"So let me get this straight," Jeralt set down a half-consumed tankard of ale on his desk. Seated in front of him was Arthur, nursing a beer instead. "On your way to that nameless cliff we found you on, the two of you ran into a large group of bandits who were trying to loot the dead Pinkertons. Instead of doing the sensible thing and turning around, you engaged them in battle."

Arthur scratched his stubbled cheek. After finishing what he came to do on those mountains and resting for the night, he ate, took his dose of white magic from Tekla, and immediately went to Jeralt to fulfill his end of his deal with the older man. "I tried to keep your daughter out of it."

"It's true." Behind Arthur, Byleth was standing upright, like a soldier ordered to attention. "Mr. Morgan told me to stay back."

"Until predictably, they started getting the better of him, and you had to charge in and save him." Jeralt said, shaking his head. To Arthur's bafflement, he didn't seem to find it odd that his daughter had been slaughtering lowlives the evening before.

Byleth looked to Arthur, then back to Jeralt. "Mr. Morgan handled himself in combat more competently than most, even compared to some of the best we have in the company. With time, once his consumption is cured, I believe he can prove to be an even stronger warrior than most of our contractors."

Jeralt arched a brow, not quite keeping the dubious expression from his face. "What's with the high praise all the sudden? You've never given anyone a glowing commendation like this before."

The girl shrugged. "They have not caught my interest. There were twenty-five targets from our last engagement — sixteen were killed by his hand compared to my nine."

Arthur coughed into his elbow. "I ain't anyone special." And I don't think there's any saving me from TB. If real magic can't just cure me, what can? A bullet, maybe.

Jeralt showed genuine surprise at this. "You killed more bandits than Byleth? In your condition?"

"I wasn't keeping count." Arthur glanced at Byleth. She was planning something, he could sense it.

The mercenary captain chuckled, "You didn't seem like the type. I wouldn't have believed it if I heard it from anyone else. It's... not in my daughter's nature to lie."

Arthur finished his drink and set the cup aside. "Should we move on? I didn't get to the part where I tell you what I found on that cliff."

Jeralt nodded. "Alright. Do continue, Mr. Morgan. I'm eager to hear that part."

The outlaw folded his arms. "Well, I hope you're used to being disappointed, then. I didn't find money, or wisdom, or anything like that. I guess I went up there, expecting to find answers — answers as to what could've happened to me, and how did I end up here." Arthur huffed. "Instead, I ended up with even more questions in my head, coming back down from those goddamn mountains."

"There was a nice view." Byleth said. "And we brought in a new wagon."

"A wagon full of provisions, plants, a saddle fit for a lord, and... those guns you kept talking about." Jeralt said, his voice becoming stern. "Quartermaster Bernhardt was thorough in his report."

"There's also ammo and dynamite." Arthur added.

"And clothes." Byleth also added. Arthur stared at her.

Jeralt sighed and took a swig of his ale. Wiping his mouth and glaring at Arthur, he said, "If you were one of my men, I would have docked your pay and made you return those goods you pilfered off the dead, then ordered you to give them a proper burial. Remember what I told you — that I suffer no thieves or looters in my employ? I meant it."

Arthur countered the man's glare with his own. "Good thing I ain't one of your men, then. And I didn't loot nothin' — those guns was my property, along with the ammo, the dynamite, them provisions, and especially the saddle. They're mine to keep after I kept them from being robbed by those vultures we butchered. As for those plants, I picked 'em up on the way back because they're interesting, I suppose. Does picking plants count as looting to you, Mr. Eisner?"

Jeralt arched a brow as a smile tugged at his lips. "Okay, okay. I guess I can accept that. And no, this mercenary company doesn't concern itself with the local flora, though I think you should talk to Viktor about what you found, just in case they're the dangerous sort to have around."

The man then turned to his daughter. "But what's this about clothes, kid? The quartermaster did mention a bundle of dirt-encrusted shirts, trousers, vests, and coats among the things in Mr. Morgan's wagon. Were they his property, too?"

Byleth didn't answer immediately, which was rather uncharacteristic of her. "No, I... took them from the Pinkertons. They have interesting clothes."

Arthur couldn't help but laugh despite the pain in his ribs. "Heh heh, go easy on the kid, Jeralt. Growin' woman's gotta have some healthy interests besides swords and fighting."

"I would like to keep the clothes." Byleth pressed. "I do not think we can find designs like theirs anywhere else." She licked her lips, her nervousness now obvious. "Please?"

Jeralt made a show of considering it before heaving a great, big sigh. "Just this once, alright? But I don't make a habit of letting my people break my rules, and doing so has consequences... even for you, Byleth. If you want to keep those clothes, I'm docking your pay by half for the rest of this moon, and for the next one."

Byleth nodded, her emotionless expression returning. "Acceptable. Thank you, captain."

Arthur found the whole thing amusing, though he felt it time to move on. "Well, I told you what I found, Mr. Eisner. I found a whole load of nothing." He coughed. "I got most of my things back, so it ain't a total waste... but now I gotta find a place to sit down and... figure out what to do next."

"I see." Jeralt leaned back on his chair. "Why don't you ask Tekla to see if she'll let you stay in the medical tent while you recover? I'm sure she'll be glad to have you, but if that doesn't work out, I'm willing to let you follow us around Faerghus until you decide to settle down somewhere."

"Look, partner, I appreciate it, but you've already done a lot for me. More than I deserve." Arthur said. "It ain't right for me to keep being a burden to you, and especially Tekla. I could get her sick."

Jeralt's eyes softened. He opened his mouth to say something, but Byleth beat him to it.

"Staying with the camp is the most sensible choice, Mr. Morgan." She said. "You are sick and destitute. If you manage to find a healer, you will not be able to access their services without gold. Tekla is your best chance at recuperating, and she can offer you shelter in the medical tent."

"You're tellin' me they don't take dollars here? Well, shit." Arthur deadpanned.

Jeralt shook his head, "I don't even know what those are. And you shouldn't worry about getting anyone in this camp sick, if you keep taking those herbs from Tekla. Just... go and ask her, alright? You're not a burden if that's what you're thinking, Mr. Morgan."

