Outlaw Knight

by Ernestrunningaway

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

9. Goneril: Duke Tancred's Folly, Part 1

"We've been over this in that damned cave, Arthur, and I'm too sore and too tired to discuss it any further. For the last time, she'll be more use to us alive than dead!"

"I mean no disrespect, Ms. Schneider, but speak for yourself! I dealt with that girl before, and she's a goddamn heap of trouble! I regret not putting a bullet in that red-eyed lunatic when I had the chance in Edmund... she needs to go, for all our sakes!"

Ferdinand held his head with a gauntleted hand and tiredly sipped at his tea as he watched Arthur and Tekla argue about their captive Agarthan for the umpteenth time. It hadn't been long after they had finished setting camp for the evening somewhere in Fódlan's Throat, and the moment these two caught sight of each other, they wasted no time continuing the argument they started immediately after they put the inside of the Agarthans' concealed refuge to the torch.

At the time, Ferdinand was still deeply affected by the deaths of many of his loyal knights to even consider involving himself. Now, however, Arthur and Tekla's increasingly loud dispute had attracted enough attention from the surviving members of the expedition, enough to entice some of the others into taking one side or the other.

"I told you, that pasty bitch is up to no good." Corporal Sturges exclaimed, holding his rifle to point towards the ground. "We'd all be better off if we just gave her what she deserves, here and now."

"We are in agreement, corporal." Sir Volkmar nodded, "We face enough dangers on our journey back to the Locket. Having to assign two pairs of eyes to ensure our captive does not escape or harm another in our party is too much of a burden."

"Have the two of you gone daft?" Lady Rosamunde strode over to stand next to Tekla. "This is the first time one of these so-called Agarthans let themselves be taken alive. We might not get another opportunity like this. If you mean to kill her, I say we do it after we have learned all we could learn from her, not before."

Sturges frowned. "Agarthans?"

"Them bloodless monsters we just killed." Arthur shook his head, refocusing his sights to focus on Tekla. "We've all seen what those rotten bastards have been up to in that hole they was hidin' in. They've all got blood in their hands, and this girl's probably killed more than enough of her share of innocent folks, judging by how she fights. I dare you to disagree, miss."

"Kronya... has done much to deserve a noose, or a blade to the heart. That much is true, I suppose..." Tekla began with clear uncertainty, as though she was unsure of which words to say going forward. She opened her mouth to say something, then thought better of it, looking frustrated and sheepish at the same time.

Before the others could say more, Ferdinand decided he heard enough. He spilled the rest of his tea on the sand and stepped forward, putting himself in between the two quarrelling groups. "Friends, please, we must not let this drive a rift between us. While Arthur is correct that Kronya must stand for her vile actions, this is not the place for that, no."

"Boy, what're you—"

"Please, Mr. Morgan, let me finish." The noble raised a gauntleted hand. He took a breath to steady himself before continuing, "I have decided to take custody of our prisoner. We will take her back to a secure location in Aegir, where she will be interrogated for all she knows about the so-called Scions of Agartha, and held behind bars until I have secured enough evidence of the atrocities they have been conducting in the shadows."

An image of Duke Ludwig appeared in Ferdinand's mind. "The people of Fódlan must be made aware of their existence, so that they — and all those in collusion with them — may face justice for their wickedness in the eyes of the law."

"What a load of bollocks." Corporal Sturges held his rifle close to his body, shaking his head.

"We will not be executing any prisoners we capture so long as I am in charge of this expedition, especially Agarthans. I will not be swayed from this." Ferdinand said, steadily and firmly. He looked to his knights. "Am I understood, soldiers?"

Volkmar snapped to attention and saluted his liege. "By your will, my lord."

Rosamunde nodded and did the same. "I live to serve, my lord."

"You're making a mistake, kid." The older mercenary frowned, hands braced against his hip. "But alright, I guess. Like you said, this ain't my show. Just don't come cryin' to me when she starts somethin', and I know she will."

"Duly noted, Mr. Morgan." Ferdinand nodded stiffly. He disliked to go against Arthur, but as a noble, he must ensure that those his forces take captive, no matter how deplorable, were treated fairly and justly. "I trust there will be no more conflicts of this nature between you and Ms. Schneider?"

"Believe me when I say it pains me to argue with Tekla, especially after all she's gone through." Arthur said, turning to the side. "I'll go check on Byleth, see if she's alright."

As Arthur departed to another corner of their camp, Ferdinand also made to leave and considered making another cup of tea, but thought better of it. He instead turned to check on Mayu, who hadn't been seen in camp for some time now. He hoped the foreign warrior hadn't absconded while everyone wasn't looking... he doubted any Almyrans she came across would be as friendly to her as his group had been.

"Lord Ferdinand, wait," Tekla caught up to Ferdinand before he could get far. "I'd just like to say... thanks. For keeping Arthur from killing Kronya, I mean."

Ferdinand nodded tiredly. "It is the correct course of action." He took a breath, sparing a glance at their surroundings. He hoped Mayu was alright, wherever she was. "Is this a good time to tell me what you know about the Agarthans? A long and difficult journey awaits us tomorrow, and we might not have another quiet moment such as this."

The healer's eyes widened slightly, as though she did not expect the noble to return to this topic this soon. After a moment of indecision, she sighed. "Okay, sure. But if you'd please, my lord, there are a few things I'd like to keep to myself... at least for now. I hope you won't take offence if I refuse to answer some questions."

Ferdinand nodded again. "I will take as much as you are willing to give."

She looked around before making a subtle gesture for Ferdinand to follow her. "This way. We can't discuss this here."

The two of them surreptitiously made their way to a short distance from where the group had pitched camp for the evening, in an unremarkable, seemingly deserted alcove built into the foot of a mountain. It was dark, but Tekla's white magic provided enough illumination to keep their footing secure.

"This is far enough, I suppose." The mercenary said, tugging up her cloak to cover more of her neck and head.

"We should not take too much time here." Ferdinand examined the area for threats. "The others might become suspicious if we linger here."

Tekla looked behind her shoulder. He couldn't see her mouth from under the folds of her cloak, but the tone of her voice and the shape of her shining eyes gave away her smile. "Well, as far as they know, you only took me away from camp so we can have a tryst. Nothing too questionable, or even unusual for a noble and a commoner, really."

The noble goggled at her, hoping the dark obscured enough of his face to hide his flushed cheeks. "Wh-what kind of noble do you think I am, Ms. Schneider? I would never do something as scandalous like that, especially to someone I only met! I am n-nothing like my father..."

She had the nerve to chuckle at his reaction. "Relax, I'm only teasing. But... you do have the right of it. We should return to camp as soon as we can." She gathered herself, nervously brushing down the sand on her clothes. "What did you want to know?"

"I... wish to know all that you are willing to tell me, my lady. About the Scions, about the Agarthans, and of Agartha itself."

"Then find a place to sit. I'll try to explain as much as I can, but I don't think we'll have enough time to go over everything, even with my reservations."

Ferdinand suspected as much. "Please hurry, then. I will listen as best as I could."

...

---

Blood splashed against the cobblestone as Shez claimed the life of another Almyran. Breathing hard in exertion, the mercenary tried to ignore the fresh waves of pain radiating from his recently-healed wounds and stood his ground, bracing himself for another bout of frenzied activity as more invaders appeared from the east and started charging in his direction.

"Whooo, that was too close for comfort! You okay, Shez?"

In his impaired state, Shez was silently grateful to have a powerful crest-bearer fighting alongside him. He couldn't have been more wrong to have thought of Hilda Goneril as a typical noble's daughter — scatterbrained, lazy, and helpless in a fight.

Well, she was scatterbrained and lazy, but she was also a sight to behold with a greataxe in her hands. And at a chaotic time like the present, that was all Shez could ask for in a comrade.

"I'm alright, thanks." He lied through gritted teeth. "Here comes more of them. Ready for another go?"

Thankfully, Hilda seemed easy to fool. "Ha, you bet! Just getting warmed up here."

"Focus, you two!" Standing a little ahead of them, Hilda's musclebound whirlwind of a brother gave them an annoyed look behind his shoulder before turning to his side to address his soldiers. "This is it, men! Close ranks, into boar's head formation! Stand your ground and await my command!"

The haphazard gathering of dismounted knights, local guardsmen, mercenaries from different companies, and elite House Goneril retainers erupted in a series of shouts and affirmatives as they grouped themselves into a massive, awe-inspiring wedge, with Holst, Hilda, Shez, and other minor nobles and knights standing at the tip of their tight-ranked formation.

"Hmmh," Shez palmed at a spot on his side, where he had previously taken a thrusting blade from a hooded freak that night before. He was unsurprised to feel a bit of dampness on his hand. "...damn."

"Uhh, you sure you're okay?" Hilda looked at him with concern. She hefted her axe on her shoulder and reached out to him with her free hand. "Did you get hit? If you're hurt, maybe you should fall back and get some hea—"

Grimacing, Shez held out a hand to keep her off. "I said I'm fine... Lady Hilda. Please, don't worry about me."

The last thing he wanted was to sit idle and let another healer fuss over him, especially while fortress was under siege.

"Um," The pink-haired noble stared at him for a moment before shaking her head and turning to face the enemy again. "It's just Hilda. Goddess, you make me sound so old..."

Shez huffed an amused laugh, which was a mistake, as his pain intensified with each breath. He hoped his suffering wasn't too obvious on his face. "Sorry, I'll be sure to remember that. For now, though..."

General Holst raised his sword in the air. "In the name of House Goneril and the Leicester Alliance!" He immediately broke into a sprint towards the enemy, his blood-spattered cape swaying in the wind as he charged into the fray. "Let no invader leave Fódlan's Locket alive! TO BATTLE!"

Shez found it all too easy to forget the pain in the midst of combat, so he did as Holst commanded and advanced alongside the soldiers. As Holst swiftly disarmed and promptly beheaded the first eastlander he made contact, his men immediately filled the space around their general to keep him from being outflanked as they proceeded to engage the enemy. As for Shez, he did his job and kept an eye on Hilda as they attempted to keep pace with Holst and make the Almyrans bleed for every step they take on Fódlan's Locket.

"Hey, this is actually starting to get kinda fun!" Hilda exclaimed, even as she cleaved into a hapless Almyran, hitting him hard enough to send his body flying to the side. "Let's make this a little more interesting — first one to step foot at the top of the walls gets their chores done by the loser for a day!"

"This is a bad idea!" Shez parried a spear thrust with his blades and doubly-skewered the offending barbarian before she could recover. "But I hope you're as good with a frying pan as you are with that axe!"

...

---

"I am fine, Arthur."

"Not without a goddamn pulse, you ain't. We gotta figure out how to fix what the bastards did to you, before it gets any worse."

Byleth sat up on her bedroll. "Please, Mr. Morgan. There is nothing wrong with me." She said, her voice sounding somewhat weaker still. Fortunately, the bruises around her neck had faded, and her skin had returned to a healthier shade, thanks to Tekla's magic. "You should not be concerned for my... condition. I had hoped..."

Arthur leaned in close, the concerned look on his face masking the rage that still simmered within. "Hoped for what, kid?"

"Hoped that it wouldn't come to this, I suppose." She rasped, gesturing at her neck. With a sigh, she let her arm hang by Arthur's side of her makeshift bed. "I thought I would be fast enough to take on any foe, least of all a lumbering oaf like Chilon. I was wrong... and now you, Tekla, and even Ferdinand know about... about this, this... hmph."

She leaned back and let herself fall back on the bedroll, her gaze fixed to the canvas roof of her tent. "...the captain would be pleased to have one of our most reliable healers back, but I don't doubt he would be furious to hear that other people now know about my condition, when we return."

"Just... hang on a second there, kid. Why would..." Arthur was quiet for a moment as he processed what Byleth just said. "You mean to tell me... that your father knows about this? That you was walkin' around without a pulse this whole time, like it ain't the damndest thing in the world?"

"For as long as I could remember, I never had a pulse." She said. She turned over on her side, and reached out to him. "May I have your hand?"

The outlaw stared at the girl's offered palm. With some hesitation, he held up a hand, unlatched his demi-gauntlet and pulled off his glove. He clasped the girl's hand with his own, surprised at how soft it was, with scarcely a hint of any calluses despite the fact that she almost always had a sword or another weapon in her grip.

"Okay," He suppressed a wince as the soreness clawing at his side intensified for a moment. "What now?"

Byleth held onto Arthur's hand for a moment, a small smile appearing on her face. "How amusing. Your hand is twice larger than mine."

Arthur couldn't help but smile back despite the pain. He was starting to feel his age more and more. "Guess so."

The girl breathed in and out, as though mustering her courage for what she had in mind. Arthur reflexibly looked away when she undid her collar and the top-most buttons of her shirt before gripping his wrist. He was still looking away when he realised that she had placed his hand against the bare skin of her chest, under her breast and over where her heart should be.

A moment of awkward silence passed between the two of them. Arthur dreaded the moment when Tekla or some other person would pass by the tent and see them in such a scandalous position, but thankfully, no such thing happened. He felt Byleth's lungs taking in and letting out air, but strangely, he never once felt her heart pumping blood. The skin under his hand remained still, and he noticed how cool it was compared to the area around it.

"Many years ago, when I was still a child, the captain... my father, made me promise never to tell a soul about my abnormal condition," Byleth said. "He never did tell me why, but he was adamant that there would be severe consequences should I break my promise. I had hoped..."

"Now listen here, miss..." Arthur shook his head as he retracted his hand and held Byleth by her shoulder. "As far as I'm concerned, you're still just like any other young lady. Nothing's changed between us, I promise you." He swore to the girl, looking at her with sincere, gentle eyes. "And don't you worry about neither Tekla or Ferdinand... they're both good folks in my book. I'm sure you can trust 'em with this."

"And what about you, Arthur... can I trust you with my secret?"

"What kinda question's that? 'Course you can."

Byleth smiled, wider than Arthur had ever seen. "I know. I only wished to hear you say those words."

He chuckled, patting her by the arm. "Hope you don't mind me keeping a closer eye on you from now on, miss. Between what happened early today, and them "consequences" your father's gotten so spooked about, I reckon you're gonna need me to hold your hand for the rest of this goddamn war."

She stared at him, still smiling, but obviously confused. "That sounds, um, nice and all, but how are we supposed to fight the Almyrans if we constantly held hands?"

With any other person, Arthur would think they were joking... but not with Byleth Eisner, bless the girl's unmoving heart. "I don't mean that literally. Just wanted to let you know I ain't letting you outta my sight any time we're fightin' together."

"Ah. I should have known." Byleth chidingly tapped her own forehead, even managing to laugh a little. When she returned to her usual, calmer self, she leaned her head against his hand on her shoulder, sighing contentedly. "Thank you, Arthur. I still do not know if I could trust Ferdinand, and I have become uncertain of Tekla after today... but I know I can rely on you. You are a true friend."

"I'm... glad to hear that, kid." Arthur's own smile faded as he slowly came to terms with the fact that Byleth trusted him enough to take him at his word that he could keep her secret. After so much time spent in each other's company, she clearly had come to trust him just as much as she trusted her own father, and he admitted to himself to return this trust.

But not enough, to his great shame, to trust her with a secret of his own.

Arthur let go of Byleth as he returned to his spot on the ground, by the side of her cot. He realised he feared to see how the girl would react, when she eventually, inevitably learned that he was no better than the scores of brigand scum they had been putting down together over the months. He feared that a dishonest man like him, no matter how much he tried to make amends, may never truly belong in the company of honest folk.

"Are you alright, Arthur?" The look on his face must have conveyed his inner turmoil, as when Arthur turned to see Byleth, he found her staring at him in concern. "You aren't hurt, are you?"

"Just... I'm just tired, is all." He lied, overcome with guilt at how easily it came to him. "I... well, it's just— listen, kid, I..."

He could reveal to her his true nature then and there. It would be the right thing to do. Certainly, without Dutch and the gang to tug on his yoke, he found it much easier to do the right thing... but not this time. To his shame and distress, he realised he came to value their friendship too much — he had become too afraid and too selfish to face the idea of suddenly losing what they had between them.

"Yes?" Byleth sat up again, looking even more concerned than before. "Perhaps you should lie down. I can see you brought your bedroll with you — we can share this tent, if you feel too tired."

Truly, he did not deserve her. "Ah, no, I'm fine. I'm just, um, thinking about all them guns we hauled from that cave. Hope our new friend Mr. Sturges won't mind if we borrowed some of his kit."

"He appeared awestruck by your marksmanship." Byleth said. "I am sure he would not need convincing. If not, we could always..."

Arthur saw how Byleth's eyes wandered from his face to the space above his head. Looking behind his shoulder, he saw one of the Astral Knights — Lady Ulrike, if he was not mistaken — holding a tent flap to the side as she poked her half-bandaged head through.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," The Imperial knight said. "But I've been told you're in charge of our provisions, Mr. Morgan. The firepit's warmed up and ready for you."

"Yeah, I'll head on over." The outlaw spared a glance at his pocket watch as he stood up. "Byleth, want me to bring you something to eat?"

She yawned and draped her coat over herself like a makeshift blanket. "Not tonight, but perhaps in the morning. I feel I would benefit more from resting than eating."

