The dagger was made out of a strange, dark-hued metal, with a blade that curved slightly to the right, past the fuller's midpoint. It possessed subtle filigree decorations along the grip, the pommel, and the base of the blade, and the handle was equipped with a handguard, cementing its purpose as a duelist's weapon. Of course, the blade itself was marred by a sizeable impact crater as a result of Arthur blasting it from its previous owner's hands...

"Damn it!"

"You died... again."

"What? I was just getting started!"

"But you will not be able to fight without a head..."

Arthur sighed through his nose. He stopped examining the dagger by the firelight and put it back in his satchel.

"Will you damn kids keep it down?" He yelled at his two companions. "All this racket's gonna bring every bandit in the entire goddamn Hrym Territory down on our heads!"

Shez groaned in annoyance as he tossed his practice swords in the grass. "Every time I thought I had it figured out, she just breaks through my guard and chops me in half!"

Byleth shook her head as she relaxed her stance. "And you are only getting sloppier with each bout. Perhaps we should settle down for now, as Arthur said."

"Whatever, I guess." Shez made his way back to the campfire and sat down on a log they dragged next to it earlier in the evening. "The way I keep losing to you, I keep getting reminded how I'd have died if Arthur hadn't stood in my way back then."

"And I'm regrettin' that decision each hour I spend within earshot of you." Arthur deadpanned, picking up his cup of coffee and sipping from it.

"Ha, you're not fooling anyone with that overblown tough guy act, Morgan." Shez put up his infuriating, trademark smirk. "We both know you're the biggest softie in Jeralt's company, and I know you care about me, in your own way."

"Heh, sure. Whatever you say, little man." Arthur shook his head, chuckling.

Byleth walked up to the campfire, a curious expression on her face. "How is Arthur the "biggest softie", Shez?"

Shez arched his visible brow at her, still smiling deviously. "You mean you haven't noticed the way he's always trying to seem like a grumpy old bastard to hide how he's got the runniest bleeding heart this side of the Empire? Here I thought you knew Arthur better than anyone."

"I... do not understand how you could have known Arthur's heart is bleeding profusely. He would have killed you should you attempt to carve his chest open."

Arthur sighed fondly. Byleth's strangeness made him pity and feel protective of the girl at times, but there were also times when he found it an endearing quality of hers.

"He thinks I'm some kind of merciful, sentimental fool, miss." He explained.

Realisation dawned on Byleth's face. "Oh."

"Is it sinking in, yet?" Shez pressed. "Remember how he convinced you to keep your friends from killing my friends? He told you, "It ain't right, kid!". They told me about it when your dad was holding us together for ransom."

"Yes..."

"I heard you were with him on that merchant-escorting job in Galatea. If so, then you remember how he emptied his purse for a mob of starving farmers who tried to shake down the two of you with rusty pitchforks and shovels, do you?"

"Of course..."

"How about this: on our last missing persons contract together, he pulled all stops to nurse this starving Edmund noble girl back to health. Gave away his jacket to her, and it's one of his nicer ones, too. Isn't that right, Morgan?"

Arthur feigned disinterest as he sipped idly at his drink. "Ain't a big deal. Almost forgotten about that now."

Shez's grin was ear-to-ear. "Seriously? Well, you might have forgotten about it, but I'm sure she hasn't forgotten about you. I mean, did you see the way she looked at you when you tried to tell her dad it wasn't her fault she was kidnapped? And the way she hugged your jacket, like it's the best gift anyone has ever given her... she'll remember you every time she looks at it, that's for sure."

The outlaw scoffed. "Nice try, kid. It'll take a hell of a lot more to get a rise out of me."

"I noticed the jacket was gone." Byleth said, looking down as though saddened. "I wanted it."

Arthur put down his drink and stared at her in perplexed disbelief as Shez burst into a fit of laughter.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Byleth seemed genuinely confused at their reactions. "It was a nice jacket—"

"Hello over there!"

In an instant, Arthur drew his bow, plucked out one of the arrows he planted into the soil and nocked it. When he turned on his heel to aim downrange at the source of the voice, he was greeted not by the mob of bandits he was expecting, but by the sight of a tall, armoured woman with a strange, hooked sword hanging by its sheath behind her hip. Standing by the woman's flanks were three equally armoured figures, wielding weapons and shields of obviously fine make.

"Whoa now, we're not here to hurt you!" The woman exclaimed, raising her gauntleted hands. She had blonde hair tied back in a ponytail like Byleth, and the skin on her face was rather tan, indicative of a lifestyle defined by frequent roaming. "We're not bandits, if the armour didn't clue you in. We watched those two sparring, and we thought it'd be safer to share a fire with capable people while we're out in the Hrym Territory."

Arthur looked behind his shoulder and gestured for Byleth and Shez to stand down. Byleth took a while to lower her sword, while Shez openly stared at the woman, a shocked, wide-eyed look etched on his face.

"Who are you folks supposed to be?" Arthur asked, his bow pointed halfway down.

"Well, count me surprised — and refreshed — that you don't know!" The woman laughed. "We're from the Knights of Seiros, and my name is Catherine."

"Thunder Catherine. The wielder of Thunderbrand." Shez said, clearly awed at this strange woman. "You're talking to one of the mightiest knights in the continent, Arthur. If she wanted us dead, we won't even see her coming."

Catherine's amusement was palpable. "Arthur, eh? That's a nice name. We want to sit by your fire, if that's alright with you."

"If what the kid said was true, then it's best we don't get on your bad side," Arthur said. He put away his bow. "Find a spot and take a load off. There's coffee in the pot, if you was wanting something to drink."

"I could use a good cup of coffee." One of the knights said, raising her visor.

"I'll stick to water, thanks." Another said, taking out a flask from his belt.

"I'm just here for the fire." The last one said.

As her fellow Knights of Seiros took their places around the camp, Catherine promptly sat down in front of the fire, in between Arthur and Byleth. "Ah, thank the goddess. Warm and toasty at last."

Byleth stared at her, or rather, she stared at Thunderbrand. "I have never seen a Hero's Relic before. I could feel its power just by looking at it." She then looked to Catherine. "I would like to test my sword against Thunderbrand."

Catherine chuckled. "I saw you fight, and I gotta hand it to you — you're very skilled for someone so young. Still, I wouldn't recommend it. Thunderbrand has a habit of breaking weapons it clashes with."

Arthur examined the weapon from a distance. To him, it looked to be made of a bone-like material, with metal reinforcements.

"Yeah, no kidding." Shez said, scratching the back of his head. "No chance in hell I'd even last a couple of seconds against someone like you."

"And I've seen you fight. You're not quite there yet, but I can see a lot of potential from you, kid." Catherine said to him, her amiable tone never relenting. She gave him a thumbs-up. "Keep up with your training, and one day you'll be a warrior I'd be proud to fight alongside."

"Wow, um, thanks." From the look on his face, Shez was clearly memorising this moment to be treasured later. "And yeah... yeah, you bet I will. One day, I'll trounce Arthur, then Byleth, then Jeralt, then—"

Catherine held up a hand. "Jeralt... the mercenary captain? His company's making a name for itself lately. Between defeating Berling's mercenaries in open battle, completing difficult contracts nobody wants to take, and wiping out scores of the most infamous bandits in the continent, people had been saying Jeralt's company is the company you hire if you want something done properly and without fuss."

"Hey, that's us!" Shez exclaimed.

"I think she knows that, kid." Arthur said. "Probably already knew who we were, before she decided to pay us a visit."

With exaggerated flair, the knight shifted aside to look at the outlaw. "And I heard... that if you want to find and rescue someone who went missing as quickly as possible, you put up a contract for Jeralt's company and ask for someone named Morgan. That's you, isn't it?"

Arthur shrugged. "Don't know about that, my lady. I have a bad habit of finding corpses instead of, y'know, people with breath still in their lungs."