Arthur knew when he wasn't being given a choice, but the logical part of his mind forced him to concede that declining help from these strangers was to invite disaster. He'd rather not end up being nagged by Ms. Grimshaw in the hereafter because he died to his own stubborn foolishness.

"Okay." He did an exaggerated shrug. "Guess I'll... talk to Ms. Schneider, then."

The captain nodded sagely. "You're making the right choice."

"I know, I know. Ain't worth killing myself for my pride." He stood up, coughing. "I'll see you around, Mr. Eisner. And thank you."

"Take it easy, friend." The captain waved a hand. He immediately bent under his desk, fished out another bottle of ale, and poured himself a drink. "Unlike me, you're still young. It'd be a shame to let all those years you still have left go to waste."

Arthur scoffed at Jeralt. Before he left, he stopped to regard Byleth. "If you still want a gun, come meet me at the armory just before dark. I wanna see if you ain't gonna kill yourself with it."

"Of course, Mr. Morgan." She bowed. "I need to speak with the captain. Until next we meet."

The outlaw ambled out of Jeralt's spacious tent with a sour expression. By nature, he was slow to accept help, and hated being pitied or indebted to others. If he was going to be staying with these folks, eating their food and consuming their resources, he resolved to pay them back, one way or another.

Making his way back to the medical tent, Arthur walked in and took his Litchfield from his shoulder. Tekla was still where he left her, a mortar and pestle in her hands, crushing herbs to mix into bottles.

"Ah, Mr. Morgan." She greeted him as she noticed him entering. "You ran off before I could give this to you." She set down her tools and picked up a bottle from her desk, then poured some of its contents into a cup. "Have this when you're ready."

Arthur coughed as he set down his rifle near the bed he had been sleeping on before he strode over to Tekla. "That better be whisky, Ms. Schneider."

"Don't be such a child. It's just medicine." Tekla went back to crushing herbs. "The one keeping you from getting the whole camp sick."

"Well, when you put it that way..." The outlaw figured he shouldn't waste time when it came to matters such as this. He braced himself as he picked up the cup, then downed it as quickly as possible. "Goddamn foul." He wiped his mouth and set the cup down. "Ugh, thanks, I guess. Liked the taste better when I was out cold."

"I had a feeling you'd say that." Tekla poured the crushed herbs into an empty bottle. "How's your wound? Did it heal okay?"

Arthur frowned. When he returned to camp, he showed Tekla the wound he got from being attacked from behind. The white mage didn't bother taking a close look on it, merely applying her white magic on the spot, closing the wound immediately. He still wasn't used to how injuries were treated in Fódlan. "Just a scratch. I've forgotten about it already."

"Good. And as for your consumption, how do you feel right now?"

"Those concoctions of yours do good work, I'll give 'em that. It's a damn shame they wear off quickly." He coughed. "Listen, doc, I wanted to, uh, ask you about something..."

"Something on your mind, Arthur?"

The outlaw sighed. "You... don't mind if I stay on that bed there for a couple of days while I get my head sorted? I got nowhere to go, and I could use some time to figure out what to do next."

"Why, you didn't even need to ask." Tekla was quick to say, which didn't surprise Arthur. "The first time you came to us, you became under my care. It wouldn't be right for me to let you fend for yourself out there until you're cured."

Arthur put up a smile, hoping it at least appeared sincere. "Much obliged. I'll pay you back for this, just you wait."

Not wanting to hear the inevitable objection, the outlaw didn't wait for the healer to respond as he turned around. Marching back to his bed, took off his boots and set them down nearby. He then sat down over the bed and began to relax, hoping to fall asleep. Instead, he started feeling hungry again, and too restless to truly relax. Muttering curses, Arthur slid his legs over the bed and ran a hand over his face. It started yesterday, but it was only now that he recognised it — he was craving cigarettes.

Having had smoked his last packet in New Hanover, Arthur knew he was in for some terrible times as he reached into his duster for something he hoped would distract him.

"What Jeralt doesn't know..." The outlaw retrieved a journal from a dead Pinkerton the evening before. Going through its pages, he read through the dead government man's private thoughts. Most of the entries were mundane and uninteresting, and the man's handwriting was as bad as a doctor's at times, but the last few entries piqued the outlaw's interest, as they concern the Pinkertons' dealings with a traitor in the Van der Linde Gang, whom they apparently acquired all the way from the gang's stay in Horseshoe Overlook. From the traitor's description, it was obvious to Arthur who it was.

Arthur could feel himself getting angrier and angrier as he went through the journal. He was angry at Micah for destroying what family he had, angry at Dutch for letting the devil on his shoulder corrupt him utterly, and furious at himself for not killing the rat when he had the chance. Micah Bell was a sadistic monster who needed to be put down, but Arthur never followed through with his desire to do so, as he did not want to disappoint Dutch.

But that was in the past now. As much as he desired to do things very differently, Arthur knew he should not let his mind linger on things he could never change, and the best thing he could do was move on. With a frustrated sigh, Arthur vented his anger by ripping the entries from the journal until the blank pages were the only ones left in the book. This was his journal now, and he resolved never to lose it.

"You okay there, old man?"

Arthur lowered the journal to see one of the wounded mercenaries taking up space in the tent looking his way, sitting on his own bed with a large bandage wrapped around his shoulder and a part of his bare chest. He was a little younger than Arthur, with a toned build and dark hair.

"Just making space, is all." The outlaw said as he stashed his new journal away. He then put on his boots and stood up. "Tekla! Why don't you take a break and come with me for something to eat? I'm feeling mighty peckish."

The healer appeared startled at this, though not unpleasantly so. "Oh, but I can't right now. I'm flattered, but I still got so much work to do before—"

"Ah, horseshit. You was workin' when I woke up, you was workin' when I left, and you're still workin' by the time I'm back. Tell me, when was the last time you ate?"

"I... last night? Mr. Morgan, I can't just..." Tekla deflated at the unimpressed look on Arthur's face. She sighed. "Okay... you're right. But just so you know, I'm perfectly fine like this! Back when I served House von Martritz, I often had to eat only once a day because I had to feed my brothers first."

