the Ordelian infantry, wedged in between two attacking groups of heavy cavalry and thrown into disarray by a constant barrage of spells from Lysithea and her mages, the battle for the pass ended as quickly as it began. Falling back on their doctrine, the ambushing Almyrans tried to mount a fighting retreat, but with much of their leadership already killed in the fighting, their retreat almost immediately devolved into a rout that Arthur and his light cavalry wasted no time taking advantage of.

"We can't let 'em run! Form up and get back in there!" The mercenary commanded, even as he loosed arrows into the backs of the retreating eastlanders. "Sturges, what the hell are you doing? Stop wasting ammo!"

"It's this bloody gun!" The corporal let out a frustrated noise as he racked the bolt on his rifle. "I'm better off with a damn carbine, or something! This thing ain't meant to be used on horseback!"

It was another moment before the fighting died down and the skirmish reached its end. Ferdinand noticed his knights suffered a few losses, but they were insignificant enough to have little impact on their combat readiness. He reminded himself that this is one thing he could allow himself to be pleased by.

"Form ranks and advance!" Lysithea could be heard ordering her soldiers around, though not without an audible strain in her voice. Clearing her throat with a cough, she nonetheless continued, "Time is of the essence! We must keep moving!"

Byleth rode up close to her, blood staining the flanks and all four hooves of her steed. "But what of the wounded?"

"Leave them." Ferdinand flinched at the callousness in Mayu's voice. "No time. They slow us down."

"As much as I hate to say it, Mayu is right. We cannot spare what little time we have on them, Commander Eisner." The young lady said, sighing. She was quick to put up her authoritative attitude once more, however. "Healers, do what you can, then get back in formation! Lord Holst's vanguard is counting on us, so hurry it up!"

Ferdinand knew enough about the critical nature of their task to agree, even if his heart did not. After giving orders for a small group of his own to stay behind and escort those too wounded to fight back to friendly lines, the noble moved on alongside the others. The path ahead was littered with the broken bodies of those Almyrans who were ran down by Arthur's mounted skirmishers as they retreated, and it wasn't until they had managed to traverse the entire length of the pass before they encountered the mercenary and his mounted skirm again.

"So far so good," Arthur was off the saddle and on the ground when the others found him, having had occupied himself by plucking the arrows sticking out of the Almyrans he killed. "While you was back there, we went ahead and scoped the land up ahead."

"Easier said than done. Lost count of how many times I almost fell off my horse back there." Corporal Sturges remarked.

Lysithea ignored the soldier and focused on the mercenary. "What did you find, commander?"

"A route that should let us cut around back southwest, straight to where Holst should still be. And that's if he ain't dead yet." He answered as he hoisted a quiver full of blood-tipped arrows on his saddle. "It looks clear, but I gotta warn you — it's rugged country... the ground ain't exactly comfortable to ride or march through. And if we go down this way, I guarantee it'll lead us right in the middle of the eastlanders. Y'all think we're ready for that sorta thing?"

Byleth scraped the blood from the length of her sword. "From how quickly we routed our foes in the pass, I believe we are more than ready."

"Indeed. We have preserved enough of our strength and manpower to make a significant impact on the battle ahead... provided that we position ourselves wisely." Ferdinand said, turning to Lysithea. "What do you think, my lady?"

"I see no benefit in debating this any further. We must press on, too many lives depend on how quickly we reach the battlefield." She said, mouth set in a determined line. "Commander Morgan, I need you to lead the way once again. Are you certain this is the shortest way to our goal?"

"Only one way to find out." Arthur said, before pulling himself up the saddle and mounting his steed. Raising a hand, he signalled for his skirmishers to fall in. "Alright, people, we're doin' this! Follow me, and stick close! We're up against the clock, here!"

They all soon came to find just how rugged and uneven the terrain ahead was. While Ferdinand and his mounted troop were having enough difficulty staying mounted on their steeds, those unfortunate souls who had to navigate the area on foot fared even worse, and there were times when the entire formation had to stop and rest, to let the poor, winded infantry recover their strength. Fortunately, the area proved clear of Almyrans or any other threats, though Ferdinand couldn't help but catch glimpses of dark shapes above enough times to keep him tense and on edge.

"Almost to the end, people!" Ferdinand could hear Arthur calling out from the front of their formation. "Get ready! This is gonna get bloody — make sure it's their blood!"

Ferdinand turned to the side, to face Lysithea. "Remember, my lady, this is not the only war we are fighting. Please do not take unnecessary risks, and retreat if you must. We must not die here!"

"I've no intention of dying here for Duke Goneril of all people. Not to worry, my lord." The girl was a bit slower to reply as she stared ahead, looking even paler than usual.

"Are you quite alright?"

"No, but you needn't be concerned. I simply need some time to become accustomed to all this."

Ferdinand nodded in sympathy. "Take heart. You have already endured much... but now, you are no longer alone."

The smile he elicited on her face, though small and wan, did much to alleviate his weariness. "And I am grateful, truly." She sighed. "Please do not think me so weak that I require your constant aid, however. I simply haven't drawn into my powers to this extent before."

"The thought had not even occurred to me, my lady." He said, with as much sincerity as he could muster.

Moments later, the Fódlanese emerged out the other side of the pass and marched into the open, to the total surprise of the Almyrans nearby. The eastlanders appeared to be force-marching west to reinforce their comrades encircling General Holst's vanguard, and were caught unprepared to face Lysithea's troops and their mercenary allies suddenly appearing from the north, far ahead of the main battle lines.

Before the eastlanders could regroup to face this new threat, Arthur's skirmishers and Lysithea's battle mages made good use of the element of surprise as they demolished as many of the Almyrans clustered together in the marching formation with synchronised volleys of bullets, arrows, and elemental sorcery. While the eastlanders scrambled to form appropriate battle formations, as planned, the Ordelian infantry linked shields and took up defensive positions ahead of their fellows, with the their magic-wielding comrades continuing to harry the Almyrans with spells some distance behind.

"Hold the line! Close ranks and defend here!" Lysithea commanded. After obliterating a group of Almyran cavalry before they could retreat to safety, she turned to Ferdinand, "My lord, I need you and Commander Morgan to work together — head west and do what you can for Lord Holst!"

"As you wish, but what about you?"

"We will hold this spot and keep them off you for as long as we can! Between Commander Eisner's forces and mine, we have enough manpower to buy you the time you need!"

Ferdinand's thrown javelin impaled an enemy sergeant through the back. "Good fortune to both of us. Knights, to me!" The enemy tried to scatter to avoid getting picked off out of position, but Rosamunde and Mayu harried many of their number before they could get out of range. "Advance, comrades! Forward, to victory!"

Arthur cursed and fought to keep control as an eastlander's arrow embedded itself into his horse's flank. "Damn it! Easy, boy, easy!" Even as his horse thrashed and tried to buck him off, he managed to pick off the offending Almyran bowman with a desperate one-handed shot from his rifle. "Sturges, stay here and keep Byleth safe! Everyone else... urgh! Shit!" Managing to calm his errant steed, the mercenary was quick to cycle his gun and return to shooting. "Follow me!"

With his knights and retainers close behind, Ferdinand caught up with Arthur and his light cavalry just as they reached the rearmost elements of the clustered formation of eastlanders locked in battle with the Alliance. No words were exchanged between the two of them, and indeed, none were needed as Arthur and his troop got into range, loosed a volley of arrows into the backs of the enemy soldiers before signalling for his skirmishers to scatter and make space.

As the skirmishers backed off, Ferdinand took this as his cue to make their attack. "Fight for honour! Fight for justice! FIGHT FOR FÓDLAN!"

And as Ferdinand couched his second lance and galloped forth, so did his followers. By the time the Almyrans realised the incoming phalanx of mounted figures weren't flying their banners, it was too late for them to mount a proper defence.

The eruption of sound and fury that ensued was nothing short of deafening. Bodies were sundered. Bones were broken. Men screamed as they were ran through or trampled to oblivion under a stampede of a hundred iron-shod hooves. As his forces tore away and smashed through the opposition, Ferdinand threw away his shattered lance — his last one — and immediately pressed his momentum, swinging his weapon down from his saddle and dismembering unfortunate eastlanders two or three at a time as his steed thundered forth.

The beleaguered Alliance soldiers from General Holst's vanguard, seeing the once-unyielding ranks of their foes suddenly begin to buckle upon receiving such a devastating charge from their rear flank, wasted no time taking advantage of the situation by tightening their ranks and going on the offence. In response, the Almyrans dug in their heels and attempted to resist the Fódlanese push, which left them as easy targets for Arthur's skirmishing mounted troop.

"Hold up!" The mercenary leader could be heard shouting, after a prolonged volley that left many of the eastlanders dead or maimed. "There! That's Holst! Make your way over there and get those bastards off him!"

Ferdinand looked where Arthur and his people were headed, expecting to come across a desperate Holst barely fending off his assailants. Instead, he bore witness to his fellow lord utterly dominating the hapless Almyrans before him in hand-to-hand combat, with his galvanised troops trying their best to keep up with their leader's frenzied pace.

"To me, men!" With a single, unerring strike of his greatsword, Holst clove an enemy sergeant in two from the waist. "It's now or never! Drive them back, in the name of House Goneril and the Alliance!"

Within moments, the tide turned as entire sections of the Almyran line started to break. As the Fódlanese gradually pushed their opponents back east, Ferdinand took note of how Arthur seemed to prefer an unusually cautious style of command. He was quick to notice and exploit gaps in the enemy's defences, but was also twice as quick to call for his troops to abandon their advantageous positions at the slightest hint of the Almyran retaliation.

It was strange to Ferdinand, how a man who preferred to recklessly charge into danger seemingly with no regard for his own life also preferred to avoid risks as when leading others into battle. It was as though he wanted to keep each of the soldiers he had under his command alive, despite the futility of such a thing.

"Lord Ferdinand, we have taken the field." He then heard Volkmar address him from the side. "I've taken the liberty of rallying our capable riders back into formation and assessing the losses we sustained."

Beside the man, Lady Rosamunde saluted. "And I spent some time gathering information, my lord. There are a few things you would want to know, I should think."

"Ah. Very good then, knights. Tell me what you know."

"The Astral Knights took no casualties, but as for the knights Lady Lysithea assigned to us, sixteen have been killed, and a third are in no condition to keep fighting." Came Volkmar's report, all blunt and clinical. "We are down to half strength, more or less."

"I... I see." Ferdinand nodded shakily. He hadn't expected his troop to have sustained this much damage in the fighting. In the thick of battle, with the Almyrans either fleeing or coming undone before him, everything seemed to be going so well. It seemed as though he let the rush of combat cloud his mind and forgotten that not many others could match his pace in battle. "What else I should be aware of, lady knight?"

Rosamunde raised her visor, looked around, then lowered it again. "Lady Lysithea and Commander Eisner's forces held for as long as they could, but they faced overwhelming odds and were forced to cede ground to the Almyrans... Lord General Holst is coordinating his soldiers to cover their retreat. I've also received word that Duke Goneril has assumed command of Margrave Edmund's forces and now marches east at the head of a massive force of infantry and heavy cavalry. We should be on the lookout for their banners on the horizon."

Mayu gestured west. "There. Clan Goneril banners."

As Rosamunde flinched, it was almost comical how quickly Volkmar snapped his head to look where the warrior had pointed at. "Ah. It appears you are right." He sighed. "Here they come."

Ferdinand's grip on his reins tightened as he watched the duke's battle standards draw nearer and nearer to their position. As the combined Goneril and Edmund forces marched past them, the young lord gave the order for his knights to hold position. It wasn't long at all before Duke Goneril himself rode up to them, flanked by his mounted retainers and accompanied by a distraught-looking Hilda.

"You there!" The duke was not wearing his helmet, letting Ferdinand have an unobstructed look at the wild, zealous gleam in his eyes. "A glorious victory awaits us this day, and you stand here idling? Rally to me, or suffer my wrath!"

To argue with the duke at that moment was to invite death, Ferdinand knew. "Where do you want us, your eminence?"

The duke turned to his daughter. "Be useful for once, and take these knights to reinforce Lord Burgdorf's formation." He sneered. "Get moving, girl!"

"R-right," Hilda brought her steed around and rode over to them. "Um, sooo..."

"Hilda..." Ferdinand glanced aside. Ahead, Duke Goneril had already turned his back on them and returned to driving his army forward, shouting orders and threatening his subordinates all the while. "You seem as lost as we are, if you do not mind me saying."

"That's one way of putting it," The young lady scoffed bitterly. "I don't even know who Lord Burgdorf is, much less where his people are even supposed to be." She leaned against her saddle, briefly resting her head on the back of her horse's neck. "Ugh, my father's getting crazier by the minute, and it's not even midday. I'm afraid for what'll happen later, when the Almyrans stop holding back."

Ferdinand wished he knew what to say. "I... believe it may be best if you keep your distance from the duke for the time being. There is room in our group, if you wish to join us."

"You want me to come with you... really? Wow, thanks!" Some measure of Hilda's usual cheer returned to her, to Ferdinand's satisfaction. At times like these, even an insignificant bit of cheer held significant value. "I'm putting myself in your hands now, Ferdinand. You'll keep me safe, right?"

"Of course!" Ferdinand thumped his gauntleted fist against his breastplate. "For as long as you ride with us, you have nothing to fear from the Almyrans, my friend. Not on our watch."

Volkmar loudly cleared his throat. "My lord, you should focus on the task at hand. We've all seen this girl fight — she can protect herself more adequately than most."

"Sir knight!" Rosamunde exclaimed in mortified shock. "Where are your courtly manners? This is Lady Hilda you are addressing!"

The lady in question could only shake her head and smile flatly. "Should I even say anything?" An exhale. "Alright, "Lady Hilda" it is."

...

---

Arthur helped Byleth down from her steed. Cursing up a storm, he wasted no time getting her to sit on the ground, removing her helmet as he did. "Damn it, kid, didn't I tell you to play it safe? Dying once ain't enough for you, is that it?"

"It was... a calculated risk." The girl said, wincing and breathing hard. She flinched away from his stern glare, refusing to meet his eyes. "Lady Lysithea's mages... many of them would have perished had I not covered their retreat."