"Ah, so that's why Shamir called you the Corpsefinder." Catherine said, her cheerful attitude disappearing for a moment as she frowned. "That's... actually sort of mean, and definitely a bad look for people looking to hire you."

The outlaw waved her off. "It ain't about the money. Jeralt's folks saved my life, and all I care about is repaying their kindness and, well, helping folks who need helping."

"Funny you should say that. That's exactly what I think about when others ask me why I fight." Catherine said, smiling. "I owe everything to the archbishop, and it's feels nice to be there for the little people while I'm out on patrol, or on missions."

"Yeah, I get that." Arthur remembered some of the people he came across and assisted while travelling the American countryside. "Not very mercenary of me, I know... but some things are more valuable than money. Wish I was smart enough to learn that kinda lesson years ago."

Shez nudged Byleth. "See what I mean? Total softie."

"Being a softie does not seem to have impeded his ability to beat you soundly." She said.

The mercenaries chatted with the knights for a while as the evening turned to night. Arthur poured coffee for the knights and handed Catherine a half-filled bottle of dark Guarma rum when she asked for something stronger. Feeling bold, Shez also asked for alcohol, only for him to retch and sputter when he tried to drink it too quickly.

"By the goddess, this is foul! My mouth feels like it's burning up!" He said, desperately fumbling for his water canteen.

Catherine's laugh was infectious. "You're supposed to savour it, kid! It's a bit sweeter than I'm used to, but it's actually pretty damn good!" She then turned to Arthur. "Where did the bottle come from?"

Arthur grimaced as he poured himself some of the rum. "Some humid shithole I never want to come back to. Help me finish it, so I can forget about having been down there in the first place."

"Do you even have to ask?" Catherine picked up the bottle and handed it to the knight sitting close to the fire. "Here you go, Neumann, this should help keep you warm!"

The next hour came and went. After they finished the bottle, Arthur excused himself to work on their dinner. Catherine walked up to Byleth who was keeping an eye on the perimeter and tried to chat her up, while Shez challenged one of the knights to spar with him. Arthur was concerned about bandits before, but with Thunder Catherine and the Knights of Seiros around, he didn't see a reason to stop them from enjoying themselves.

"You know what I find weird?" Catherine said, her cheeks flushed from the drinks.

"I do not know what you find weird. How could I?" Byleth tilted her head.

The knight squinted, as though trying to examine a tiny detail in the girl's Pinkerton-inspired clothes. "I can tell you have a crest, but I can't figure out what kind... which is weird, because I have a knack for sussing out these things like, the moment I look at the person."

"I have a crest?" Byleth seemed rather surprised at this. "That is... no, I do not think this is possible."

Catherine scratched her head. "Yeah, maybe. I dunno, maybe I'm just drunk."

Before the two of them could ponder on their subject any longer, Arthur called them to gather around and sit down for dinner. With Catherine and her knights around, he figured it was only right to use up some extra provisions and provide for them.

"Salted pork cutlets with herbs and greens on the side tonight," He said as he handed the others their plates. "And Byleth, I'm watching you. I wanna see you finish that plate, missy."

The girl sighed. "Yes, Mr. Morgan, I know."

Shez massaged his cheek, which was starting to bruise from his spar with the knight he challenged. "Damn it. I really want to eat all this, but it hurts to speak, let alone eat."

"Well now, this is a surprise." Catherine said, after sampling Arthur's cooking. "Most mercenaries I worked with were only good for brawling and distracting foes. I don't know how good you are in a fight, Morgan, but you sure can whip up a tasty frontier dish, and in short notice, too!"

"Eh, this ain't nothing. My old man, he was the real deal when it comes to trail cooking." Arthur said. He was quick to change subjects, "So, if y'all don't mind a strange feller like me askin', what could have made a bunch of knights come all the way to Hrym?"

Catherine tapped an armoured finger to her cheek and made a show of considering if she should tell Arthur. "Well... oh, what's the harm? We're here to take the Imperial Road to Leicester, to link up with the Knights of Seiros contingent mustering to reinforce House Goneril's defensive garrison in Fódlan's Locket."

She shrugged. "Apparently, the local duke think the Almyrans are amassing for a full-on invasion, which, to my knowledge, hasn't happened in decades."

"Almyrans?" Arthur frowned. "Can't say I've heard of them. They some kinda threat to the Alliance, or something?"

"Huh. That's the first time I've been asked that question. Everyone in Fódlan knows about the Almyrans..." The knight said. "But you're not from around here, are you?"

"Not really." Arthur drawled. "Let's just say I'm from a different continent. Anyway, you was saying?"

Catherine breathed in and out, as though steeling herself. "Right, so... the Almyrans. They're merchants, horse-riders, and warriors from a powerful desert kingdom to the east of the continent, and they share a mountainous border with the Alliance. If I remember my childhood history lessons correctly, more than a century ago, Almyra sent a huge army to invade Fódlan to try and subjugate its people."

The knight chewed a mouthful of food and drank some water before continuing, "It was a long and bloody war, ending with thousands dead and many noble houses extinguished, but with military aid from both the Empire and the Church of Seiros, the Alliance army eventually sent the invaders packing."

She finished her plate and set it down. "In the aftermath, all three continental powers came together and agreed to build a fortress in the mountains for the local nobles, House Goneril, to defend as they see fit. They must be doing a good job, because so far, all Almyran attempts to break through this fortress have been repulsed."

"And the fortress is called Fódlan's Locket." Shez said, nodding. "I've been there a couple of times. Formidable-looking place, with ballista towers, catapults, arcane bombards, and thousands of soldiers garrisoned there all year."

"You got that right, and that's where we're headed." Catherine thumped a fist into her palm with an audible, metallic clink. "Lady Rhea knows it's a waste of manpower to send her forces to take part in minor border skirmishes the Almyrans usually get up to, so the fact that she sent me, along with a small army of her knights, probably means there's something serious going on out there, past Fódlan's Throat."

"Well, if that's the case, then I wish you luck. I've been in my share of big fights, but I can't imagine being in the middle of a war." Arthur said, shaking his head at the thought. He hoped he was crow feed before it could happen.

"I've got Thunderbrand, and the goddess' protection. Luck is for the sorry bastards we're going up against!" The woman laughed as her fellow knights cheered in agreement. She gave Arthur a hearty slap on the back when she settled back down. "But I think you've interrogated us enough, Morgan! What about you three — what sort of contract Captain Jeralt has got you doing out here in Hrym?"

"Bounty hunting for House Ordelia." Byleth's reply almost seemed automatic. "We went after the von Kaerstens, a group of racketeers and extortionists led by a disgraced Alliance noble, protected by an small army of brigands. They were taking shelter in an abandoned Imperial bastion."

"You make it sound like you've already finished the job." Catherine noted.

"Yep. Got Alliance knights swarmin' all over that bastion now, mopping up the mess we made out of it." Arthur said. "We'll pass the night here and head back to camp in Gloucester first thing tomorrow morning."

"Then it's off to the next contract?"

"I'll stick around for a couple of days helping out and training. If I see a missing persons contract up for claiming, I take it and go. These kids are the ones who drag me off to watch their backs on contracts that involve heavy fighting."

"If these two need you to watch their backs, then you must be quite the warrior indeed, especially one without a crest. Maybe you're up for a little spar?"

Arthur shook his head. What the hell are crests? "Sorry, ma'am, but I gotta say no to that. I'm tired and I'm on first watch tonight. Maybe next time?"

Catherine shrugged with an easygoing smile. "Fair enough, Morgan. But you owe me a good fight the next time we meet!"

...

...

When Arthur woke up, Catherine and the Knights of Seiros were already gone, apparently having had left camp two hours before sunrise, according to Shez.