He nodded. "I'll fix something up tonight and have it warmed up for you first thing tomorrow." He put up a strained smile. "Rest up, Ms. Eisner. I'll see you in the morning."

"Good night, Arthur, and thanks."

"Night-night."

Lady Ulrike held the tent flap open for Arthur as he strode out, into the cold evening wind.

"Is your ward doing alright, sir?" The knight inquired as she let go of the flap and stood straight.

"Better than I thought. Thank God for that."

"God? You mean the goddess, perhaps?"

"Ah, you never mind that, milady. How's the head?"

"Hurts like you wouldn't believe."

...

---

Ferdinand stared at the path ahead, unthinkingly letting his legs carry him one step at a time as he pondered on the things he had come to know. Tekla had given him much to consider, and even then, the healer had only given him a small part of what she truly knew. Was she even truly just a healer? Ferdinand wasn't sure if he did want to know.

"Keep in mind that the Scions are, at its core, a group of fanatics and zealots, which makes them a relentless and impetuous sort." Tekla continued to speak as they made their way back to camp. "Not all of them are trained warriors... in fact, most of them are not. But they compensate for this shortcoming by being utterly devoted to their cause. This can be exploited in battle, of course, but outside it, I'm afraid they cannot be bargained or reasoned with, and will settle only for the complete destruction of the surface realms and the subjugation of all surfacers to the Agarthan Dominion."

"That is troubling, to say the least." The noble frowned, brows furrowed in thought. "To think, that there is a subterranean civilisation under us the entire time, and a sizeable number of them have been attempting to do us harm..." His frown turned into a scowl at the thought of his father. "And Duke Ludwig von Aegir has been in collusion with them for reasons I cannot yet fathom. What did he stand to gain by aiding them in abducting the heirs of nobles and the children of his lawful subjects alike? How can their heinous experimentations even further their goals of dominating the surface? My mind reels at the scale of their atrocities... it is unthinkable for any noble to be tempted into kinship with the Scions."

"Well, my lord, you would be wrong." Tekla said, bluntly. "It may be unthinkable for a noble like you, perhaps, but you are no typical noble, especially one from the Empire these days."

"I beg your pardon...?"

The young woman held up a hand and started counting with her fingers. "But as for your father, I can think of many reasons why a noble like him would enter a partnership with the likes of the Scions. Perhaps they offered him a sizeable amount of funds, or a way to advance his power or influence in certain ways? Perhaps those noble heirs he had kidnapped had parents who stood in his way? Perhaps those children of commoners were his bastards, and he wanted them removed? Perhaps he was simply bored and wanted a change in—"

"Enough! Not another slanderous word!" Ferdinand growled, face twisted in fury. At Tekla's shocked reaction, however, he was quick to deflate, horrified at himself. "By the goddess, I... please, accept my apologies. I know... nay, I am still beginning to know the extent of my father's corruption... and it still pains me to hear his name being tarnished in this way, after thinking the world of him my whole life."

The noble stood still and bent at the waist, bowing formally to the mercenary. "I hope you can forgive me, Ms. Schneider."

"Um," Tekla looked more taken aback at Ferdinand's apology than his outburst. "You shouldn't— I wouldn't worry about it, my lord. I spoke out of turn, and it is I who should be the one apologising to you. So, uh... sorry." Tekla returned Ferdinand's bow in a clumsy, half-hearted manner. "Well, um, we should return to camp, maybe we can continue this some other time."

"Ah, yes, indeed," Ferdinand straightened himself and cleared his throat. He briefly examined his surroundings. "We are close enough to camp, I believe. Perhaps it would be wise if I stood behind and let you return to camp first. It would appear less, err... questionable, than if we are to return together."

"Okay, good thinking." The healer nodded. "Well... I'll see you in the morning, then?"

"Of course. Until next we meet, my lady."

Ferdinand sat down on a comfortable-looking rock and quietly watched Tekla proceed to camp without him. He thought on what he learned, and his newfound understanding of the scale of the conflict he had chosen, perhaps recklessly and foolishly, involved himself in. The Scions of Agartha, he realised, were much more of a threat to the safety and integrity of the Empire compared to his father, and their involvements in many noble houses across Fódlan could mean that they have connections to other higher-ranking nobles from all three continental realms.

The odds have never been more grim, Ferdinand thought. He took up arms and started on his blood-spattered journey with the sole intention of bringing his corrupt father to justice after exposing his misdeeds, but now, he found himself facing an ancient threat which he hadn't known to exist until only recently. By himself and only a handful of knights, he knew he stood next to no chance of winning against the Scions and saints-only-knew how many corrupt surface nobles they might have at their disposal.

"Goddess preserve me." The noble sighed, holding his head in his hands. He had read enough about fighting losing wars — the losing army should disperse and lay low, conducting actions from the shadows and discreetly gathering strength, remaining below the winning army's attention... it pained him to consider resorting to such lowly, undignified tactics, but if he wished to survive long enough to see his efforts bear fruit, he realised he had little in the way of choice.

Feeling the burden of knowledge weigh heavily upon his shoulders, Ferdinand stood up and looked to the stars. To his annoyance, he realised he had been sitting down for some time now, and if he stayed any longer, the others might think something must have happened to him. He wasted no more time heading back to camp.

...

---

Arthur awoke to the sound of a kettle whistling. Snapping his eyelids open, the outlaw breathed in and out, mustering the strength to ignore his aching muscles and the pain radiating to his ribs from his side. After some time, he brushed aside his blanket, crawled to his knees and started getting dressed to travel, armour and all. He only stopped when he noticed that blood had soaked through his shirt and started staining his hands.

Grumbling in annoyance, Arthur started removing his chestplate again, swearing that he was thorough in applying dressings and dabbed on vulneraries in places where he had been hit through his armour the day before. When he undid the buttons of his shirt and found where the blood was coming from, he was startled to discover that that the dressing he applied to the wound on his side had been already reduced to a rectangular patch of darkened crimson, thoroughly soaked with his blood. Hastily removing the dressing, his eyes widened in shock to find the wound underneath to be swollen and tinged with a sickly shade of purplish-red, with a visible presence of pus around the edges.

Despite it only being a day since he was stabbed in the side, it was clear the wound Kronya's dagger left behind had somehow become infected. Such a sight would have been a distressing one to Arthur, but in his prolonged stay in this continent, he learned that grievous injuries in America were often considered minor annoyances in Fódlan, what with healing magic and magic-infused medicine being commonplace, especially for a career outlaw accustomed to spending as little of his hard-earned blood money as possible.

Stifling a sigh, Arthur took out a small, cylinder-shaped container filled with a pungent mixture of crushed, white magic-infused herbs from his satchel, as well as a clean dressing. He then proceeded to clean his wound with some whiskey from one of his canteens before applying the foul-smelling vulnerary over the infected area, smearing the thin paste generously in places that looked worse off than the others. With that, the outlaw proceeded to dress the wound in his side, then fastened the adhesive material tightly against his skin.

"Gettin' sloppy..." Arthur mumbled to himself as he slid off his blood-and-sweat-soaked shirt, wrapped it in some rags, and put it inside his knapsack. "Won't be too long now, Morgan. This life's all you know, but soon enough, you'll be unfit for it."

He put on a fresh, burgundy-coloured shirt and restarted the arduous task of attaching his chestplate to his plate harness. "...might start learning white magic. World always needs more healers."

Moments later, the outlaw walked out of his tent, coming up to the sight of Corporal Sturges kneeling by the firepit all on his own, warming one hand against the fire while sipping a steaming drink from a tin mug with the other. It was still dark out, and yet, the soldier looked just about ready to march out.

Arthur breathed deep and tried to clear his mind and calm his frayed nerves. He then spent a moment looking around the silent, near-empty camp to see of everything was in order.

It wasn't long before he spotted Lady Rosamunde sitting at the edge of the camp with a torch in her hand, her visor lowered down as she paced and looked around, surveying the perimeter for distant threats. Near the centre of the camp, Ferdinand himself and one of his other knights could be seen minding a small, hastily-erected tent, where their captive Agarthan assassin was being held. The rest of the group were presumably still getting some sleep in their own tents.

Eventually thinking that being from the same planet, if not nation, was a reason good enough to try and get along with Corporal Sturges, Arthur decided to head for the firepit.

"Still got a few hours till we head out, corporal." Sturges glanced up at Arthur as he ambled over to stand by his side, next to the fire. "Don't wanna catch some shut-eye? Plenty of time to get another couple winks in."

"Ah, that won't be necessary. I'm kinda used to waking up like this." He said, adjusting his legs so he could sit properly. "And please, it's just Victor. Been called "Sturges" or "corporal" for so long, I'm this close to forgetting my own damned name."

"Victor it is, then." Arthur nodded, enjoying the feeling of being close to the fire. "And I'm Arthur. Though I won't mind whatever names you might be thinkin' of calling me."

"Arthur's good. Pleased to meet you, sir." Victor made a show of looking around with a puzzled look on his face. "You know, I still can't make neither heads nor tails about this place. Never been to a desert with mountains in it. Come to think of it, I don't know how my section even got here. One moment we were in some godforsaken ditch in the Somme, and in the next, we're all bloody here."

Arthur wasn't at all surprised to hear about new wars sprouting in the old world, as was the nature of things. America itself had just been in a war with Spain just a year before he almost died up in that cliff in New Hanover. "Say, what year was it back there, before you found yourself here?"

"Back there? What, you mean in Europe?" Victor gave him an odd look before shrugging. "It's 1916, mate. Same as everywhere."

The corporal put up an uneasy smile, clearly expecting the outlaw to smile back. Instead, he was met by Arthur's blank, frowning stare. "Don't you tell me it's a completely different year in here... wherever the hell "here" is, I suppose."

Arthur sighed. Does that mean he had been gone for almost fifteen years from Earth after only a year in Fódlan? "Look around you, partner. The people here don't know shit about guns, womenfolk fight alongside men like us and nobody gives a shit, and everyone's wearing armour and carrying swords and bows around like it's goddamn 1216. Ignoring all that, you was there when those hooded bastards started tossing black fireballs around. You saw that pompous freak in the ugly metal suit light up the cavern with an axe that shoots honest-to-God lightning. You saw Tekla close wounds and fix broken bones with a wave of her hand. In the next few days — hell, next few hours, even — you're likely to see crazy shit that just ain't possible where we was from."

The outlaw took a breath. "...that said, be honest with me, soldier-boy. Do you think you're still standing on the same goddamn planet?"

Victor was quiet for a moment, his eyes distant and his mouth set in an expressionless line. After some time, he wiped under his nose and took a big gulp of his drink.

"You tell me, Mr. Morgan," He said, after setting down his mug next to his kettle. "Where the fuck are we?"

No time like the present to let the corporal know what he was in for. "They call these bunch of mountains Fódlan's Throat. As you can imagine, we ain't stayin' here long. Soon enough, we'll head west to Fódlan's Locket, which is what they call this giant fortress built in the mountains, manned by soldiers from House Goneril, who was the people paying my company to fight for 'em."

"Your... "company", what do you mean by that?"

"See how I'm dressed? Notice the armour? Believe it or not, this here's how mercenaries was supposed to look like out here."

"Huh. No offence, mate, but you look like a Boche in that outfit."

"Boche?"

"You know, like a German. Some of the bastards wore steel breastplates over their uniforms — you shoot them down, and they've a good chance of getting back up."

Arthur stood in silence as his thoughts drifted to the old world, to what little he knew of Europe, to America, then eventually, to the gang.

He wondered how the Marstons fared in the years following his supposed demise. He wondered if John made it out alright, and if he and Abigail raised Jack to be everything an outlaw wasn't.

He wondered if Dutch or Micah were still alive. He wondered if he could ever have the chance to kill either of them. He used to think revenge was a fool's game, but now, like everything else the greedy, murderous, egotistic son-of-a-bitch said to him, he wasn't so sure how true it was. Perhaps vengeance wasn't such a foolish notion, after all.

Thankfully, Victor didn't take offence to Arthur's silence, as he had been spending the time the older man was lost in his own head to examine his armour by the firelight.

"From the scratches and dents on the plate, it looks like you've been here a while." The soldier said.

Victor's voice woke Arthur from his stupor. Shaking his head and willing away all thoughts of home, the outlaw lowered himself to sit down.

"Got that right, so you better listen to me if you know what's good for you." Arthur said. "From here, if you head further east into the desert, you'll end up in a place called Almyra. Now, Almyra's some sort of kingdom. England's sort of a kingdom too, ain't it? Thing is, though, as of late, Almyra's been sending its armies west to attack the Locket, and we've been paid a lot of money to..."

Arthur spent most of the next two hours doing his best to explain their unique and exceedingly strange situation to Victor. The young man listened with alternating looks of confused fascination, deep thoughtfulness, and frequent bafflement. He asked questions every now and again, which the outlaw attempted to answer to the best of his knowledge and ability. In the end, Victor looked more than a little distressed, especially concerning the fact that they were stuck in an unfamiliar continent with seemingly no way back.

"I can't believe this," He stared at his own boots with a scowl on his face. "I have a good home, and a damn good family. A mum and a dad and a brother and two sisters, plus a great, big, slobbery hound who I honestly miss the most."

"I had a dog, once. Liked him more than half the people I knew at the time." Arthur said, recalling the days of his young adulthood. He willed himself to return to reality just as he was reminded of other things he had since lost. "What's his name? Got a breed, or is he a mutt like mine?"

"Her. An old mastiff I've had since I was a teenager. We call her Ruby." Victor unstrapped his helmet and placed it next to where he was sitting. "Damn it, and I was studying to teach at the university too, you know. Always was fascinated by history... we had cabinets and drawers full of old books and ledgers back in our place, some of them dating all the way back to Henry Tudor."

The corporal scoffed bitterly. "Then, this fuckin' war broke out. If I didn't want to be seen as a coward for the rest of my life, I had to let them ship me to fight in the Mediterranean. My parents didn't like it one bit, but what can they do? My mates were all leaving town to fight. I had to fight."

Arthur shot the soldier a sympathetic glance. He folded his arms and tried to imagine being in the young man's shoes. "Life tends to find a way to mess with your plans, I guess. Just when you think you've crawled out of the shit, you get dragged back in."

Victor rubbed his nose. "That's been my experience these past two years." His gaze became distant, as though recalling a memory. The moment lasted only a few seconds before the soldier shook his head and breathed in and out from his nose. "Damn it."

Arthur reached out to him. "You alright, boy? You're lookin' a little pale there."

Victor impulsively waved the outlaw off. "No, no, 'm good." With shaking hands, he pulled out a canteen from his hip, took out the cap, and mixed a good amount of its contents into his kettle. He then wasted no time pouring the dubious fluid into his mug until it overflowed before proceeding to take hasty swigs out of it. "Ugh, fuckin'... Turkish... arseholes... hrrrmm..."

Arthur winced at the pitiful sight and looked away. It wasn't long before the corporal had returned to some measure of calmness, though he was still breathing as though he had just sprinted a long distance.

"...hah, and what about you, sir? You got a family waiting for you to come home?" Victor asked, lips and mouth visibly reddened from drinking hot fluids a little too quickly.

"Not really." The outlaw shrugged. "Got no one left."

Victor nodded in knowing sympathy. "Can't really relate to that, but a good number of my mates signed up 'cause they haven't got anyone. Most of them are probably dead now, I guess. Hurts to think about."

"Then keep them alive in your head, but think about something else. That's what I'd do... that's what I've been doing." Arthur said, perhaps more gruffly than he intended. "Like, for instance, what your plan is after we get to the Locket."

"My plan?" The soldier furrowed his brows in thought. "I... haven't thought about it. What do you think my plan should be?"

"Well, from what you was tellin' me, I think you should be getting the hell outta here. Head on further west, where you can get away from all this fighting and killing." Arthur said, hoping his reluctance wasn't too obvious. Victor's rifle would be useful to have around, but the man holding it would be much better off just dropping it for good.

At this, however, the outlaw was surprised to find the other man vigorously shaking his head. "Oh no, I'm not running away from all that. I signed up to prove I'm no coward, and I'm not about to go against that, even here. Besides, you broke me out of that cage, remember? Figure I owe you for that, at least."

"Well... can't say I ain't grateful for the extra gun, and I'm sure the others'll appreciate it, too." Arthur said. "But are you sure about this, kid? I dunno anything about the war you've been in back home, but this one here's no joke. You might need to brush up on your technique for fighting up close."

"I've been up to my arse in sand and mud, fighting Turks and Boches for nearly two years, Mr. Morgan." Victor said, trying to sound proud about it. "And unlike these Almyrans, I have my Lee-Enfield, my sidearm, and plenty of munitions to shoot them with. I won't give them the chance to get up close."

"Sure, I'll remember to tell 'em to write that down on your grave," Arthur drawled. "And another thing, I've seen you shoot — you're lucky that fancy bolt-action of yours can hold a lot of bullets, 'cause I don't think you'd have landed your shots otherwise."

"Hey, sod off. You could barely see anything in that cave, and there were a lot of bloody rocks and loose equipment for them to take cover behind."

"Didn't stop me from blowing their brains out the back of their skulls. But for me, one bullet's all it takes, not five or ten."