"For Chrissakes..." Arthur remembered seeing Byleth throwing herself in between Lysithea's mages and an advancing throng of Almyran horsemen. Against all odds, she managed to fend off the mounted eastlanders and bought the others enough time to escape immediate danger, although at the cost of taking a bad hit from an enemy rider's war pick.

It was a miracle she hadn't been knocked off her saddle, taking such a grievous blow as she did. "Your armour protected you, but I wouldn't count on it holding up to another hit like that. How do you feel?"

"Hurts to breathe... feeling thirsty..."

"Wouldn't be surprised if you cracked a rib or two. Probably bleeding from the inside as well."

"Just give me some water. I can... still fight." She insisted breathlessly. With her face turning pale before his eyes and her obvious attempts to hide her pain, she proved less than convincing.

"Not like this, you ain't. Wait here, and don't move." Placing his canteen in her hand, he stood up and began looking around for a healer. As it turned out, he needn't look far.

"Out of my way!" Arthur found Lysithea moving past Holst's soldiers, white hair mussed and face smeared in dust. Upon spotting him, the young lady immediately strode over to the outlaw. "Commander Morgan! I was told Commander Eisner is injured. I've been trained in the use of white magic to mend wounds... you will take me to her!"

Banishing any thoughts of amusement on his part at being ordered around by a teenage girl half his size, Arthur nodded and wordlessly bid Lysithea to follow him back to where he left Byleth. Upon his return, he was unamused to find the girl already on her feet and half-way through the process of climbing up the saddle of her steed.

"Goddammit, what did I just say?" Arthur stomped over to the girl and practically tore off his own helmet, letting her see just how furious he was. "Are you trying to get yourself killed? I swear to God, if your feet ain't on the ground by the time I get there, I'm dragging you down that horse myself!"

Armoured shoulders visibly tensing at the sound of his voice, Byleth immediately reversed course. As she turned to face him, even in her deplorable state, the girl had the decency to look regretful. "I... yes, Arthur. I'm sorry."

The outlaw soon caught up to his companion. He shook his head at how wretched she looked. "Jesus, look at you." He wasted no time helping the girl down to sit in the same spot as before. "This ain't the time to be actin' tough, miss. We need to get you fixed up before this shit gets any worse."

"I understand... I seem to have underestimated the extent of my injuries."

"No kidding. Lucky for you, I bumped into the Ordelian kid out there. Girl reckons she knows a thing or two about healing."

Byleth put up a pained look of amusement. "That one... for someone so young, she seems more capable than most when it comes to magic. Ferdinand is lucky, to have her as an ally." Tilting her head to look over Arthur's shoulder, she let out a breath and sat up straight. "She could stand to gain from more physical activity, however. Here she comes."

Arthur turned to the side and couldn't help but give a shake of his head at the sight of Lysithea struggling to reach them, already looking winded despite only running a short distance. "Heh, you don't say."

"Don't look at me! Just..." Upon making her way to them, the young lady promptly doubled over with her hands on her knees, gasping for air. "By the goddess, just give a moment...!"

Sighing, Arthur paid the volatile little girl no more mind as he started helping his ward out of her armour. "I ain't seen Victor in some time. Have you?"

Byleth turned away at the mention of Corporal Sturges. "I lost sight of him during the retreat. I'm sorry, I should have been keeping an eye on—"

"Hey, it's fine. Boy's been through worse than this. I'm sure he's alright." Arthur said, trying to sound reassuring. "We can worry about him later. Lysithea, you ready?"

"Okay! Okay..." Lysithea staggered over to them, still breathing hard, but less red on the face. Upon seeing what she was dealing with, she was quick to start conjuring an orb of healing magic from her palm. "I trust that your efforts to relieve Lord Holst's vanguard went well?"

"Well 'nough, I guess. Ferdinand did most of the work." Came Arthur's absent-minded reply as he set Byleth's armour aside, piece by piece. As he backed off, Byleth reached up to unbutton her padded shirt so as to expose her wound. "Didn't stick around to see what happened after Holst turned the tables on the eastlanders, though. With things more or less handled on their end, I kinda figured my boys would be put to better use out here than back there."

Lysithea nodded stiffly, pointedly averting her gaze from Byleth as she undressed. "Well... you made the right call. We would have sustained more losses during our retreat if it weren't for you and your troop."

Arthur's attention, on the other hand, was on Byleth alone. "You doin' okay, girl? Your hands are shaking."

Byleth managed to undo the topmost buttons of her shirt, but faltered halfway through. With a frustrated grunt, she let her hands fall by her side. "I think I need a hand...

"I got it." Arthur did not hesitate. As soon as he exposed the contused area of skin where Byleth was struck, he looked behind his shoulder to face Lysithea. "Alright, kid, do your—"

The words were barely out of Arthur's mouth before the unusually talented mage proceeded to blast the injured area with potent healing magic. "Would a "kid" been able to do this?"

"...thing." Even after so much time spent in this unnatural land, Arthur still couldn't get used to seeing magic at work. Within moments, the unsightly bruise on his companion's abdomen seemed to fade into her skin, and her pale complexion became less ghastly to behold. "Nice job. How're you feeling, Ms. Eisner?"

"Haah, better." Byleth sat still for Arthur as he took out a clean rag from one of his pouches and started wiping the blood and grime from her face. "Thank you... both of you. That was a close call."

"Too close. I'm getting the feeling we're in over our heads out here." Arthur said. "How many times have we almost died in just the past few months? Five times? Ten? Startin' to miss those days when we took contracts on outlaws and lowlives."

"I feel the same." The girl nodded, wistfully sighing. "Do you know what I look forward to the most, when we leave all this behind?"

"What's that, miss?"

"Catching fish. I quite liked that time the captain took us out to sea on a boat. Just the three of us."

"I dunno... Jeralt got real competitive that time, remember? Not that I didn't end up getting into it, but I was kinda hoping for a quiet day back then."

"In that case, perhaps..."

Arthur was just starting to get comfortable when he caught sight of the many thin shapes streaking across the eastward sky. He had enough presence of mind to get to cover and drag his companion down with him before shouting at Lysithea to do the same. "Look out, kid!"

"How many times must I tell you? I am not a—" Lysithea yelped as an arrow planted itself next to where she was standing. Flailing her arms in panic, the mage dove for cover and conjured an arcane barrier over herself as hundreds of eastlander arrows began raining all around their position.

Arthur put his helmet back on and started counting the seconds as he waited for the barrage to thin out. Beside him, Byleth flinched as she heard her horse cry out in its death throes. "Sorry, kid."

"It's just a horse..." She said, not meeting his eyes. He could tell she'd rather focus on the present. "I am more concerned about my rifle. I left it hanging by the saddle, along with my reserve munitions."

"As soon as the arrows stop coming, we'll make a break for them." He told her, readying his own weapons. "You ready?"

Byleth put her shotgun up. "As ever."

As the deluge of Almyran steel abated, Arthur signalled for his companion to stick close, lowered his visor, took a deep breath, and broke out of cover. Exposed, the first elements of the Almyran advance immediately spotted the two of them and moved to intercept.

"Trouble ahead!" Byleth greeted them with a hail of buckshot, wounding a few and sending others scrambling for cover. As she reached her fallen steed, she slung her weapon over her shoulder and got to work scavenging what she could. "I'll make this quick. Cover me!"

Arthur stood over the girl with his revolvers in hand, picking off the Almyrans as they foolishly marched into his sights. "This looks bad, kid! Just take the rifle and let's get the hell out of here!"

"I'm trying! I'm... trying!" Byleth strained as she attempted to pry her Lee-Enfield loose from under the bulk of her dead mount. "It's stuck!"

Teeth grit, Arthur watched the Almyrans in the distance swell in numbers. "Hold on!" Holstering his guns and lowering himself down, the outlaw put his hands on the horse, gripping it by the saddle. "Damn it. Alright, on three! One, two, three!"

As Arthur lifted the horse several inches clear off the ground, Byleth unlatched her rifle from the saddle and pulled it free. "Got it! I got it!"

"Grrgh!" With a grunt of exertion, Arthur let go of the beast, feeling his arms and the rest of his body burning from the strain of such a task. It took him a moment to recover his wits and put up his revolvers once more, but by then, he almost wished he lost consciousness then and there. "Holy..."

What seemed like a sizeable enemy force from a distance soon revealed itself to be an overwhelming horde of Almyran infantry and cavalry. And to Arthur's growing horror, he realised it was too late for them to outrun the foe. "Byleth... this ain't good."

The girl nodded, her mouth set in a grim line. "We've been through so much... survived much. Together, we may yet survive."

Arthur sighed. He put his revolvers away and pulled out his Litchfield. "You can still make it outta here if you run now, kid. Go on... I'll hold them off."

She shook her head, "I am not leaving you here, Arthur. No amount of words will convince me to leave you."

He chuckled sadly. "Yeah... figured you'd say that."

As the Almyrans rapidly swarmed into the area, Arthur and Byleth prepared to make their stand. The two of them synchronised their volleys and felled scores of the eastlanders, but their numbers seemed endless. As the enemy came within spitting distance, Arthur put his rifle away, unholstered his revolvers, and started blasting into the enemy ranks with abandon, killing multiple foes with individual high-velocity rounds. Still, the Almyrans charged onward, undaunted.

Just as Arthur's revolvers clicked empty, the first Almyran to reach him got her skull cleaved in two courtesy of the outlaw's axe. Half a dozen more enemy soldiers charged him at once, spears and axes poised to slaughter him and his charge. Having had already made terms with his fate long before, Arthur moved to put himself in between Byleth and their assailants, vainly hoping his armoured body could buy the girl a few more seconds.

At that moment, as though the goddess herself decided to intervene on their behalf, a jet of black fire streaked above Arthur's head and landed on the ground in front of him, enveloping the approaching eastlanders and many others behind them in a blindingly torrid explosion. Still feeling the heat of the sorcerous flames on his face even from behind his helm, Arthur looked behind his shoulder and saw a small force of Ordelian troops advancing in their direction.

"Get out of there!" Arthur heard Lysithea's voice calling out to them. "Come to us if you wish to live!"

As the Almyrans started taking casualties from the barrage of spells the Ordelians hurled their way, Arthur sunk his axe into the back of the eastlander attempting to match Byleth in a swordfight. "Time to leave, kid! Come on, move it, move it!"

Byleth wiped the blood from her face and did as she was told.

As they ran, Arthur quickly spotted the many hundred colourful banners and standards in the far distance, even further behind the Ordelians. The chaotic mix of noble symbols and liveries heralded the approach of the massed armies of House Goneril and nearly half the Leicester Alliance. "About goddamn time!"

"I do not see how this is cause for relief!" Byleth barely spared a glance at an incoming thrown axe before she whipped around, held her rifle like a club, and batted the projectile away with her weapon mid-stride. "Hrm! This means the final battle is at hand!"

"Great, means we can get this over with and leave this place for good!" Arthur finished loading his rifle with what few munitions he still had and continued shooting into the enemy as he ran backwards. Eastlander cavalry attempted to catch up to them, but were either brought low or forced to flee before a withering volley of missiles and magic from the Ordelians. "Ferdinand sure knows how to pick his friends! You doing alright Ms. Eisner?"

Without breaking her pace, Byleth loaded fresh cartridges into her gun. She then took aim and tried to take potshots at the Almyrans with it, but she was far less successful at hitting her marks compared to her mentor. "You make this look so effortless! I feel like I'm only wasting bullets!"

"Got a lifetime of practice on you, kid, but don't let it distract you! We make it outta here, I promise I'll teach you everything I know!"

"That is not a promise to be made lightly, Mr. Morgan, but I'll be holding you to it!"

As soon as the two of them reached their waiting allies, any feelings of relief Arthur felt immediately vanished as soon as Lysithea commanded her forces to form ranks and defend their position. When he demanded to know what possessed her to think hunkering down in the face of an overwhelming eastlander advance was a sound choice, the girl was quick to point behind them.

"Reinforcements are inbound, they'll be here within minutes!" She said, angrily gesturing at the incoming Allied army at their backs. "We will take casualties attempting to withdraw! We must hold the line and stand firm!"

Arthur shook his head, seeing that there was no convincing Lysithea and that he was wasting precious time doing so. "Guess it's too late to run, anyhow."

"Return to formation, commander! Surely you do not mean to spend the war pestering me with this nonsense, no?"

Arthur threw Lysithea a sarcastic salute before hurrying over next to Byleth. Upon reaching his companion, he found himself equal parts surprised and relieved to find Corporal Sturges standing beside her, looking slightly worse for wear but relatively uninjured.

"Shoulda rode off while you had the chance, boy. Now you're in for it with the rest of us."

The soldier scoffed as he turned to face the outlaw. "I ain't running. Not from this." He nodded at Byleth before proceeding to climb up the saddle of his horse again. "I lived through Turkey and France. Would be fuckin' embarrassing if I got myself killed here, of all bloody places."

"Ms. Eisner? Remind me to tell 'em to put what ol' Vicky said on his headstone." Arthur put up a smirk, allowing himself a small moment of levity before the inevitable bloodbath ahead. As he pulled his visor down, he was spared from hearing whatever curse or insult Victor had for him, for the Almyrans had just crossed the field and were now within optimal range of Byleth's shotgun.

The fight raged on as the eastlanders swarmed the braced formation of Ordelians. Enemy archers loosed several volleys to soften them up, but the spells the mages casted long beforehand caused most of the projectiles to bounce off. Still, there had been casualties among the Ordelians, a few lucky arrows managing to land in between shields and armour to sink into throats and eye sockets.

When the eastlander footmen arrived to take the fight to the defenders, Arthur and Byleth took up positions alongside the Ordelian infantry, using their guns at close range to create gaps in the enemy's formation for their comrades to exploit. Meanwhile, Victor remained beside Lysithea, contributing his rifle to the defence as the noble mage directed her forces.

For several minutes, it seemed as though the Ordelians could stand to last for hours, such was the success of their defence. That was, until the skies darkened, and the air was filled with the resonant baying of wyverns on the hunt.

"By the goddess, it's the winged corps!"

"Hurry! Get those wards back up!"

"It will take us a moment, my lady!"

"We don't have a moment! Seek cover!"