As he helped the others pack away and saddle up, Arthur wondered if he would see Catherine again. Unlike the majority of knights he was acquainted with, he actually found her company enjoyable. He hoped her goddess would keep her safe.

The journey back to Jeralt's camp took them to Gronder Field, then the Airmid River. They then passed through the Great Bridge of Myrddin, bought some provisions from the merchants plying their trade there, then camped down for the night after putting enough distance between themselves and the bridge. Byleth convinced Arthur to shoot bottles with her using pistols that night while Shez watched, and he was satisfied to see her finally reliably hitting targets with small guns, even as he tossed the bottles into the air.

"I would like to go back to using shotguns," The girl said to him, as they walked back to the fire. "But I understand if you need to conserve munitions."

"No way around it, girl." Arthur said. "But I'll find a way to get more. I don't know how, but I ain't giving up until I do."

They returned to their journey before dawn. Thanks to already being in Gloucester, it only took them another few hours of riding to reach Jeralt's camp. Arthur was looking forward to spending the day hunting, or writing in his journal as he fished by the nearby lake, but from the way the mercenaries inside were hurriedly dismantling and packing away the tents while camp followers saddled the horses and piled equipment onto wagons and carriages, Arthur knew there would be no time to relax this day.

"Looks like we're moving camp." Shez stated the obvious.

"This is unusual. There are plenty of contracts in the area still up for the taking, last time I checked." Byleth said.

"Right, was just thinkin' about that." Arthur held the reins of his steed, willing it to change directions. "I'll go see the captain and figure out what's going on. Not like I've got anything to pack away, anyhow."

"I will accompany you." Byleth nodded, willing her horse to march strides with Arthur.

"You two have fun with that, I'm gonna go get something to eat." Shez broke off from them and headed for the mess.

Jeralt's command tent was also in the process of being dismantled by a team of mercenaries. Still, once inside, they found the captain diligently signing a stack of papers on his desk with a focused look on his weathered face. Tellingly, there wasn't a bottle of ale within reach of the man, and indeed, there wasn't one in sight.

"Not in the mood for a drink, partner?" Arthur announced himself.

"Hello, father." As did Byleth.

Jeralt looked up from his work and held up a gauntleted hand in greeting. "Ah, you're here. Saves me the trouble of sending a man to find you, to let you know we're packing up and moving camp." He waited for Arthur and his daughter to take a seat in front of his desk before continuing, "So, how did that contract with House Ordelia go?"

"Uneventful." Byleth said. "We met with a group of household knights outside their castle and they told us where our target was. When we arrived, it was a simple matter cutting through the chaff and subduing the von Kaerstens."

"I expected nothing less of you three." Jeralt nodded. "Well done, as always."

"We also met with folks from the Knights of Seiros," Arthur added. "We shared a fire with them, and I got to talking with this woman named Catherine. She said something about heading to a place called Fódlan's Locket to help the Alliance with an invasion, or somesuch..."

Arthur noticed the way Jeralt perked up at his mention of the Knights of Seiros. "Well, what a surprise." He said, blinking slowly. "The whole reason why we're even packing up, Arthur, is because I just accepted a major contract from a noble house, asking if the whole company could be hired to reinforce their armies. Our contact is Duke Tancred Maximillian Goneril, and we're headed to Fódlan's Locket."

What a surprise indeed. Arthur took a moment to let the news sink in before he said, "You're getting us involved in a damn war?"

Jeralt nodded. "Yes, and believe me, I did not make this without giving it enough thought, and without consulting the most senior mercenaries in my employ. I would have asked you too, but... well, you know."

"Yeah, I get it. Nobody in the continent thought about comin' up with telephones yet." Arthur slumped on his seat. "What this Duke Goneril's offering us better be worth it, partner.

Jeralt slid a piece of paper on his desk over to Arthur. "This is part of the letter the duke sent me. Read the numbers at the end, and tell me this isn't significant."

With a dubious frown, the outlaw took it and read the contents. He was astonished at what he found. "This was... this ain't..." He breathed through his nose as he slid the paper back. "These numbers ain't nothing to laugh at, that's for sure."

"What we're being offered is enough to bestow everyone in this camp a year's worth of salaries, and a little more besides. Not to worry, I did the math." Jeralt said, clearly proud of himself. "I have no doubt we will do a lot of recruiting after this contract, both to replace casualties, and to replace those who have plans to retire from the mercenary life."

Byleth put a hand on her chin in thought. "At the start of the year, I remember you telling everyone that the company was in no position to accept contracts like this. What changed?"

"Hm." Jeralt smirked as he briefly looked Arthur's way. "Throughout the months, a whole lot has changed for us, and in a good way. If it weren't for a certain someone we found dying on the side of a mountain decimating the main body of Isadora Berling's cavalry during her attack on our camp, I think it's safe to say that many of the faces outside wouldn't be here with us today."

Arthur shifted on his seat. "You ain't giving your daughter enough credit. She was the one who—"

"No, Arthur." Byleth interrupted him with an uncharacteristically curt tone-of-voice. "I would not have fared as well as you did against multiple horsemen. The captain is right... many would have died that night if you weren't there."

Arthur shook his head and held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. I just, well... let's just say I wouldn't have done that kinda damage if you wasn't there to keep them off me, kid."

"Nobody's disputing that, Mr. Morgan. Byleth just wants you to take more pride in your achievements." Jeralt said, amused at their interaction. "Because of what you two did that night, we took out one of the strongest mercenary companies in the continent in a single blow, increasing our renown and boosting our coffers from all the bounties and ransoms. And the way you two have been running around Fódlan throughout the year and claiming the most difficult, best-paying contracts left and right, people have been saying we've become the premier mercenary company in Fódlan."

"Come on, Jeralt," Arthur scoffed lightheartedly. "Surely you wasn't expecting me to believe the two of us were the reason your company's doing so well."

"No, of course not. The other mercenaries contributed as well, sure enough, but individually, none of them come close to you, Byleth, and recently, Shez. The kid's got a lot of potential, even if his attitude needs some work."

The outlaw sighed in resignation. "Alright, sure... I guess we're doing this. Always thought it was only a matter of time before this happens. Fair warning to you both, though — I ain't ever been to war."

"I have. And trust me, even without those guns of yours, you're still one of the best fighters in this company, and a damn good archer, too. I think you'll do more than fine." Jeralt said, in an encouraging voice. "And besides, we'll be fighting with the likes of House Goneril and the Knights of Seiros, if what you said is true."

"And Catherine. We will be fighting alongside someone who wields a Hero's Relic." Byleth said, standing up from her seat. "I should prepare the rest of my things for travel while I still can. Please, excuse me."

Jeralt watched his daughter leave the tent, leaving him alone with Arthur, who was sporting a rather hesitant look on his face. "Was there something else, Mr. Morgan? You look like you want to tell me something."

Arthur considered reaching into his satchel, pulling out the pale woman's dagger, and letting the man know that he was being watched. The pale woman mentioned working for someone named Thales, confident that she could kill him easily and take this knowledge with him to the grave. When Arthur proved her wrong, now he must contend with the fact that one or more of the mercenaries in Jeralt's employ was working for Thales — how else would the bastard know so much about him?

But in the end, he decided not to. He was the only one at risk. This problem was his, and his alone. Arthur frowned at the thought of others being harmed on his behalf, and he resolved to find out who these traitors were on his own. That way, if things did not go well, only he would deal with the consequences.

"No, no, I'm good." He said to the captain. "Just thinkin' about how many bullets I'll have left after this."

"Ah, that." Jeralt nodded. "How many do you have left right now?"

"Enough... for a few more months. Been trying not to use 'em as much as I could."

"In that case, you're probably regretting not taking Byleth's sword-training more seriously."

Arthur chuckled. "It's not that I ain't taking the kid seriously — it's 'cause of the way she's trying to make me fight like her. I'm a bit too old and too slow to be dancing around and stretching my limbs the way she does."