"Easy for you to say! I haven't seen anyone with an aim like yours. You were killing them so quickly, they were dropping dead as soon as they popped out of cover! I mean, who else could even shoot like that?"

The outlaw smirked at Victor's annoyed, flustered-looking face. "Heh. Alright, I may be a little better than most folks with guns. But let's be serious here — if you wanna live long in Fódlan, you gotta stop thinkin' like you was still in the old world. That knife at the end of your gun won't cut it, especially against folks wearin' plate. You gotta learn how to fight with a sword, an axe, or a heavy bit of steel fixed to a stick, like it really is 1216."

"Fuck," The corporal sighed, looking intensely displeased. "Alright, dammit, fine. We'll get some bloody training in after we put these mountains behind us."

"That mean you're sticking around?"

"I'm not running from this, and I know what I'm getting into. I've already said what I need to say, and you won't convince me out of this, no sir!"

"Alright, then. Can't say I didn't give you enough chances to back out." The outlaw nodded, satisfied at Victor's conviction. He looked up to watch the sun slowly rising from behind the mountains in the horizon. "Well, the sun's almost here. You better clear off, I gotta get this fire really going so we can eat what's left over from last night."

"Oh, uh, sure. I suppose I'll... rouse the others. Tell them you're making breakfast. Maybe we can leave early." Victor started putting away his kettle and mug. "And thanks for the talk, I guess."

"Weren't nothing." Arthur shrugged, tossing some wood into the fire. "Come back here in an hour and pick up your plate if you're hungry. Nothing worse than marching all day with a growlin' stomach."

Arthur didn't wait for the soldier to pack his things and leave, and instead got to work immediately. By the time the others had been roused from their sleep and started unpitching their tents and packing up for the journey ahead, Arthur had finished preparing their leftovers from the evening before, keeping in mind how a small flock of buzzards had started circling the skies above them. He knew they had to finish their business here quickly, before the Almyrans take notice of the birds and decide to investigate.

"The young lord was not embellishing." Lady Ulrike spoke as she delicately cut the food in her plate into bite-sized portions. "You have a talent for preparing field provisions, my friend."

"I agree. This is boar meat, no? The gamey taste is so faint, I could almost be fooled into thinking this is pork. Well done, Arthur!" Rosamunde said, unashamed to give praise or a kind word as always.

"How did you learn to cook like this, Mr. Morgan?" Volkmar was still wearing his helmet, its visor hinged part of the way up so as to expose his mouth to eat.

Arthur finished his own meal and packed away the plate in his rucksack. "Same as everyone, I guess. Someone taught me the basics, and I've had years of practice cookin' for myself. Honestly, this ain't nothing special."

"Modesty doesn't suit you, mercenary," Another knight, Sir Landrich, said. Arthur remembered him for managing to stay almost completely unscathed during their battle against the Agarthans. "Our provisions were damned near inedible, until you got your hands on them. What other talents might you be hiding from us?"

"Besides finding tracks, drinking myself into the next week, and killing folks? Nothing else, really." Uncomfortable with the conversation and finding Landrich to be irritating, the outlaw started filling another plate. He only took small portions because he knew how little Byleth typically ate.

"Is that for me, Arthur?"

"No, it's for Ms. Ei—" Arthur did a double take. He hadn't expected to find the girl out of her tent, already packed up and ready to go, it looked like. "Well, yes. This here's for you."

"My thanks." Byleth took her plate with a smile and a nod. "I helped Tekla pack away your tent. She said she will carry it for you."

"I appreciate it," The outlaw nodded, content to see the skin around his companion's neck looking almost normal. Tekla must have seen Byleth and provided some healing some time before. "How're you feeling, miss? Long day ahead of us."

"Better than before, but I'll be better once we leave this place." She said. "I have been meaning to speak with Ferdinand. Have you seen where he is?"

Arthur was wondering as much. "Saw him some time ago. Anyone else seen the kid?"

"Our lord should appear shortly. The last time I caught glimpse of him, he was speaking with our prisoner." Volkmar said. He shrugged. "Hm, attempting to, at least."

The outlaw frowned in distaste. "Crazy-eyes wasn't in a talkative mood, ain't she?"

"From what I've heard from Adelhard, she was very talkative," Rosamunde spoke in a hushed voice, sounding like she was trading gossip. "It's just that every other word out of her mouth was either an insult, something blasphemous, or incomprehensible nonsense. I suppose it makes sense that her people have their own language, no?"

"It's a damned shame. I'd have liked to get to know a beauty like her, if she weren't such a murderous lunatic." Ulrike idly sipped at her tankard of coffee. After a moment, she put the tankard down and pointed behind Arthur. "Speaking of lunatics, look there. Here she comes..."

Arthur almost went for his pistol as he turned around. Even then, when he caught sight of Kronya, it took him some restraint not to go for his gun anyway. He certainly would have, if it weren't for the fact that the Agarthan in question had her hands bound together by ropes in clear sight and was being held by the arm by none other than Ferdinand, who appeared to be urging her onwards, straight towards their spot near the firepit.

"I find it curious," Volkmar stopped eating and put away his plate. "—how this Kronya woman is the exception to all the Agarthans we attempted to offer a peaceful surrender. Until her, every last one spat on our faces and died fighting. One would think, an unhinged, bloodthirsty cutthroat like her would rather die than be taken alive." The knight reached for his visor and clapped it shut. "Am I not wrong?"

"She's planning something, make no mistake." Rosamunde folded her arms as she watched Ferdinand and Kronya approach the table. "But as you said, she is the first of her kind to disarm and allow themselves to be taken captive. We would be fools not to use this opportunity to learn everything she knows."

"I agree." Byleth nodded, to Arthur's surprise. "In wars, an enemy captured is worth more than an enemy killed. And considering the scale of this war your lord is waging... it may be wise to use every advantage you have at your disposal."

Leave it to the girl not to hold grudges and think pragmatically, Arthur thought. He would've contributed to the discussion himself, if not for the fact that Ferdinand and Kronya had drawn close enough to be within earshot.

"Friends, I know what you must be thinking," The young lord began, studiously ignoring the wide, obnoxious grin his captive was wearing. "But we should not lower ourselves to the level of our foes. Kronya had simply asked if she could eat, and as her captors, it is our responsibility to see to her well-being."

There were times when Arthur found Ferdinand's earnest and compassionate nature endearing. This was not one of those times. "This is really pushin' it, kid..."

"How rude," The mere sound of Kronya's voice seemed to make Arthur's pain even worse. "Why so tense, Corpsefinder? These brutes already tied my hands and stripped me naked. I'm no threat to you! Not yet..."

"At least they had you put some damn clothes this time." Arthur grimaced. "Lookin' at you used to give me such a headache."

The day before, having seen no feasible way to remove the damaged yet still functional appendages from the back of Kronya's form-fitting suit, the Astral Knights simply cut away at her outfit except for her thigh-length boots and promptly shoved her into a loose-fitting robe with a blood-soaked neckline, scavenged from an Agarthan mage killed by an arrow to the throat. The assassin complained about the undignified way she was handled, of course, but a swat to the back of the head with the flat of a blade was effective at silencing her protests.

"I didn't know I had such an effect on you!" Kronya let out a sarcastic peel of laughter. "Perhaps the next time we fight, I'll show up without any clothes then, hmm? Perhaps then, you'd drop dead of an aneurysm!"

Some of the knights smiled or chuckled at that, either out of amusement, or in Lady Ulrike's case, something less than decent.

Arthur, for his part, was more confused than anything else. "You're a strange woman."

"And you're a conniving, infuriating brute who should have died long ago!" The assassin barely paid attention to the others, her red eyes never breaking contact with Arthur's. "Not to worry. I'll have plenty of chances to rectify my mistake, you mark my—"

"Hold!" Ferdinand's voice boomed, startling most at how harshly it differed from his usual, soft intonations. "I will not tolerate such conduct from you, Agarthan! Do not forget that you are a prisoner of House Aegir, and a prisoner you shall remain until you are rightfully judged before a court!"

Kronya heaved out an exaggerated sigh, shaking her head with a rueful, condescending smile on her face. "Such high and noble talk from a filthy surfacer. We both know I will not survive until then."

Ferdinand goggled at her. "You... believe we will execute you? You surrendered to us, we will do no such thing!"

Arthur held his tongue. Volkmar had less self-restraint, but enough discipline to keep himself saying anything beyond a muffled grunt.

"Don't take me for a fool, you short-lived worm." Kronya replied, in a subdued tone that lacked her usual murderous glee, but with an understated, indignant wrath in its place. "You goddess-worshipping usurpers are all the same, no matter how much you pretend otherwise. The corpulent, power-hungry slug whose seed you spawned from is testament to that."

The outlaw rolled his eyes. "You run your mouth like that, but you goddamn murderers kidnap children and experiment on them, like rats. We have tyrants like Duke Aegir at the top, and thousands of gutter scum all the way down. But so far, I ain't seen nothing but disgusting, senseless brutality from you chalk-faced folks."

Kronya stared at him, no longer smiling. "And what of you, Corpsefinder? Are you any better?"

Her words felt like a stab to the heart for Arthur. He could say it, tell her he was no better. Indeed, in some ways, he was worse. Taking from others was one thing. Taking lives was another... but is there anything more heinous than to leave others alive, and consign them to suffer such horrendous, undignified fates they did not deserve? Arthur had done as much to many others. The Downes family was merely the most recent of the folks he ruined for something as paltry as money. Is he, indeed, any better than Kronya or her ilk?

"Enough. You know nothing about Arthur." Byleth stepped forward, putting herself dangerously close to Kronya. "He has done more good in a year than many people have during the course of their lives."

Arthur felt even worse to see Captain Jeralt's daughter come so easily come to his defence, oblivious to the monster that hid behind the mask of a reliable comrade and mentor. "Byleth, wait..."

"Insult us all you like. Tell us how monstrous we are. Coming from the likes of you, you'll only make us laugh." Byleth continued, a note of genuine anger laced within her monotone voice. "But talk to my friend like that again, and I will make you wish we simply killed you where you stood."

Kronya stared at the girl, struck silent for once. Although of average height for a young woman, in that moment, Byleth seemed to tower over the diminutive assassin.

Ferdinand ran a metal hand through his hair. "I agree with your sentiment, Ms. Eisner, if not your method." He let out a sigh of defeat as he started dragging his prisoner away. "Perhaps bringing her here was a mistake. My apologies. Come, Kronya, let us return you to your tent."

"NO!" That provoked a more intense reaction from the assassin, strangely enough. "H-hey, wait a moment!"

Ferdinand sighed again, "What is it this time?" Something in Kronya's expression seemed to annoy him, as when next he spoke, he made his displeasure clear. "Out with it, murderess! And for your sake, you had best make it worth my time."

Kronya instinctively tried to back away from the noble, only for him to simply drag her back to his side by the arm. "Ow, okay, okay! Just..." She looked to the side, staring at the expedition's provisions arrayed next to the firepit. "Leave me some of your scraps before you shove me back in that pathetic excuse for a tent, why don't you? I'm starving."

The noble made a frustrated sound. "Is that not why I had brought you here? You could have had your fill without antagonising us."

"You deserve it!" Kronya said. Ferdinand glared at her. "Uh, what I meant to say was... I'll behave. For now."

"If you wish to be treated well, you will behave so long as you remain in our company. Commit my words to memory for I will not repeat them again!" Ferdinand commanded. Arthur hadn't seen this side of him before, and it unsettled him to see such behaviour from a gentle, benevolent young man. "And one other matter — you will refer to us either by title or name. We are neither beasts nor vermin, and as I understand it, Arthur detests that moniker of his. You will cease referring to him with it."

"Ugh, fine. Demetrios grant me strength..." Kronya held out her hands to Ferdinand. "You have to unbind these ropes."

A derisive huff that could have been a laugh resounded from Volkmar's helm. "Do you take us for fools, witch? Not a chance."

The captive Agarthan turned to look at the knight with half-lidded eyes and a mouth split in a mocking grin. "Well, I suppose one of you will just have to sit next to me and spoon food into my mouth, then."

Ulrike stepped forward, a lecherous smile on her face. "Hey, I'll do it."

Rosamunde quickly dragged her back. "No, you won't."

"Your hands're tied for a reason, girl." Arthur said as he picked up a pair of spare plates and started filling them with food. "You don't need 'em to eat."

"Why, Arthur Morgan, it's like you expect me to bend at the waist and eat like an animal." Kronya's grin faded quickly as Arthur walked up to her, filled plates in hand. "...damn it. You want me to eat all that?"

Arthur ignored her and handed one of the plates to Ferdinand. "You look tired, kid. Here, have some of this and take a load off. I'll keep an eye on this woman till we make it back to the fortress."

"Do I look tired? Yes, I suppose it must have been obvious..." Ferdinand accepted his food with a weary nod. "I thank you, Arthur. Know that we would likely not have succeeded in our quest without you and Byleth."

"I'm sure you'd have found a way, son." Arthur said as Ferdinand left him with Kronya. He was not eager to keep watch over the red-eyed girl whom had repeatedly tried to murder him, but he knew out of everyone in the group, it may as well be someone who was quick with a gun. "And as for you..."

The expression on the Agarthan's face was that of pure, unremitting disgust. "Get away from me, you beast."

The outlaw said nothing as he took the prisoner by the shoulder and dragged her away from the firepit to a secluded spot away from the others, but still well within their sights.

"You brutish worm!" Kronya screeched, struggling impotently against Arthur's grasp. "Unhand me, if you know what's good for you!"

"If you say so." Arthur pushed the assassin forward.

Letting out an undignified yelp, she stumbled on her feet and lost her balance, but was agile enough to land on her arse instead of falling on her face. "Grrr, your reckoning will be slow and agonising!"

"I'd be disappointed if it ain't." Arthur took a spot next to the Agarthan, trying and failing to make himself comfortable while setting within arm's reach of someone who'd love to tear his throat out with her own hands. "Remember to chew slowly... Ferdinand won't like it if you choke."

"What have I done to deserve this indignity..." She looked to the sky as he shovelled some food into a spoon and held it in front of her face.

"Shut up and open wide, girl." Arthur tried to sound menacing, but he couldn't quite keep his tiredness from showing in his voice.

She glared at him. "But why did it have to be you?"

"Because even with your hands tied, you're a threat to the knights." He patted at his thigh, over his holstered pistol. "But not to me, and let's not pretend otherwise. Now open wide, please."

With a frustrated groan, Kronya resigned herself to her fate.

Arthur attempted to set to his task with a cold, indifferent air, but eventually, even he couldn't help but find some measure of dark amusement at the absurd nature of his situation. The woman he was spoon-feeding tried to focus on chewing the food in her mouth and ignoring him, but she also seemed unable to keep herself from side-eyeing him every now and then, which made her look like less like a bloodthirsty murderess and more like a petulant child who failed to get her way.

"Didn't your parents teach you to close your mouth when eating, missy?" Arthur dared to ask, expecting a caustic non-answer.

"A Vysinnian fury does not have parents." Kronya said, through a mouthful of food. "She came to exist — and will cease to exist — at Grand Archon Thales' behest." She snorted, turning her nose up at him. "...and she does not consort with short-lived usurper vermin like yo—ough!"

Arthur shoved a spoonful into the assassin's mouth before she could say more. "Sure, but she lets him feed her like the bratty little girl that she is under all that unhinged bluster and sadistic bloodlust, does she?"

"Insholent... shurfasher!" Kronya hastily chewed and swallowed her food, too hungry to be dignified. "Hmph! You play with fire, worm. Perhaps you should reconsider which one of us is the child."

Arthur stayed his hand long enough to annoy Kronya, who could do nothing but glare impotently at him. "And don't talk with your mouth full. All that food's gonna go down the wrong pipe, ya know."

Her irritated pouting could almost be considered cute, if not for the murderous fury burning in her eyes. "Then stop talking to me, Corpsefinder!"

Arthur shrugged, "Fine by me."

Another few minutes passed between captor and captive, when Byleth made her way over to them, her double-barrelled shotgun hanging by its strap from her shoulder.

"The expedition departs for Fódlan's Locket in an hour, Mr. Morgan." The girl said to Arthur, though her eyes remained fixed on Kronya. Arthur took note of how out-of-place she looked with an empty scabbard hanging by her side. "Has the Agarthan been giving you trouble?"

The outlaw shook his head. "A little bit, but I can give shit just as well as I can take it."

"Good." Byleth stared at the assassin for another few moments before continuing, "Tekla and Corporal Sturges have also returned from scouting ahead. They say they spotted a large group of Almyran soldiers along our planned route west, so Ferdinand decided it wise to avoid them and take another pass along the mountains some distance to the north instead." She frowned. "We may take longer making it back to the fortress."

"No problem. Better we take longer than end up in a fight we can't win." He said, using the spoon to cut into the meat and mix it with the smaller vegetables. "And it's best if we don't end up fighting at all. The group ain't in a good shape, and there's no telling what this girl would do if we ran into the Almyrans."

Kronya didn't even bother swallowing what was in her mouth before blurting out, "You know, hrm, exactly what I will do, fool! You'd be wise to, hrm, prepare for it!"

"Just when I thought we was gettin' all chummy." Arthur let out a sardonic, half-hearted chuckle. "You really should give this a break and focus on chewing your food, crazy. Gettin' worked up this much for nothing must be exhausting."