Arthur could only watch and brace himself as hundreds of arrows overwhelmed the mages' defensive spells and shattered their wards. The barrage that came soon after the first absolutely decimated the defenders, causing heavy losses and sowing chaos and panic among their beleaguered ranks.

Arthur and Byleth were among those few who remained mostly unharmed, thanks to their armour. But Victor had no such protection, and Arthur was shocked to see the corporal sent tumbling off his horse, no less than three arrows having had found their marks where his breastplate had not covered his body.

"Goddammit! Sturges!" Arthur rushed over to the fallen soldier as his horse galloped away in panic, several arrows likewise having had embedded themselves in its unprotected flanks. "Talk to me, kid! You alive?"

Unexpectedly, Victor burst into ragged laughter. "Heh, haha! Ah, fuck... should've seen this coming."

Young Lenny Summers' face flashed in Arthur's mind. The boy's eyes were wide open, blood trailing down the side of his mouth as he gasped out his last breaths. It happened so quickly, there was nothing he could do about it then. Perhaps Victor was destined to share the same fate?

"Arthur!"

Only then did he realise that Byleth was standing next to him, her gauntleted hand clamped down on his shoulder. "Our line is breaking! We must return to the battle, or it's over for all of us!"

"Damn it..." Shaking his head, Arthur reached into his bandolier and unpinned the concoction bottle he brought. Pulling out the cork, he then shoved the bottle into Victor's hands. "This ain't the time to die, soldier! Drink this, and it better be empty next time I see you!"

With Byleth by his side and with the bodies of several allied soldiers at his feet, Arthur returned to the battle just as a flock of wyvern riders landed in their midst, intent on using the shock of their sudden appearance to quickly set the Fódlanese to rout. Meanwhile, Almyran heavy cavalry finally reached the battle and began reaping a bloody toll on their foes in earnest, using the wyvern riders and their infantry to hold the battered Ordelians in place before hammering at them from the sides.

Emboldened by the familiar embers of rage beginning to kindle within him, Arthur showed neither fear nor mercy as he waded into the fray. His Litchfield sang in his hands as he unerringly blasted holes in the skulls of those eastlanders unfortunate enough to cross his path. Those who managed to draw too close to shoot down eventually found their end either at the edge of his axe or the tip of his knife, and those who slipped past his guard soon found themselves in a hopeless duel against the Ashen Demon.

Witnessing the carnage the two mercenaries wrought on their comrades, some of the wyvern riders took flight and made a beeline for their target, loosing arrows as they did. Arthur responded by digging in his heels, loading explosive rounds into his rifle, and drawing a bead. Arrows bounced off his armour and threatened to throw off his aim, but at that moment, he could think of nothing but bloody murder as he squeezed off his shots. One by one, he knocked the flying lizards from the air, each in a shower of gore, scales, and sundered armour. Some of the riders were fortunate to have been immediately killed by the hail of shrapnel that dismembered their beasts, but others could be heard screaming as they plummeted to their deaths, limbs flailing uselessly in the air.

Still, even with the amount of death Arthur and Byleth had dealt, more Almyran soldiers arrived to replace their losses. Arthur could tell their prowess and uncanny resilience did much to rattle the foe, but even then, their Ordelian comrades were not as proficient in the ways of battle as he and his ward were, and they could only endure so much before they began to break.

"Stand your ground! Our survival depends on it!" Visibly worn down by endlessly casting spells, Lysithea steadied herself with a hand against her saddle while the other projected rays of baleful magic at distant threats. "Salvation is at hand! We must hold for a while longer!"

Breathing raggedly, Arthur swiped down the gore clogging his visor. He had sent Byleth off to reinforce the Ordelians' flagging left flank, while he remained in the thick of battle, a hot knife buried in the enemy's side.

"Cethleann's mercy! We can't last much longer!"

Turning his head to the voice, Arthur sighted a small formation of eastlanders just ahead, mercilessly trouncing the Ordelians they were engaged in close combat with. With his rifle empty and his reserves running low, he slipped a pair of blades from his brace of knives, wielding one in each hand. In one forceful motion, one of the blades flew from his hand, swift and true, planting itself in the throat of a passing Almyran horseman. An enemy sergeant barely managed to avoid being trampled by the fallen rider's horse, but her survival proved short-lived as Arthur's second thrown knife impaled her through the eye.

"Khalafna!"

The eastlanders noticed the threat in their midst too late as the outlaw came at them from behind, axe and knife in hand. Arthur hoped to use the shock of his flanking assault to buy Lysithea's soldiers enough time to rally and regroup, fully expecting to come out of this engagement either maimed or dead. He certainly did not expect the Almyrans to suddenly give ground, their once-solid line coming undone before him even before he was finished killing the first enemy soldier he came across.

"Praise the goddess — we are saved!"

Just as the Ordelian line began to disintegrate completely, Arthur came to realise why his foes suddenly turned tail just as their victory seemed imminent. In the distance, he could see a massed cavalry charge spearheaded by knights carrying House Edmund banners. At the same time, magic-wielding horsemen from House Gloucester pooled their spells together and turned what once was a formation of Almyran archers into a blackened stretch of glass and ash. And as the Almyran line buckled and attempted to withdraw, those who were too slow to give ground were cut down and trampled to dust by the vengeful soldiers of House Goneril, with support from Count Ordelia's own forces.

"Keep moving, you spineless wretches!" Even in the chaos of battle, Duke Goneril could be easily spotted in the front of his army bestride his warhorse, his unmistakable presence heralded by his booming voice and the elite knights he surrounded himself with. "Kill them! KILL THEM ALL!"

As allied soldiers swarmed into the area and the Almyrans scattered to the wind, Arthur took a moment to breathe. Catching his breath proved more difficult than he realised, however, as he bore witness to the duke's soldiers enthusiastically running down the fleeing Almyrans. As though driven into a state of frenzied bloodthirst, both men-at-arms and knights paid little attention to maintaining their formations as they butchered their way onward.

"Arthur!"

Recognising the voice calling to him, the outlaw turned on his heel to see Captain Jeralt and his retainers riding up to him. "Byleth said you'd be here."

"Why is it every time I see you, you're covered in blood and bone shards, old man?" Shez, in contrast to Arthur, seemed as lively as ever.

"Do you require any healing, Arthur?" Tekla was also riding with the captain, her swaying cloak noticeably singed at the end.

"Jeralt... Shez. No, I'm alright, Tekla." Arthur dipped his head in a weary greeting to them. As he spoke, his hands instinctively reached for his pouches as he began loading fresh munitions into his Litchfield. "You're gonna want to take a look at Victor, though. He's over there," He pointed in the direction of Lysithea's troop. He tried not to think about the fact that the soldier could already be dead by now. "Stubborn fool... if only he listened about wearin' goddamn armour...!"

"I see." Tekla nodded and took her horse by the reins. "Captain, may I?"

Jeralt waved her off. "Make it quick. We can't stay here long."

As the white mage rode away, Arthur held onto his rifle by the receiver and whistled for his own horse. "How're things going on your end, captain?"

"Even worse than I hoped." The captain said, shaking his armoured head. Wordlessly, he gestured for his followers to secure the perimeter, more to ensure there weren't any prying ears rather than errant foes about. "The duke is becoming more unstable the closer we get to the desert, and tempting as it may be to just let the fool get himself killed, I don't think his army will last long without him to drive them forward. And I don't need to tell you what that means for us."

"This whole Goneril business... you can forget about getting paid, we'd be lucky if we get outta this with our goddamn lives." Arthur said. "I hope you got some kinda plan."

"I won't lie, our options are few, and getting fewer as we make it further east. Right now, my biggest concern is keeping the company from—"

Jeralt was interrupted by the sudden arrival of several knights wearing the colours of the Church of Seiros. The captain visibly stiffened upon seeing the Church's banner being hoisted by one of the knights, though he was quick to return to his usual, professional self as their leader attempted to bypass his mercenaries to talk to him.

"Let him come," The captain said. "I'll hear what the man has to say."

"Thank you, Captain Eisner." The leader of the knights saluted the captain as he rode up to him. "We come bearing an urgent request for assistance from Mistress Nevrand."

"Really now?" Jeralt leaned back on his saddle, his tone set in an unenthusiastic drawl. "But why come to me? Catherine should be somewhere around here."

"Lady Catherine and most of our forces are fighting their own battle northeast of here." The knight replied, a sense of pointed urgency in his voice. "Mistress Nevrand believes you would be willing to spare some of your mercenaries to aid us. Specifically, she requested that Commander Morgan and—"

"Hold on there, sir knight, let's not get ahead of ourselves. What manner of crisis is your lady dealing with that she needed one of my commanders to get involved? And one of my more useful ones, no less."

"Mistress Nevrand's domain is intelligence-gathering, and she has reason to believe that a significant force of Almyrans have somehow bypassed the mountains to the southeast and are now making a push for the western end of the pass. We would be cut off from Fódlan's Locket and Leicester if we let them succeed."

As the knight spoke, Jeralt's confrontational attitude began to vanish until he was leaning forward in complete interest. "You're right. This is important. We can't let the bastards plant themselves on our only way back."

Arthur already knew what was coming when Jeralt turned his head to him. "Are you willing to work with the Church again, Arthur?"

"Shamir's alright. Reminds me of someone I used to ride with." The outlaw said, idly wondering if a certain Charles Smith was doing fine back in the old world with his people.

"That's high praise coming from you." Jeralt nodded. "Good enough, then. Take some time to replenish your supplies and gather your troop before heading back west. You're moving away from the frontlines, but I've got this weird feeling it won't get any easier for you over there."

"Sure thing, captain. You and your kid... you two be careful out there, alright?"

"We can take care of ourselves, commander. Don't worry about us."

Arthur took advantage of being near the company's stores to replace the some of the gear he had used up and drop off his depleted and thoroughly-fouled Litchfield. In the place of his rifle, he took up a pair of sawn-off, double-barrelled shotguns, a warbow, and a quiver bulging with broadhead arrows. With his equipment more or less restored and his men waiting for orders nearby, Arthur took his horse by the reins and made to climb up the saddle, only to be accosted by the captain's daughter with a strange look on her face.

"I'm worried," Byleth said, at the questioning look Arthur was giving him. "This... it is... um, not rational in the least, but I feel like I have to come with you, commander. For your safety."

Arthur smiled despite himself. "Not that I don't appreciate the concern, kid, but what brought this on? You know how well I can defend myself better than most folks."

"Yes, but I heard—" She cut herself off with a wince. She spent a moment in silence, as though thinking of the correct words to begin again, "I have had these... feelings, as though harm will come to you soon, unless someone is there to protect you. Someone like me." She looked up to him with big, pleading eyes. "I know how absurd I must sound, but I already told the mercenaries under my command to disband and report to the captain. Please, Arthur, it would mean a lot to me if I may accompany you here."

What the girl was saying made little sense to him, but something about her expression and the sense of grave urgency in her tone kept Arthur from dismissing her concerns. "Well, uh, I guess... you can tag along then, miss. How much ammo you got left?"

"Not much left for the shotgun, but I've plenty for the Lee-Enfield in my pouches. Shall we go?"

"Yeah. You watch my back, I'll watch yours."

With nothing standing in their way aside from Allied soldiers and auxiliaries, the mercenaries' journey west to the Knights of Seiros' position proceeded swiftly and without issue.

Upon making their way to the knights in question, Arthur quickly surveyed the area and saw barriers being erected, bowmen moving into position behind recently-made knee-high barricades, and mages setting up defensive wards on the ground leading to the mountains to the south. Even though the Church's forces numbered few, with how defensible they made their position, they could stand to hold against a foe many times their size.

"Commander Morgan. About damned time." Arthur looked down, his dark mood souring even further at the sight of the pompous Sir Feodor marching up to his troop, his fellow knights close at hand. "While the others here might feel relieved at your presence, you showing up means I owe Nevrand a good deal of coin. For your own sake, I hope you prove to be worth the money."

Arthur gestured for his people to come to a stop. Breathing out through his nose, he raised his visor. "And for your own sake, boy, I hope you didn't come up to me just to yammer on about shit I didn't need to hear about. Where's Shamir?"

"Dare not take that wretched tone with me, peasant." Feodor stared up the outlaw in unmasked disdain. "You speak with the heir of House Venker of Faerghus. I carry the crest of—"

Arthur scoffed, "For chrissakes, I can feel myself getting dumber the more I sit here, listenin' to you talk. Shamir. Now."

The knight's grip on his halberd stiffened, the leather on his gloves audibly creaking. "Down there," He pointed straight ahead. "Ride forth, then head west."

"Always a goddamn pleasure."

"Out of my sight, worm!"

Arthur threw the man a sarcastic bow as he and his group trotted off on their steeds. After putting some distance between them and Feodor's knights, his young companion rode up next to the outlaw.

"You seem to be in the habit of making enemies of nobles as of late, Mr. Morgan. House Venker is a powerful off-shoot of the ruling family in Faerghus, House Blaiddyd." Byleth said to him. "That knight was not pleasant to interact with, I know... but you ought to be more careful, I should think."

"I'll be careful next time." Arthur said, jaw tightening. In truth, he wasn't sure there would be a next time. "C'mon, let's go find our woman."

Some time later, the woman in question was found standing in the midst of a line of kneeling Almyrans, their arms bound in ropes and in varying states of dishevelment and injury. Nearby, a small group of lightly-armoured knights wielding bows and spears stood behind the cover of their makeshift barricades as they watched over the mountain pass to the south.

"Arthur." When she saw him coming, Shamir was quick to greet the outlaw with an upward nod. "Almost thought you wouldn't come." She then swivelled her head towards Byleth riding alongside the man, a look of idle curiosity on her face. "Never one without the other, huh."

"Wasn't my first choice, but the girl insisted she come with." Arthur dismounted and hitched his horse on one of the barricades before moving to help Byleth off hers. "Hope you don't mind."

"Why would I? It's always good to have the Demon on our side." The ranger said, her warm words slightly undermined by her usual cold tone. "And from what these sorry eastlanders have been telling me, we might just well need every able body we can get."

As soon as her boots touched the ground, Byleth shouldered her rifle and took her shotgun from her saddle holster, holding the double-barrelled weapon in her gloved hands. "How dire is the situation?"

"I've had my people tracking the movements of certain Almyran armies for some time, and from what they've gathered, I'm certain that these warriors," She offhandedly gestured aside, to the Almyrans on their knees. "Are from the forward elements of Prince Khalid's personal army."