Arthur's face softened at the mention of Tekla's brothers, but the girl didn't seem too affected. Hopefully, she already had plenty of time to mourn them. "Still, that ain't a way to live. Come on, now. I'll show you something I learned from an old man I used to run in with about servin' up a mean bowl of stew."

Some of the injured mercenaries also in the tent piped in with their agreement, which finally got Tekla to leave with Arthur.

...

...

It was close to nighttime when Arthur dropped by the camp's armoury. The last time he was there, he handed over a wagon stacked to the brim with weapons and munitions he pilfered from the Pinkertons to the camp's quartermaster, a tall man in a robe wearing a pair of spectacles called Bernhardt Krause. Arthur told Jeralt the guns were his to begin with, but the older man had no reason to believe he was lying.

Arthur thought it was very unusual for a mercenary to have enough scruples to be against looting and thievery, but his instincts made him think Jeralt Eisner was not always a mercenary captain. An officer in an army, perhaps? It wasn't so unusual for military boys to strike out on their own after being discharged, after all.

Quartermaster Bernhardt didn't seem surprised to see Arthur coming his way. "Mr. Morgan. We've been waiting for you."

Arthur raised a curious brow. Turning his head to look around, he tried to see who else was in the area. "You and... your imaginary friend?"

"Hello, Arthur."

"Jesu—" The outlaw flinched at the voice. Rolling his eyes, he stepped aside and leaned on Bernardt's counter as he faced Byleth. "Would it kill you to make some noise while walkin', miss?"

Jeralt's daughter shook her head. "No, it would not. But why would I want to announce my presence? It could alert enemies."

Arthur coughed. "Unless you got some kind of quarrel with Mr. Krause here, there ain't any enemies around to wave your sword at. You can relax, kid."

Bernhardt nodded uneasily. "Yes, I agree. You're quite safe here, little one."

Byleth appeared confused for a moment. "Okay."

"...okay." Arthur said. He took a closer look at her, only now noticing the white, high-collared shirt she was wearing under her black chestplate, which significantly covered her up more. "You didn't waste any time to work on those Pinkerton outfits, I see."

"I do not have much else to do." She said. "How did you know I started modifying the clothes we took from the Pinkertons?"

From anyone else, Arthur would think they were joking. From someone like Byleth, however, Arthur knew better. "You're wearing one of 'em. It looks good — you won't be shivering tonight, I think."

"I wasn't shivering."

"Uh-huh, sure thing, missy."

Bernhardt cleared his throat. "As much as I enjoy watching the two of you interact, I believe you came here to pick something up?"

Arthur looked to the man. "Yep. You mind, uh, bringing one of my revolvers? The girl should start small if this is her first time shooting a gun, I think."

Bernhardt furrowed his brows. "You showed me what guns are last night, Mr. Morgan, but now you'll have to show me what "revolvers" are if you want me to help you."

"Right, sorry." The outlaw unholstered his Schofield and let Bernhardt inspect it. "They're like this."

"Ah. One moment."

Arthur watched the quartermaster disappear into his armoury. His glasses and inexplicable German accent aside, Arthur thought Bernhardt's mannerisms and speech patterns mirrored Leopold Strauss.

"I would like to have a gun like the one hanging from your shoulder instead, Mr. Morgan." Arthur heard Byleth speak behind him.

"Not yet, kid. First, I wanna know if you can handle a smaller one." He said, looking behind his shoulder. "This rifle's got a bit of a kick, and I'd rather you not hurt yourself."

In another while, Mr. Krause returned to the counter, carrying an armful of revolvers and pistols. One by one, he placed them down for Arthur. "Here you are, Mr. Morgan. If you'd prefer, do you wish for me to retrieve some... ammo... for them?"

The outlaw shook his head. "Naw, I got plenty on me. We should have more'n enough for now, mister quartermaster. Thanks."

"It was my pleasure, sir." The bespectacled man bowed. "Now, if you wish to get your hands on real weapons another time, Captain Jeralt says I may lend them to you."

Arthur ignored him and beckoned Jeralt's daughter to come forward on the counter. "Alright, kid, I told you to take your pick. Let me know which one of these strikes your fancy."

Byleth stared at the guns. She stood there for an entire minute, unblinking. "I think it is best if you choose for me, Mr. Morgan."

"Right... probably shoulda expected that." The outlaw chuckled derisively as he pondered on which of the small guns would suit Byleth the most. In the end, he decided on the one which appeared to be in the best condition: a Colt 1892 Army & Navy double-action revolver with a long barrel and fancy iron sights. The revolver's bluish hue and ebony grip indicated it belonged to someone higher up the Pinkerton ranks.

"Let's go, girl." Arthur picked up the gun, unloaded it, and pocketed the ammo before handing the double-action to Byleth. He put a hand on her armoured shoulder and started walking when he realised she had become too occupied with examining her newest weapon to clear off. "Thanks again, Mr. Krause. I'll come see you later."

"Take care of the little one, Mr. Morgan." The other man called out as they left.

Byleth continued to examine her revolver as Arthur led her away from the armoury. "It is... lighter than I expected. Are you certain this will kill targets as effectively as your rifle?"

Arthur retracted his hand. "No, of course not. But you make no mistake, missy — that thing won't be as good as my Litchfield at distance-shooting or punching through armour, but if you can hit someone in the head with it, they'll go down, armour or not."

Without Arthur to push her, Byleth stopped where she was. "That easily?"

"If you can land your shot, yeah. Remember, guns are like bows... to get the most use out of them, you have to aim before you can hope to actually kill your mark. Now let's go, we have to get outta camp before I can show you how to shoot your new gun."

"Why?"

"In case you wasn't paying attention in our fight before, they're goddamn loud. Don't know about you, but I ain't looking to piss off the entire camp, especially at this time of the day. Come on, we're burnin' daylight."

Arthur and Byleth left camp and made for the woods again. The outlaw remembered riding across a grassy clearing on his journey to the mountains the day before. For their purposes this evening, he figured it would be an adequate spot to burn through ammo without startling the other mercenaries from all the noise their guns would make.

They started their walk without hurry. Arthur distracted himself from the pain in his chest and his craving for a smoke by spinning his own revolver around his hand. He spun the gun around slowly and lazily, more to keep his mind occupied than anything. He continued until he noticed Byleth watching him intently.