Unsurprisingly, Arthur's words only seemed to spur Kronya into an even deeper rage. She took a deep breath, another string of angry words ready to be unleashed on her hated captor and rival. Arthur sighed and prepared his ears for the abuse to begin, only to watch Kronya sputter and cough, trying in vain to recover as she choked on her food.

The thought that he was aiding a foe didn't even occur to Arthur as he reached out to keep her steady with one hand, before delivering a heavy blow with his palm against her back with the other. He repeated the blows until she stopped heaving and backed off to let her recover.

"...you okay?" It took a bit of restraint on Arthur's part not to remind Kronya about talking with her mouth full. She looked pitiful enough as it was, breathing hard and gasping, blinking rapidly to get rid of the tears that started to well in the corner of her eyes. Instead, he snatched a canteen from his belt and unscrewed the cap. "Here."

Kronya looked at the offered canteen with a dubious expression, then back to Arthur. This time, she appeared more confused than angry, which Arthur took as a good sign. He hoped she would calm down enough not to cause any trouble on the way back to the Locket.

"It's just water." He said, shaking the canteen. "Promise it ain't poison."

Arthur expected her to turn up her nose at him, or even just protest a little bit, but she only sighed and nodded, the fight having evidently gone out from her.

"Nice and easy." He helped her drink from his canteen, only stopping when she started shaking his head to signal she has had enough.

If Kronya suddenly died now, Arthur thought, no one could accuse him of doing nothing.

"You helped her."

Arthur turned his head to look at Byleth, who had a contemplative look to her. "I know, kid."

"But why? She tried to kill you... twice, I might add."

For a moment, the outlaw himself wondered what could have been the reason he did as such. He had argued so vigorously against Tekla to convince her that Kronya should not be kept alive the night before, but somehow, when she was at risk of dying as a consequence of her own foolishness, he did not even think to waste time before attempting to save her life.

In the end, the answer was obvious to Arthur, who so often became a mindless puppet to his own better nature.

"Couldn't just sit and watch someone go like that, even someone like her." He shrugged, his voice set in a resigned tone. "If it was up to me, I'd have jammed a knife in her spine. More dignified that way."

"Ferdinand would not have approved of that."

"Hence why I didn't do it."

Kronya levelled a bleary-eyed glare up at him, having had recovered enough to speak without hacking up her guts. "Were the tables turned... I would have... watched you shrivel... haah, choke and drown... and die."

"You're lucky we ain't nothing alike." Arthur glared back, mentally chiding himself for even considering the possibility that a deranged killer like Kronya had even the tiniest sliver of gratitude to give. "As long as Ferdinand wants you alive, I'll try my damndest to keep you from shufflin' off the mortal coil. Remember that."

...

---

"The eastlanders are breaking! Keep pushing, you dogs, straight through to the walls!"

Amidst the raucous shouting of a nearby House Goneril sergeant, Shez grit his teeth as he ran another Almyran through. As the mercenary attempted to extract his blade from the dying invader's ribcage, another enemy warrior used this opportunity to come at him from the side. He certainly would have scored a grievous wound on Shez, if not for Hilda tackling him into the ground before planting her axe into his chest.

"General! I have a report to make!"

Near where Shez and Hilda were fighting, Holst lifted his blood-spattered visor and turned to address a man-at-arms who was in the process of dismounting from his horse. "A little busy here, soldier! Make it quick!"

The man looked like he was about to salute, but thought better of it. "General, two formations of enemy wyverns have landed southwest of here, near the healing stations. Our men have them surrounded, but they have sustained heavy casualties trying to keep the enemy from slaughtering our white mages and the wounded in their care! Your orders, my lord?"

Shez had just finished dispatching another pair of invaders before they could reach Hilda. "Bad enough that the desert-dwelling scum fight harder the closer we get to the walls, now we got wyvern riders wreaking havoc behind our lines!"

"Not our problem!" Hilda let an advancing squad of Alliance soldiers run past her as she fell back a few paces behind Shez, to his annoyance. "Our job is to make it up the walls and stop more of them from climbing up, remember? At least the rain of flying rocks stopped... I wonder why?"

"You two! Listen here!" Holst suddenly snapped in their direction, gesturing at the two of them to come forward as he sent the messenger off. A barbarian slipped past the line of Alliance men-at-arms nearby and tried to sink her daggers into the general's back while he was distracted, only to be knocked flat on the ground with a gauntleted backhand from her supposed victim.

"Hilda, take as many soldiers as you need and fall back to the southwest, where we gather our wounded. Enemy wyvern riders have been spotted landing in the area and making a nuisance of themselves. They must be stopped!" The general said. He took the time to quickly finish the Almyran on the ground with the length of his blade through her skull before he set his sights to Shez, "And as for you, boy, I need you to follow my sister and keep doing what you're doing. Captain Jeralt should be paying you a lot of gold, if he wants to keep a warrior like you around!"

"Hm!" Shez did not let the worsening sting of his old wounds keep him from preening at the general's praise. "I'm just, urgh, getting started!"

"Um, you want me to lead these guys? Do you know how stupid that sounds?" Hilda seemed less than pleased, however. "Those wyverns will chew us up and spit us out with me in charge!"

"This isn't the time for this, sister!" A pair of Alliance knights broke away from the fighting in pursuit of the assassin, only to find their quarry already dead at the hands of her target. "Our lord duke spared no expense and took great pains to ensure we are trained us for moments exactly like this. Now's the time to put all you've learned to the test, and make him proud to call us his children!"

Hilda pivoted to the side and raised her axe to deal with a charging Almyran, but Shez intercepted the man and promptly disarmed and cut him into ribbons before he could get close. "Eastlander bastard!"

"Saints, you're really getting into this, Shez." Hilda seemed surprised at how quickly and brutally the mercenary chewed through the Almyran rank-and-file. She took the time to examine her surroundings before regarding her brother again. "If I had to go against Almyran winged skirmishers, I'm going to have to take a lot of your knights with me! Are you sure you can take the walls on your own?"

As though in answer to Hilda's question, a loud clamour erupted ahead, where the fighting in the area was the heaviest. Almyrans broke ranks and started fleeing as several groups of dismounted knights charged in and smashed into their side flanks, cutting down anyone wearing a turban with polearms, spears, and greatswords.

"In the name of her holiness, Archbishop Rhea!" Lady Catherine could be easily discerned from the sea of armoured warriors, thanks to the Hero's Relic she was using to slaughter hapless eastlanders with. "Cleanse the fortress of this Almyran taint! Forward, knights!"

General Holst spent a moment admiring the carnage the Knights of Seiros had sown before looking down at his sister, wearing a confident smile on his face. "I got this." He reached up and pulled down his visor back over his face. "Go, and take care of those wyverns!"

Hilda turned to Shez as her brother started ordering his troops around again. "Okay, so..."

The mercenary sighed. "You run around and gather some of your family's knights and men-at-arms..." He looked around, not only for potential threats, but also for other mercenaries. Unsurprisingly, there were a lot of Jeralt's folks in the area, mixed in with the Allied knights and rank-and-file. "I'll go and see if I can round up some of my people. Sounds like a plan?"

"Already better than what I had in mind!"

"What's that?"

She laughed, "Running away and waiting for this mess to sort itself? I dunno." She shrugged, idly twirling the greataxe in her hands like it was weightless. "Anyway, let's get on with it before Holst catches us slacking. Come on!"

Owing to his more lukewarm reputation among Captain Jeralt's mercenaries, Shez didn't feel as though he rallied as many warriors as he should have. Not that he blamed them — it hadn't been that long before he was a part of a rival company attempting to subjugate them. Fortunately, when he next reunited with Hilda, he found that the girl had been much more successful at rounding up warm bodies for the war effort than he was. If one was feeling generous, the amount of knights and soldiers she rounded up could be described as a small army.

"Well done, Hilda. This should be more than enough." He said. "At least your people seem eager to help you out."

"Oh, I didn't really do much of anything." Hilda pointed her axe at the centre of the formation of troops she had gathered, towards a short armoured figure with a tower shield and a bow strapped to their back. "I just went up to Hans and told him we needed soldiers to fight the wyverns! He just kinda took things from there."

"Hans?" Shez examined the soldier Hilda had pointed at. He was wearing a plain-looking coat of plates painted in the colours of the local garrison, and he had in his hand a short-hafted, barbed spear. He also appeared to be in the process of ordering the men into a marching formation, which implied he held a more senior rank.

"General Fischer's son! He's, uh, a lot like his mum, so I don't really go out of my way to interact with him much..." Hilda admitted, looking sheepish.

Shez arched a brow. "Well, as long as the general's son knows how to fight, I don't particularly mind what he's like." Shez said.

The son in question, evidently having heard the two of them talking about him behind his back, turned around and snapped a quick salute at Hilda before he deigned to regard Shez, "That's a good attitude to have, sir." He gestured at the other mercenaries falling in behind Shez. "And these are your colleagues, I take it."

Hans Fischer not only acted like Wilhelmina Fischer, but with his bascinet's visor hinged up, Shez could see he resembled the lady castellan of Fódlan's Locket quite strikingly as well. Going by Hans' short height and his smooth, unscarred features, Shez figured he must be a little younger than Hilda and himself, but his flinty stare and the severe, unsmiling expression on his clean-shaven face made him seem about as old as Lady Catherine.

"Yeah, the ones who I managed to wrangle into helping, sure." The mercenary nodded. "Hilda said you're coming along with us?"

"Yes, and I believe we shouldn't spend too much time lingering here, if there are indeed Almyran wyverns wreaking havoc near our healing stations." Hans said, pulling down his visor. "Are you prepared to take command, Lady Hilda?"

"Ugh, it's just Hilda. How many times do I..." The noble heaved out a loud sigh and stood straight. "Right, let's just get on with it. Everyone! Ready your weapons and follow me!"

Shez told the other mercenaries to fall in with the Allied soldiers before running ahead to catch up with Hilda, who didn't bother hiding how nervous she looked even as she placed herself at the front of their formation. Swallowing his own nervousness, Shez reached out and tapped her on the shoulder.

"We got this, Hilda."

She chuckled, though there was no hint of any real mirth in her voice. "They don't stand a chance... if Holst is in charge. With me taking the lead... well... let's just say I'm not as confident of our odds as you are."

That's pretty obvious, he thought. "Is this your first time taking charge?"

"In an actual battle, yeah." Hilda nodded, noticeably lacking her usual enthusiasm. "You know, I've gone through a lot of firsts today. This is my first battle, where I took my first life. Now, putting aside all sense and reason, my brother put me in charge of my first sortie! How crazy's that?"

Shez thought on his own experience regarding his very first kill. He was only four and ten, and his memory of the event had eroded somewhat. But even if he wanted to, he could never forget the rush of energy he felt as he managed to bring down his first bandit through his own skill and no small amount of bloodthirst on his part. "You tell me. How do you feel right now?"

"Sweaty. Tired. A bit thirsty, actually. I could use a stiff drink right about now." She said.

He smirked, "You and me both."

"My treat, then. Bring Arthur along, and I'll invite Byleth, too." Hilda smiled, and for a moment, she seemed more like her old self. "Mostly, though, I'm afraid of letting everyone down, especially when lives are at stake. It should be Holst leading these soldiers, not me."

Shez took a moment to draw on some of the words of encouragement he read from certain books before. "Holst can't be in two places at once... which is why he chose you to lead this sortie. He obviously thought you're capable enough to lead, which is why you're in charge, and not one of his officers. This isn't the time to second-guess yourself, and instead, you should take this as your opportunity to prove to the general that he chose the right girl for the job... be the leader your brother thinks you already are."

Hilda stared at him for a moment, her smile growing wider by the second. "You know what, maybe you should be in charge."

"It gets easier. I mean, Arthur said— wait, what? No! Are you insane? You've got to be joking."

"Ha! That look on your face! Haha! Priceless." She laughed at the unamused scowl on his face, but she sobered up quickly and looked at him with what appeared to be genuine gratitude. "But... seriously, though, thanks for talking with me about this. I think I feel better for it. I'll be honest, I still think I'm not the right person for the job, but maybe—"

It was at this moment that Hans chose to run ahead of Shez and Hilda, his bow already in his hands with an arrow nocked in the string. "My apologies for the interruption, Lady Hilda, but we are almost to the healing stations. What are your orders?"

Hilda sighed again and looked behind her shoulder, finding her soldiers obediently staying in formation, the knights and sergeants mixed in with the rank-and-file tense with anticipation as they awaited her command.

"No time to waste." The noble hefted her greataxe. "The healers are counting on us! Let's get in there and kill those wyverns!"

Hans seemed taken aback at this. "What? But... Lady Hilda, what about our formation? How do you think we should approach the perimeter?"

"Oh, just forget about all that!" She said, already turning her back to him. "Follow me and try to keep up, okay?"

Shez drew his blades and shrugged helplessly at the shocked stare Hans was certain to be giving him behind his visor. "You heard your lady."

Hilda didn't wait for Hans to recover from his stupefied state as she took off, forward into the fray. "For House Goneril, I guess! Charge!"

Shez spared a sympathetic glance at Hans before running after the girl, swords in hand. Perhaps Hilda was not truly suited for a commanding role, but at least she did not lack for courage, and not to mention raw, Crest-augmented strength.

It took another moment, but seeing his supposed leader recklessly advance towards danger snapped Hans from his stupor. "Archers take your positions up front. Shields, stay in the middle. Axes, greatswords, cover the rear!" He raised his spear and used it to signal the soldiers onward. "Beware the skies and watch for your comrades! Forward march!"

...

---

Arthur felt the wind shift around him, carrying grains of sand with it. Loose rocks and gravel ran down the mountainsides, coming to rest on the ground near his boots. It was almost midday as the expedition made their way through the northern passage slowly and carefully, so as to not cause too much of a disturbance. Everyone knew they were now firmly within Almyran territory, and one wrong move could cause the eastlanders to come down on them and succeed where Chilon and his minions had failed.

The atmosphere was tense, and Arthur avoided speaking when it wasn't necessary. This didn't stop him from letting out the occasional displeased grunt or exasperated sigh whenever he was forced to assist Ferdinand's Agarthan prisoner along the path. It was bad enough that he had to keep an eye on her and any sign of her comrades in the horizon, he also had to stop moving every now and again to let her catch her breath, or to hoist her up by the arm when she found it too difficult to scale the craggy, elevated ground by herself.

"Goddammit." The outlaw breathed, dropping to a knee after dragging along the assassin past a considerable distance. As he recovered, he took the time to unsling his Litchfield from his shoulder and survey the area through its scope.

"Stubborn... hah, worm..." Kronya was lying on her stomach, with the side of her face against the sand. "This would be... haah, much easier... if you'd just untie my hands..."

Arthur didn't respond with words, only with a weary glare. He was quick to return to examining their perimeter, taking note of their distance to the others in the group.

With considerable effort and a painful-looking contortion of her body, Kronya pushed herself up to sit on her knees. "Never walked this much... in my life..." She mumbled to herself, her voice strained from effort. "So parched... cannot hear myself think..."

The outlaw pursed his lips. After a moment, he put down the rifle and unclipped his canteen from his belt. He took the time to unscrew the cap before offering his canteen to the captive. "Drink up, crazy. You sound like you done smoked a dozen packets in a row."

Kronya was immediately drawn to the outlaw's offering. She made to drink from the canteen, only to pull herself away at the last moment and stare at the outlaw instead. "You... understood... what I said?"

Arthur furrowed his brows and went back to his surveying. "There a reason why I shouldn't?"

Kronya's eyes, already wide, only seemed to get bigger. "I am speaking Demetrian — the tongue of the Agarthans... how is it that you understand...?"

Arthur's surprise lasted only a moment. The rules of this world confounded Arthur to no end, and it would do him no good trying to understand them. The best he could do, he learned, was to just accept new developments as they came, lest they threaten his already dubious grip on his own sanity.

That was, of course, assuming Kronya wasn't lying.

"I dunno." He shrugged. "Am I speaking, uh, "Demetrian" right now?"

The assassin didn't answer immediately, as she was busy draining the contents of Arthur's canteen with such frenzied energy, she accidentally knocked it out of his hand with her head as she tried to drink the last few drops. "Damn it!"

"Not gonna die from this too, are you?" Arthur couldn't help but be amused at the Agarthan's careless antics. She ignored the bratty looks she was giving him as he tried to return to their old topic. "So... was I speaking Demetrian?"

She huffed, "By the old gods, no. You are still speaking the tongue of the beasts." Brows knit, she licked her teeth and spat on the ground. "But the fact remains that you seem to comprehend our language without apparent difficulty. How could this be?"

Before Arthur could restate his ignorance to Kronya, Corporal Sturges, who was minding the rear of their column, moved over to them. "Everything alright here, Arthur?"

The outlaw gave him a dirty look. "Keep your voice down, partner. And don't worry, I'm all good here." He paused to consider the fact that Victor was still lugging around two rucksacks stuffed to the gills with ammunition and bundles of explosives, not to mention the two rifles he had strapped to his midsection since the start of their journey in addition to the one he already had in his hands. "Want me to carry one of those bags there?"