Arthur perked up at the mention of the wyvern-riding eastlander princeling. "Think the boy's making a move?"

"You can count on it." Shamir said, nodding. "I have plenty of reasons to believe that Khalid has taken personal command of his forces and intends to cross the mountains to attack the Alliance from the south. We missed the opportunity to put him down during the siege... I'll have to make the best of this second chance we've been given."

"You weak-minded fool!" One of the captive Almyrans suddenly pushed himself up to stand, only to be quickly pushed back on his knees by the knight behind him. "The prince's warriors are many. More than you pitiful westlanders can stand! Soon, we will make slaves of you all!"

Shamir barely paid the man a glance before turning her sights to her followers. "I got everything I needed to hear from them. You know what to do."

The highest-ranking of the knights gave a simple nod. "Yes, mistress."

Arthur grimaced as the knights drew daggers and proceeded to slit the throats of the kneeling Almyrans in a disturbingly synchronised fashion. From the shocked look on the dying faces of some of the captives, they weren't expecting to leave their ordeal in such an abrupt, anti-climactic manner. "Goddammit, woman, did you need to do that?"

"Their comrades approach from the south in overwhelming numbers. Should we let these soldiers live, we risk them turning on us at the worst possible time." Came Shamir's swift response. "Our task leaves no room for error, Arthur. The smallest mistake could spell the end for all of us. I'm sure you didn't need me to tell you that."

Arthur felt like arguing with her, but even he couldn't deny that the ranger was right. "No. No, you don't. At least... hm, 'least it was quick."

"You mustn't pay the eastlanders any more mind, Mr. Morgan. They will not spare us the same courtesy of a quick death, were our roles reversed." Byleth said. "The foe will pass through here soon. We should prepare ourselves to welcome them."

After the mercenaries were told where the knights in which direction did the knights expect the Almyrans to pass by, Arthur had his followers positioned along a rocky, naturally elevated area overlooking the perimeter, where they could easily harry any approaching landbound foe and see wyverns coming sooner than the others. As the knights and the mercenaries sat and waited for any sign of their quarry, in order to pass the time and to keep his mind occupied, Arthur took leave of his companions for a moment to sit next to where Shamir had taken as her spot. At the woman's wordless, inquiring look, he proceeded to question her about her plan of defence.

"First and foremost, our goal here is to see Prince Khalid slain." The ranger told him, in a voice that left no room for argument. "As soon as we spring our ambush, you and your mercs alongside my knights will attempt to fend off the bulk of the Almyrans as I take a small group behind the Almyran positions to search for the prince's whereabouts."

"Good start. And then what?"

"After we deal with him, we will work our way down, killing Almyran officers and sergeants and sowing as much chaos in the enemy ranks as we can. With their leaders out of the equation and no one to give them orders, the eastlander rank and file should be easier to rout when General Fischer's army arrives."

"Hm. And here I was, thinkin' we was on our own out here."

"You weren't the only one I asked for help. Duke Goneril, General Holst, and most of the other nobles seem to be in no position to spare their aid, but the lady castellan sent word that her junior officers are rallying soldiers from the Locket's garrison for a counter-assault on Prince Khalid's northbound push. Once we accomplish our goal, we need only defend this position until the Alliance can take over from us."

Arthur slumped against their piece of cover, resting his head with an audible clatter of steel against wood. "Dunno about you, Ms. Nevrand, but I'm gettin' real tired of hearing them words, "defend this position"."

His weary admission earned him a grudging smirk from the ranger. "Just think of the money you'll be getting after this. From what I've heard, the rank and file mercs stand to gain enough gold to leave the mercenary life altogether, provided they've been saving up for that sort of thing."

"Good for them. Settlin' down ain't for me, though." He said. "I'm thinkin' of spending the gold on better gear, and maybe another horse."

She looked at him like she couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. "That's... pretty modest, for the amount of gold you're bound to receive from House Goneril's coffers, commander."

"Maybe I'll spend the rest looking for a fool much smarter than I am, who knows his way around weapons and such." The outlaw paused to poke his head out of cover and check their surroundings. All clear for now. "Honestly, I'd pay a whole lot for someone to figure out how to make more bullets. Between the usual mercenary work and this war, it's only a matter of time before we run out for good."

Shamir spent a brief moment in thought. "Have you heard of the Abyss?"

"Can't say I have, no."

"Well, it's something of a secret refuge for vagabonds, outcasts, hermits and the like. Every so often, talented people with a lot of time in their hands end up there to ply their services. There are also rumours that merchants who deal in special, esoteric items not found elsewhere in Fódlan could be consulted with in the Abyss. If I were you, I'd start my search there."

Arthur slowly nodded. "The Abyss, huh. Don't suppose you can tell me where this place was?"

"Bring it up to me again after this." The ranger said. She seemed to think on something before quickly adding, "Though if you find yourself in Garreg Mach, I suppose I can take you there myself."

"Kind of you to offer, miss, but you don't need to do that. Just point me in the right direction and I can make it there myself."

"Trust me — it's easier if I just showed you the way." She must've noticed the skeptical look on his face, because she then continued, "I make trips there to stock up on certain goods at least once a moon, so it's no big deal, really."

From the look on her face and the tone of her voice, Arthur could tell Shamir was giving him no room to argue. Either he let her take him to the Abyss, or he's on his own. Sighing, he nodded again. "Alright then, I'll take it. Thank you, Ms. Nevrand."

She shrugged. "Don't thank me just yet. We still have a battle to survive."

After taking his leave of Shamir and returning to his own troop, Arthur didn't have to wait long before one of the mercenaries he assigned on sentry duty spotted dark outlines in the distant skies.

"Winged corps," The sentry uttered, unmasked disdain in his muffled tone. "Likely two... no, three dozen of them, commander. What do we do?"

Licking his lips, Arthur continued to stare ahead as he started planting arrows in the sand next to his feet. "Get down and let the knights know, then haul ass back up here."

The sentry nodded and hurried off. "Here they come, ladies and gents!" He called out as he passed by his fellow mercenaries, jolting them into full alertness. "Let's try and make our guests feel welcome, shall we?"

As a round of subdued laughter came from his subordinates, Arthur saw Byleth striding past them as she made her way over to him. "Is it time, Arthur?"

"Reckon it is." He nodded as she stood by his side, watching the distant shapes in the sky grow closer by the moment. "You ready for this, kid?"

"As I'll ever be." She said. Turning to the side, she huffed, "This battle has been... humbling. I must train harder."

The outlaw looked to the girl, "Something eatin' at you, Ms. Eisner?"

"It's nothing you should concern yourself with, especially now."

"If it's got you concerned, then it becomes my concern. Now, what's this about?"

Byleth sighed, taking her Lee-Enfield by the strap and holding it by the receiver. "This weapon will see much better use in your hands, Mr. Morgan. It appears I am not as proficient in its use as I believed."

Arthur stared at her, bewildered. "Goddammit, kid, didn't I tell you not to let this shit get to you?" Shaking his head, he reached into one of his pouches and fished out a handful of rifle cartridges. "If this means so much to you, then I guess I just have to take your training up a notch. Here, take these."

Despite the look of uncertainty on her face, Byleth obediently took the cartridges and pocketed them. "This... ehem, may not be the best time for rifle practice."

"Don't worry, you got this." He got down on his haunches and gestured for her to take a knee. "You was payin' attention to me those times we was out getting our shots in, were you?"

"Of course. I am always paying attention." She was quick to say as she lowered herself down and rested her rifle against their barricade.

Moments later, they also began to spot the first signs of Almyran infantry marching northbound, past their position through the woods just ahead, their presence betrayed by their colourful liveries and the sun gleaming against their armour. Signalling for his mercenaries to get ready for a fight, Arthur watched as Byleth assumed her shooting stance.

"What'll it be today — those fellers on the ground, or..." He indicated at the sky, towards the distant shapes that made up the Almyran winged corps. "...those flyers up there."

Byleth took only a moment to answer, "Though they make for more difficult targets, my bullets would see better use against the wyvern riders."

Arthur nodded approvingly at her choice. "You sure?"

"Positive." She insisted. "Although... it would be nice to hear your voice, Arthur."

"My voice?"

"Ah, what I meant to say is... could talk me through it? To aid in my concentration, I mean."

"Heh. O-kay, then." The outlaw shuffled close to his student, crouching just behind her shoulder. "Remember what I taught you. Calm and steady... don't snatch at the trigger. Breathe slow... and be firm."

"Yes..." The mere sound of his voice seemed to have a soothing effect on the girl, with the way the tension appeared to bleed off of her as she raised the Lee-Enfield, pointing it in the wyvern riders' direction. "I appreciate the reminder."

Arthur then pointed skyward, indicating at the wyvern rider at the fore of their formation. From the monster's opulent markings and the distinctive, elegant make of the burnished metal it had for barding, Arthur could tell this one belonged to what the other riders had for a leader. Even if Byleth could only manage to hit one of them, it was best if she hit this particular eastlander.

"Shoot that one... when you're ready."

That was all Byleth needed to hear as she swivelled her gun to Arthur's target, aimed down the mounted scope, and pulled the trigger.

"Well, then." She missed, as Arthur expected, but to her credit, the girl cycled her bolt and wasted no time putting herself down as she was wont to do. "Watch the recoil. You got this, kid?"

"Yes." She didn't even look at him. She fired again, missing once more. "...adjusting aim."

As Arthur watched the wyvern riders begin to break off and circle around in response to coming under fire, he looked aside to Byleth, finding nothing but an expression of cold-blooded focus on her face. "You sure? I can take this shot, if you want."

"I will not miss this one, Mr. Morgan." From the way she spoke to him, it was as though Byleth had reverted back to her old self — the unfeeling young woman Arthur once knew, devoid of any emotion and self-assured to a unnerving degree.

"Like I said, breathe slowly. Watch the wind, have a feel for how fast it moves." He continued, his gaze returning to the foe above. "When you have the shot, remember to pull the trigger..."

"...on empty lungs." She finished for him, exhaling as she did.

What he bore witness to next, Arthur couldn't help but be astonished. When Byleth fired her third shot, he knew she would finally hit her mark. He hadn't expected her target, however, to suddenly come apart in a small explosion of fire and gore, as though Byleth had used one of his explosive rounds.

But such a thing was impossible. His rifle munitions, both the mundane and non-standard ones, cannot be fired from Victor's British-made rifles. "What in the goddamn..."

As the wyvern Byleth shot plunged from the sky in many smouldering pieces, Arthur spotted three others swooping down after their fallen comrade. He then looked to Byleth, finding her in the same stunned state as he had been, clearly not expecting her shot to have such a spectacular effect. "That... that was a good shot, kid. Maybe too good. What the hell was in that bullet you just shot?"

"...your guess is as good as mine." She said, numbly cycling her rifle's bolt.

Neither of them had time to ponder the unexpected turn of events. At the distinctive, brassy sound of the Knights of Seiros' warhorn, Arthur and Byleth set their sights back towards the ground as the encroaching Almyran infantry walked right into their ambush, too late to realise the danger in their midst. Those unfortunate enough to be marching closest to where the Fódlanese had concealed themselves were riddled with arrows coming from several directions. The sergeants and officers embedded within the chaff fared just as worse, the elaborately-decorated suits of armour they took to battle turned towards their ruin as the knights and their mercenary comrades picked them out from the crowd and focused their volleys in their direction.

"Byleth, listen," Arthur caught his companion's attention with a hand to her shoulder. "I need you to stay here and take charge. Keep that rifle close and look out for those wyverns!" As the Almyrans crossed the distance to their foes and began swarming into their entrenched position, the outlaw put away his bow and took out his axes, wielding them in each gauntleted hand.

"Wait, what are you—"

"Mr. Braun, Mr. Schau, Lord Sydow, I need you and your folks to fall in on me!" Arthur called out to some of his officers. "As for the rest of you, you'll take your orders from Commander Eisner till we get back."

As half of the mercenaries left their posts and began to form ranks before Arthur, Byleth lowered her rifle to watch them leave. "...be careful out there, Mr. Morgan."

"You too, kid."

Making their way down from their position to where the fighting was the heaviest was a relatively simple matter. Once there, Arthur knew he made the right choice to split his troop when he found Shamir and her knights barely holding their ground from the sheer amount of foes coming at them. Forced to once again split his forces in half, the outlaw ordered the most senior mercenary he had to assume command of one half and reinforce the knights directly, while he ventured out further south with the other half to flank the Almyrans and cause as much chaos as they could.

"Stay low, stay low, goddammit!" Arrows flew over, past, and all around Arthur and his men as they recklessly waded forth, through where the fighting was the heaviest. Small groups of infantry and cavalry peeled off from the main body of eastlanders to engage them, perhaps hoping to dissuade the relatively small force of mercenaries from whatever they had planned. Arthur showed no fear as he charged right into them, his axes making short work of the infantry before drawing his short-barrelled shotguns to deal with the mounted foes before they could get too close.

"I can't believe we made it this far!" One of the mercenaries exclaimed.

"Shut up and keep running!" Another said. "You slow down, you die! Move it!"

Arthur paid them little mind, focused as he was on carving a path to their objective. They had to fight off more than a few eastlander patrols on the way, but soon enough, they managed to reach a forward position with which they could launch a flanking assault on the main body of Almyrans from concealment.

Knowing that they hadn't the luxury of time, the outlaw only paused to deal with the rest of the Almyrans attempting to intercept them and get his formation back in order before once again rallying his comrades for an assault.

"It's us or them!" He shouted, raising an axe to the foe. "Slit their throats! Break their backs! MAKE! IT! THEM!"

Focused as they were on overcoming the Knights of Seiros, most of the Almyrans never thought to mind their surroundings as the mercenaries charged at them from the side. Using the chaotic nature of the battlefield to their advantage, the outlaw and his comrades swiftly closed into the unprepared ranks of the eastlanders and indiscriminately slaughtered their way through, causing a wave of fear and confusion in their bloody wake. Soon enough, such was the carnage they wrought, that the enemy infantry commander himself was forced to deal with the mercenaries in person, bringing with him a retinue of heavily-armoured infantry.