"Now, wouldn't that be a sight to see." Jeralt smiled. "Have you told her about this?"

"Of course I did. Didn't stop her from still trying to teach me, though." The outlaw stood up. "And for that, I'm grateful. One day, I'm sure I'll put what she taught me to good use... but for now, I think it's best if I stick to what I know."

Jeralt leaned back on his seat and picked up his quill as Arthur turned to leave. "We'll talk again later when we make camp, Arthur."

By the time Jeralt's mercenaries had dismantled everything and loaded up their equipment for travel, it was an hour past midday. After ensuring the company was organised in a neat column formation and prepared to move out, Jeralt rode from the back to the front of the formation and gave the order to sally forth.

Arthur took a spot in the middle of the formation on one of the supply wagons, with Quartermaster Bernhardt at the reins and him riding shotgun, the familiar weight of his Litchfield repeater snug on his armoured lap.

"It's a long way to Castle Goneril," The quartermaster said to him. "Know any good songs from your homeland, Mr. Morgan?"

The outlaw looked to the rolling Gloucester countryside. The grasslands, the distant trees, cliffs, and plateaus reminded him of the Heartlands in New Hanover. He was reminded of happier times, when hope ran high, and the future looked bright.

One song in particular came to mind. Arthur breathed deep, then began, "O Mollie, O Mollie, it's for your sake alone, that I leave my old parents, my house, and my home..."

...

...

Most of the journey to Goneril was blessedly peaceful, like a much-needed calm before the storm. Aside from guarding the wagons and tending to the horses, Arthur also navigated for the convoy, helped Tekla gather medicinal plants, and rode off with Byleth and Shez to hunt for game whenever Jeralt ordered the caravan to stop and camp for a while.

By the sixth day on the road, Arthur was riding at the front when he and the other navigators sighted the towers of Castle Goneril in the distance. An hour later, and the mercenaries were entering the outskirts of Findolheim, the city surrounding the castle. The local townsfolk didn't seem too surprised to see a convoy of heavily-armed warriors traversing their roads, and indeed, they seem to be delighted to know that their duke paid for a large host of mercenaries to enter his service, the way they clamoured and cheered in their wake.

"So, where to now?" Arthur told Jeralt, whom he had been riding alongside. "Don't tell me you was planning on having us camp down in the middle of a city."

"We'll only be here for a single night, so I could meet with Duke Goneril and be briefed about the situation further east, past Fódlan's Throat." Jeralt raised his voice to be heard amidst the shouting. "We'll park the wagons outside the castle. That's where the nobles expect us to settle down."

"If you say so, captain." Arthur had trouble finding comfort within cities, but he could endure being in one for one night. "Guess I'll find myself a hotel, or something."

"Hold that thought, Mr. Morgan," Jeralt held up a gauntleted hand. "I'm taking a few of my own along to meet the duke. There will be a feast waiting for us, and a little show and dance with singers and minstrels." He shifted on his saddle to look at Arthur. "There's a spot in my retinue, if you want to come with."

"Did you say there'll be some kinda show?"

"Performed by the best opera singers and theatre performers money can buy... or so I'm told."

It still embarrassed Arthur to admit that he liked helping others. Admitting to liking theatre shows was a step too far.

Still, Arthur thought, what had he to lose? "If I'm gonna end up fighting in an honest-to-God war in the next few days, I might as well take whatever enjoyment I can, I suppose..."

"That's the spirit," Jeralt smiled knowingly. "While we're waiting for the guards to let us through, you should take the time to visit a bathhouse and a barber-surgeon. These are Alliance nobles we're going to rub shoulders with, and I've learned a little propriety and presentableness can do wonders when dealing with the likes of them."

Arthur ran a hand through his ample beard, which had grown to almost cover his neck. "Rich folks are the same wherever you go, it looks like."

It was in the middle of the afternoon when Arthur finished helping the mercenary convoy get settled close to the walls of Castle Goneril. After telling a few nosy citizens and would-be peddlers to keep their distance and mind themselves, he proceeded into the streets of Findolheim. He planned to spend the next few hours navigating the city in search of a barber, and somewhere to wash himself. If only he knew where to look...

"Hey, Morgan!"

The outlaw turned to see Shez making his way towards him, a bulging satchel bouncing on his hip with every step. "Heading into the city? Me too. Captain says I should buy some nice clothes instead of wearing my armour into the castle. Nobles, am I right?"

"The old man invited you into his retinue? Shit."

"What? I'm not gonna turn down the chance to cozy up with nobility. Not to mention, the free food."

Arthur could not argue with his reasoning. "Looks like I'll see you in there, then." He decided to get to business before the kid could bolt off. "Don't suppose you know your way around this place?"

"Of course. My adoptive mother took me here every now and then. I practically spent a part of my childhood here." Shez said, proudly. "Why, you looking for a tour guide? I'm insulted, Morgan!"

The young man smirked. "...insulted that you think I'll do it for free. Five hundred gold!"

"Really, kid?" The outlaw shook his head, hiding his amusement. "I'll give you a silver and a copper."

"I want the silver and three coppers!"

"Just take the damn silver."

"Deal!" Shez couldn't help but grin as Arthur grudgingly tossed him a hefty silver coin, which he expertly caught and pocketed. "Here's a tip for next time: never give a kid more than a copper for directions."

"So you are a kid." Arthur chuckled at the pouting look on Shez's face. "Come on, let's get out of here. And you better not get us lost this time, you hear?"

Despite needling Arthur every time he got the opportunity to do so during their walk in the city, Shez was kind enough to wait for the outlaw to finish his business in local bathhouse. After a quip about how long he took and how eager the older bathhouse ladies seem to be when Arthur talked to them, Shez then directed Arthur to a nearby barber.

"Good call, old man." Shez said as he watched money change hands between Arthur and the barber. "One look at you, and the nobles might get frightened at the hairy monster at their door."

"Yeah, yeah, get outta here, kid." Arthur waved Shez off like the petulant child he was. "And don't forget to get those fancy britches you was told to buy!"

Shez's mocking laughter could be heard as Arthur settled himself onto his seat. Disturbingly, the man who was cutting his hair had dried stains of blood on his apron. The whole place smelled of antiseptics and old, stale pomade.

"What'll it be today?" The supposed barber said as he put on some gloves and picked up a scalpel. "A tooth extraction, or a cyst lancing? Neck realignment, or boil draining? A cut and a shave, or a..."

"For chrissakes, I'll just have the last one, thanks." Arthur shook his head.

"Alright, alright, doesn't hurt to ask. No need to get snappy..." The barber put down the scalpel and picked up a razor. "And what style do you want it in? Personally, as a man, I think it's a shame you want me to rid you of all that lustrous, billowing, masculine—"

Arthur grimaced. "Look, mister, I just need to look presentable. I need you to shave most of it up top and tapered close to the skin on the sides as you go down. I'll tell you how it goes as you go along."

The barber sighed as he wrapped a thick woollen cloth around his customer's neck. "And the beard...?"

"Get rid of it. Please."

"Indech have mercy on both our souls, sir."

Half an hour and a washed head later, Arthur hurriedly stepped out of the accursed establishment and started making his way back to the convoy. By then, it was an hour into the evening, and the sun had begun descending from the sky. On his way back, Arthur dipped his hand in a tin of pomade he took from his satchel and applied the viscous contents into his significantly-shorter hair, sweeping it backwards as he did.

Upon reaching the convoy, the sentry who greeted him on his approach back dared to point his spear at Arthur. "Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing? Mercs from Jeralt's company only!"

Arthur grabbed the spear by the haft close to the tip and pushed it aside. "It's Arthur, you dumbass."

The sentry's eyes widened as he straightened himself, moving his spear away. "Oh! Sorry, Mr. Morgan, you looked different from what I'm used to."