Victor didn't consider the offer long and shook his head. "You're already keeping an eye on this rabid bitch here, mate. Between you and me, I have it easy with just our gear to look after, I think."

If looks could kill, Kronya would have eviscerated the soldier where he stood.

Arthur crawled over to kneel in between them, his wide, broad-shouldered frame large enough to completely cover the assassin's own. "Don't be stupid, boy. Hand me one of those rucksacks and a rifle. We still got a long way to go — no way you can keep this up and expect to fight if we run into the Almyrans."

"Dammit. Alright, sure." With some reluctance, Victor relinquished a rucksack and the rifle in his hand to Arthur. He didn't want to admit it, but Arthur could tell the young man appreciated the reduced load. "Here are some magazines, just in case." He also fished out five short, vaguely-rectangular magazines from one of the pouches in his harness and handed it to the outlaw. "Ever used a Lee-Enfield before?"

"No, but I've kept bolt-actions before." Arthur said. "Can't say I've ever handled one that's fed with magazines, though."

"Worse comes to worst, stick 'em with the bayonet." The corporal put up a smile, though the sharp edge to his shadowed eyes remained. "You ready to keep moving?"

"Sure." The outlaw turned on his knee and heel, to face Kronya. "Mind that canteen, girl. Dangerous to leave evidence behind."

The Agarthan, strangely enough, did as she was told without complaint, and even handed the canteen back to its owner like a civilised human being. The fact that her hands were still tied didn't seem to impede her too much. "You're welcome, beast."

Arthur arched an inquisitive brow and put the canteen away. "Thanks, I guess."

They continued on with their journey until the middle of the afternoon, and by then, even others in the party had begun to slow down. The terrain, while supposedly out of the path of any Almyran forces, was more treacherous than expected, with high, craggy slopes, speeding winds, and frequent sandstorms hindering movement and obscuring visibility. Worse still, the already unfavourable climate only seemed to get worse as they marched on, as though the mountains themselves wanted them to go no further.

"The conditions are deteriorating. I can hardly see." Arthur could scarcely hear Byleth's voice over the sonorous howling of the winds.

"Just keep moving forward. We have endured worse!" Volkmar tried to be encouraging, even as he struggled to put one foot over the other.

"According to our map, there should be a flat area sheltered from the winds just ahead!" Tekla shouted to be heard. "We can take cover and wait for the weather to improve there!"

Ferdinand lent his strength to Landrich by holding the knight's arm over the back of his neck and shoulders. "Then our goal is clear! Let us hurry on, everyone, before we are buried in the sand!"

At that point, Arthur has had enough of watching Kronya limp and stagger along the rugged path. After seeing the Agarthan prisoner repeatedly lose her footing as the group ascended a particularly rocky slope, Arthur groaned at the pitiful sight, put away his rifle, and promptly scooped her off her feet. Ignoring her sharp cry of alarm, the outlaw proceeded to carry the assassin up the slope with an arm under her knees and around her back. Thankfully, she was small and light enough to not add too much to the significant weight he was already carrying in the form of his weapons, munitions, armour and field equipment. And aside from the occasional irritated looks and huffy sighs, Kronya was also too exhausted to complain or hurl insults as she usually did, which Arthur was silently grateful for.

"Goddess," Ulrike paused to stare at Arthur as he hurried past her and Rosamunde with Kronya in his arms. "I wish that was me."

Rosamunde sighed through her helmet. "What — Mr. Morgan, or that half-dressed murderess?"

"Eh," Ulrike shrugged as she continued on their way. "Either one, really."

Fortunately for the group, they had not needed to travel much further. The area Tekla mentioned was indeed relatively shielded from the harsh, sand-carrying winds, thanks to the towering walls of rock surrounding it from all sides. Travellers who came across this area in the past certainly thought so, given the many signs of previous temporary habitation scattered all around, including the remnants of a campfire, abandoned tents, charred animal bones, and even a skeleton sitting up against a boulder, with a rusty scimitar plunged through its ribcage.

"Set up a perimeter. Search the area for any sign of threats and beware of hazards." Ferdinand was quick to order his knights around, though they were just as quick to obey. "Where is Corporal Sturges?"

"Coming through!" Victor announced his presence as soon as he entered the area. As soon as he found himself a spot, he immediately proceeded to put down his weapons and equipment and deliberately collapsed on his back. "Bloody hell..."

Tekla was beside him in a moment. "Are you alright, soldier?"

"Yeah, just give us a moment," The English soldier turned on his side and closed his eyes. "I'm going for a kip. Give me a kick in the bum when it's time to move, will ya?"

Ferdinand let out a breath as he sat down and leaned against rock. "Rest up, my friends. Going by the sound of the weather beyond these walls of stone, we might be here for some time."

Byleth carried her shotgun in her hands as she examined the abandoned tents. Satisfied that she only found dust and rotten pieces of wood among the canvas, the girl stowed away her gun, knelt on the ground, and went to work on the campfire.

As for Arthur, he ignored the looks some of the others were giving him and put Kronya down on a spot away from the others. With a grunt, he sat down next to the assassin and immediately fished out the same canteen he used to pour whiskey onto his infected wound. He figured he deserved a drink, after going through such a difficult stretch of their journey back to Fódlan's Locket.

"Surface-dweller."

The outlaw stayed his hand just as he was about to take a swig and gave the assassin his best side-eye. "Pale woman."

She sniffed and made a sulky noise from the back of her throat. "An odour most foul. You mean to drink from that?"

"Yep."

"Give me some."

He squinted at her. With a shrug, he reached over and helped the assassin take a sip from the canteen.

"How was it?" He asked, retracting his hand.

She coughed a few times, scowling intensely. "Disgusting."

He smirked and took a big gulp out of the container. "More for me, then."

She shook her head, still scowling. "I'll have more."

The two of them slowly worked their way through Arthur's whiskey as the expedition waited for the weather to subside from beyond their shelter. Arthur was content to sit in silence and watch the others go about their business, such as Volkmar pacing back and forth, or Ferdinand trying and failing to fall asleep, or even Byleth just kneeling next to the fire she made, a serene expression on her face.

Until Kronya, perhaps because they had just ran out of alcohol, felt like filling the silence.

"Surface-dweller," she began, cheeks flushed and eyes half-lidded. "Whatever it is you have planned for me... know that it will not succeed. My loyalty to Thales and the Scions of Agartha is absolute. Expect no reward nor gratitude from me."

He arched a brow as he glanced aside to her. "You think I've been treating you this way 'cause I expect anything in return?"

She snorted, "Is that not the case?"

The outlaw heaved a sigh. "I should take that as a compliment, if you think I'm smart enough to think of something like that."

"Then for what reason would you behave in this way?"

"Killing you and getting it over with ain't in the cards, Ferdinand made that goddamn clear. And I ain't enough of a bastard to sit and watch folks suffer needlessly."

Kronya stared him down. "You are a fool if you expect me to take a surfacer at his word."

He shrugged. "Believe what you want."

She continued to stare at him, perhaps expecting him to keel over dead if she looked at him hard enough. After a while, she turned away from him with a petulant huff. "Hmph. You should have left me to my suffering."

Tiring of Kronya's dramatics, Arthur lifted his canteen and made to drink from it, only to remember it was empty. He stowed it away with a frown and resigned himself to his fate. "Alright, I'll bite. Why, you some kinda masochist?"

"The strong thrive, and the weak die." The assassin said, sounding as though she was quoting something she read countless times before. "I have been weak. Through suffering, I would have learned to overcome my weakness."

"And hold the rest of us up?" He hissed, trying to keep himself from raising his voice. "No, we ain't got time to let you try to stumble around the sand and rock in those goddamn heels you're wearin'. And the way you was hitting the ground and hurting yourself? Like I said, it don't make for an enjoyable sight. It may be for some other folks here, but not to me."

Arthur wondered what kind of society they have in Agartha, and what kind of system the elusive underground folk use to govern themselves. He then wondered if Kronya was a typical example of an Agarthan, or was she indoctrinated to think the way she does by some other murderous creature? Grimacing, he hoped it was the latter.

"Hm, and why not?" The sound of Kronya's voice brought Arthur back from his musings. "Don't you derive enjoyment from seeing your lessers humiliate themselves or wallowing in agony?"

"You serious? I don't care about all that shit."

"And this is the truth?"

"Like I said before, you believe what you want, crazy."

Kronya turned and squinted at him, a dubious look on her face. "Then I believe you are a deviant."

Arthur snorted, suppressing the urge to smirk. "I've been called much worse."

There was something markedly different about his Agarthan captive, Arthur had just noticed. He couldn't quite put his finger to it, but to him, it was as though Kronya had lost her Fódlanese accent and started speaking in another one that reminded him of one of Dutch's many women in the past — a girl whose family came to America from somewhere in Europe. Greece, if Arthur was not misremembering things.

"I have no doubt." The assassin continued, still in the same, Greek-sounding voice. "Yours is a barbaric, self-serving race... treacherous and merciless by nature. But you're different, are you not? I would have thought you are weak for showing mercy, but you have bested one of Thales' champions — a veteran of countless battles — in single combat."

"What about them dozen other freaks I killed?"

"Pah, they are simple-minded zealots and luckless fools desperate for recognition, thralls and volunteers with barely any training, useful only to drown our foes in numbers." Kronya tutted, shaking her head. "They don't compare to true Agarthan soldiers."

With Kronya in such a talkative, somewhat amiable disposition, Arthur took the opportunity to fish out his journal and pen and start writing. "Yeah? And what about them bird-masked mages?"

"Arrogant, perfidious sloths. Too reliant on their spellcasting, and too convinced of their own significance." She turned up her nose, looking none too impressed. She either didn't notice, or didn't mind Arthur scribbling in his journal as she spoke. "They think themselves invulnerable... they make such amusing sounds when you show them their own entrails."

The outlaw stopped writing mid-sentence. He put down the pen and stared at the Agarthan. "This happen often — you killing folks from your own side?"

"Ah..." Kronya's smile was disturbingly non-malicious. For a moment, she seemed to have lost herself in a pleasant memory. "I relish the chance to put those treacherous fools in their place. Too often does their reach exceeds their grasp, and Thales has no choice but to send for me or my sisters in slaughter to make an example of certain magisters. Most are..." She closed her eyes and covered her mouth as she yawned. "...worthless, without their spells and hexes."

Arthur figured as much. With little ado, he went back to writing on his journal. "Yeah, I kinda get the feeling you don't like them mages very much."

"Our leader's inner circle consists of too many of these parasites... they spend a significant amount of their time scheming and directing their efforts towards advancing themselves. Many fear them, but few admire them." The assassin tried to suppress another yawn. "By the old gods, I am tired..."

"You and me both." Arthur said, nodding in sympathy. "Get some rest while there's still time. I'll wake you up before we start moving again."

By the time the last word left Arthur's mouth, however, Kronya was already slumped against the stone, head bowed and unmoving aside from the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest.

Arthur spent a moment just watching her, ensuring she was well and truly asleep, feeling just a little envious as it became clear that she was not merely pretending to rest. While he would like to close his eyes and try to catch some sleep himself, his urge to write overpowered his need to rest.

"Not a bad talk, crazy..." His hand was moving almost as quickly as his mind as he put his thoughts to words. "...not bad at all."

It wasn't long, however, before the outlaw was interrupted from his quiet journaling by armoured footfalls approaching in his direction. With a sigh, he put down his pen, sat up straight and looked up to regard Ferdinand as the boy placed his poleaxe to lean against the stone before lowering himself to sit next to the outlaw. "What, can't sleep?"

"I had enough," Ferdinand said, a little too unconvincingly. "I apologise if I interrupted you. I only wish to talk, if you are willing."

"No worries, kid. I always got time for you." He pocketed the pen and stowed away the journal in his satchel. "What about, though?"

Ferdinand scratched the back of his head. "You may have not noticed, but the others have been watching you interact with our prisoner. Has she been behaving herself?"

"Yeah, but I get the feeling she's just too tired to misbehave." He said, sparing a glance at the resting Agarthan. "That, and I let her drink half of my whiskey. Doesn't seem to have much tolerance, that girl."

"Indeed," Ferdinand stared at Kronya for a while, a contemplative look on his face. "I have feared that you would not have been able to stand being in her presence for long, but you two seem to... well, tolerate one another well enough. Have you perhaps reconsidered your stance about getting rid of her?"

Arthur breathed in through his nose, "Okay, I'll admit — the more I speak with her, the more I've been having this feeling that there's more to her than just being a bloodthirsty killer. Girl's been brainwashed to think the way she does, no doubt about it. If I'm readin' her right, killing's probably all she knows."

"Well..." Ferdinand spent a moment to digest Arthur's words. Arthur could almost see the gears turning in the boy's head. "...if this is true, then Kronya may be just another victim of those responsible for leading the Scions of Agartha. All the more reason to keep her alive, if you ask me."

"Look, I dunno, Ferdinand." Arthur shook his head, an uncertain frown on his face. "She's a goddamn mess, and from what I could tell, she's committed to her boss — that feller who goes by "Thales". Keeping her alive could end badly for you, and I'm afraid I might not be close by when she tries to kill you just when you thought you was safe from her."

The young lord smiled at that, "I appreciate your concern, truly. You are proving to be a steadfast companion, Arthur." He let out a breath, armoured shoulders falling limp. "But this is something I must do, whatever the risk. If there is even the slightest chance that our prisoner may be turned to the path of right, then I am compelled to seize that chance, as a true noble would."

Arthur could only sigh and nod his head, knowing someone like Ferdinand will not be dissuaded from doing what he thought was right. "Then, I wish you good luck. I've a feeling you'll be needing it sooner than later."

"Worry not for my sake, my friend. After all, am I not Ferdinand von Aegir?"

"Heh, so you keep saying."

The outlaw and the noble shared a quiet laugh. Arthur could tell both of them needed some levity, after going through so much.

Ferdinand sobered up and glanced at Kronya from across Arthur's frame. "There is one other thing I almost neglected to mention, about your conversation with our prisoner."

Arthur brought out his pen again, ready to return to his journaling. "Lay it on me."

"When did you learn to understand her language?"

The outlaw froze. "...come again?"

Ferdinand scratched his cheek. "Ah, pardon me. What I meant to say was, Kronya had been speaking complete nonsense to my ears. She did the same to me when I was alone with her, but unlike you, I did not understand a word she was saying."

Arthur leaned forward. "You didn't understand her? The girl was speakin' plain Engl— uh, Fódlanese to my ears. She—" He cut himself off, remembering how differently Kronya sounded from her usual self. "Well, there's one thing I've noticed. She started to sound... well, sorta like you."

"How so?"

"Sounded formal. Talked like she was older than she looked and didn't shorten her words as much. Y'know, not like the unhinged killer she was before." He said. He would have elaborated more, if he did not notice Sir Landrich suddenly hurrying over to them. He also noticed how the knight had a hand resting on the pommel of his arming sword.

"My lord, a situation has arisen." Landrich said, not deigning to look at Arthur beside Ferdinand. "Lady Rosamunde came back from surveying the perimeter and reports observing what seemed to be a host of unknown warriors rapidly approaching our position from the south. The lady knight requests your presence up ahead, to assess our options."

In an instant, Ferdinand picked himself up from the ground, using his poleaxe as leverage. "She will have it. Good work, Sir Landrich. Alert the rest of the knights and tell them to assemble on me." He turned to the side and nodded at Arthur. "Please excuse me, Mr. Morgan."

The outlaw and the knight watched Ferdinand hurry along. Knowing that trouble had found them at last, Arthur grumbled to himself as he put away his journal for good. He was just about to stand and check on Byleth, when Landrich strode over and stood before him.

"You have sat idle for long enough, I think." The knight said, crossing his arms in clear disapproval. "Do us a favour and tell the others about the situation at hand. Take care not to stumble."

Arthur climbed up to his feet, eyes narrowed in annoyance. Landrich hadn't been the friendliest sort out of Ferdinand's knights, but he kept to himself and seemed to be a competent fighter, which was all Arthur could ask for in an ally. Now, Landrich seemed to go out of his way to talk down to him, as though the outlaw had slighted him in some way.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Morgan?" Landrich returned Arthur's look, though his expression remained hidden behind his helm.

The outlaw balled his hands into fists by his sides. "I ain't about to do your job for you, fool. In case you wasn't paying attention, I already got my own."

"Drinking and chatting up the incompetent failure? Not much of a job, if you ask me."

"If you say so. Doesn't change the fact that someone's gotta keep an eye on the girl."

"This "girl" is our foe, in case you've forgotten." Landrich scoffed. "Not to worry, I will take over your watch while you go and inform the others."

Arthur sensed there was something not quite right about Landrich. "That ain't happening, friend."

"You are testing my patience, mercenary."

"That's too bad. Now piss off, before you make me lose my temper."

Landrich emitted a frustrated noise from his helm. He sucked in a breath, as though to argue further, when suddenly, Arthur found himself unbalanced as a series of ear-splitting, magical explosions rocked their shelter.

"Demetrios!" Abruptly shaken from her sleep by the shockwaves that threatened to send the stone walls crumbling around them, Kronya pressed her back against the stone and pushed herself up to stand. "What is happening?"