"You pay for this, kafir!" The Almyran commander screamed as he came at Arthur with a warhammer, forcing him to dodge. "Ahmaq! Die! Die now!"

"Hrg, you first, partner!" Teeth grit, Arthur parried aside the next blow his opponent threw his way and raised the axe in his free hand to attack, only to once again be forced to back off when the commander smashed the rim of his buckler against his breastplate. "You bastard!"

"Die, foreign pig!" Fuelled by either fury or desperation, the Almyran pressed his attack, raining an alternating series of thrusts and swings on his opponent. "Sawf taerif al'almu!"

Feeling his own temper getting the best of him with every second he spent either dodging or blocking the flurry of attacks from his foe, Arthur soon decided to throw all caution to the wind as he advanced, letting the Almyran's blows strike him as they came. His body reinforced by plates and given strength by his own mounting anger, Arthur simply let the Almyran commander's incoming attacks bounce off of him, giving no reaction except for a guttural scream of pain-fuelled rage as he rapidly closed the distance between him and his adversary.

Eyes rounding visibly from under his armoured turban, the eastlander attempted to give ground, but Arthur moved too quickly for him as his assailant brought down an axe, sinking it deep into the wooden surface of his buckler. With a twist of his arm, it was a simple matter for the outlaw to tear it off his opponent's grasp. Cursing, the Almyran commander then lashed out with his hammer in a quick upward motion, but at such close-quarters, Arthur proved even quicker as he snapped the other man's weapon in two with a single strike, before immediately doing the same to the other man's arm. Such was the force behind Arthur's follow-up strike, that his axe's edge cleaved through the chainmail and carved into the tender flesh beneath, almost lopping the limb right off.

Crying out, the Almyran commander staggered backwards, his useless weapon sliding out from his sundered grasp. Arthur left nothing to chance as he reared back his axes and brought them down simultaneously, sinking them deep into his victim's shoulders and using them to force the man down on his knees. Knowing that his demise was imminent, the eastlander could only crane his neck upwards and stare at his vanquisher, right before Arthur separated his head from the rest of his body.

Having had surrendered to his bloodlust, Arthur barely registered his own triumph over the enemy commander. With nary a glance at the dead man's corpse, he then proceeded to throw himself at the vanquished eastlander's retainers, who were kept busy by his own mercenaries.

"Allied reinforcements!" Someone from the back of the knights' formation could be heard shouting. "Spotted from the north! Keep at it, comrades, salvation is at hand!"

By the time Arthur pried his weapons loose from his last victim's thoroughly mangled body, he had been slathered in enough blood and grime to cover him from his helmet to his boots.

"Commander Morgan!" Another voice, this time from one of his mercenaries, shook Arthur out from his frenzied trance. "The eastlanders are giving ground! Should we run them down?"

Breathing hard, he tried not to think about how much of a mess he had become as the outlaw recollected his wits and resumed his role as someone others expect orders from. With so few of the Almyrans in fighting shape still around, such a task was not as hard as Arthur thought it would be.

"Stay here!" He called out as he observed the banners of House Goneril from the north draw nearer by the moment. "Mr. Schau, take charge and help the knights mop up the rest of these fools too stupid to run. Lord Sydow take some of the boys and come with me — I reckon we should check on Ms. Nevrand."

As the Almyrans began to abandon their assault in the face of such stiff Fódlanese resistance, Arthur spent some time getting directions from some of the more senior knights before he led his small group of mercenaries to venture ahead, into the areas the Almyrans had started to abandon in their retreat.

Tracking down someone like Shamir in the middle of a still-active battlefield proved expectedly difficult, and there were times when the mercenaries had to push through small pockets of Almyran stragglers, but the ranger left enough clues for Arthur to figure out which direction she took in her pursuit of her target. In the end, he found her in the

"No longer relevant." The lieutenant cut her off, a tired, defeated sigh at the end of his words. "I... hate to be the one to tell you this, my lady, but General Fischer was at the head of an army last spotted attempting to cover Duke Goneril's forces to the southeast... before several eastlander armies outflanked, encircled, and overwhelmed them. Survivor accounts tell of how the general and her retinue stood their ground and... and fought to the last."

Arthur lowered his eyes. "Goddammit..."

Shamir's expression mirrored Arthur's but only briefly. "That doesn't tell me how our position here is no longer relevant. If we abandon this sector, the Almyrans could use it to march north unimpeded and position themselves on the only route leading back to Leicester."

"Then you'd be wise to let me finish," The lieutenant snapped, his composure weakening by the moment. "While General Fischer's army was being slaughtered, Duke Goneril continued to press eastward, heedless of how far he had marched his soldiers away from the reach of his allies. Anyone in the right mind would have realised he was being lured into overextending himself, but the duke continued to advance, straight into another ambush by another Almyran army... reported to be led by none other than Emir Haashid."

A stunned silence fell over the gathered listeners as the lieutenant delivered the dreadful news. Only Shamir looked as stoic as ever, looking as though she was already attempting to formulate a plan in her thoughts.

"As I speak, Margrave Edmund and most of the other nobles are attempting to fight their way back west after failing to break the Almyran lines through to Duke Goneril." Vallen intoned, grimacing. "General Holst himself has sustained injuries and lost much of his soldiers in the failed counteroffensive. He intends to rally his forces and attempt another eastward push, but only to draw the Almyrans away from the retreating nobles."

The lieutenant pried off his dented helmet and tossed it to the ground. "I was there. My soldiers... friends I knew since childhood... goddess take my eyes, they died trying to protect me. I watched them die screaming, and here I stand, letting their sacrifice remain unavenged..." The corner of his lip quivered, showing how close he was to breaking. "We never should have come here, Mistress Nevrand. May the Alliance remember this day as Duke Tancred Goneril's greatest folly."

The outlaw couldn't care less about Duke Goneril, and indeed, he took comfort in the fact that the Almyrans were likely to be tearing the old fool apart, if they hadn't done so already. But at that moment, knowing that Jeralt and the rest of his company counted among Duke Goneril's forces, Arthur felt nothing but a gnawing sense of dread that only deepened as the moments passed by him.

Jesus, he thought. What the hell am I supposed to tell the kid? For chrissakes, you better be ain't dead, Mr. Eisner.

"Arthur," To the outlaw's quiet dismay, it was then that Byleth returned from her task, trailed behind by the other mercenaries. "Our casualties have been addressed, equipment replenished, and the horses are prepared to take to the field again. What are..." It was then that she noticed the grim atmosphere hanging above those gathered. "...what did we miss?"

Craning his head, Arthur looked to Shamir, who nodded.

"I'll leave this to you," The ranger said. Although it seemed to take a conscious effort from the woman, she put up an encouraging smile. "Thanks for the assist, commander. I had my doubts... but Catherine did you justice in her reports."

He chuckled awkwardly, trying to mask the worry in his tone. "You're welcome, though I'd hold on to those doubts if I was you, miss. There's still a whole lot Catherine don't know 'bout me."

After spending some time getting his things in order, Arthur took his mercenaries a fair distance away from the others before telling them to stay put and pulling Byleth aside.

"Listen here, kid," Arthur began, his mind struggling to come up with the right words for his mouth to say even as he spoke. "General Holst... he's, uh, gearin' up for a big push further east, and I need you to do something for me."

"You didn't need to ask," She shook her head, looking determined and utterly trusting. It sickened Arthur to see her look at him in this way. "I am with you all the way, Mr. Morgan."

"And I appreciate it, kid. More than you know," He pressed on, tamping down the burning sensation in his gut. "But that ain't what I wanted you to help me with. Y'see, uhm, how much ammo you got left?"

She blinked, "My rifle? Eleven bullets. The shotgun... I've run out."

"I'm empty, too." The lie didn't come easily to him. In truth, his reserves were indeed low, but he hadn't lived as long as he had as a wanted man without being resourceful with his munitions. "Here's the thing — I'll take as many volunteers willing to head east to wherever Holst's holed up, but I'm gonna need you to head back west with the wounded and grab as much ammo you can carry from my stash. You get me?"

Byleth stared blankly at Arthur as he handed her the keys to his trunk back in the Locket. "Yes, but..."

"We need this, Byleth." He continued with his fool's errand. "This thing with Holst... I reckon this is it. If I ain't wrong, then we're gonna need everything we have if we plan on makin' it out of this alive."

"Arthur..."

"You're the only one in this company of fools I trust not to rob me blind. It'll mean a lot to me if you could do me this one favour, kid..."

Arthur was well aware of how unconvincing he sounded, and yet, he hoped against all hope that the girl wouldn't see through his strangled attempt at deceiving her. He had something incredibly foolish and exceedingly dangerous in mind, and the last thing he wanted was for Byleth to follow him into an early grave.

"Just... promise me that you'll take care, mister." Was what she said to him, after some time.

It was as though a weight was lifted from his shoulders, but still, Arthur couldn't look Byleth in the eye as he nodded with no small amount of guilt and uncertainty. "I'll be careful. I... just gotta say somethin' to the others real quick. Sort out those comin' with me and those stayin' with you."

"Okay."

"Thanks, kid. You, uh, stay put for now, alright? I'll send some folks over to you in a minute."

Arthur could feel her eyes on his back as he turned and strode over to his followers, who were in a much gloomier mood now that enough time had passed for word to go around. Unlike before, there were no smiling faces, nor were there any bantering. The high of victory from a battle won cast aside in light of the new developments.

"Folks..." As faces turned to look his way on his approach, Arthur hoped his own inner turmoils did not appear too obvious. "...by now, I'm sure you've been told what's happened out there, while we was out chasin' a prince."

"We should have been there!" Emeril Schau growled out, stamping the bottom end of her pavise into the gravel. The former shoemaker had always been the headstrong sort. "Half of my friends were in Captain Eisner's detail the last time I saw 'em! We need to get back out there and bail the company out!"

"Are you kidding? If the commander hadn't pulled us here, we'd either be dead or stuck in the shit like the rest of the company." Henrik Braun said as he tossed away a broken arrow from his quiver. "The duke got himself killed. Our pay dies with him unless we can chase up Holst and tell him to cough it out. We can't do that if we let the Almyrans kill us all."

"A lifelong mercenary to the end, eh?" Lord Arno von Sydow folded his arms, shaking his head disapprovingly at his fellow mercenary. Rolling his eyes at the rude gesture Braun threw his way, the wayward noble from Galatea looked to Arthur. "I assume you have something planned out, Commander Morgan."

Arthur nodded solemnly. Walking over to better address the whole of his troop, the outlaw raised his voice as he spoke, "What I'm about to do next, I ain't gonna tell any of you to follow me. Matter of fact, y'all could take the horses and ride on back to the fortress. Go right ahead, I won't stop you... but I ain't comin' with you."

Dead silence. Steeling himself, Arthur pressed on, "Duke Goneril... the old bastard can go to hell. But Captain Eisner... I owe him my life. I owe this company my life, and I ain't just gonna stand by and let the eastlanders tear it down."

Braun looked on at the outlaw in obvious dismay. "Out of all the people in the company... you're the last man I thought I'd hear say that, Morgan."

"There's a lot you don't know 'bout me, Mr. Braun."

"Look, I can understand going the extra step for the pay, but this is ridiculous."

"Do I make it seem like I'm still doing this for the pay?"

"What else would it be? 'Cause otherwise, looks to me like you're just trying to get yourself killed."

Arthur smiled grimly. "Shit, maybe I am. You keep believing what you want, mister."

"Just when I was starting to get comfortable," Braun sighed harshly. "I ain't doing this, Morgan. You can't force me."

"Damned coward." Schau spat to the ground, raising her shield.

"You have no honour, sir." Lord Sydow intoned, lowering his visor.

"Say what you want. You'll all be dead by the end of the day." Braun said, as the other mercenaries began to split into two groups.

Arthur checked his watch and scowled. "We've wasted enough time. Who's riding with me?"

"You can count on me and my boys, commander." There was no hesitation in Schau's response. "We ain't cowards, unlike Braun's lot."

"You would have made for a fine knight, Arthur Morgan." Lord Sydow said, as his retainers formed up behind him. "In another time, perhaps. Another life."

Braun could only stare at Arthur, saying nothing, and yet, saying enough with just his cold, defiant stare.

"I meant what I said, Mr. Braun. I ain't about to order you to come with me." Arthur said to the man. "But there's one thing I need you to do, one last time."

Braun scoffed. "Yeah, right. Why should I take any more orders from a walking corpse?"

"We're all walking corpses, Mr. Braun. And besides, you owe this corpse a favour. Remember that job in Gautier? The one you cocked up and needed me to bail you out of?"

The mercenary stiffened, looking ashamed for once. "Yeah. Yeah, I remember, no need to keep mentioning it. Saints... go on then, make it quick."

Arthur turned aside, looking towards those mercenaries too injured to fight again. "We have wounded — help 'em get back to safety. You and your folks is headed back west, it's the least y'all can do."

"Consider it done. Is that all?"

"And one other thing. Byleth... I'll need you to take her with you. She'll come along, but no matter what she says, or tries to get you to do, do not let her run back here. This whole valley's gonna be crawlin' with Haashid's gang soon enough... don't let them take her too."

Looks of surprise all around. It seemed as though the mercenaries expected the girl to be coming along on the rescue attempt.

Braun sighed again. "As if any of us could stop the Demon if she tries to leave... but fine. I owe you, and I haven't made it this long in the mercenary life without learning to always repay my debts."

Not a moment too soon, Arthur and just over half of his troop were back on the road, steadily putting some distance between themselves and their former comrades. On the way, even as he directed his remaining mercenaries, his thoughts often veered to Jeralt. Is the man even still alive? Was he leading his warriors into a painful death, pointlessly and far from home?

Was he even worth the effort? Arthur himself knew the captain long enough to realise he valued pragmatism most days, especially when he was sober. Were their roles reversed, Jeralt was likely to leave him behind, and rightly so. Indeed, if he had the means to talk to the captain, Arthur half expected him to order him to drop what he had planned and run west before it's too late for him as well.

Deciding that it was too late to make decisions, Arthur then let his thoughts drift to the younger Eisner. Byleth had always been a sharp girl, and it wouldn't be long at all before she figured out his true intentions for her. Knowing just how formidable she was in the pursuit of her goals, Arthur also knew Braun and the other mercenaries could never hold her back as soon as she realised she had been sent on a fool's errand.