At that moment, Jack Marston's grinning face as he performed spinning revolver tricks for the boy back in Clemens Point flashed in Arthur's mind. He almost tripped on a root before he righted himself, coughing.

"Mr. Morgan?" Byleth picked up the pace to catch up with Arthur, who waved her away.

"No, no, I'm fine. Don't worry about me." He said. "Almost there. Let's keep moving."

Their journey lasted a little more than a quarter of an hour. The clearing was where Arthur remembered it, and indeed, it looked like a fine enough spot for a little target practice. Still, after looking around the area a couple of times, Arthur couldn't help but notice a few things that weren't there the day before.

"Byleth, c'mere." He called to his companion, beckoning her to his spot next to a patch of trampled grass. "You see this?"

The mercenary made her way next to him. She squinted at where Arthur was gesturing at, only noticing it after he brushed aside more of the grass. "Horse-tracks."

"And they ain't from the ones we rode on." Arthur continued, wiping his hand on his trousers. "Too fresh for that. I reckon they were made this morning."

Byleth slowly nodded, "You have sharp eyes, Mr. Morgan. You would make for an impressive mercenary."

Arthur scoffed. "Focus, girl. This could mean trouble. Do you know if wild horses come to graze here?"

She folded her arms. "I do not. But this does not appear to be a cause for concern. Hunters, trappers, and alchemists frequent this area, from what our navigator told."

"...alchemists?"

"This region is home to a fungus that grows on trees, which are used as a common ingredient for hangover cures."

Arthur stared at her. "Right. You gotta show me them fungus when we head back, but for now, we should get down to business. Let's ignore the tracks for now — show me your revolver."

Byleth quickly produced the gun, its barrel pointing at Arthur. "I'm ready."

"The hell you ain't," Arthur was quick to push the gun away to point to the side. "This is your first lesson, so listen up, missy. Never, ever, point a gun at something you wasn't meaning to shoot." He pressed close to her, his voice grave and stern. "Is this what you had in mind when we went out here, to shoot me with your first gun?"

Byleth's eyes were noticeably wider than normal. "No... that is not... I didn't want..."

"Then remember this whenever you pick up a gun. I've seen more than enough of my share of fools shootin' themselves or their friends 'cause they ain't being responsible with their weapons."

"I... I am ashamed. Yes, I'll remember this. Thank you, Mr. Morgan."

Her face remained the same, but the mortified tone of her voice made Arthur wonder if he overdid it. "Don't thank me yet, kid, we're just getting started. Hand me your gun, and pay attention to what I'm about to do."

Byleth immediately complied. Arthur took the gun, grabbed a handful of bullets from a pouch on his gunbelt, and started filling the cylinders.

"Like bows need arrows to shoot, guns need ammo to fire. When you run out of bullets, you'll hear a click. Now, don't go bothering with pulling the trigger after that — the gun won't shoot no matter how many times you do, and you'll only end up looking like a damn fool before the bastard you're aiming at puts a bullet... err, arrow in you."

Arthur handed his student her gun back, but not before reminding her of his first lesson.

"It feels heavier. This means I can shoot the gun, yes?" Byleth was holding her gun with significantly more care than before, as though she was afraid it would jump out of her hand and start firing on its own.

"Yep." Arthur nodded. He pulled out his own revolver and assumed an aiming stance, pointing the gun into the distant woods. "Aim like this. Both hands on the grip like so, with one foot forward."

Byleth mimicked his stance. She had to move her head every now and then when the wind whipped her hair into her eyes. "Am I doing this correctly?"

"Just about," Arthur said. He put his gun away and fumbled around the pockets of his duster until he found a long string, useful for tying things together. "Right, I need you to hold still. I'm gonna do something Jeralt should've taught you long ago."

"Mr. Morgan..." Byleth was clearly not expecting Arthur to get behind her and put his hands on her hair, but she obediently made no effort to pull away.

"Your hair's too long. It's gettin' in your eyes." With deft hands, the outlaw pulled the girl's hair back and away from her eyes before tying them together in an impromptu ponytail. "That's better."

Byleth remained quiet as Arthur stepped away. "You ready to shoot? That bit there, that there's the trigger. Use a finger to pull it back, and there ya have it."

She breathed in and out before doing as instructed. The double-action revolver promptly went off, breaking the relative quiet of the woods and startling Byleth with the recoil. Thanks to Arthur's instruction, however, she managed to keep it in her hands.

"This... will take some time to get used to." Byleth lowered the gun, her gaze far ahead where she fired. "Was I acceptable?"

"Sure, if you was looking to waste ammo," Arthur said, though his smile undercut his words. "Now that you know how to shoot, I'll teach you how to aim. Hand me the gun back and help me look around for something to shoot. This'll be easier with two pairs of eyes."

"This is more complex than I thought..." The girl sighed as she gave Arthur her revolver. "But I will not give up."

"Good to hear, but it really ain't as complicated as you think. You just... gotta get used to it. This is easier than learning to shoot a bow, that's for sure."

"...I don't know how to use a bow."

...

...

By the time Arthur and Byleth had finished with target practice, the sun was long gone. Darkness had fallen across the woods, and nocturnal animals could be heard crying out in the distance.

Arthur was seated in the middle of the clearing with Byleth, his glowing lantern placed in between them. The outlaw was eating out of a can of corned beef and taking sips out of a bottle of Tekla's magic-infused medicine while he watched his student clean her recently-reassembled revolver with an oil-soaked rag he lent her.

"...all in all, I can say with confidence, that you wasn't the worst I've taught how to shoot a gun," Arthur spoke as he chewed. "That honour goes to one Sean MacGuire, Lord rest his drunk soul. That boy wasn't bad with his fists, but hopeless with a gun. But you, Ms. Eisner, I can see getting good with time. That's it, all you need is time." He stifled a cough.

Byleth used a metal rod along with the rag to start cleaning the inside of her gun. "I do not understand." She said, staring ahead. "I took aim, I looked down the sights, and I held my breath before taking the shot as you instructed and demonstrated, and yet..." She trailed off, her cleaning becoming a bit more forceful.