Arthur almost succeeded in keeping steady, if not for Landrich unexpectedly lunging at the outlaw and striking him square in the face with a gauntleted fist. Bleeding from the nose and momentarily stunned by the sudden blow to the head, Arthur could only yell out in surprise as Landrich seized him by his lapels and hurled him aside.

Kronya gasped as Landrich proceeded to draw his arming sword from its scabbard and raised the blade above his head, poised to strike her down.

Had he the luxury of time, Arthur could have decided to stay his hand and let it happen. It was the rational thing to do, and in all the chaos, no one would fault him at failing in his task. But once again, with almost no time to react, he was compelled to do irrational things.

"Agh!" Landrich yelped as the blade was shot out of his hand. Stumbling, he turned his head to look at the source of the gunshot, expecting to see Arthur still on the ground. Instead, he had enough time to see Arthur winding up a fist as the enraged outlaw threw himself at him. The knight tried to put up his arms to defend himself, but he reacted too slow, and Arthur's left gauntleted fist collided with his helm with a resounding, metallic thunk. "Hnngh! You filthy beas—"

Arthur didn't wait to let the knight recover. As Landrich staggered backwards, Arthur reached out with an arm and pulled him back towards himself, before striking his opponent in the head a second time with his dominant fist, visibly denting the metal where his blow had made its impact.

Landrich groaned, his hand scrambling for purchase as he tried to draw his dagger from his belt. Arthur, however, was not one to squander his momentum in a fistfight, and continued to land haymaker after haymaker on Landrich's armoured head until, at last, Landrich managed to raise a foot and gave Arthur a hard kick against his midsection, pushing him some distance back.

"Enough!" The knight unsheathed his dagger and immediately proceeded to lunge at Arthur, the blade in his hand aimed for his unprotected neck. No stranger to brawls that turned into knife-fights when things got serious, it was a simple matter for Arthur to step aside from Landrich's predictable thrust, before returning the favour with a pair of quick, alternating punches to the knight's lesser-armoured side. Landrich cried out in pain and instinctively lashed out at the outlaw with a clumsy swing of his blade, which Arthur deftly blocked with his vambraced forearm. He left Landrich with no time to defend himself as he then proceeded to deliver a powerful cross to his opponent's throat, which was only protected by a layer of boiled leather and mail.

Blood splattered out of the small openings in Landrich's dented helmet. Dazed, reeling, and on the verge of unconsciousness but still unwilling to yield, the knight once again tried to stab Arthur with his dagger. All out of patience, the outlaw backhanded the blade out of the knight's hand mid-thrust and grabbed hold of his forearm and shoulder before the man could react. Arthur then used his leverage on Landrich to turn him around before smashing him against one of the stone walls. A single, forceful twist from the outlaw immediately subdued the knight, to the disturbing sound of fracturing bone.

The muffled howl of agony that sounded off from Landrich's helm was nothing short of disturbing.

"Why'd you do it?!" Arthur shouted, even as another explosion shook the foundations of their besieged refuge. "You knew Ferdinand wanted her alive! What the hell's wrong with you?"

It was a moment before Landrich's pained yelling trailed off into weak, scratchy gurgles that might have been an attempt to laugh. "For Lord... Myson..."

Arthur growled, seizing the knight by the back of his helmet and pulling him close, "What did you just say? Speak up, you goddamn rat!"

Whatever Landrich would have said, it was drowned out by the thundering of a shotgun's opening volley, followed by a rifle's more subdued report. Arthur looked behind his shoulder and had just enough time to put up an arm as he Landrich were showered in dust and sand from the nearby wall crumbling inward as a result of an explosion from outside. When the sight-obscuring dust subsided, the first thing Arthur saw was Kronya running to cover as several Agarthan warriors started pouring out of the opening and into the expedition's once-secure shelter.

Cursing, Arthur was forced to relinquish his hold on Landrich so he could draw his pistols. As the Agarthan zealots spotted him and made to charge, the outlaw proceeded to thin their ranks two heads at a time, quickly forcing the rest to hide behind their shields and seek cover.

"Stand firm and push them back, comrades!" Arthur spotted Ferdinand and Rosamunde fighting side-by-side in one corner of the area, the young noble swinging his poleaxe in wide, controlled arcs as he kept the Agarthans back, and away from Rosamunde while she shot at them with her bow.

The outlaw checked his magazines and what ammo he had on hand before putting his guns back in their holsters. He then proceeded to unsling the rifle his English companion lent to him, the one he called the Lee-Enfield.

"Arthur!" Tekla strode over to the outlaw, white mist enveloping her hands up to the forearms. "Well, you seem to have your front under control!"

Arthur loaded a magazine into the rifle as Tekla took up cover near him. "Yeah, I got this angle! You should go check on the others, I'll be alright here!"

"In a moment. Hold still!" Tekla blasted him with a wave of healing-infused magic, which made him feel invigorated, as though he could take a blow and keep going. "Wait, where's Kronya? Did you lose her?"

"Can you blame me?" Arthur took aim behind cover. He stared down the sights as he ventilated the skull of an Agarthan who tried to move from cover to cover. "The pale lady's head ain't all there, but she ain't stupid," He cycled the bolt as he ducked down and avoided the hail of arrows they loosed at him, before propping himself up again and blowing out the head of another unfortunate foe. "Hmph, she took off as soon as the fighting started!"

The healer sighed. She conjured a writhing ball of white magic, held onto it for a second, before lobbing it from behind cover, in the Agarthans' direction. "I suppose it can't be helped, we now have much more pressing issues at hand."

"No kidding!" The outlaw left cover and took aim once more, a little surprised to witness some of the Agarthans breaking cover and running out in the open, which made them easy targets for his rifle. Upon killing his third foe, a pillar of white fire erupted where the enemy had been taking cover, sending previously-unseen foes scrambling in panicked agony as magical flames enveloped their bodies. "Whoa. Never seen you pull that trick before."

Tekla's smile was grim. "I've a feeling you'll come to know a great deal about me in the coming days, Arthur Morgan!" She waited for him to provide covering fire before standing up to leave. "Stay alive, my friend!"

"You too, girl!" Arthur reloaded on his tenth round. He was beginning to like this English rifle. "Especially you!"

The battle continued as Ferdinand's party held their ground against the Agarthans, though not without difficulty. In spite of making use of chokepoints, guns, and other defensive advantages that nullified much of the attackers' numerical superiority, the battle stalled as it quickly became apparent that these Agarthans were much better disciplined than the ones they faced before. Warriors stopped advancing in the face of overwhelming firepower and used their bullet-resistant shields to augment their cover, while archers and mages loosed arrows and sorceries from behind, forcing those being targeted to frequently reposition or spend more time keeping to cover.

Only Arthur seemed to manage his own opponents with very little difficulty, thanks to his deft hand with firearms and his advantageous position overlooking much of the area. Byleth was hampered by both her low munitions reserve and her frequent need to reload her shotgun, and while the volume of fire from Victor's gun was useful at suppressing the foe, his aim left much to be desired.

"Come on out, you bastards!" Arthur called out to his opponents. Corpses of more than a dozen Agarthans lay strewn on the ground ahead of him, and a handful more behind cover. He quickly made them realise a second of exposure was all it took for the outlaw to send them to the afterlife. "Let's get this over with, yeah? I got other plans today!"

"And so do I, surfacer."

Arthur snapped his gun towards the source of the voice — a bearded mage wearing very elaborate robes over a suit of half-plate armour, holding a thick, rotten-looking tome in his left gauntleted hand. Smirking at the fact that the mage wore armour but did not bother to wear a helmet to cover his pale, wrinkled head, Arthur aimed high and pulled the trigger.

The mage quickly waved his hand in a strange, otherworldly gesture, his greenish-red eyes seeming to glow in ethereal light as the outlaw's bullet proceeded to bounce off an invisible barrier in front of his target.

"A wasted effort." The Agarthan smiled widely, sounding amused more than anything.

"Nice trick." Arthur had already cycled his bolt and fired again, to a similar result from before. One Agarthan archer, perhaps thinking Arthur's advantage was lost, brazenly popped out of cover, arrow already nocked. Arthur's next bullet caught her in the neck just as she loosed, the arrow uselessly clattering against a rock. "I got tricks of my own, mage. Don't force me to use 'em!"

"I am no simple mage, Arthur Morgan. I am a magister!" The Agarthan spellcaster declared. He seemed to relish the look of surprise on the outlaw's face at the mention of his name. "Ah, but not to worry. You and your little friends have unexpectedly survived my minions' onslaught and culled off a number of them. Please don't make a habit of that — unlike brutes like Chilon, I devote time and resources to turn them into serviceable warriors, you know."

Another archer tried to poke his head from cover. Arthur scared him straight by blasting off the ornamental spike off his helmet.

"Oh, just stay down, you fools." The so-called magister chided his underlings. Arthur tried to shoot him again while his attention was elsewhere, but once again, the barrier thwarted his efforts. "And you should stop wasting those miniscule arrows of yours, usurper. I didn't deign to come all this way for you."

Arthur noticed Byleth running over to his side, shotgun in hand. "They stopped attacking. What's going on?"

"We're about to find out." Arthur muttered to the girl, before raising his voice again. "Yeah? For what other reason could you have loosed your pack of dogs on us, partner?"

"Just testing to see if Chilon had sufficiently softened you up. Can't fault me for trying." The Agarthan shrugged amiably. "Since you and your friends insist on prolonging the inevitable, I suppose you've earned some clemency from me today. I'll just be taking the Vysinnian off your hands and we can part ways... for now."

"The... Vysinnian?" Byleth tilted her head.

"Kronya." Arthur said to her.

Victor also turned up, almost tripping over a rock in his haste as he rushed over to their spot. "Arthur! He's standing in the open, what the fuck are you waiting for?"

Byleth grabbed his arm and pulled him to cover. "Be quiet! Listen..."

Arthur adjusted his sights as he kept an eye out for any flanking Agarthans. So far, there seemed to be none. At this moment, both sides have fallen back and hostilities had ceased. "I take it this means she ain't with you already. Why's that?"

"Oh, it's because she knows the fate that awaits her in my hands... hm he heh hm heh." The magister's laugh was a discordant, sinister thing, and Arthur felt disappointed he couldn't shoot him before he could finish it. "Isn't that right... Kronya?"

Silence.

"I know you are here, my wayward fury." The magister continued to speak, now with the same Greek-like accent Arthur heard from Kronya beforehand. "Your sisters cannot protect you here, and these primitives will soon leave you to your fate. Why they insist on letting you live after all these recent failures, I cannot fathom. Let us rectify their mistake, and I promise not to move against your wretched little kindred... for the time being."

"I don't understand. Is he channelling a spell?" Byleth whispered to Arthur.

Before Arthur could respond, Victor did so for him. "Didn't you hear 'im? Seems like these Agarthan freaks don't all get along. This fop's been trying to coax out that Kronya bitch so he could kill her, or something. She's also got a bunch of sisters, apparently."

Arthur was stunned. "You... understood all that, boy?"

Victor shrugged, his movement rattling all the gear he was carrying. "I mean, yeah? He tacked on a stupid accent, but he was speakin' plain bloody English."

"English?" Byleth looked even more confused.

"Fódlanese." Arthur mouthed off to her. He then returned his attention to the Agarthan. "What makes you think we're just gonna hand Kronya over to you?"

The magister turned to address Arthur again. "She will never give up our secrets, you know. For all her incompetence, Kronya would much rather die than betray our dear leader. Why, it is more than likely the only reason she even allowed you to take her alive was because she expects her fellow furies to retrieve her from your keeping. Truly, how fortunate that one of the magisters found her before her sisters in slaughter did. Otherwise, you would all be dead."

He laughed again. "Let us do you a favour, little surfacers, and bring us our sweet, murderous little waif... so we may deal with her as she deserves. Let it be known that none can expect to provoke the wrath of the magisters and face no consequences, not even a Vysinnian."

Arthur had heard enough. "No deal, Agarthan."

"Hm... unexpected. Would you have liked to deliver the killing blow instead?" The magister asked, a curious look on his face. "That can be arranged."

"You goddamn freaks. Is there even one of you who ain't sick in the head?" Arthur scowled, putting his gun up in an angry, threatening gesture. "You'd best slither on back to hell now, you two-bit magician. You chalk-faced assholes ain't getting squat from us!"

"To think that we once thought you held such potential among your kind, Arthur Morgan. How disappointing." The magister looked elsewhere, towards a spot where Arthur was too high up to see. "And what say you, Ferdinand von Aegir? I was led to believe you are the one leading this... heh, excursion."

"You have already heard all that I would have said in Arthur's place, villain." Arthur heard Ferdinand respond, his voice clear and resolute. "We will not do ask you ask."

The Agarthan spellcaster heaved out a mildly annoyed breath. "Is this truly the path you have chosen to take — one that is destined to only end in your destruction? Your father possessed such vision, little one, I almost could not believe you share his blood. Your life is short enough... do not make an enemy out of us."

"I plan to disappoint my father in many ways. And I have been your enemy the moment I learned you existed." Ferdinand continued steadily, steel and righteous conviction in his voice. "So long as I draw breath, I will scour the land of your wretched kind, in the name of all the innocent lives you have taken. Though the heavens may fall, let justice be done!"

The magister rolled his eyes. "Founder Demetrios grant me patience." His tome floated out of his hand and hovered in front of him, his blue eyes gazing within its contents as it turned pages on its own. "Oh, I do so hate to waste all these reagents... but I suppose you fools leave me no choice."

With that said, the magister raised his hands and began tracing elaborate gestures in the air. Sand and dust began to billow outwards from where the Agarthan stood as his warriors suddenly left cover and formed ranks around their leader, covering him with their shields and their own bodies.

"What the hell..." Arthur suddenly felt the earth below him shake. He glanced aside and watched the nearby rocks tremble and break apart. Something was wrong.

"Myson!" Suddenly, Kronya appeared from the shadows, having had used the chaos of the situation to appropriate a sword and a dagger from the fallen Scions. Tellingly, the ropes that bound her hands together were no longer there, leaving only friction burns around the pale skin of her wrists. "You arrogant magister filth! Don't cast this abominable spell — you'll kill us all!"

The magister seemed immensely pleased to finally see the one he was looking for. "No, no, my child, this won't kill you... only bring you and your surfacer pets to the brink of death! My warriors will see to the rest."

"If your stupid incantations don't bring the mountains down on us first!" The assassin exclaimed, brandishing her blades. "Stop this, you scheming kinslayer!"

"Fool! None may stop Bohr's Tenth! Ha haha hah ha!" The magister called Myson laughed as the stone walls collapsed around Arthur and the rest of the group. Sand and stone alike were swept away by the hurricane-like winds as the magister continued to channel his ominous spell.

"Assassin!" Ferdinand shouted to be heard. "We have to interrupt that man before he casts his spell! How do we get around his shielding magic?"

"Either close the distance, or get around him!" The assassin shouted back, before raising her weapons and charging ahead, clearly intending to do harm to her own kind. "Out of my way, magister slaves!"

Arthur knew time was of essence. He did not hesitate to expose himself as he rushed out of cover, enticing the Agarthan archers and mages to try and kill him before he could draw near. Dodging the slower fireballs thrown by the mages and returning to cover whenever the archers loosed a volley, Arthur was quick to return fire whenever he had the chance, with each kill giving him more time to keep moving forward.

Byleth and Victor advanced close behind Arthur, firing their own guns and providing each other with covering fire. Some distance away, Tekla threw shimmering orbs of volatile white magic as Ferdinand and the Astral Knights hurled javelins at the braced Agarthan ranks. As soon as Ferdinand and his knights had exhausted their projectiles, they proceeded to draw steel, close the distance and engaged their opponents in melee, with Tekla switching to conjuring incendiary beams of arcane light to blast away distant threats. Ferdinand could be heard ordering each of his people to gather around Kronya and keep the enemy from intercepting her on her path to Myson, but unfortunately for the group, it was a fool's errand. Without her tendrils to stop wayward blades and arrows from harming her, Kronya was eventually forced to stop advancing and defend herself from her own kind, using her blades and her agility to deflect and evade blows that would leave her dead or maimed without armour.

Arthur tried to pick off some of the warriors surrounding the Agarthan assassin, but he soon lost her in the crush as another wave of Agarthans arrived to envelop Ferdinand's group, making it difficult to identify friend from foe. Forced to realise that it was now up to his own small group of gun-wielders, Arthur attempted to advance to get to Myson's flank, only to be kept back by an entrenched formation of Agarthan shield-wielders, whose shields seemed to be made from the same type of metal as Chilon's armour.

"Your end comes, surfacers!" Myson cried out as he began to float off the ground, his entire form emitting a palpable aura of malevolent sorcery. "Accept your demise!"

"Ignore him. Push on, friends!" Ferdinand said, prying his weapon from the corpse of his recent foe. "We will stop this spell or die trying!"

Arthur threw a firebomb at the shield-wielding Agarthans, who stubbornly remained in position even as the flames ate away at their armour and boiled their flesh underneath. He wanted to stay hopeful, but one look at their overall situation crushed all hope he had. Myson's troops were too numerous, too disciplined to be routed by mass casualties, and seemed all too willing to die for their leader. "Stay behind me, kids! Oh, this'll be ugly..."