Cracking at his reins and ordering his people to pick up the pace, Arthur hoped to be already returning west with Jeralt and what remained of the company by that time. With luck, the captain could save Arthur from the worst of Byleth's wrath... if he could still be saved.

"Eastlanders on the horizon!" One of Schau's lookouts at the front of their formation called out. "If they hadn't seen us coming, they will soon!"

Schau herself matched Arthur's stride, shield in one hand, spear in the other. "You heard 'im. Should I take my people and scout ahead?"

Arthur shook his head. "Not this time. Time ain't on our side here." With a tired sigh, he slung out his bow and gestured for the others to close ranks. "Get ready, folks, we're going in! We'll be doing this hard and fast — follow my lead and keep your damned eyes open!"

"This is it, commander!" Lord Sydow's muffled voice sounded out from behind. "Once we make our approach, we are committed until the day finds us either victorious or dead to the last... are you prepared to make this call?"

Arthur had been ready for a long time. "I ain't leavin' this sand-ridden shithole till we get the rest of the company out, too! Now form up, all of you! We're goin' in..."

As the mercenaries steadily closed in, the Almyrans were strangely slow to notice their presence in the horizon, as though preoccupied by some other task. The nature of this task soon became clear to Arthur as he and his people advanced, as he spotted many armoured figures wearing the colours and symbols of the Church of Seiros deep in the chaos of battle, each one engaged in a last stand with an overwhelming number of enemy soldiers.

"These are Lady Catherine's knights, commander!" One of Arthur's mercenaries called to him. "Orders?"

Arthur wasted no time. "Get in there, you bastards! Kill these goddamn eastlanders!"

By the time the mercenaries arrived to support the Church, most of the knights had already fallen, with only a few handfuls here and there left still in fighting shape. As they made their approach, Arthur and his mounted skirmishers raked through the enemy ranks with several volleys of arrows where the concentration of foes was at its thickest. Having had declared their presence at last, following Arthur's instruction, the mercenaries then proceeded to form into a wedge before charging in, angling their attack to strike at the biggest gap they made in the eastlanders' ranks.

As his followers thinned out their opponents, Arthur's hands were a blur as he nocked arrows, took aim and loosed, over and over. Suddenly, the enemy rank-and-file began to trip over themselves as they found their sergeants dead, each with a single arrow through the throat or one of their eyes.

"The tide is turning!" Lord Sydow swept a hapless foe off his feet with a swing of his hammer down the side of his steed. "As one, comrades! Cast these foreign dogs to hell!"

Realising that their survival was no longer an unlikely prospect, the Knights of Seiros fought with renewed strength. With the support of Arthur and his mercenaries, they gradually but surely overpowered their leaderless and demoralised opponents.

At the first sign of the eastlanders' attempt to withdraw from the area, Arthur delegated command to Lord Sydow as he rode towards the remaining knights, who were in the process of regrouping and seeing to their wounded.

"Whoa, boy." Arthur tugged at his reins, bidding his mount to a halt just before the knights. "You fellers doin' alright?"

"Hail, Commander Morgan..." Clearly the one in charge of this lot, a knight stepped forward, greeting the outlaw with a wave of her armoured hand. "You have our thanks. We would have sustained more losses if not for you."

"Don't mention it. Seriously." Arthur examined the group, frowning when he couldn't find who he wanted to see. "Where's Catherine?"

"The lady knight took half of her forces and advanced further ahead." The woman said, indicating eastward. "She means to engage the Almyrans to break the encirclement around Duke Goneril's army."

"Figures..." Arthur sighed. "Guess that means she told you to sit out here and hold this spot till she comes back, huh?"

"To a point. Our orders are to keep this area clear of eastlanders, to ensure that no flanking elements from the enemy could attack our allies to the east."

"Well, you did your job. But now's the time to call it quits and head back west before more of the bastards turn up."

"Our duty is undone, commander. We will remain here and continue to engage the Almyrans as they arrive."

"Don't take this the wrong way, milady, but you folks ain't in any shape to keep fighting. From the state of things, this fight's turned sideways, and there's no way of fixin' it."

The knight turned towards her fellows, taking in their bloodied, battle-worn appearances. When she faced Arthur again, she let her weariness show from the way her shoulders sagged, and the slow nod of her helmeted head. "I know. But we cannot... our orders are, um... even so..."

Thinking he had wasted wasted enough time already, Arthur left the knight to think on his words as he reunited with his followers. While he was away, Lord Sydow had taken the company further eastward. Intending to run down the Almyrans fleeing from the previous battle, by the time Arthur caught up to them, the mercenaries had come into contact with a much larger contingent of eastlanders, who appeared to be in the process of finishing pockets of House Goneril stragglers.

"Look! Those are the duke's men!" Arthur heard Schau cry out as he retook the reins of command from his subordinate. "Get in there and flank those brown-skins!"

"Ya need to focus, Schau!" Even as he barked away at his followers, Arthur kept loosing arrows into the Almyran ranks. "We wasted enough time back there with the goddamn knights! We oughtta keep moving, or we're losing the company for good!"

"What?" Schau exclaimed, in utter disbelief. "We're just gonna let these people die?"

Arthur swallowed. "Shut up and keep moving!"

Lord Sydow raised his buckler just in time to block a thrown spear. "Agreed! Were we only so fortunate as these men, to be given the chance to earn a righteous death in battle!"

As the mercenaries rode onward, the chaotic nature of the battlefield only intensified. As they ventured deeper into the enemy lines, they encountered more and more signs of battle, with discarded arms, abandoned banners, dismembered limbs and the sundered bodies of dead soldiers and beasts alike littering nearly every corner of the sand-strewn valley. Sightings of surviving House Goneril soldiers became less and less frequent, and roving formations of battle-worn eastlanders started pursuing Arthur and his troop, forcing them to slow down their advance to thin out the ranks of the foe, so as to keep themselves from being cut off, surrounded, and overwhelmed.

"Beware! The barbarians come from the south!"

Arthur looked to where Lord Sydow was pointing at, grimacing as he spotted another wave of Almyran soldiers attempting to cut them off. Reaching for his quiver, he cursed as his gauntleted hand clutched at nothing but air.

"Goddammit..." Realising that they had no choice but to fight their way through, Arthur took up a pair of sawn-off shotguns in each hand and promptly blasted apart the closest cluster of eastlanders in his path. "Go, go, keep moving! We can't stay here!"

Arthur's use of his firearms cleared the way in short order, but for each soldier he blew down, more arrived to stand in their place, as though drawn by the thundering of his shotguns. Before long, he also ran out of buckshot to shoot with, and he was forced to use his axe to deflect and swing aside the spears from the enemy soldiers attempting to drag him down the saddle.

"Have to keep moving!" Arthur shouted, teeth grit and breathing heavily as he beheaded a pike one of the eastlanders thrust his way. He then blew apart the skull of the offending soldier with the revolver in his other hand. "Need to!"

"Commander!" He heard Lord Sydow shout from somewhere behind him. "They surround us from all sides! We have been outmanoeuvred... this is where we make our stand!"

Not now. Not yet. "For God's sake, keep fighting! Where the hell is Schau!"

"Ms. Schau is no longer with us, commander!" Arthur's grip on his weapons tightened as he heard his subordinate call out. "We have lost sight of her — we must assume the worst!"

Arthur grunted in surprise as an arrow unexpectedly struck him by the hand, knocking his Webley from out of his grasp. Before he could reorient himself, he was forced to hold tightly onto his reins as he found himself nearly bucked off the saddle when his steed suddenly reared up — a bloodcurdling whinny escaping from its muzzle.

"Jesu—!" Realising too late that the eastlanders had singled him out for death, Arthur could only brace himself and watch as a number of enemy pikemen broke formation and surrounded him, their weapons finding purchase where his steed's barding could not adequately protect it. "No, no, no! SHIT!"

The next thing he knew, Arthur had his back to the ground, the wind knocked out of him after getting tossed off his saddle. He tried to right himself, catching glimpses of his mortally-wounded horse writhing on the ground next to him. When he grabbed hold of his saddle in an attempt to climb up to his feet, the outlaw felt a lance of pain explode from his side as an Almyran pike bypassed his plates and punched through the chainmail below.

Letting out a string of foreign curses, the eastlander retracted his weapon, angling it to pierce Arthur's spine in his next thrust. Drawing strength from the familiar sensation of pain singing in his veins, Arthur let out an enraged scream as he lurched backwards and elbowed his assailant in the jaw before pivoting around, knife in hand.

As blood dripped from the edge of his blade, Arthur stared into the Almyran soldier's wide, panicked eyes as he dropped his pike and attempted to plug the grisly, weeping wound that had been carved into his throat. As his victim hobbled backwards, trailing blood in his wake, Arthur callously strode past him, parrying aside the hasty blow from the next Almyran he encountered before violently jamming his knife into the offending soldier's ribs, then his skull. When a third Almyran came at him from the side and attempted to run him through with her glaive, Arthur shielded himself with the body of his attacker's comrade before lunging forward, knocking aside the soldier's polearm and plunging his knife hilt-deep into her guts.

The soldier's pained screams drew the attention of her comrades, who wasted no time forming ranks and charging at Arthur all at once. In response, Arthur reached into his dying opponent's belt, unhooked the axe she carried as a sidearm, then used it to behead its previous owner in a single, brutal stroke.

"COME ON, THEN!" He roared his challenge, breath steaming from his helmet's slits. As his attackers closed in on him, Arthur snapped a thrusting pike in half before doing the same to its wielder's skull.

The moments passed by in a blood-soaked haze for Arthur. The eastlanders came at him without pause, entire ranks of faceless warriors relentlessly hammering at his defences like a tide. Most would have given in to despair and exhaustion, overtaken and drowned under the waves of men in short order. But for a man who considered himself already dead, Arthur felt no fear nor showed any signs of exhaustion as he split skulls, severed limbs, and slit the throats of his foes, one after another. The fact that his opponents occasionally succeeded in wounding him did not faze Arthur in the least.

By the end, when his senses gradually returned to him, Arthur realised he stood in the midst of a sea of butchered eastlanders and mercenaries alike. Around him, what remained of his troop staggered around in a daze, either in the process of finishing off their foes or tending to their wounds. Ahead, what remained of those Almyrans who doggedly pursued his troop retreated as quickly as their legs could carry them, leaving their comrades too wounded to run behind.

"We ain't... we ain't done yet!" Arthur shouted as he stumbled his way to his fallen steed. Halfway through, his legs gave up on him and he was forced to crawl the rest of the way. "Jeralt... the captain's countin' on us!"

Silence answered him.

Ignoring the increasingly painful sting of his many wounds, Arthur fetched his second Webley and took what little supplies he still had from his saddlebags and pouches. He then took his bow and gathered as many arrows as he could from the dead archers nearby. Giving his horse a final pat on the head, Arthur swallowed his grief and dragged himself up to stand.

"Let's go!" He continued to address what's left of his troop, briefly raising an arm in a half-hearted gesture to follow after him. "Hrgh, gotta keep moving! Goddammit..."

Once again, only the wind responded to his shouts.

Arthur marched onward, one foot after another. Agony spiked through his legs with every step and his vision started to blur as he proceeded further east. It must have been a mile before he bothered to look behind him, and he was unsurprised to find that he was alone. When he inevitably encountered enemy stragglers, he had no choice but to take them on by himself, which aggravated his previous injuries.

Before long, the sheer amount of eastlanders Arthur sighted ahead grew too numerous for him to fight through. Putting his weapons away, he took the shadows and ducked under cover where he can, moving under the notice of the patrolling enemy soldiers. He took the mounting presence of Almyrans as a sign that he was getting closer to his goal, and indeed, it was only a matter of time before he finally, at long last, caught sight of Jeralt's personal standard.

"Ah... shit." But the sight gave Arthur no cause for joy. Peering through the lenses of his binoculars, the outlaw watched as a bloodied, heavily-depleted force of House Goneril troops attempted to fend off an overwhelming force of eastlander heavy infantry, cavalry, and their wyvern-riding auxiliaries.

Focusing his sights towards where he saw Jeralt's standard, Arthur first realised that the banner itself was being held upright by the corpse of its bearer, who appeared to have died in a standing position. He also saw Shez fighting shoulder-to-shoulder with the other mercenaries, the boy seeming to have taken a leading role as the others rallied around him. He also caught glimpses of Captain Jeralt, on foot and with his lance in his hands, smiting Almyrans with a potent combination of steel and white magic. Most foes would not have a prayer of dislodging the defensive line Jeralt and his mercenaries had constructed, but the Almyrans kept coming in seemingly limitless waves, harder and more determined than the last.

It was only a matter of time before the Fódlanese were overwhelmed, that much was clear to Arthur. Putting his binoculars away, the outlaw breathed in, out, and immediately started making his way towards the battlefield. He had no plans, no followers, and no illusions of survival — only a single goal, and the will to do whatever it takes to see it done.

Upon reaching an Almyran backline position, Arthur slung out his bow, nocked an arrow, aimed for the one with the most ornate-looking armour and loosed. The enemy officer went down quietly, the chaos of battle ensuring that her subordinates failed to notice her body hitting the ground.

Seeing the Almyrans utterly fail to notice his presence, Arthur nocked another arrow and started picking off the archers from behind cover. By his eight kill, the other eastlanders could no longer ignore the number of feathered bodies in their midst, and started repositioning and shooting arrows back at where they thought Arthur was concealed. Gritting his teeth, the outlaw waited for the hail of arrows to abate before he started to advance, making his way forward from one piece of cover to the next and returning arrows whenever he felt it was safe to do so.

"Alan! Aqtalhu!"

As he drew near, some of the Almyrans put away their bows, drew their blades and attempted to engage their ambusher in melee. Arthur met their charge with his own, savagely putting each of the eastlanders down with his axe and knife. The last of them realised he was outmatched and attempted to double back. Arthur did not let the man get far as he buried his knife into his spine before using the soldier's body to shield himself from the arrows being loosed his way. He relished the panicked shouts from his foes as he proceeded to draw his revolver and put bullets in the skulls of his victims, one at a time.

With his immediate foes either dead or dying, Arthur dropped his thoroughly-feathered human shield and stared down the swarm of eastlanders now converging on his position, having had broken off from the main body of foes solely to deal with him.