"Sure, kid, mistakes happen." Arthur said as he walked past the man, straight to the wagon where his trunk was tethered.

"Wait up, Mr. Morgan, I have something you'll want to hear!" The sentry ran up to Arthur just as he was opening his trunk. "Captain Jeralt told me to wait for you to come back, and tell you to hurry and make your way to the castle gates as soon as you can! They're waiting for you there."

"Ah, shit. Yeah, I got it, thanks." Arthur paid the mercenary no more mind as he dug into his chest for the fanciest clothes he had with him. "Now let's see here..."

In the end, he decided it was fitting to show up looking as though they were going to bury him the next day. He tucked his new outfit under his arms and found a secluded spot to hide and get dressed. After a couple of minutes, he stepped back into the torchlight, wearing a white, spread-collared formal dress shirt with a blue necktie, a notch-lapeled, dark grey shotgun coat with a matching dark grey and black pinstripe vest underneath, black, pleated formal trousers with fine chestnut-brown leather suspenders attached, and a pair of black, plated riding boots worn over his trousers. As a single concession to style, Arthur also put on a black, wide-brimmed Big Valley-style hat over his head.

Without a mirror to check how he looked like, Arthur adjusted his tie, rolled his shoulders, and immediately hurried to the gates of Castle Goneril. There, he found Captain Jeralt with a small retinue of his mercenaries. The older man was dressed in a fancy yellow and black doublet with puffy sleeves, a tight-fitting, decorated bundhosen that accentuated the muscles in his legs, and a pair of old-fashioned, square-toed leather boots.

"By all the saints, is that you, Arthur?" Jeralt was smiling widely at Arthur as he jogged up to the gates to join them. "You look ten years younger! And those clothes — fashion like that's bound to start trends. The nobles will be paying attention to you tonight, I'd wager."

"What? This ain't anything special where I'm from." Arthur tipped back his hat so the others could see his eyes unshadowed by its wide brim. "You said I should dress my best, right? Well, this was what I got in my trunk."

"Not gonna lie, you're looking sharp there, Morgan." Shez was there, dressed in a red and white, gold trimmed tunic under an orange surcoat with decorative black stitching, a pair of red and white breeches held together by a brown leather belt, and fashionable, pointed black shoes. "Looking to impress a noble lady tonight? Too bad you're going to be in the same room with me."

"Rich women are a heap of trouble, kid." Arthur sighed. "Trust me on this one."

"Looking good, Arthur!" Tekla was also there, to Arthur's surprise. She was dressed rather conservatively, with a billowing, ankle-length white tunic obscuring most of her figure. On her head, she wore a closed wimple with a golden band. "I think you look much better without the beard. Where did you get that scar, by the way?"

"Fell off a horse." Arthur said. In truth, it was from a knife-fight with another kid for a tin of sardines that fell off a wagon when he was twelve, but Tekla didn't have to know that.

The well-dressed outlaw let the other mercenaries in Jeralt's retinue look and comment on his appearance a little more before he grumbled, "Look, shouldn't we be heading inside now? Nobles ain't a patient lot, in case you forget."

"We're still waiting on Byleth," Jeralt said. "She should be making her way here now."

"She said she was spending the afternoon working on her dress," Shez said. "Girls, am I right?"

"Hey, that was uncalled for!" One of Jeralt's people, a woman named Rahel from what Arthur remembered, glared at the boy.

"I thought your adoptive mother raised you better than this, Shez." Tekla crossed her arms and pouted.

"Okay, okay, sorry! It's just a joke..." From the impish smile on his face, Shez looked far from being sorry. He shook his head at the women giving him dirty looks and glanced aside. "Wait, is that... oh, it is! Byleth, we're over here!"

The group all turned to look where Shez was looking at. Arriving with a clearly nervous look on her usually inexpressive face, Byleth, approached her fellow mercenaries.

"I apologise..." The girl said, her eyes darting back and forth. She had her hair done up in an elegant, loose ponytail with twisting waves, and was outfitted in a high-collared, decorated chemise under a knee-length, silken cotte fastened at the waist by a trimmed brown leather belt. She also seemed to be wearing laced stockings under her cotte, as well as well as a pair of black, high-heeled shoes. "Perhaps this is a mistake... I do not feel safe without armour, or a weapon."

"This isn't a battlefield, kid. You won't need those where we're going," Jeralt put a hand on Byleth's shoulder and walked with her the rest of the way to the gates. "Just stick to Arthur, Tekla, and the others, and you'll be fine. I'm taking you with me to relax, not to fight, alright?"

"Okay." Byleth visibly steadied herself. "Where is Arthur?"

"I'm here, miss." Arthur spoke up behind them. Byleth's eyes grew wide at the sight of him. "Something in my teeth?"

"No, your teeth are fine. It's that you look... different." She said, still continuing to stare. "I mean... you look good, Mr. Morgan. Those clothes fit you very well."

"You're the one turning heads tonight, Ms. Eisner." Arthur said, smiling. "I mean, look there. Shez can't seem to take his eyes off you already."

"What the— oh, shut up, Morgan!" Shez snapped his gaze to Arthur and lightly hooked him on the shoulder. "Everyone else was looking, but it's me you single out?"

Arthur laughed at his outburst. He only meant to needle the kid, not expose him. "Alright, shit. But what's with the blushing, then?"

Most of the mercenaries were laughing and smirking at Shez's expense as they walked past the guards. Jeralt, in particular, was laughing the loudest as the group entered the gardens.

"Who would have thought—" He wheezed. "Who would have thought, that Berling's own protege," He doubled over in renewed laughter, to Shez's further embarrasment. "Would have a crush on the daughter of rival captain? Haha ha ha!"

"Do you have a crush on me, Shez?" Byleth asked him, head tilted to the side. The mere sound of her voice seemed to startle the boy. "But why?"

"I don't have a crush on you!" Shez all but shouted. "You're pretty and all, but I don't want a girl who can kick my ass anytime she wanted!"

As the laughing from the other mercenaries only got louder and more obnoxious, Arthur started feeling bad for the kid. Maybe this was a mistake.

"I'll get you for this." Shez said to him, purple eyes gleaming with malevolent intent. "One day, Morgan. One day!"

The outlaw chuckled nervously. This may be the first time he felt threatened of Shez.

Moments later, after they had calmed down, the guards standing at the castle entrance let the mercenaries pass, into Castle Goneril's great hall. There, amidst the baroque interiors and tapestries and the bustle of dozens of servants, extremely lengthy tables lined with different sorts of food and drink waited for House Goneril's guests. At the centre of the great hall was a magnificent, unblemished fountain carved out of black marble and trimmed with gold, and past all the tables at the fore of the hall was a grand theatre stage, fit for an entire orchestra.

If there was any doubt as to who lived in this castle, there were none going forward.

"Captain Jeralt Reus Eisner. Welcome to Castle Goneril." A bearded, older-looking man wearing an elaborately-decorated suit of plate and chain armour ambled up to the mercenaries from the middle of the great hall, flanked by a few, similar-looking figures. "I trust the journey here was uneventful?"

"Duke Tancred Maximilian Goneril. Yes, we made it here just fine." Jeralt bowed before the man. "Thank you for hosting us."

The duke nodded solemnly and gestured for the people beside him to step forward, clearly to introduce themselves.

"So you're Captain Eisner." Another man, a musclebound, square-jawed, plate-armoured warrior with spiked hair and an easygoing smile, stepped forward and thumped his armoured chest with his mailed fist in a salute. "I am Holst Sigiswald Goneril, general and heir of House Goneril. I look forward to fighting alongside you."

A young woman, perhaps around Byleth and Shez's age, grinned and did a little wave of her hand at them. "Hi there! It's nice to meet you all. My name's Hilda..." At Holst's prodding of her arm, she dropped her cheery smile and groaned. "Ugh. Hilda Valentine Goneril. I worked hard on the decorations around here, so you better enjoy yourselves!"