"Whatever happens," Byleth loaded fresh shells into her gun, took aim at Myson, and fired. Once again, there was no effect. "We'll face it together."

"I'm not dying here. I've gone too far... seen so much!" Corporal Sturges plucked out a ball-shaped object pinned to his harness, pulled some kind of pin attached to the device, and lobbed it towards another cluster of shielded warriors. The resulting explosion killed a handful of Agarthans and knocked down a few.

Arthur shot down those exposed warriors on the ground, impaled a concussed foe with his bayonet, and continued to push forward. He resolved to keep fighting, no matter the odds.

"Witness the unfettered wrath of Agartha!" Myson held his armoured hands in the air as his tome hovered around his body on its own. "Witness my sorcerous mast— daugh!"

Instead of witnessing the unfettered wrath of Agartha, Arthur witnessed Myson be thrown forward in the air as an arrow struck him from behind, burying itself into the back of his shoulder. With the magister's spell thrown into disarray, Arthur decided to personally ensure it won't come to pass as he put up his Lee-Enfield and fired at the levitating Agarthan, cycled the bolt, and fired again, over and over until, at last, his sixth bullet found a weak spot in the magister's barrier as it continued in its trajectory before hitting the man behind it with just enough force to penetrate his chestplate, wedging itself in the flesh underneath.

"Ouuugh! Hrrm!" Pale face twisted in pain, Myson dropped down from the air and went down on a knee, his tome clattering on the rocks beside him. "That... really hurt."

Merely seeing their leader interrupted from casting his spell seemed to shatter the Agarthans' morale and galvanise Ferdinand and his Astral Knights. As the young lord and his soldiers carved through their opponents, Arthur watched as the Agarthan ranks routed in their wake and immediately broke away into disorganised, isolated groups, making them easy targets for guns from his group, Rosamunde's bow, and Tekla's spells.

"Look there!" Byleth gestured ahead, to the distance behind the collapsing Agarthan lines. Expecting to see a foe that needed an urgent trepanning, Arthur turned his gun to where she was pointing at, and found himself surprised to see a vaguely familiar figure loosing arrow after arrow at the backs of the Agarthans.

"It's that woman! What was her name again?" Victor put away a spent magazine and replaced it with a fresh one from his harness.

"Mayu!" Ferdinand called out from his side. "Knights, push forward! Keep them from reaching her!"

Arthur paid them no mind as he continued picking off anyone wearing purple or black.

With the battle soon concluding, Myson dusted himself off and stood up, summoning his tome to his hand. "Well, I suppose I do have to return empty-handed..."

Kronya sliced a mage to ribbons and stomped on the head of a dismembered, mortally-wounded archer. At this point, only dead bodies laid between her and Myson. "What makes you think that you are leaving this place alive, foul sorcerer?"

The magister smirked. "Please, I am one of Thales' chosen. I always have an exit prepared."

The assassin let out a howl of rage as she lunged at the magister. He simply held out a hand and in an instant, she froze in place, blades still poised to skewer his throat and heart.

Arthur was among those who noticed the commotion in the heat of combat. Swiftly dispatching the foe he had in his sights, he proceeded to turn around and point his rifle at Myson. "It's over, you bloodless freak! Reach for the sky, nice and easy!"

"Hmm? Oh, yes." Myson looked towards Arthur and immediately did as he was told, though not without a subtle gesture of his gauntleted hand. "I have almost forgotten how to start the sequence. My thanks, Arthur Morgan."

Faster than even Arthur could react, a black, scintillating hole in the fabric of reality emerged in between Arthur and Myson, preventing the outlaw from shooting the magister. Cursing out loud, Arthur moved to the side so he could get a clear shot at his target, but by the time he did, Myson had already flung himself into the floating void, and within moments, it seemed to swallow itself and dematerialise in a small explosion of sparks and arcane light, leaving behind nothing but dust and the faint smell of ozone.

Arthur sighed. "Goddamn... nice trick."

Demoralised, abandoned by their leader, and on the brink of utter defeat, the remaining Agarthans were easily swept away by a concentrated, two-pronged advance from Ferdinand's group and Arthur's group plus Mayu covering the windswept refuge's main exit. Despite having had no hope of victory, the Agarthans insisted on fighting to the end, however. Perhaps because they expected harsh treatment or they feared Myson more than their foes, none of them took Ferdinand's offer to be spared.

Not that the likes of Mayu, Volkmar, and even Kronya minded. These three took to the task of executing wounded but still-resisting foes with such zeal, that Arthur had to turn away in disgust.

"Fall in, knights!" Ferdinand called out in between breaths. "Would anyone require healing?"

"Lady Rosamunde was flushed out of cover by a blast of magic and took an arrow on the side, through her gambeson. I gave her some healing." Tekla said. "How is the wound, lady knight?"

Rosamunde's arm was around the shoulders of her fellow knight, Sir Adelhard. Her face, unobscured by her raised visor, appeared pale, and she was clutching her bow in her free hand tightly. "I've... guh, been through worse spots."

Ferdinand nodded, a concerned look on his face. "I have not seen any sign of Sir Landrich the entire fight. Has anyone seen him?"

Arthur closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He could feel a headache coming. "I didn't wanna be the one to tell you this, kid, but I think your man ain't who you think he was. He tried to kill Kronya just before that Myson feller and his boys turned up."

Ferdinand's brows shot up in alarm. For a moment, he stood silent, too stunned to speak.

"Hmph. I'm sure he never truly was on your side, Aegir-spawn."

Everyone aside from Ferdinand, Arthur, and Tekla brandished their weapons and took combat-ready stances at the sound of Kronya's voice. Wielding a pair of mismatched blades in each hand and covered in blood, Arthur didn't blame the others for thinking she was there to turn on them next.

"How frightening..." She droned. With an exaggerated roll of her crimson eyes, the assassin threw her weapons on the ground and folded her arms. "Feel safe now, mayflies?"

"Stand down, comrades," Ferdinand put a hand over Volkmar's maul and held it to point down towards their feet. "We are right to be wary of Kronya, but we must also acknowledge her actions on our behalf."

"I didn't do it for you, surface-dweller. That strutting idiot was here for me." Kronya explained. "And your lackey... Landrich, was it? He's likely to have died long ago, and replaced with a magister infiltrator."

She turned her head and stared at Tekla. "There are likely to be more of his kind in your midst, Aegir-spawn. Consider this a warning from someone who despises treacherous magister scum."

"Consider us duly warned," Arthur said, putting away his rifle. "So... what happens now?"

Ferdinand let out a breath and looked to Kronya. "What that man said... it was true, was it not? About you letting yourself be taken alive, expecting to be rescued by your comrades later."

"You would be a fool to think my sisters wouldn't come for me."

"I see. And how long is it until your... sisters, arrive?"

The assassin's scowl deepened as she considered what to say. "If someone like Myson found me, then they are sure to arrive soon. Know this, surface-dwellers... the furies of the Sisterhood of Vysinn aren't like these weak-minded magister thralls. Each of them are as formidable as I am, if not more so."

She glanced at Arthur, giving him a pointed look. "You survived Chilon and Myson, but you won't survive them."

"I don't doubt it." The outlaw said. He turned to Ferdinand. "I believe her, strange as that sounds. Whatever happens to her's still up to you, but I think holdin' on to this girl ain't in our best interests anymore."

Volkmar shifted his bulk, hefting his maul over his armoured shoulder. "Then perhaps now would be the best time to kill her, as we should have from the beginning."

Arthur could feel himself instinctively forming the words to disagree. It took a small effort to keep quiet.

Ferdinand looked on at his companion in horror and dismay. "She assisted us in battle, enlightened us to the possibility of infiltrators in our ranks, and even deigned to alert us of an imminent threat we have thus far been unaware of, and you suggest we repay this with an execution?"

The Astral Knight held his weapon in both gauntleted hands. "The fact remains that she is our foe, brother. Her actions served us today, and I will not contest this... but this does not mean her allegiances have changed, and she will surely attempt to do us harm later on. Surely you see this."

"And I won't deny it. You shouldn't expect anything else." Kronya defiantly stared down at her captors, but Arthur could hear the hesitation in her voice. "Although... I would prefer not to die, all the same. Perhaps we can come to an agreement?"

Arthur also noticed how strangely quiet Tekla had been, as though she was trying to avoid everyone's attention. Thus, it came as a surprise when she did speak. "What do you have in mind, Kronya?"

Victor rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner. "Oh, bugger, this better be fucking good..."

Byleth looked ahead in mild concern as Mayu continued impaling the Agarthan bodies on the ground with her glaive, as though she was ensuring they were truly dead. "Make it quick, assassin. It will not be long before that one turns her attentions to you."

Kronya glanced at Mayu, then quickly stood closer to Arthur, as though using his frame to hide herself from the reckless warrior's sight. "The Sisterhood of Vysinn is feared amongst our kind for never letting slights go unavenged. In the act of capturing me, you've been marked for a hideous, most gruesome fate... but in exchange for my life, I can prevent my kindred from tracking you down and taking yours."

Ferdinand listened intently to Kronya as she spoke, his face set in a grim, narrow-eyed expression. "Please, explain."

"I will have to... I'll..." The assassin inhaled sharply through gritted teeth, as though it caused her physical pain to say her next words. "...damn it. Founders give me strength, I'll swear an Oath of the Archfoe towards both you... and this one."

Her red-eyed gaze found Arthur again, the mixture of emotions on her pale face providing a glimpse of her inner turmoil. "My decision to draw you out and kill you... it was supposed to raise my standing among the Scions, to show Thales' chosen that I'm not to be trifled with. They've already murdered many of my weaker sisters... I was resolved not to become another body in the wake of an ambitious magister." She scowled, her heeled boot lightly stamping against the sand beneath it. "What a fool I was. For going against instructions and failing to show anything for it, I lost all my credibility. All the fear and respect I once inspired, gone in an instant. A fall from grace such as this... it could only be remedied by succeeding where I failed — assassinating the one the surface-dwellers called the Corpsefinder."

"Am I supposed to, what, apologise for not letting you slit my throat, is that it? Jesus." Arthur held onto his gunbelt and shook his head in disbelief. "Where the hell're you going with this, anyhow?"

She glared, "The Oath of the Archfoe... it's a vow taken by disgraced furies, to never rest until their chosen adversaries are slain by their hand. Until then, the rest of the sisterhood are compelled by the laws of Founder Vysinn to never lay a finger on the disgraced's targets... which means if you leave me alive to swear the oath before my sisters in slaughter, this group may consider itself safe from an attack by a flock of vengeful furies, now and in the future."

Arthur considered this with no small amount of concern. "That's great and all, but for you... no resting until I'm dead, you said?"

"Why worry? It's been made clear I'm barely a threat to you." Kronya said, with a sardonic smile that was gone as soon as it appeared. She then turned to Ferdinand. "Kill me or spare me... whatever you decide to do, decide quickly. For your sake and mine."

"I..." The young lord looked to the outlaw, "Are you unbothered by this, Arthur? Because in exchange for the safety of the group on our way to Fódlan's Locket, I think this is a small price to pay."

"Yeah," Arthur slowly nodded. "I know what I'll do if this girl thinks she can come for me again. But what if she comes for you instead, kid?"

Ferdinand shook his head. "I will do what I must, as a true noble should."

"I don't like the sound of that." Arthur sighed, grumbling bitterly under a breath. "For chrissakes, Ferdinand, this way of thinking of yours... one day, it's gonna get you hurt."

"You need not worry, Mr. Morgan. She will have to go through me, first." Sir Volkmar said, thumping his gauntleted fist against his breastplate. "And I will not be as forgiving as my lord."

Kronya glanced around nervously, "Does that mean you accept my proposal?"

Ferdinand nodded solemnly. "It is done, we will leave immediately. Knights, gather your things and let us return to the journey ahead. We still have a war to fight... and another war to prepare for."

Within moments, the expedition was once again prepared to brave the windswept mountains of Fódlan's Throat. A pair of her fellow knights had to support Lady Rosamunde from either side so she could walk without pain, and the weather had not improved as much as Arthur would like, but he could tell everyone was relieved to return on the move, eager to leave the mountains behind. And while Sir Landrich was gone, the woman who called herself Mayu seemed to easily fill the gap the infiltrator left behind in their ranks. Whatever she might have been before, Mayu was clearly used to being in the company of warriors.

"Ready to move, Mr. Morgan?"

The outlaw had just finished gearing up when Byleth approached him, with Victor walking close behind her. Unlike before, the girl seemed more comfortable around the English soldier, enough to have offered to carry his second rucksack and a spare Lee-Enfield on his behalf.

"Just a second," Arthur stood up straight, shouldered his own rucksack, and stowed away his rifle. "I gotta talk with... uh, you know who."

"It's fine, you can say her name." Byleth nodded, frowning a bit. "I... confess to feeling uneasy about this, Arthur. I do not share your confidence about your new circumstances. Kronya herself has said she won't stop trying to kill you, and I fear there may come a time when she comes for you when you're not ready, and I may not be near enough to help."

"Ah, don't worry about me, miss. I didn't get to live this long without learning to always be ready for a fight." Arthur said, trying to seem his usual, fearless self.

"And I would prefer if you were to live even longer. Please, I beseech you to be more careful."

"It's okay, I will. It's Ferdinand you should be worryin' about, I reckon."

"He has his knights, and the resources and security measures only the heir of a powerful duke could afford."

"And I have Jeralt, Tekla, and you to back me up. I'll be fine, girl. No use losing sleep about this old man."

Victor watched two of them with a mildly amused look on his face. "And I'm here too, if anyone cares."

Byleth ignored him. "I suppose I'll let the others know what's keeping you."

"You do that." Arthur nodded. "This'll just take a minute or two."

The girl sighed and turned to leave. "Call out if you need me."

Victor stepped aside to let her pass, then looked to Arthur as soon as Byleth was out of earshot. "You seem close to that one. I've been wondering why she knew how to use a shotgun."

Arthur shrugged and looked around for Kronya. "I've been teaching her how to," It didn't take long for his eyes to spot a familiar mop of red hair amidst the piles of dead Agarthans. "Though not as much lately. Been running low on bullets and gun parts."

"Well, I guess it's fair I share my guns and munitions with you lot." Victor called out to Arthur as he walked away. "My mates wouldn't have wanted me to keep their gear all to myself."

"Thanks, kid." Arthur called back over his shoulder. He was starting to miss his firearm lessons with Byleth. "Appreciate it."

It took a moment for Arthur to reach Kronya, who was crouched on a knee next to a dead Agarthan warrior. The assassin was scowling and muttering to herself as she meticulously stripped the body of any supplies it carried.

Arthur breathed in and out. "Pale woman."

"Surface-dweller." Kronya stopped her search and looked up to him. "What do you want now?"

The outlaw hooked his thumbs into his gunbelt. "Just to see what you're up to."

She frowned and returned to her scavenging. "You should stop wasting time. My sisters will be here soon, and you're interrupting me. It will take me the rest of the day sorting everything these witless thralls carried with them."

He quietly watched her for a while. "Why not ask your sisters for help?"

"They will not deign to help me in any way, especially after I swear the oath." She said, bitterness in every word. "From then on, I will be considered an outcast — forbidden from returning to our city, or receiving aid in any way. I must be self-sufficient, if I am to survive long enough to kill both you, and the Aegir-spawn."

"Well, when you put it like that..." He shook his head in mixed sympathy and exasperation. "It doesn't have to be like this, you know. This thing, this... oath? You know damn well how it's gonna end, right?"

"Do not attempt to dissuade me from this, vermin. If I were to ever return to the Scions, I must walk the path of the disgraced killer."

"And end up with a goddamn bullet in your head for your trouble? Ever thought that this shit ain't exactly worth your life? Look, girl, I've been getting the impression that you'd rather keep breathing than end up in the dirt, so why don't you just talk to Ferdinand, and—"

Kronya gave the outlaw a baleful look. "Before the Scions, I was nothing. Without the Vysinn Sisterhood, I would have stayed as nothing. Our grand archon took me from nothing, enlightened me with his vision, and gave me my purpose for existing in this pathetic, broken excuse for a world."

Arthur unflinchingly stared back at the assassin. "And if that purpose is about to get you killed?"

She hesitated, but only for a moment. "You may think I am too weak to ever challenge you and your infernal weapons on equal terms, but I am no stranger to punishing myself to improve my skills. I will push to become stronger, and when the time comes, your demise will not come swiftly. Mark my words."

The outlaw let his shoulders slump in defeat. There was no getting through to her that day. "In that case," He reached into his satchel and retrieved a long blade he had been keeping for a while. "Here. I reckon this here's yours."

Kronya caught the blade in the air as Arthur tossed it to her. She spent a moment quietly examining the weapon, her fingers tracing patterns along its damaged metallic surface. "Athame. I thought it lost..."

"You'll need it." Arthur turned and started walking away. He had wasted enough time.

"Don't you die, Arthur Morgan..." He heard the assassin call to him as he left. "Not before I can kill you myself!"

...

---

"Damn it! Soldiers, close ranks and take your positions ahead!" Hans Fischer loosed arrows into the air just as he spouted orders for the Alliance forces he brought. "Advance and secure the perimeter! Double time!"