"Come on, you pissants!" Arthur reloaded his gun and started shooting into the throng of advancing foes as soon as he did. He intended to draw as many of them to him, if only to give Jeralt and his men the slightest chance to break from their encirclement. "COME ON!"

Before long, Arthur exhausted his revolver munitions. Undaunted, he seized a two-handed axe from an Almyran soldier's corpse and charged onward, bellowing out a discordant war cry as he split both the shield and the skull of the first Almyran he reached. Kicking the corpse of his victim away, Arthur waded forth, swinging his weapon in wide arcs, severing limbs and shattering armour with each ringing strike. Several dagger-wielding men charged him at once, attempting to wrestle him to the ground. Arthur's frenzied strength proved more than they could handle as the outlaw shoved them back, cleaved into one man and severed the limb of another with each swing.

In return, the Almyrans stabbed him, cut him, bludgeoned him. Arthur felt each blow, each injury, each force they exerted on his body. They barely registered in his mind, however, fixated as he was on causing as much bloodshed as possible.

Arthur expected these to be his last moments. Even as the eastlanders bypassed his guard and began to surround him, even as his armour crumbled and failed in their purpose, he noticed the terror he sowed in the eyes of those he was in the process of slaughtering, noting how they cowered from his gaze and cried to their comrades for help as he mercilessly splintered their bones and tore into their flesh. As one lucky spear thrust pierced his shoulder and another nicked his throat, Arthur felt it was a fitting end for a monster — stabbed and hacked to death by the people he terrorised.

"Get them off of him!"

Hearing someone shout in English caused Arthur to hesitate. For a moment, he feared he had begun to attack his own allies in his frenzied state. It took the sound of hoofbeats and the Almyrans surrounding him to suddenly start routing for him to realise he hadn't gone completely insane yet.

"Old man!" Arthur turned his head to witness Shez and a small handful of mercenaries approaching him. Like him, the boy was caked in grime and blood, and he now sported a bloody wound on his face that ran over the bridge of his nose. "Hold on!"

In short order, the mercenaries cleared the area around the outlaw, sending his assailants running back to their comrades further east of the battlefield. Arthur paid the young man and the rest of his rescuers a weary nod, right as he lost his balance and collapsed on a knee.

"Urgh!" Blood poured from his mouth, escaping into the ground from the slits of his armet. "Hrrrgh... where... where's Jeralt?"

Shez practically leapt down from his saddle as he rushed over to Arthur's side. "Goddess... we need to get you out of here! Come on, let me help you up!"

Arthur pushed the boy's hand away. "Didn't answer my question..."

"Are you kidding?!" Arthur winced. He wasn't used to hearing Shez shriek. "The captain is buying us time to escape! If we don't get moving right now, we—"

"Get outta here, kid." Arthur used his axe to stand up.

Shez gaped at him, his jaw hanging open in shock. "Arthur... listen. This battle is lost. Duke Goneril is dead, his army is gone, and the Almyrans will tear us apart if we stay here."

"Then go. I ain't leaving... not without Jeralt."

"Jeralt told us to leave! Are you even listening? He ordered us to leave him behind!"

Arthur took a step, then another. He felt Shez start after him, only to stop just before he could reach him.

"Well fine, then! You really want to get yourself killed, old man? Be my guest!" He heard the boy call out. "What the hell am I supposed to tell Byleth...?"

The mere mention of Byleth seemed to root Arthur in place. It took him a moment to start moving again as he forced all thoughts of the girl out of his mind. He would never see her again, never hear her voice or watch her grow into a woman any father would be proud of.

And yet, as he shambled his way into another Almyran position, he felt no regrets. In another time, another life, Byleth could walking into an undignified death in a hopeless bid to rescue her father. Arthur took comfort in taking her place in this one.

As he forged deeper into enemy lines, Arthur defended himself as best as a man in his state could. Most of the Almyrans he encountered took one look at him and expected him an easy kill, but even for someone already half dead, Arthur's talent for murder and bloodshed allowed him to overpower his opponents despite his injuries.

At one point, a mace-wielding Almyran managed to swat the weapon out of Arthur's hands before striking him across the head with such force, Arthur lost vision in his right eye as he stumbled backwards, eventually falling on his back. As his attacker rushed to finish him, the outlaw swung his leg out and caused the eastlander to fall within reach of his knife. And as he repeatedly plunged his blade into his fallen opponent's ribs, he kept his sight focused on his goal — the company standard fluttering in the early morning breeze, its bearer refusing to let it fall even in death, visibly only a short distance away from where he stood.

Arthur might have felt comfort upon reaching the standard at last, but as he strode into the area and witnessed his fellow mercenaries being subdued or killed on the spot, he felt only pain as a crushing force struck him from behind, his plates audibly buckling as he toppled forward, falling on his face. Clenching his teeth, Arthur growled at his own weakness and attempted to pull himself up, only to find his body no longer obeyed his commands.

"You took a wrong turn, westlander." A deep, Almyran-accented voice sounded from above him in English. "Pick a god and pray. This is your end."

"Tariq, hold." Another voice, more raspy than deep. "I am familiar with this one."

With the last reserves of his flagging vigour, Arthur clawed at the rocks, managing to prop himself up on his elbow. Standing before him was none other than Emir Haashid, flanked by his pale wyvern and his personal guard. Nearby, alongside the mercenaries and House Goneril soldiers who the eastlanders had managed to subdue, Arthur also saw Captain Jeralt and Duke Goneril. Both men were on their knees, deprived of their weapons with their arms bound together with ropes... though the duke sported visible signs of torture as he stared blankly ahead — a far cry from his usual, rage-filled self.

"Search him." Haashid commanded, gesturing at Arthur with his executioner's axe. "Bring me all the weapons he carries."

In his state, Arthur could not resist as the Almyrans stripped him of his gear, including his bandolier, his pouches, and his gunbelt.

"This... is it?" Haashid stared at what his soldiers brought him, more bemused than irritated. "Mercenary, where have you hidden the rest of your weapons?"

Arthur glared at him, for it was all he could do. After a while, he felt a massive, gauntleted hand seize him by the back of his collar, shaking him roughly and sending waves of agony coursing through his body.

"Answer him, scum." The booming voice from before commanded.

"No, leave him." Haashid said, with an off-handed wave at his man. "The mercenary is not long for this world. A moment of peace before the end is the least a worthy opponent deserves."

Arthur spat blood on the ground in front of him. "Let 'em... let 'em go, you... bastard..."

Jeralt locked eyes with him before shaking his head. No sound escaped him, but Arthur thought he saw the captain mouthing, "Stay down, Arthur." to him.

As for Haashid, the emir paid the outlaw barely a glance, his focus having had turned towards the kneeling Duke Goneril. "Do you see, my lord? You have led these warriors to their deaths. Had you not given pursuit and stayed west, you would not have given me cause to humble you."

The duke lowered his head. "Kill me and get it over with, wretch."

The emir shook his head. "No. You are not worth killing. Instead, you will remain as you are, and watch as your warriors are given their due. I may keep you as a slave afterwards. Fitting, I should think."

"You... you WOULDN'T DARE!" The duke attempted to stand, only to be immediately forced down by the soldiers behind him. "Unhand me, you degenerates!"

Haashid turned to the hulking man standing next to where Arthur laid. "Tariq, you may begin."

Tariq gave his liege a near-imperceptible nod. He extended a trunk-like arm and pointed at Jeralt. "This one. He is the most deserving. The quickest death, to the strongest westlander."

Jeralt did not resist as the eastlanders hauled him up to his feet and started herding him towards Tariq. "Spare my men. They don't deserve this."

With a simple gesture of Tariq's hand, the soldiers holding the captain forced him down by his shoulders, lying prostrate before his executioner.

"This is our way, captain." Haashid said as Tariq raised his club above his head, all while Arthur could do nothing but watch the scene unfold before him in horror, helpless and wallowing in agony. "They should feel proud, to be given the highest honour an Almyran warrior could give a foe."

Arthur did not want to look, but he was unable to force himself to look away as Tariq brought his weapon down over Jeralt's head. Such was the strength behind Tariq's blow, Arthur knew his death must have been swift enough so as to be instantaneous... and yet, he felt neither comfort nor relief in the fact. At that moment, all he could feel was a profound sense of rage that only deepened as the eastlanders, as one, began hauling more mercenaries and soldiers to their feet, to be slaughtered as their despicable warrior-culture demanded.

"Arthur," A woman's voice, small and whispered, almost escaped Arthur's notice. "What have they done to you?"

Finding that he could no longer move his neck, Arthur rolled his eyes, to see what he realised was Tekla. Bruised, dirty, and bound by ropes, she was much in the same state as Jeralt before they took him to be killed. "Tek... la..."

"Shh, save your strength. You'll need all of it." The Agarthan gingerly lowered herself, her bound hands nearly touching him. "You don't have to die here. I'll need you to trust me. You must—"

"Kun hadyaan!" The Almyran soldier standing guard over Tekla interrupted her with a smack above the head with the pommel of his axe. "Eahirat gharbiatun!"

Tekla winced, gritting her teeth in pain. When she opened her eyes again, Arthur saw them begin to glow an intense, fiery blue.

"You have to run," He had never seen her look so angry. When her fingers brushed his arm, Arthur gasped at the sheer amount of healing energy the mage began to channel directly into his body. "Run, and don't look back. Live, to fight another day."

"QULT HADIATAN!" The soldier behind Tekla raised his axe, looking poised to strike Tekla down then and there.

Ashen-faced, sunken-eyed, and looking as though the life had just been drained from out of her, the girl bowed her head in exhaustion. "Take care, Art—"

As he felt a dark, unnatural strength surging through his veins, Arthur immediately lunged at Tekla's tormentor, seizing the man by the leg and causing him to cry out in surprise as the outlaw violently dragged him to the ground. The eastlander had enough time to scream in mortal terror as Arthur used his own weapon to separate his head from his body.

The mere act of moving his body should have petrified Arthur in pain, but at that time, as he brutally disembowelled another nearby soldier, hacked off the arms of a third, and proceeded to launch himself at Haashid's personal guard, he felt nothing but the desire to see these people murdered by his hands.

"Shaytan! SHAYTAN!"

Caught slack and complacent in the wake of their victory over Duke Goneril, the Almyrans were utterly unprepared for a sudden attack from a lone, frenzied madman in the middle of their formation. Arthur painted his surroundings and himself in the bloodied innards of his victims as he made good use of the dark strength giving life to his limbs to messily dispatch the eastlanders in his vicinity. Such was the inhuman force he put behind his blows that Arthur often found that his pilfered weapons had shattered in his hands after only a few swings, but this proved to be of little relief to his foes as he simply splintered their bones with his bare, gauntleted fists before taking whatever they carried with them.

"Stand firm! Contain him!" Haashid could be heard shouting as his men were butchered. "Tariq! Put this thing down!"

Hackles raising at the bleating of his prey, Arthur turned to where he heard the emir, but found Jeralt's executioner instead running towards him, flanked by a handful of his fellow bodyguards.

"You will die, westlander filth!" The towering, barrel-chested soldier exclaimed as he advanced, hefting his two-handed war club above his head. But as Arthur let out an animalistic scream of rage and charged onward, Tariq's expression through the open-faced visor of his armoured turban betrayed his fear. "Alalihat tusa—"

Using a spear he had seized from his last victim, Arthur impaled one of Tariq's comrades and pinned her to the ground. Dodging the scimitar of another, Arthur pried loose his weapon from the body it was shoved in, bashing its pommel against his second attacker's nose as he did. As Tariq approached within striking distance of Arthur, the hulking eastlander brought his weapon down, intending on crushing the outlaw in a single blow. Arthur unthinkingly fended off the overhead attack with the handle of his spear, causing the weapon to shatter, but also unbalancing Tariq, whose eyes grew wide as he felt a glimpse of the strength now empowering his opponent.

"Back, scum!" Attempting to put some distance between himself and the outlaw, Tariq started to swing his club in wide, expansive arcs as he doubled backwards.

Arthur easily evaded his telegraphed swings as they came while he rapidly closed the distance to his lumbering foe. Winded, demoralised, and desperate for space, Tariq lashed out with his weapon one last time, hoping for results. Arthur dashed his hopes in brutal fashion when he stopped the weakened blow with his hands before yanking it towards himself, wrenching the weapon from his opponent's flagging grasp and causing the man to topple forwards with a strangled cry.

"What are you?" Tariq wondered out loud as his killer lifted his own weapon above his head. Having had lost himself to his bloodthirst, Arthur said nothing as he swung down, splintering the bones in the eastlander's leg. Tariq immediately went down, screaming like a pig being butchered. Arthur put him out of his misery with another overhead strike, shattering Tariq's helmet and crushing his head with it.

Seeing one of their leaders put down in such a gruesome manner, a wave of fear washed over the still-living Almyrans. With so many of their captors brutally slaughtered by this feral, blood-spattered creature wearing the guise of a man in a shattered suit of armour, some of the Fódlanese quickly got out of their binds and started doing the same for their fellows. Before long, as Arthur continued his rampage, scores of former prisoners, soldiers, knights, mercenaries and all, began venting their frustrations on the flatfooted eastlanders, using the weapons they took from the dead.

"Protect the duke!" One of the surviving House Goneril knights exclaimed.

"Vengeance!" Some of the mercenaries cried out. "For the captain!"

As for Arthur, he tirelessly and single-mindedly butchered his way through to his goal, sowing terror in his wake and leaving those few eastlanders who survived his coming easy prey for the liberated Fódlanese. As soon as he finally caught sight of Haashid, he found the emir in the middle of climbing up the saddle of his great white wyvern as he frantically barked at the soldiers nearby in his wretched tongue. Driven further into a rage at the thought of his quarry taking flight and escaping his reach, Arthur broke into a sprint for his target, his overwrought heart pounding in his ribs.

What remained of his armour crumbled around him as the emir's remaining bodyguards hacked away at his body. His right eye was a ruin, rendered almost useless from the previous blow he sustained to the head. His hands shook with each violent impact, the stolen weapon he held threatening to disintegrate into splinters from the abuse he kept putting it through. And yet, Arthur waded onward, his thoughts consumed by vengeance.