"Still beating yourself up over that?" Arthur pointed his fork at her. At the start, the young mercenary had been doing as well as to be expected for a complete beginner, but his attempt to motivate her to do better by shooting off six tree branches without missing in the space of a couple of seconds didn't have the intended effect. If anything, she seemed disheartened at seeing how far the gap between their level of skill truly was, and her aim suffered for the rest of their session as a result. "I tell you, kid, you'll do better tomorrow after a rest and some breakfast. Give it a rest, or you'll get me upset."

The girl looked at him, miserableness wafting off of her. "You have been very patient with me, Mr. Morgan. I would not dare presume to be worthy of another lesson like this without something in return, especially from someone of your skill." She turned aside, avoiding his gaze. "I would just waste your time."

Arthur sighed. "We've been over this, miss. I ain't teaching you how to shoot 'cause I expect something in return. Is it really that hard to believe that I'm out here in the cold shooting guns because I wanted to be out in the cold to shoot guns?"

Byleth, the stubborn girl, decided to be silent and wallow in her despair and presumed inadequacy. Arthur groaned as the pain in his chest intensified despite just taking his medicine.

"Tell you—" He coughed. "Tell you what, Byleth, we'll do it your way. Any time you're free tomorrow, come find me if you want to be taught how to hit targets. Hey, hey, let me finish!" He raised a hand to pre-emptively silence her protests. "In exchange, you'll give me something... I need you to teach me how to fight with a sword."

Byleth's surprise was palpable. She was stunned into silence for a while.

Arthur chuckled, shaking his head. "If you think you're a slow learner now, wait till you see me try to flail a sword arou—"

The unmistakable thundering of galloping horses interrupted Arthur. Instinctively, the man snatched his lantern and doused its meagre flame before he laid down on his stomach, then rolled on the grass to face the direction of the sounds.

"Riders, moving in by fours." He found Byleth already next to him, having done the same but quicker, thanks to not having a lantern to douse. "More coming in, from up the road."

"Jesus." Arthur's eyes were wide as he surveyed the scene in front of him. Mounted, armoured figures openly wielding spears, bows, and other weapons thundered down the road to Jeralt's camp, their intentions plain and clear. "They're ridin' down to camp, and they don't look like they're here to play nice. We gotta move, kid."

Byleth nodded. "I'll follow your lead."

Together, the outlaw and the mercenary used the cover of darkness and foliage to get up close to the road. They hid behind the unusually-wide base of the local trees as they watched the riders advance past them.

"This is... not good." Byleth whispered. "I recognise these men. My father deliberately avoided setting up camp near cities so we could avoid them."

"Who are these fools?" Arthur unstrapped his rifle and started quietly feeding it bullets.

"Isadora Berling's men. They are mercenaries like us, but with a reputation for going after other companies to absorb them. They are also known for their large numbers and reliance on cav..."

Byleth trailed off at Arthur's raised hand. Ahead of them, Arthur spotted another group of horsemen riding down the path in a wedge formation, only with six members instead of four. In the middle of this group was a woman in a suit of decorated plate armour that indicated her high rank, with a bearded, long-hafted axe in her hands and a longbow over her shoulder and across her armoured body.

"...no reason to expect us to come in force. We should have an easy time cutting our way past the chaff and to Jeralt himself." The woman could be heard talking amongst her cohort. In particular, she seemed to be facing another rider — a young man about Byleth's age with hair and eyes both hued in a bafflingly bright shade of purple.

"What then, captain?" The young man said. Arthur had never seen someone with eyes like him.

"We make the old man surrender, of course. I want this to be as bloodless as possible, though I know Jeralt won't back down without a good fight." The woman, apparently a captain and most likely Isadora Berling herself, said to her subordinate. "Especially with the Ashen Demon in play."

"Right, she's supposed to be my target. If she goes down, Jeralt's mercenaries should be easy pickings from there." The purple-haired young man put a gauntleted hand to his chin. "I think I can take her. I haven't fought anyone I haven't beaten before, you know."

"Yes, I know, Shez, but trust me on this. The Demon is not like..."

Arthur and Byleth continued to observe Berling and her retainers until they were out of sight and earshot, having advanced past their hiding spot.

"We have to do something." Byleth said, moving to unsheathe her weapon.

This time, Arthur knew not to stop her. He instead fished out his half-finished concoction bottle and downed it in one go. "What're the odds of us winning if we attack the next group of riders we see?"

"If you were any other mercenary, I would not take action like that. I would find a way to retreat to friendly lines." Byleth said. "Between the two of us, however..." She nodded, a determined mask slipping over her face.

Arthur cycled his gun. There was nothing else needed to be said. They waited only a few seconds before the next group of riders arrived, and once they were within striking distance, Arthur made his move.

"Look out!" One of the riders indicated at the dark figure emerging from the side of the road, wielding a strange, long-barrelled instrument in his hands. "There's a—"

For Arthur, time slowed to a crawl as he put up his Litchfield. His first shot caught a rider in the neck. A split-second later, his second shot splattered the contents of another rider's head behind him, directly all over his unfortunate comrade's face and armour. Eyes wide open in shock and disgust, the third rider opened his mouth to yell, when Arthur's third shot blew off his jaw mid-scream, turning it into a wet gurgle.

"By the goddess!" The fourth and final rider, seeing the carnage in front of him, bid his mount to a complete stop and tried to turn around and flee. Arthur cycled his rifle and turned to shoot him, only for Byleth to catch up to the man with a graceful jumping slash to the neck. The rider choked and gagged as blood poured out of his open throat until his agitated mount bucked him off with a shrill whinny before galloping away.

The outlaw whistled. "Nice move."

Byleth's smile was very faint, but it was there. "What's next, Arthur?"

Arthur was quick to seize hold of the reins of one of the riderless horses before it could flee. "Quick, give me your revolver."

She strode up to him and wordlessly complied. Arthur took the gun and loaded it with new ammunition. "I'll hold on to this, kid. You'd be better off with sticking to what you know tonight. What I want you to do now is to grab a horse and stay close. We need to—"

"It's the Demon!"

They were interrupted by yelling from further up the road. More of Berling's soldiers, both mounted and on foot, had started to arrive, and they did not look happy.