Finally, a woman more around Arthur's age, clearly the duke's wife, breathed in and out before saying, "I am Duchess Mathilde von Edmund zu Goneril. It is good that you are here, mercenaries."

Except for the duchess, who had black hair and blue eyes, the Gonerils all had pink hair and eyes, to Arthur's bafflement. Duke Tancred and his son would cut quite the intimidating figures, if they didn't look so ridiculous.

"A pleasure to meet you all." Jeralt said. "What is the situation at Fódlan's Throat?"

"Tense." The duke gruffed. "Their numbers swell with more warriors and siege weapons each day. I grow restless thinking about how much manpower those bastards have amassed by now. I am beginning to consider sending an army past the mountains to cull their numbers and force them to attack while we can still take them."

"It may prove to be an uphill battle, but with the mercenaries and the Knights of Seiros as allies, and plenty of caution, I see no reason for us to lose Fódlan's Locket." Holst said. "House Goneril will prevail, as always."

"Exactly. So how about we get on with the feast instead of worrying about those barbarians all the time?" Hilda suggested. "Come on, come on, I'm starving!"

Jeralt smiled at Hilda's exuberance. "Perhaps the young lady has the right of it. Should we settle down for now and plan our next move later, my lord?"

"Hm. I suppose I didn't order this feast prepared for you just to let it all go to waste." Duke Goneril nodded. "Be seated, and indulge while you still can, mercenaries. For tomorrow, you might be dead."

Moments later, Jeralt's mercenaries took to the feast held in their name with all the eagerness of men who knew the day after could be their last. While the others ate, drank, and made merry, Arthur took a tankard of spiced ale and moved to a secluded corner in the great hall, away from all the commotion his fellows were in the middle of. He positioned a chair next to a nearby fireplace and pulled out his journal and fountain pen, intending to put to paper his week thus far.

He was only a few sentences into his latest entry when Byleth made his way to him, holding a large dinner tray topped with a veritable mountain of sweets, confectioneries, and baked goods, along with a jug of water.

"Jesus, kid, you gonna eat all that?" Arthur put down his journal and watched Byleth place her tray on a nearby table, in reach of both of them. "What's with the sudden appetite for all this tooth-rotting stuff? You barely finish regular meals."

"I go through sweets when I am anxious," The girl said, mid-chew. "Please, have some. I will eat all this if you don't help me, and all that sugar will take a long time to burn off."

Arthur chuckled. He picked up a stuffed dumpling treat and swallowed it in one bite. "I thought the Ashen Demon ain't afraid of nobody. What's gotten you so jittery?"

"I told you, the nobles invited us into their castle while forbidding us to carry weapons and insisting we do not wear armour," Byleth said, after swallowing her own treat. "We are at a severe disadvantage if they intended to do us harm. Many will die tonight if that is the case."

"Stop thinking like that and relax, Ms. Eisner." Arthur said. "The nobles gain nothing 'cept a bloody nose and a heap of bodies to clean up tomorrow morning if that's the case. I know you know this."

"Yes... yes, I do." Byleth admitted, her shoulders slumping. "But still, I cannot help but worry. I feel as though... in the future, there will come a time when—"

"Please, forgive me for interrupting. May I speak with you, mister?"

Both Arthur and Byleth turned to the source of the voice — Duchess Goneril herself. Beside the woman, her daughter Hilda smiled demurely at Arthur with her hands behind her back, her body titled slightly forward.

"Duchess Goneril," Arthur stood up and took off his hat. "Y'all need me for something?"

"That depends," The duchess folded her hands on her dress, clearly nervous, but compelled to press onward. "You... wouldn't happen to be the mercenary known as Arthur Morgan, yes? It's just, you fit his description very well... only without the beard, or the armour."

"Mum, look at him, he's exactly like she described!" Hilda put a hand behind her mother's shoulder and gestured at Arthur excitedly. "Tall, muscular, handsome for an older man... I can just keep going. And just look at the way he's dressed! The details, the angles, the design! Wow..."

"Whoa now, pink kid. I think you should calm down..." Arthur said, bewildered at his situation.

"Hilda... she mentioned none of those things in her letters." Duchess Goneril looked down at her daughter in motherly disapproval. "She wrote that he had dark blonde hair, green eyes, carried himself like a soldier, spoke in a foreign accent, and came from a land called America."

"Oh, um, I was talking about another letter she wrote to me." Hilda let out a little nervous laugh. "Hehe heh... oops."

"Hold on now, you two, let's trace our steps back a couple of miles," Arthur spoke up before the nobles could get another word in. He gestured at himself. "I'm Arthur. Pleased to meet you both. Now, what did you say you need me for?"

Duchess Goneril shook her head. "Nothing, Mr. Morgan. I only wish that you accept my thanks, for all you've done in service to my maiden house." At the outlaw's confused look, she continued, "You may recall me introducing myself as a member of House Edmund. Margrave Stanislaus von Edmund is my brother, whom I still keep ties with after I was married off to House Goneril."

Arthur's eyes widened in surprise. "Then, you're..."

"Marianne's adoptive aunt, yes." Duchess Goneril said. "My brother neglected to mention you, but Marianne often mentioned your name in her correspondences with me from the past few weeks. It seems I have you to thank not only for saving her life, but also for helping the girl begin mending her strained relationship with her adoptive father."

"It was nothing, my lady, truly. I just did what the contract expected me to do..." Arthur scratched the back of his head and glanced aside, hoping to hide his discomfort. "And the only thing I did was find where she was being held and kept her alive till help showed up. I ain't got no business with helping her reconcile with the margrave."

"But you do, mister." The duchess insisted as she stepped around Arthur to keep within his sights. "Whatever you said to Marianne during your time together seemed to have given her the push to sort things out with my brother. In Stanislaus' last letter to me, he wrote how pleased he was to see his adoptive daughter willingly spending time with him, which hasn't happened in years. Do you see how significant this is?"

"Well, I... " Arthur let out a resigned breath. "Yeah, I see it now. And don't get me wrong, I'm happy for Marianne — she's a good kid who's been put through a lot, especially at her age."

"I cannot agree more." The duchess' smile was faint, but sincere. "You have a good heart, Arthur Morgan. Please, take care never to lose it."

"Now that's just nonsense, my lady," The outlaw broke eye contact with the duchess again and looked to where Byleth sat, finding her engaged in conversation with Hilda. "Looks like your daughter's gettin' along well with the captain's kid."

The woman arched a black brow. "Socialising comes naturally to my Hilda, as you can see."

"...so you basically live out in the wilderness and get to see all sorts of interesting places? Wow, I wish my dad took me out to camp and look at the stars once in a while!" Hilda chatted away, partaking in some of the sweets on Byleth's tray occasionally.

"If you ever have the opportunity, you should travel south of Charon, and make camp at Mount Apollyon at night," Byleth said, nodding. "You can see Faerghus to the north, Leicester from the south, and the starry void of the night from above."

"You know, maybe that's what I'll do, after I graduate from the Officer's Academy next year. Then after that, who knows?" Hilda said, her smile growing wider as a thought occured to her. "Maybe I'll join up with your company as a mercenary myself!"

"What about your family... do you not have responsibilities?"

"Nope! It's one of the neat perks of being the second-born daughter in a noble house where the eldest son inherits everything, regardless of crests. I'm free to do whatever I want to make a name for myself. Not many children of nobles can say the same, that's for sure!"

Arthur soon went back to writing on his journal after Duchess Goneril bid him one last round of thanks and took her leave. Byleth, on the other hand, remained occupied as Hilda stayed behind and kept her company, occasionally throwing silly questions or weird looks at Arthur as though he was a part of their conversation all along.