"Shaytan shara!" Haashid shouted down from his beast as he watched his men be murdered, one by one. He looked torn from either fleeing or standing his ground, but as his wyvern snorted and fidgeted violently from the overpowering smell of blood, he gripped at his reins and spurred his beast on. "Shitaa, aqtalhi!"

With a bellowing roar, the enormous scaled monstrosity eagerly bounded towards Arthur, barrelling over anyone standing in its path, its salivating maw hinged wide open and poised to bite an armoured knight in half. Such a sight would have given Arthur cause to fear, but in his state, whatever dread he might have felt for the beast was replaced by a burning contempt as he reared back, preparing a heavy, two-handed swing.

When the time came, Arthur's blow struck true as Tariq's club bludgeoned into the beast's skull, sending its momentum into a crashing halt as its head buckled aside from the sheer force behind the outlaw's strike.

"Shitaa!" Haashid cursed and held tight against his reins, nearly losing his balance. He reached into his saddle, attempting to fetch one of the spears fixed to a hook, only to once again be forced to hold fast as Arthur began to repeatedly hammer into his stunned beast's head, never giving it a chance to recover. "Ia!"

It was only a matter of time before something broke, which turned out to be the wyvern's skull. With its horns shattered, half its teeth bludgeoned off, and one of its eyes dangling from out its socket by the nerve, Haashid's wyvern was sent rearing backwards from Arthur's final blow with a gurgled roar, its massive wings twitching unnaturally. The beast's rider wailed in equal parts horror and grief as he was forcibly thrown off his saddle, hitting the ground on his back.

Breathing heavily, Arthur strode past the wyvern's twitching carcass, coming across his quarry hoisting himself up to his feet with his executioner's axe.

"Mercenary," The emir began, dropping into a battle-ready stance. He had the bearing of a seasoned warrior, a formidable-looking suit of black and gold plate and scale, with a weapon that appeared sharp and well-storied. And yet, no amount of courage could mask the fear in his voice. "Almyra's future... it depends on—"

With vengeance at hand and nothing else standing in his way, Arthur saw no reason to let the man blather on as he lunged at him. Having clearly known that a fight was inevitable, Haashid took a step back as he swung upwards with his axe, striking Arthur's club mid-swing and finally sundering the weapon, cleanly chopping it in two uneven halves. With his opponent disarmed, the emir's face lit up, a brief flash of a smirk forming on his bearded mouth. Too late did he realise, however, that in his addled, vengeance-driven state, Arthur remained no less of a threat.

"Die!" Haashid cried out in pain, struggling to keep hold of his great axe as Arthur drove a gauntleted fist into his unprotected face, crushing his nose and knocking off some of his front teeth. Even as he hobbled backwards, the emir deftly brought his weapon down, angling to cleave into his assailant's shoulder. Arthur responded by backhanding the falling blade away and striking Haashid again, and once more, dislocating his jaw and leaving an unsightly dent on the side of his barbute as he spun in place, almost losing his footing. "Die, goddammit!"

Dazed, reeling, and visibly struggling to remain upright, Haashid shoved his attacker back with the haft of his axe before he began to swing it around in a vain attempt to get his opponent to give ground. Seeing red out of his one working eye, Arthur didn't wait for the emir to tire himself out as he closed in for the kill, letting the eastlander's clumsy blows batter against his dented plates and chip away at the flesh beneath. Once he was close enough, as Haashid recovered from his last, ineffectual strike, Arthur unleashed the full extent of his wrath as he smashed his gauntleted fists into his hapless foe, over and over again, drawing blood, bending armour, and shattering bones until, at last, he kicked the emir's leg from under him, bringing the man down to his knees.

His axe slipping from his grasp, Haashid stared up at Arthur, the whole of his face a mangled, bloody, discoloured ruin. Though bloodshot, only his eyes remained unscathed. As flashes of Jeralt's death played in his mind, Arthur seized the emir's head with both hands and proceeded to drive his thumbs into his eyes. The eastlander screamed and gurgled, his arms flailing by his sides as Arthur proceeded to lift him up by his head, his mouth split into a feral, animalistic snarl as he tightened his grip and pressed as hard as his monstrous strength allowed him. "DIE!"

It was in this sand-strewn battlefield that the would-be king of Almyra died screaming, in full view of his soldiers and the remaining forces of the duke he so handily defeated just before. His assassin, having just accomplished his goal, simply threw aside his victim's corpse, blood, bone shards and brain matter dripping from his hands.

"Haashid!"

Turning around to face where he heard the bleating of an Almyran, Arthur saw a small group of eastlanders fronted by a dark-haired young man, clutching a bow in his trembling hands, his green eyes staring back at Arthur in abject, palpable terror.

"Don't... don't come, a-any closer!" The boy spoke up, tentatively nocking an arrow. It was a moment before the outlaw realised he was speaking Fódlanese, and another before he recognised his voice. "Wh-what have you done? Haashid...!"

Shoulders heaving, Arthur strode over Haashid's corpse and seized his fallen weapon. The long-hafted axe, despite almost being as tall as he was, felt weightless in his hands. "Khalid."

The boy froze at Arthur's uttering of his name. "Shit..." With stiff legs, he took a step back, then another.

Arthur hefted his axe. "You're next."

Something broke inside Khalid as he pivoted around and immediately started running. The other Almyrans, already demoralised from seeing their precious emir dead, didn't take long to start fleeing with their prince.

Arthur made to give pursuit, but it was then that he felt lightheaded, his legs becoming heavier as his vision blurred.

"Goddammit..." He let the weapon in his hands slip from his grasp as he sat down, breathing heavily. As his rage left him, he felt himself losing control of his limbs again. The mere act of drawing breath caused him excruciating pain, and before long, it took an almost impossible amount of strength just for Arthur to turn his head to face west.

In the far distance, standards bearing the symbols of House Goneril and the Knights of Seiros could be faintly made out. Closer, Emir Haashid's army appeared to be in the process of falling apart as entire units broke formation and started moving eastward. Closer still, Arthur saw the liberated Fódlanese prisoners rallying around a new defensive position, their former captors coming undone before their salvaged blades and superior morale.

Arthur coughed, blood pooling around him from his many wounds. Before darkness took him, the last thing he saw through his good eye past his shattered visor was an indistinct figure bounding over to him, long, cobalt-coloured hair flowing behind.

...

---

A/N: It's done. Holy crap, there are no words.

Alright, I may have gone a little overboard here, but I couldn't just settle for a smaller chapter just to wrap things up. There were also times when I felt this chapter delved too deep into anime territory, especially at the last bits, but in the end, I had a lot of fun, even if finishing this one took much, much longer than I first thought. With this arc done and White Clouds on the way, I... actually don't feel drained. If anything, I feel more ready to get back into writing.

Speaking of writing, the next chapter after this one should be a much smaller one (I promise). It should be about how we go from Almyra to Garreg Mach. Some of you may have already figured out how Arthur could go from bleeding out in a desert with a shattered spine to hanging out with monks and knights in the middle of the mountains. You may have also noticed how I took Jeralt off the main character list (and put Lysithea in there). Sorry, old man, you weren't supposed to die yet, but I really needed to get the story moving along. I hope Fire Emblem dad heaven is nice.

Time for reviews:

matteodile2001

Thanks!

Bob of the A

IT'S DONE! Finally done!

Time for White Clouds!

YetiGoZeti300

Like I said, I hadn't planned on a romance between these two. They're thick as thieves, but I feel like a romance between them will be a detriment to the story, at least in the initial stages. Talking about a romance for Arthur in particular, at this point, Arthur still hates himself and still isn't over Mary Linton. He doesn't have much of a desire for romance or sex yet, after being celibate for God knows how long. He's still human and may be tempted at times, but it'll be a long time before he considers himself worthy of being loved.

Al the Obsessive

I'm super glad to read all that, especially the part where I inspired someone to play RDR2. This story, I'll admit, started out as my way of coping with RDR2's ending (I'm still not over it). I recently got a Switch as a gift which had 3H already installed, so I played it as a way to get over what I've seen at the end of Arthur's High Honour story, then I felt an urge to write. Lo and behold, this story poofed into existence.

Rook435

Hello once again! Always nice to see your name in the reviews. This one ended up taking much longer than intended, but I take great pleasure in knowing that I've managed to address everything I needed to.

As I wrote in PM, I took a lot of inspiration with the dark elves for the Agarthans, with rampant Darwinism, politically-motivated (or otherwise) murders, slavery, and factionalism. Of course, they're not like this for no reason, as living under the surface is incredibly dangerous, with a tendency for culling those who couldn't adapt. I know I just copypasted this and I'm sorry you're reading it again, but the other readers may want to see it too, haha.

The next time we see Kronya, I think she'd be much less pale. Being forced to spend time in the surface and try to live off the land with minimal survival skills (she was too busy studying the blade) would do things to her complexion, which could play to her advantage as she'd find it a little easier to blend in with the locals. It'll be a while before her time in the surface causes her to think about more than just her duty to her people and her tarnished standing, though. I like to imagine long-lived folks tend to be set in their ways, especially if those ways are all they know.

And PTSD, well, there's a war coming. Less like WW1 and more like ASoIaF, but a war nonetheless.

See you next time!

Louie Yang

Don't worry, I'm aware of the bloating and other stuff that'll happen to the story if I introduce too many OCs. If it helps, you'll find that my OCs also tend to have a high mortality rate when things get serious, and if they don't die, I just write them off as required.

This is still a story about canon characters. The extra ones I created are just there to bring flavour and make the world I'm writing feel populated.

Granet

High praise. I really do try my best, even if in the end, I'm only just doing this for fun.

Guest 1

Thanks! And you're right, it's For Honor. Without the extra bits added by Ubisoft post-release, of course.

NightmareKnight1

Let's just say I started out writing fanfics as a way to cope how a relationship I liked crashed and burned in canon, haha.

mad thought

They may have a lot of differences and mutual animosity, but I've deliberately written Kronya to have a few important things she has in common with Arthur. Let's just say I've got plans for her, but not necessarily the shipping kind.

Mmmmaybe.

Oleander

The day Edelgard grabs a gun is a day that will go down in Fodlan's history, for sure.

Spartastic 4

Don't worry, I think I got it all. 65k words is... well, it's enough. I'm just sorry it took half a year to finish it.

naufalrakha0104

For Honor. The old For Honor.

Old Man Uwiwi

Perhaps...

Pyrokinetic52

Ah, I would recommend finishing 3H, but I guess that's fun too. Would be nice if you could just forget things on command, yeah?

jordanlink7856

Here you go!

x-x-TheBurnedMan-x-x

I like to play around with the idea that realistically, Deadeye is just an adrenaline spike. Adrenaline is known to make people feel like time is slowing down during times of extreme emergency, and coupled with Arthur's insane, almost supernatural ability to shoot things, you get what you see in the game. Now, assuming that she puts enough practice, I imagine Byleth would be able to do the same thing, but as I've written in this story, she isn't at Arthur's level of skill with guns yet, so even if she does trigger Deadeye, unlike Arthur's there's still no guarantee that she actually hits what she intended to shoot. At least, that's what I think. I made this up on the spot.

Byleth can use Deadeye in close quarters. I've written Arthur to have done the same a few times in the story. It's how he manages to win against multiple opponents despite not having any formal training with melee weapons... yet.

Ohh, I really wish I could have written them using the Lewis gun on wyverns. If only they weren't conserving ammo, heh. Maybe next time.

Guest 2

Sturges is paying the price for not chopping down his rifle when he had the chance this chapter.

Spartan-666

There's one in the Abyss. Maybe later.

Mandalore the Illiterate

Yes, but none of the other stuff. Knights, vikings, and samurai were already enough, methinks.

Reader

Sorry, but no plans right now. There will be more guns, but... no authentic modern ones like the M4.

GrimaLivesMatter

Appreciate it!

Doses Of Fanfics/Cringe

Aww, it really does hurt me to say that I don't think Sturges will get home any time soon. He'll try, oh boy, he'll really try to find his way back, but right now, it's kinda sorta impossible. Maybe much later? Speaking of Sturges, "Mad Minute" was my first idea on deciding what his personal ability would be as a unit.

I'm afraid I don't have plans for any more modern guns, but I promise I'll compensate with Agarthan-made, magitek guns designed after modern ones. Overall, there would be more screentime for primitive-type guns in the coming chapters. They're crucial to the plot, y'know?

There would be screentime for more characters from Red Dead's universe, though not necessarily characters like John Marston or Dutch. I'm thinking side-characters like... uh, spoilers. I'll shut up now, haha.

And Kronya. Oh boy, there'll be more of her later, you can count on it.

derrickfoo0

Many, many thanks for your review! It's been fun reading all of it. I'm glad you're liking the direction I'm taking it.

Other characters will end up learning how to use guns, sure enough. But none of them can compare to Mercedes, who has strengths in all gun types and can get all the abilities Arthur can with guns. I'm only half joking.

And there will be more guns, but I don't have plans for any more from past WW1. There'll be crazy ones made by Agarthans, though, and more primitive ones as well. The latter is a bit spoiler-y, so I'm stopping there.

I work in health, so yes, I steer clear of smoking, haha. Already got plenty of other vices, thank you.

cirithewitcheress

Thanks!

Yes, she is. I loved the lore behind that game, until I didn't when they started feeling cringe, in my opinion.

Well, my reasoning behind Arthur getting a two-handed weapon is that he couldn't rely on guns or bows all the time, and if he's to become a knight, he'll be riding on a horse a lot. I then thought it'd be cool if he could hit things from horseback, but I also didn't think it would be Arthur's thing to use a knightly lance, so I figured, why not a big axe?

Arthur does seem like Shamir's type, yeah? Strong, reliable, quiet type who's good at what he does. Going by Mary Linton and the girls he seems to have a thing for in RDR2, though, I don't think Shamir would be Arthur's type, though. I'm also unsure about Rhea - all her problems and the grief she goes through in the present is because of a bandit, yeah?

Anyway, I'm just rambling for the sake of it. Maybe he does end up with either women, if I thought it'd be good for the story's direction. It's hard to say, given that I'm just hammering it into shape around the ideas I have in my head.

Guest 3

Won't be long before you do! (okay, that's probably a lie)

SomeCrusader1224

I'm not even winded!