"This is our chance! Kill that woman!"

Arthur scowled as he took aim and emptied the rest of the rounds in his rifle at the newcomers, prioritising the mounted soldiers. After dispatching enough of them to buy enough time for Byleth to secure her own horse, Arthur hurriedly mounted his captured steed as Byleth mounted hers.

"Stay close, kid! Are you ready?"

"Ready!"

Arthur waited until his companion rode up close before he bid his mount onward at full tilt. "Go on, boy! Move, move! Hyah!"

The stallion needed no further encouragement as it erupted into a gallop. Byleth lagged behind at first, but she soon kept pace with Arthur, one hand on the reins and the other holding her sword like a sabre.

"Riders up front!" She said, pointing her weapon at the enemy riders ahead.

"Get ready!" Arthur yelled, unholstering both his Schofield and Byleth's double-action.

It didn't take long for the other mercenaries to realise that the pair of mounted figures headed their way were decidedly not friendly. Shouting in alarm as they tried to move into a defensive formation, they would found themselves wanting at the hands of a phenomenal gunslinger like Arthur.

Once again, time slowed to a crawl as Arthur bore down on the mercenaries, his twin revolvers drawn and pointed their way. Four riders were scrambling to intercept him and Byleth, but just further ahead, another four had turned around to reinforce their comrades. For most men, this was an insurmountable obstacle. For Arthur, it was just another bump in the road.

"Look, it's the Ashen Demon!" One of the mercenaries cried out. "Move to intercep—"

It was only in the middle of a fight did Arthur truly felt he wasn't dying. A barrage of fire and lead erupted from the outlaw's revolvers as he advanced. Heads were ventilated and throats were blown open as his shots landed their marks in rapid succession. One by one, Berling's riders were either flung back or slumped forward on their saddles as Arthur shot his way through their unprepared formation. The only thing that stopped him from slaughtering them all outright was his increasingly agitated mount. Clearly unused to firearms going off, the stallion tried to buck its rider off, and it took all of Arthur's strength to keep mounted as he wrestled his horse back to submission.

A pair of Berling's riders were all that's left of the eight-man cohort by the time Arthur reached them. They were too shocked and bewildered at the sudden deaths of their fellows to stop the outlaw from riding past, much less keep Byleth, who was riding close behind, from taking their heads with a blisteringly-fast pair of slashes as she advanced past them.

"Almost at the gates!" Arthur exclaimed over the chaos. A rider broke off from his formation to shoot at Arthur with his bow. The man barely had time to draw before Arthur blew his head open with a pair of revolver headshots. Letting out a cough, Arthur looked to the steadily-increasing number of foes in the area before looking to Byleth over his shoulder. "Hang tight, we're gonna have to ride through these bastards!"

"Mr. Morgan!" She yelled back, her face twisted in horror. "Look out!"

Arthur whipped his head back. He had just enough time to process the mounted shape fast approaching before suddenly, he found himself in the air, limbs scrambling for purchase as he tumbled to the earth, his revolvers flying out of his hands.

The outlaw hit the ground with a strangled grunt. He breathed hard as he crawled up on his hands and turned his head aside, finding his horse resting on its flank some distance away, slowly breathing its final breaths as the broken half of a long spear jutted out of its neck.

"You goddamn animals!" Snarling, the outlaw drew his repeater rifle as he staggered up to stand. He looked around, finding himself within spitting distance of Jeralt's camp, close enough to see the two groups of mercenaries clashing arms and spilling each others' blood... close enough to attract the attention of Berling's foot mercenaries.

Arthur expected a few to peel off and start engaging him. His intuition was proven right as they did, but he certainly did not expect them to do so in droves. Dozens upon dozens of enemy mercenaries broke off from their engagement with Jeralt's forces to swarm the outlaw, as though attempting to drown him in their numbers.

Knowing his gun was empty, the outlaw reached into his bandolier for more repeater rounds. He didn't care what he loaded into the rifle, only that he could keep shooting. When another rider appeared unexpectedly among the ranks of his unmounted foes and charged at Arthur, he stopped reloading and put up his gun, desperately trying to line up a killing shot.

It was then that he saw Byleth advancing from the side, her horse knocking aside or trampling underfoot all in its path. The enemy horseman reacted too late to the Ashen Demon in their midst, who jumped off her saddle as she sent her galloping steed crashing into her mounted foe mid-charge. Apparently unconcerned by the extreme risk of being surrounded by enemies, Byleth advanced past entire groups of Berling's mercenary infantry and cut the disoriented rider's throat as he tried to scramble out from the tangle of horses. This reckless move caused her to grossly overextend, and it wasn't very long before Byleth was swarmed by the enemy from all sides.

"Byleth!" Arthur shouted as he watched the girl disappear behind the mass of enemy infantry. It was then that he realised why Berling's men were so eager to turn their backs on Jeralt's mercenaries to swarm out of the camp. They were after the Ashen Demon, not an unknown like him. "Goddamn it!"

Grimacing, Arthur did not wait to see his companion get cut down. He advanced as he fired his repeater into the enemy ranks, felling mercenaries where they stood. Every now and then, his rounds would set mercenaries on fire, punch holes through multiple targets, or even blow appendages off in small explosions of fire and shrapnel. Arthur paid no attention to the terror and chaos he was leaving in his wake as he carved his way through Berling's men, not stopping for anything until, at last, he killed enough men to force the rest in his path to scatter, humbled and demoralised by his strange weapon and his dead-eyed skill with it.

With the way clear, Arthur half-expected to see Byleth dead, or about to die. Instead, he saw her much in the same way as she was before, untouched and unmoved, her sword slick with blood as she danced around or parried aside blows and cut down anyone foolish enough to draw close. It was clear why these men feared her, and wanted her out of the action so badly — Byleth was truly a phenomenal swordswoman, unmatched in close combat.

"Mr. Morgan!" Byleth already seemed to have noticed Arthur approaching. Considering the all the noise his gun had made, he wasn't surprised. "Over here!"

"Hang on, kid, I'm comin'!" Arthur smashed his gunstock into a mercenary whom had drawn too close before considering shooting the man as he doubled over. Frowning at the errant, dishonourable thought, the outlaw decided to simply force the man down to the dirt with another hit to the back of the head.