"I almost can't believe you're a mercenary. Look at you, you're so gorgeous in that dress! Did you do your hair up yourself?" Hilda fawned over the other girl excitedly. "And I bet you've got a lot of boys eating out of your hand. Me, I definitely noticed the way some of them were looking at you before you went all the way here to this little corner."

"In what way were they looking at me?" Byleth asked, genuinely curious.

"Uh, what?" For a girl like Hilda, this seemed to be a reason for pause. "How do you not know? Don't tell me you haven't had this warm and fuzzy feeling inside when looking at a cute boy. I mean, just look at that one, over there!"

Arthur suppressed the urge to laugh when he saw Hilda point at Shez from across the great hall. The boy was in a middle of a mock-duel with a House Goneril guardsman, while Jeralt, Holst, Tekla, and a few others watched with grins on their faces and mugs of ale in their hands.

"That's just Shez." Byleth said, visibly puzzled. She squinted her eyes and stared at him for a while. "I... do not feel this "warm and fuzzy feeling" you mentioned, Lady Hilda. Should I try looking harder?"

"Uhh..." Hilda froze for a moment, as though processing Byleth's earnest question. "No...? Anyway, I think he's cute." She shrugged. "But if boys like him aren't your type, then what about... ah-ha! What about handsome older men?"

"I do not understand, Lady Hilda... why are you looking at Arthur that way?"

"Can't you tell? Saints, Byleth, you work so closely with him — you should know by now that he's really, really good-looking! I'll admit, I'm almost jealous Marianne got to be rescued by him!"

Arthur could feel Hilda's eyes boring into the back of his journal. He ignored her obvious attempts at getting him involved in their conversation.

"I... suppose I see it now?" Byleth began, her voice thick with uncertainty. "Yes, Arthur is an attractive man. But what has that got to do with the way my fellow mercenaries were looking at me?"

For the first time this evening, Hilda's excitable attitude faltered as Byleth continued being herself. "Umm, I don't know. I think we got lost a little bit there, hehe." She steadied herself and thought about something for a moment. "Okay, if she's not interested in men, what about..."

The pink-haired girl shifted on her seat and leaned forward, one leg crossed over the other as she looked at Byleth with a coy smirk and half-lidded eyes. "What do you think about this dress, Byleth? I designed and stitched it myself, you know."

She affected a dainty giggle at Byleth's arched brow. "Do you think I look cute in it?"

Byleth shrugged. "I don't know. As a fellow seamstress, I am not an admirer of the design, to be honest. It looks too inconspicuous and unoriginal."

Holy Christ. Arthur lowered his journal a bit to look at Hilda. The open-mouthed look of abject shock she was giving Byleth was priceless. He would have laughed if he also didn't feel bad for her. "Byleth, that was... uhm, a little harsh on Lady Hilda, wasn't it?"

The girl seemed to realise this just as Arthur was saying it. "I... yes, my apologies. I am not well-versed in conversing with other people, and I tend to say what is on my mind without thinking of how it others may interpret it. I only meant to give criticism, not deliberately offend."

"She's getting better at it, believe it or not." Arthur added.

"No... kidding..." Hilda closed her mouth and visibly steadied herself. Thankfully, her usual smile returned swiftly. "Don't worry, I wasn't offended, just surprised. That was the first time somebody criticised my work, and from someone who knows how to sew, too!"

"Perhaps you can show me your other designs later, and I will see if I have ideas on how to improve them." Byleth offered.

Hilda gasped. "Wow, how could I refuse? Now I wish my dad hired you guys sooner! And please, just call me Hilda. I'm way too young to be called a lady yet, y'know!"

Arthur closed his journal after finishing his latest entry with a detailed sketch of the Goneril family, just in time for the mid-feast entertainment to show up on stage, at the fore of the great hall. After announcing themselves as some sort of opera company from the Empire with an unpronouncable name, the performers proceeded with their shows, starting with an unfamiliar hymn sung by a striking young lady in an elaborate magenta dress, with wavy brown locks and porcelain-like skin.

Arthur would never admit it to anyone, but he always loved shows. Whatever they put on the stage, he often found himself frozen in place from start to finish, only to clap and holler along with the crowd at the end, often being the loudest to do so.

Fortunately for his dignity, Jeralt pulled him and Byleth aside before the end of the songstress' performance.

"Duke Goneril's offering to brief me now, and I want you two to come with me." The captain said. "But only if you're willing. I know how you like the Mittelfrank Opera Company, Byleth... and you seem captivated by that girl too, Arthur."

"She can sing, but opera ain't really my kinda thing," Arthur shook his head to fully bring himself back to reality. "I'll go see this briefing. Best to know what we're dealing with."

"I would have liked to see them perform Johanka, Imperial Intelligence, but I suppose this is more important." Byleth nodded. "Lead the way, father."

Moments later, the three of them left the great hall, accessed a hidden staircase and entered a gloomy hallway scarcely lit by a handful of torch sconces. Jeralt led Arthur and Byleth through the deserted hallway until the reached another hidden entrance which was hanging slightly ajar.

"Through here." Jeralt pushed the camouflaged door aside, revealing a much better-lit room with a large table at the centre, with maps and charts scattered across its surface. Inside, Duke Goneril, his son Holst, and several other Alliance generals were in the middle of a discussion about the anticipated Almyran siege.

"Father, it's Captain Jeralt." Holst tapped the duke on the shoulder and gestured at the new arrivals. "And he's brought two other mercenaries with him."

Duke Goneril looked up from the maps and examined his mercenary guests. "Who are these you bring with you, captain?"

"My lords and ladies," Jeralt bowed and indicated at Arthur and Byleth. "This is my daughter Byleth, and one of my best all-rounders, Arthur Morgan. I believe they are wasted as frontline soldiers, and will be put to better use as commanders."

"What the hell is he doing?" Arthur whispered to Byleth in an angry hiss. "I ain't cut out to lead. I always followed."

"We both disagree, Mr. Morgan," Byleth whispered back. "Time and time again, you have shown potential for command. I believe you can unlock this potential at the helm of your own detachment."

"So this was your idea?" Arthur heaved out an annoyed sigh. "For chrissakes..."

"Your daughter?" Duke Goneril scoffed. "She looks like she's more suited to dance than to fight, let alone lead. What makes you think fighting men would willingly follow someone so young and so meek as this one?"

He then looked to Arthur and sneered. "And this man... what could a lowborn dandy know about leading soldiers in the heat of battle?"

Holst appeared taken aback. "Father, please..."

Jeralt visibly bristled at the older man's comments. He remained calm, but it was clear he was putting an effort into controlling himself. "I ask you then, lords and ladies, have you heard of the mercenary known as the Ashen Demon?"

A chorus of affirmatives came from a general here and there, including a hearty nod from Holst and an affirmative grunt from the duke.

"Byleth is the Ashen Demon." The captain declared, instantly inciting a wave of shocked murmurings and muffled oaths. Riding on his momentum, Jeralt didn't wait for the voices to quiet down and pressed on, gesturing at Arthur.

"And as for Arthur... he may not be as infamous as my daughter, but that's because he had only recently arrived in Fódlan as an outsider from the oceans beyond. I promise you this — Arthur Morgan can fight up close or from afar, on foot or on horseback, and more importantly, has shown an aptitude for command. That's more than I can say for many so-called "generals" in my time."

Duke Goneril let out a weary sigh. "Very well then, Captain Eisner. I will allow them to attend this briefing. Pray that they do not disappoint me in the coming days."

Jeralt wisely decided not to comment as he turned to Arthur and Byleth. "Find yourselves some chairs. This will take us all night."

"Are we all ready to proceed?" Holst projected his voice across the war room. After several affirmative replies, he nodded and brought everyone's attention to a map of Fódlan's Throat. "The situation is as follows..."