Byleth twisted her body to avoid an overhead attack from a swordsman and advance into the man's guard at the same time, with her foe unbalanced, she plunged his sword into his side before retracting her blade and taking his head. Another foe tried to hold Byleth back with a shield while swinging at her with an axe, but the Demon was far too agile for his eyes to track as she parried his swing, then moved around his guard. One strike to his neck was all it took.

Eventually, Arthur shot and bludgeoned his way next to Byleth. Furiously cycling and firing his rifle, he moved to cover her rear as she cut down foes up front left and right.

"Between the two of us," Arthur shouted as he reloaded, with Byleth covering for him. "—we should be able to fight our way in, straight past the damn gates!"

Byleth found herself locking blades with an enemy swordswoman. It lasted all of two seconds before Arthur blew a new hole in the side of the mercenary's head. "Agreed! Forward, then!"

Arthur and Byleth worked together and watched each other's backs as they advanced through to the camp gates, shooting and cutting through the opposition as they did. As more and more of Berling's men were either slain or routed off the field, Jeralt's own people had started to trickle into view, having had held the other company for so long on own. Arthur had, in truth, expected to find most of them already dead, but as he and his companion pushed further into the compound, he realised Jeralt's mercenaries never lost the upper hand, as despite their smaller numbers, they were better-equipped and seemed to be much better trained than their enemy counterparts.

That Berling woman led her folks to their deaths, coming at Jeralt's boys like this, Arthur thought.

"Incoming enemy wave!"

Arthur looked to where Byleth was pointing her sword, and found more enemy mercenaries running from further up the camp, straight towards their position. All evidence pointed to this being what remained of the main body of the enemy.

"Close ranks, everyone! Close ranks!" One of Jeralt's people, a grey-streaked, ginger-haired older man wearing a hood and holding a bow in his hands, indicated for his fellows beside and around him to form a wall of steel and armoured bodies. "Watch the flanks, face them together!"

By then, Arthur and Byleth had gathered many allies on their way inside, and their numbers swelled enough to contest this new group of foes.

"Ready for this?" Arthur cycled his rifle.

Byleth wiped the blood from her face. "Time to end this."

As the horde of enemies drew near, however, Arthur was one of the first to notice that they were in no position to continue to fight. Their ranks consisted of wounded and exhausted men, wearing battered, blood-spattered armour and some even had no weapons to carry.

"I'm not paid enough to die for the captain!" One of the enemy mercenaries shouted, throwing his bow to the ground. "I surrender!"

That seemed to be the tipping point for Berling's mercenaries, as one after another, they started laying down their arms when it became clear there was no escape.

"This is hopeless! We surrender!"

"Berling can rot, for all I care!"

"I need... I need healing! My friend is dying, help!"

Arthur lowered his rifle and turned to Byleth. "Let's leave these fellers for your friends to sort out. Come on, we still have to find Jeralt."

Byleth, however, didn't seem to hear Arthur. Her unblinking eyes were focused on the surrendering mercenaries as she raised a commanding hand in the air. "Archers, get ready to loose! On my mark!"

"Archers, draw! Take aim..." The other mercenaries immediately drew longbows and aimed downrange, much to Arthur's shock. "On your word, Commander Byleth!"

Byleth appeared all but ready to command her people to murder Berling's surrendering mercenaries. Arthur knew he had to step in.

"Kid, what the hell are you doing?" He took her by the shoulder, which finally drew her attention to him. "These men are surrendering — they're no threat to us!"

Byleth tilted her head to the side, as though genuinely confused. "They became a threat to us when they attacked our camp unprovoked, Mr. Morgan. It is only right that we leave none alive to diminish the threat they pose."

Arthur coughed, retracting his hand. "They was only here 'cause they was paid to! You ain't gonna "diminish the threat they pose" by murdering defenceless, surrendering lackeys like these men. If you want to deal with the real threat, you go for the head!"

The outlaw turned to the mercenaries Byleth had almost ordered killed. "Where's your damn captain?" He yelled.

"She's fighting your captain, just ahead of us!" A mercenary yelled back.

"Yeah! We know this fight's lost, but she won't order us to retreat! No amount of coin's worth dying in this frozen hell!" Another piped in.

Arthur looked to Byleth again. "Just... tell your folks to round them up and put them in chains, if you don't want them to just walk." His voice was soft, almost pleading. "Killing them ain't right."

Byleth still seemed confused, though Arthur seemed to have won her over. "Okay. Men, put Berling's mercenaries in chains."

Arthur breathed in and out as the tightening in his chest gradually vanished. "You did the right thing. Trust me on this, girl."

Byleth nodded as she watched her comrades round up their former enemies. "Time will tell. I think, however, that we should put this behind us and help my father."

This was something Arthur agreed with wholeheartedly. "You know your way around here better than I do, Byleth. Lead on."

...

...

Fittingly, it was near Jeralt's command tent where Arthur, Byleth, and a few other mercenaries who tagged along found the captain. Severed limbs, gallons of spilled blood, and dozens of dead mercenaries from both sides littered the area, of which a small battle between Captain Jeralt and Captain Berling raged on, both supported by small handfuls of their own men.

Upon reaching the scene, Arthur was momentarily struck motionless in awe as he watched Jeralt completely demolish three of Berling's men in quick sucession with his glowing spear, rending armour and cauterising the flesh underneath with each thrust or swing.

"Captain!" Arthur heard Byleth exclaim beside him.

Jeralt turned at the sound of his daughter's voice. Relief seemed to register on the older man's face before he was struck from behind by a long-hafted axe, sending him stumbling forward.

"You ruined everything!" The unmistakable, blood-spattered form of Captain Berling emerged into view as she continued to unleash a barrage of wild swings and thrusts on Jeralt, who regained his footing just in time to block and parry his opponent's wayward attacks.

In an instant, Byleth was sprinting after them. Arthur told the allied mercenaries following them to assist their fellows engaged with Berling's retinue before also running after Byleth and Jeralt. Along the way, he kept an eye out for threats, and it wasn't long before he found one — the purple-haired young man he spotted from before, called Shez by his captain.