Arthur paid attention to Holst's words as much as he could. To his own surprise, he found himself staying awake throughout the whole thing. From what he had seen and heard, the Almyrans, normally a belligerent people, were until recently led by a king called Sulaimaan, who instead tried to make peace with Fódlan by fostering trade between his nation and the Alliance, and discouraging raids. With the king's death of unknown causes, there had been a succession crisis in Almyra, with Sulaimaan's many sons competing against one another for the right to inherit their father's throne.

One of these sons was an emir called Haashid. Emir Haashid was the third-oldest of the king's male progeny, but the most powerful in terms of military might, owing to his ties with the armies of Almyra, and not to mention his personal strength. He was unique among his siblings in that he had not attempted to siege Fódlan's Locket... that was, until now. It was Haashid's army that was sighted amassing in the border between Leicester and Almyra.

"I don't care which of the little whoresons these barbarians amassing beyond our fortress fight for." Duke Goneril said, his every word dripping with contempt. "I always knew this day would come. Sulaimaan may have been too much of a coward to attack House Goneril, but his inbred seedlings are clearly braver than their father, and must be pruned before they grow too tall."

"Perhaps that is true, but all the same, we must be cautious," Holst said, briefly making eye contact with everyone in the room, including Arthur. "The Almyrans are fierce and hardy, and their warrior-culture instills their ranks with a fearless, borderline fatalistic attitude towards death in battle. Furthermore, it has been decades since House Goneril had faced a true invading army, and our forces may have stagnated during that time."

"You will never last long as duke with that kind of attitude, boy." Duke Goneril shook his head disapprovingly. "Your mother and I raised you to be above the weak and feeble-minded fools in this kingdom masquerading as the descendants of the Ten Elites. As Goneril once turned the tide of battle against the dark gods of the north with fury and rage, so shall you turn back the Almyran tide, and suffer no barbarian to live, Holst Sigiswald Goneril."

"I... yes. Of course, father." Holst looked down, avoiding eye contact with the duke.

Arthur scoffed at the duke's display of control over his son. So far, the man had proved himself to be a bitter, angry old bastard who could scarcely hide his eagerness to send his armies to fight the Almyrans. He did not trust him to have the company's back when it needed his help.

Jeralt, whom had thus far been quiet, chose this moment to speak up, "What will you have our company do, my lord?"

The duke set his sights to the captain. "Mobilise to Fódlan's Locket. You will link up with the Knights of Seiros and our garrison there. I will finish mustering the bulk of our forces in a few days, after which I will advance northeast and assume command. In the meantime, you will assist in defending the fortress from Almyran attempts to weaken our garrison."

He grunted. "That will be all for you and your ilk, Captain Eisner. You are dismissed."

...

...

Jeralt's company departed Findolheim an hour past midnight. They rode due northeast as they made for Fódlan's Locket, their objective clear in their minds.

"How do you fancy our chances, captain," Arthur spoke up as soon as his horse caught up to Jeralt's. "That we'll be gettin' out of this alive, and benefit from the pay we were promised?"

Jeralt closed his eyes for a moment. "We'll never know for sure until we get there and see for ourselves."

"Yeah... woulda been nice if they told us exactly how many Almyrans were waiting for us up on them mountains." Arthur said. "Woulda been nice too, if you'd let me know from the start that you planned to delegate some of your command to me."

The captain at least had the decency to look regretful. "I'm sorry, Arthur. I thought you'd be happy to be in a command position, with how often you've been taking leading roles in many contracts."

"Well, I..." Arthur thought about what Jeralt said, and it was only then that he realised he often called the shots while out in the field more often than not, even if it wasn't his contract. He exhaled through his nose. "This is different, Jeralt. Me, commanding a whole, uh, detachment? I can be a good soldier, Mr. Eisner, but I can't promise you I'll be a good commander."

"You don't need to promise me anything, son." Jeralt said, smiling like a proud father. "You have a quick mind, a keen eye for detail, and the others respect you enough to trust you to make decisions for them. You'll do me and the whole company a lot of good as a commander, I'm sure of it."

"I guess I'll try." Arthur hoped the man was right.

...

A/N: Okay, so... I think I made a mistake in thinking I could finish this chapter in 15k words. This one's sitting at 12k, and I haven't even got to the part where the Almyrans do a harmless, fun prank on the Alliance by invading their territory. It's already been more than a week without an update, so I made the decision to cut my losses and upload most of what I've already written as part 1 of this chapter, with part 2 already sitting at 4k words. I wouldn't be surprised if part 2 ended up being bigger than part 1, because most of the important events that will shape the plot going forward will happen there.

Anyway, in other news, I'm also thinking of loosening my restriction on chapters that don't use Arthur's perpective, like the one with Jeralt. I dunno, I just think it's better for the narrative that way, but only for certain characters like Jeralt, Byleth, Shez, or Ferdinand (von Aegir).

Alright, so, on with my replies to reviews:

TheSplendid

Uuughh, I really, really want to write White Clouds right about now. I got the plot all planned out and everything, especially the Agarthan sub-plot! Ah, well.

Newman

I'm planning on expanding Shez's personality in this story, as I think they're a little lacking in that department in Hopes. Over there, if they weren't talking some poor soul's ear off with the merc life, they're talking about getting stronger, or being raised in an isolated mountain village by an adoptive mother who died and taught them everything they know. And... that's it.

I hope everyone enjoys Sheanz as much as I do, haha.

xXKnow1NosXx

You thought it was someone from the Blue Lions, BUT IT WAS HER, HILDA.

Needless to say, since this isn't the real end to this chapter, Hilda will make a bigger appearance in the next upload.

Ferdinand will also show up, but only a cameo. Like Dorothea in this upload.

Dalbion

I already have a solution to Arthur's munitions problem planned out, but like most things I have planned out, it will take a little later.

And no, it doesn't involve Anna.

Rook435

Reviews like yours are one of the biggest things compelling me to write this story. Thank you, truly.

Yes, it was Kronya. To be honest, I planned to have Arthur do away with her last chapter so I can explore the consequences of him doing so, but I changed my mind after having an idea while writing her. Despite being a one-note villain in the game, I think I can expand on her a little more here. And yes, the Agarthans better watch out for what Arthur has in store for them, but I think they should pay more attention to that posh ginger kid who likes saying his name over and over.

As for the jacket, you're correct! I really like the look of that one, and it's only too bad NPCs insult you for wearing it.

Also, don't be afraid to ask me anything about the story. I'll answer as best as I can, depending on your willingness to be spoiled about the plot. About your question though, I believe the 19th century techniques Arthur brings with him aren't necessarily better than what Fódlan has access to, especially where magic is involved. In your example, it's mentioned in the dishes Byleth can cook in-game that mages can alter the properties of food. If they can age ingredients with magic, I don't think it's much of a stretch for them to keep food from ever spoiling. And don't even get me started on Agarthan technology, lol.

Anyway, keep these reviews coming, if you will. I look forward to your next one.

Spartan-666

Those four will be in the story too, sure. Arthur would probably tell Balthus to put some clothes on, though.

Terumi Gremory

Hope you're not disappointed it was Hilda, lol. If it was Ingrid or Mercedes' family holding back the Almyrans, I'd have definitely written them in instead of Hilda. Ingrid in particular, would get along well with someone like Arthur... especially since he can cook all her favourite meals, haha.

Jajo Camello

That's the plan!

x-x-TheBurnedMan-x-x

Let's just say Arthur will keep to his guns, his bow, and his axe and knife combo, before expanding his skills to include two-handed axes, sabres, and maybe even pegasus riding.

Yeah, you read that right.

Unlike Hubert, Arthur is afraid of neither heights nor arbitrary gender restrictions. His fears are more reasonable, like giant, aggressive animals or monsters.

I'll make a Fire Emblem-style unit card for Arthur later in the story, in the A/N section just for fun.

DontDoxMeBro

Thanks!