Though obviously young and winded from prolonged battle, Shez seemed to be a skilled and experienced combatant as he slashed and cleaved through three opponents at once with the pair of bloody swords in his hands. With his foes dispatched, the boy surveyed the battlefield before his eyes widened in recognition at the sight of Byleth. Fearlessly, Shez immediately broke into a run, his swords raised for battle as he made for a straight line towards his target. So focused was the young man at picking a fight with the Ashen Demon, that he reacted too late to Arthur slamming into him from the side, knocking him down.

"You don't want that fight, boy." Wielding a pilfered handaxe in one hand and his hunting knife in the other, Arthur loomed over Shez as he groaned in a tangled heap on the ground. "Best you stay down and wait this out."

Shez swiftly recovered, however. The boy rolled up to stand and growled in frustration as he swiped at Arthur with his blades. "Out of the way, old man!"

Arthur jumped back, avoiding the attack. Grunting, he quickly advanced forward and swung his axe at the young man, only for Shez to duck under the blow and leave a parting slice at Arthur's outstretched arm.

The outlaw hissed in pain as he staggered back. Shez saw an opening and tried to skewer Arthur and end the fight with a lunging double-thrust, only for Arthur to stand his ground and parry aside the attack.

Shez's purple eyes widened in surprise. He was not expecting his move to be intercepted, and he was not expecting to get the wind knocked out of him with a knee to the gut. Just as the boy tried to put some distance between him and the outlaw, Arthur seized his advantage by raining heavy-handed blows on Shez with his axe and knife, abusing his superior strength and reach to force the mercenary on the defensive. Arthur's attacks were mostly deflected and dodged, but the ones that did bypass Shez's defences bit deep into his armour, drawing blood and further weakening the boy.

Within moments, Arthur had knocked aside one of Shez's swords, leaving him open for a fatal blow. The young man seemed to realise this as he closed his eyes, as though accepting his death.

Arthur in his past life would have granted the coup de grâce, because that was what was expected of outlaws. He had long since become more true to himself.

"Stay down!" Instead of landing the killing strike, Arthur gripped Shez's left arm and shoulder with both hands before proceeding to push him aside. The boy was swept off his feet before his body hit the earth with a resounding thump.

Shez coughed and struggled to breathe on the ground. Arthur hoped he would stay down, but infuriatingly, the boy refused to acknowledge his defeat as he crawled back up to stand, brandishing his remaining sword. "Shoulda... killed me... when you had the chance!"

Arthur shook his head. He tossed his axe to the ground and sheathed his knife before unstrapping his rifle from his shoulder and cycling it.

Shez had enough time to look confused before Arthur shot his sword off his hand, sending the weapon flying out of sight. For the first time since he saw Shez, Arthur saw all bravado leave the brash mercenary as he clutched at his wrist, staring at the outlaw's weapon. "Wh—what did you just..."

Arthur cycled his rifle and took aim. "I'm tired of playin' this game with you, boy. Sit down, and I won't ask again."

Shez wisely complied.

The outlaw lowered his rifle and looked around the field. Jeralt's mercenaries were rounding up Berling's mercenaries as they surrendered. As for Berling herself, her body was cooling on the ground, her long-hafted axe split in two beside her.

"Mr. Morgan!"

Arthur turned to receive Jeralt and Byleth as they approached him. The mercenary captain seemed happy despite his new limp and obvious exhaustion, while his daughter beside him supported her father with an arm around his shoulder.

"Mr. Morgan... Arthur. It seems I have you to thank for bringing my daughter back to us," Jeralt said. "I thought something might have happened to her when I didn't hear from her at the start of the attack. Word has it that the two of you engaged Berling's mercenaries outside camp without support and fought your way back inside."

Arthur waved him off. "I was with her, sure. But your daughter didn't need my help, or nothin'. I just shot some folks while defending myself."

Byleth shook her head. "Captain, that is untrue. Mr. Morgan is responsible for eliminating most Berling's mounted forces, and his assistance was instrumental to breaking—"

"Don't worry, Byleth, I know what you're thinking." Jeralt quieted her with a raised hand.

Arthur coughed. "Oh no, that can't be good..."

Jeralt smiled. "Arthur, you went above and beyond for this company tonight, and you know very well I can't just let this go unrewarded. I'll let you have a part of Captain Berling's bounty — the woman has gathered quite the sum on her head over the years."

Arthur sighed. He knew they wouldn't just let him say no. "Alright, alright. I guess I need the coin."

Byleth blinked. "Captain, what about—"

"I'm getting to that part, don't worry." Jeralt said, chuckling. "And another thing, Mr. Morgan. Did you know that Byleth told me you'd fit in very well with us here? After what I've seen and heard, I can't help but agree. Let me finish," The captain held up a hand before Arthur could protest. "But you don't have to sign up, or anything like that. While you're staying here with us, I'm more than willing to pay you as a contractor. I'm afraid I can't give you a salary until you do sign up, but in the meantime, I'll let you access our contracts and bounties if you're looking to make yourself useful and get paid. I wasn't sure this was a good idea before, letting a sick man do dangerous work... but what you did tonight dispelled my doubts."

Arthur stared at the other man. "This is all... very generous, Mr. Eisner. I'll think about it."

"Too late! You're now an unofficial contractor." Jeralt laughed at the sour look on Arthur's face. "And you can call me Jeralt. I'm old, but not that old."

The outlaw shouldered his rifle, and, with a little hesitation, extended his hand. The captain shook it immediately.

...

...

A/N: alright, done. This took me three days.

Also, yes, Shez is here. This doesn't mean I'm writing the story around the Hopes storyline, though. This is still primarily a Houses story, with some elements of Hopes included. Shez, for example, is implied to have been killed by Byleth in Houses because Arval didn't save him and give him powers. While Arthur spared Shez in this story, if he did decide to kill him instead, Arval wouldn't save him here, either. Arval may not even exist in this story. I dunno.

Also, about guns. This was the first time Arthur had burned through ammo, and in the next chapter, he'll have to come to terms with the fact that he may have brought a huge stack of ammo from America, he'll eventually run out, and must find a way to make more.

Okay, I'll catch you later then!