Shez darted aside to avoid the snapping jaws of the wyvern before him, and dropped to the ground just as the eastlander riding atop the beast loosed an arrow where his head had been. He provided enough of a distraction for a nearby Alliance knight to hurl a javelin at the rider, impaling the woman clear through her lightly-armoured chest and knocking her off her saddle.

"STAND! FIRM!" Even amidst the din of battle, the screams of the maimed, and the enraged roaring of wyverns, Hans' voice could be heard. For a boy so small, a deep, brassy voice like his made him sound much larger than he was. "DEFEND LADY HILDA!"

"Oh, will you just be quiet? For the last time," Shez found himself hard-pressed to keep up with Hilda as she advanced deep into the enemy ranks, sending unfortunate Almyrans bouncing left and right with each terrible swing of her axe. "It's... just... Hilda!"

Shez backed away from the riderless wyvern before it could crush him in its bulk, just as several House Goneril soldiers swarmed it from all sides, axes and spears raised. With so many men hacking away at the hapless beast, it could only swing its head and tail in a vain attempt to shake off its attackers before it was pinned to the ground by its wings and slain by a spear through the eye-socket.

"Goddess..." Even as someone who grew up in Leicester, Shez found himself startled by how quickly and efficiently these soldiers of the Alliance dispatched wyverns after surrounding one. It soon became obvious to him that the defenders of Fódlan's Locket were quite used to dealing with flying monstrosities.

"That was a good distraction, mercenary!" Shez had to keep himself from lashing out when he felt a knight's heavy gauntlet tapping him by the side of his shoulder. A wyvern's strangled roaring could be heard in the distance, along with the panicked shouts of its rider. "Ready for another?"

Shez had begun to feel his vision start to cloud, and his legs become unsteady some time ago. It was only because of adrenaline he hadn't collapsed thus far. "Just... just, ugh, give me a moment...!"

"You're not feeling tired, are you?" The knight's voice was friendly, jovial even. "You can't back out now, especially when you've got the young Lady Hilda's eye! Come now, brother, glory awaits!"

At least this one seemed to regard him better than most of Captain Jeralt's own people. "Alright, alright, damn it! Just be ready to back me up — here I go!"

Cut off from the bulk of the besieging eastlander forces and beset on all possible angles by an ever-swelling tide of vengeful Alliance soldiers, the Almyran wyvern riders fought desperately for their lives as the local defenders expertly manoeuvred many individual wyverns away from their fellows, using synchronised movements and their own bodies to flow into the area and divide their already shaky ranks before descending on the isolated beasts like a pack of wolves on their cornered prey.

Knowing that staying in the area meant dying a terrible, drawn-out death, many of the wyvern riders disentangled themselves from the crush and attempted to fly off, away from the spears and axes of the House Goneril soldiers. Many were shot down by the same defenders they thought to evade — the soldiers merely put their weapons and shields away and drew the longbows they were also carrying. Others met more gruesome fates: impaled by gigantic bolts from the nearby ballistae, or incinerated by well-aimed shots from the arcane bombards.

Those wyvern riders who stayed on the ground, seeing most of their fleeing comrades unceremoniously picked off from the skies before they could get far, fought with renewed vigour even as their ranks dwindled one by one.

"The barbarians are making a stand!" Shez gestured ahead, to where most of the few surviving Almyrans and their beasts had gathered. "There! That's the bastard leading them, yeah?"

"What?" Hilda wrenched her weapon free from a dead opponent's corpse and looked to where Shez was pointing. "The one in the fancy armour?"

"And the one with the biggest mouth!" Shez said, eyes glued to the prize. The glory of this battle would be his if he was the one to kill or capture an Almyran wyvern commander. "It's up to you, Hilda — is he leaving this place with or without his head?"

Such a simple question seemed to take Hilda by surprise. "I... um, we should... give him a chance to surrender?"

He decided not to question it. Instead, he pushed her into her role as their leader. "Well, what're we waiting for? From what I see, he's not going to give up this fight without you telling him he should, before our people tear him and his lizard to shreds."

"Alright, Hilda, you're a big girl now..." The noble breathed in and out, wiped her face and arms of any bloodstains, and stood straight. "You can do this, you can do this! N-no problem..."

Ahead, the Almyrans and their monstrous flying mounts intensified their stubborn last stand, forcing the defenders to give ground and reform their ranks before their casualties could start mounting.

"Barbaric westlander dogs!" The one who seemed to lead the wyvern riders — a young, dark-haired man wearing an ostentatious, gold-trimmed suit of light armour with a jewel-encrusted golden circlet over his head — screeched at their attackers in perfect, if accented, Fódlanese. "I am a prince of Almyra! Touch me and Leicester will never see peace ever again!"

"It's too late for platitudes about peace, invader!" Shez heard Hans shout back to supposed Almyran princeling. "Archers, form ranks and make ready to loose!"

"Insolent filth! You wouldn't dare!" The princeling pulled tight against the reins of his mount, appearing as though he was preparing to take flight.

Hans stood to attention just as he noticed Hilda making her way to his spot at the front, with Shez close behind. "My lady, would you like to do the honours?"

"Hang on, I gotta try something," She said to the boy, before gesturing at the archers to stand down. "Wait a bit, guys! Let me talk to them first!"

To his credit, Hans swallowed any complaints he might have had and immediately went to work conveying Hilda's command to his people. "Hold your arrows, but be on your guard! Mind the flanks and watch the skies!"

"So dramatic..." Hilda pushed past the soldier, put a gauntleted fist over her mouth and cleared her throat. "Umm, excuse me! If we'd all just calm down for a moment, I think you and I could—"

"And who are you to address the likes of me?" The Almyran sneered at the sight of Hilda. "Have the wretched Gonerils become so desperate as to employ whores as fighters?"

Hilda stood still for a moment, mouth hanging open in shock. "...what did you just say?"

"A whore with a hearing difficulty! Gods be good." The princeling leaned forward against his saddle and spat on the ground beside his flying mount. "I am not interested in dialogue with an insipid peasant girl playing at war. If you wish to be of use, you should tell your comrades surrendering is in their best interest, before my brother arrives to raze this wretched fortress to the ground!"

The murderous look on Hilda's face was not directed at him, but Shez nonetheless felt himself stricken with fear at the raw malice in the girl's eyes.

"Just say the word, my lady." Hans said.

"I guess it's my fault for expecting anything from barbarians. Archers!" Without breaking her wrathful gaze, Hilda raised an arm in the air. In an instant, the Alliance bowmen and their mercenary auxiliaries drew their bows, arrows ready to be loosed. "Take aim!"

Shez twirled his blades, relishing how quickly the Almyran princeling's expression changed from superior to scared. "So, I guess this means we're killing them all, then?"

"To the last." Hilda said, before bringing her arm down. "Let fly!"

Arrows flew, magic was cast, and the fates of the Almyran wyvern riders were sealed. After the devastating volley of steel and sorcery, Hilda wasted no time rallying her forces into charging the surviving eastlanders, her face set in an uncharacteristically cold, grimacing expression as her greataxe carved into armour, flesh, and scale alike. Blood was spilled from both sides, but after taking a prolonged beating from the local defenders from the moment they landed unsupported behind Alliance lines and with all their escape routes locked down by archers and ballistae, the wyvern riders soon faced utter defeat.

Minutes later, and the battle for the healing stations had reached its conclusion. Most of the Almyrans and their wyverns were either dead or dying, save for a handful. Among the latter was the Almyran princeling, though he now carried an arrow through his shoulder, his stomach, and his sword-arm. The exquisite make of his armour protected him from being killed outright, but from the trails of blood dripping down his jaw, the ashen complexion of his skin, and his ragged, gasping breaths, it was clear he would soon join his fallen underlings.

As things started to calm down again, Shez leaned against a wall and sat down to catch his breath and check his wounds. He kept a stiff upper lip and ignored the worsening sting of his injuries as he took his satchel by the strap, set it down on the ground in front of him, and started looking for the vulneraries Tekla had packed for him just before leaving Findolheim. As he busied himself with his supplies, however, he found his attention drawn towards the scene just ahead of him, amidst the largest pile of dead wyverns and their riders.

"What have you to say for yourself, invader?" Hans Fischer's arms were folded across his breastplate in a pitiless, almost taunting stance as he loomed over the Almyran princeling from before.

"I see it now... this... has been a betrayal..." The princeling sat against the unmoving, blood-soaked carcass of his wyvern, his unmaimed hand clutching at the shaft of the arrow jutting out from his guts. "Haashid... I should have had you killed... when I had the chance..."

"Wait, that's it? Those are your last words?" Beside Hans, Hilda shook her head and raised her weapon to deal a finishing blow to the princeling. "Damned barbarians..."

Shez turned away just as Hilda plunged her axe down.

...

---

Arthur could scarcely believe his eyes as he stared down his binoculars. "Damn it all..."

"This... is unexpected." Byleth muttered beside him as she looked down her own scope.

"Wait, what am I missing?" Victor had his own pair of binoculars, though his looked more sophisticated and better-made than Arthur's.

"We thought we were rid of these trebuchets. We watched them be engulfed in flames." Ferdinand didn't need his own device to know what the three of them were looking at. "But it appears the Almyrans were as adept as repairing their siege engines as they are at building them."

Volkmar huffed, crossing his metal arms. "Which is to be expected from a warlike people. I don't understand why the Alliance has yet to take measures to address their Almyran problem in a more permanent manner."

"They have..." Rosamunde sucked in a breath as Tekla applied a generous amount of vulnerary paste against the wound in her side. "...ach, hmm... more urgent matters to address, such as peasant rebellions and the endless bickering of their nobles."

Mayu, as expected, said nothing and continued to sit and quietly whittle away at a piece of wood she picked up, using a dagger she pilfered from a dead Agarthan.

Arthur put away his device and sat on a rock. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "I promised General Fischer I'd make this problem go away. If I wasn't such a hasty fool and brought along more of these goddamn fire bottles..."

"Please, Mr. Morgan, you've accomplished more than most would have." Byleth said, gently patting Arthur in the back. "That said, these trebuchets appear lightly defended. The bulk of the Almyran besiegers seem to be concentrated on those attempting to scale the walls. If we move quickly, I believe we can eliminate the soldiers guarding the siege engines and finish what we started before more of the eastlanders take notice."

Ferdinand nodded, "Agreed. First, however, we must decide on how we will make our approach. Any ideas, Ms. Eisner?"

"A few, though we cannot all participate if we wish to remain unnoticed for as long as possible." The girl said. "Not to mention, someone must stay behind to mind our things and keep an eye on Lady Rosamunde."

"Please, I can take care of myself." Rosamunde was quick to say. From the way she was fidgeting, Arthur could tell she was in a considerable amount of pain.

"I'll stay behind and tend to the lady knight." Tekla offered. "My role as a healer aside, my other abilities... well, they tend to draw attention on account of being very bright and loud."

"Stealth isn't my forte, and neither is it Adelhard's." Lady Ulrike said. "The two of us can stay here and stand guard."

Byleth nodded. "Does any one else wish to remain here with Lady Rosamunde?"

Arthur stood up. His arsenal tended to be even louder than Tekla's white magic, but he would be damned if he stayed behind and let the others fix his mistake for him. "Wouldn't feel right if I did. Count me in, kid."

"My sentiments exactly, Mr. Morgan." Ferdinand said, leaving behind his poleaxe in favour of his arming sword.

"Time to see what these "Almyrans" are about, then." Corporal Sturges stashed his binoculars into one of his pouches and unsheathed a serrated knife with a knuckle-shaped guard forged over the handle.

"Where my lord goes, I follow." Volkmar declared with a resounding thump of his fist against his breastplate.

Mayu, perhaps due to having watched most of the group preparing for battle, put away her piece of wood and the blade she used to carve away at it. With a quick sigh, the strange warrior stood up from where she was sitting, dusted herself down, and drew her longbow from her shoulder.

Byleth took a breath and bid her companions to follow with a gesture of her gloved hand. "Come, I'll explain what I have in mind on the way."

Arthur listened to Byleth's plan as the group forged onward, using the cover of the night to shroud their presence from the Almyrans manning the trebuchets ahead. From what he heard, the girl planned to have the party once again split in two, with one half manoeuvring towards the enemy's southern flank and holding position while the other half advanced north. The northern half would make the first move, killing the Almyrans manning the northernmost trebuchet as quietly as they could and extinguishing the fires providing the area with illumination, which the southern half would take as their signal to advance north and do the same. Both groups would proceed to meet in the middle, eliminating all Almyrans standing in their way. Once the area was cleared of enemies, reunited as one, the party would then commence with the task of dismantling the trebuchets with whatever means necessary, and hopefully for good.

"A solid plan, Ms. Eisner." Ferdinand nodded. "I will be in the southern group, if that is fine."

"Then that's where I will be." Volkmar said.

"I'm not so good at keeping quiet. I'll be with these lads." Victor said.

Arthur watched the trebuchets continue to lob flaming, tar-coated boulders into the sky, due west. He wondered how long they had been besieging the fortress, and how many have died since then. "I'm fine wherever you want me, miss."

Byleth took a moment to consider what to say, "I believe... it would be best if you and Mayu attack the Almyrans from the north. Your bows should let you eliminate your targets without alerting the rest of the enemy. I would have liked to join you, but I have a different role to play."

"And that is?"

"As an observer, to keep an eye on the perimeter, and as a distraction, should matters take a turn for the worse."

Arthur hoped Byleth could see the displeased look on his face clearly enough in the darkness. "Your plans usually pan out well for us, which is why I ain't gonna question this one. Just... don't take risks like the last time — one near-death incident's all I could take."

"Not to worry, my friend. For this engagement, I will avoid combat until it is necessary." She said, reassuringly. "I'll be careful... I promise."

Some time later, and with a bit of encouragement from himself and Ferdinand to keep Mayu from joining the southern group and leaving him on his own, the outlaw made his way northwest, with his foreign companion quietly following after him. The two of them used the rocky, uneven terrain to keep themselves concealed from the Almyrans as they moved onward, bows drawn and arrows nocked.

"So..." Deciding that he may as well get a better understanding of Ferdinand's strange ally while he had the chance, Arthur spoke up as they waited in the cover of darkness for an enemy patrol to move out of their path. "Mayu, ain't it? If you haven't figured it out yet, I'm Arthur."

The warrior seemed to rouse from her blank-faced trance at Arthur's mention of her name. When she looked at him, Arthur couldn't help but take note of the sharpness of her brown eyes, as though searching him for cues if anything was wrong. "Hai?"

"Erm, hi." Arthur spent a moment surveying the area, finding the patrol still there. Turning to regard Mayu again, he cleared his throat and indicated at himself. "Arthur Morgan. It's my name."

Mayu stared at him, opening her mouth as though to say something, then closing it again. Tentatively, she mimicked the outlaw and gestured at herself, "Mayu." Then to him. "Assa... Morugano?"

"Uhh, sure, we'll go with that." Arthur shrugged. When he looked to see if the coast was clear, he was startled to see an Almyran soldier staring back at him with wide, disbelieving eyes, a hand already placed atop the war horn he was carrying.

"Now, partner, don't do something you'll regret..." Arthur warned the man, deliberately keeping his hands in plain sight and away from his bow and the quiver hanging by his hip.

His gesture of peace immediately went to waste as the Almyran brought his horn to his mouth and proceeded to blow a hasty, ear-splitting note, which was quickly cut short and replaced by a wet gurgle as Mayu's arrow caught him in the throat.

"Well, shit." With their cover unceremoniously blown, Arthur put away his bow, unholstered his twin pistols, and opened fire as more Almyrans began to approach their position, weapons drawn and eager to avenge their dead comrades. Seeing two more of their own topple over from having their skulls blown open didn't seem to deter them in the slightest. "So much for doing this quietly!"

Already slinging more arrows in the enemy's direction, Mayu didn't seem too distressed about their situation as she methodically brought down one charging Almyran after the other. As a matter of fact, she seemed to take to combat more naturally than most folks Arthur knew.

Fortunately, there weren't many Almyrans around to guard the trebuchet they were attempting to reach, and it only took Arthur and his companion another moment to clear the area of threats.

"Nice shooting. You're a natural with that thing, kid." Arthur wasted no time dousing the fires around the perimeter by smothering them with sand. "Right, that's that. Y'all ready to keep moving?"

Mayu stared at him with a hopelessly confused look on her face.

Arthur sighed, shaking his head at his own foolishness. "Probably shoulda expected that. You, uh, don't speak Welsh, do you? Hm." With no proper way to communicate with Mayu, he resorted to gesturing with his hands as he beckoned her to follow before indicating at the path leading south. "This way."

Although the Almyrans manning the other trebuchets Arthur and Mayu encountered on their path south were already expecting company thanks to their clumsy attempt at stealth, these warriors seem to be more suited to operating siege engines rather than fighting, and it was a simple matter to pick them off from a distance.

"Mayu!" Noticing the state of his companion's quiver in between taking potshots at the enemy, Arthur unstrapped his own quiver and handed it over. "Make them count!"

"Ah?" After loosing another arrow, Mayu seemed confused at the offering for a moment, until she noticed her nearly-depleted quiver. "Ah! Arigato, kishi!"

With the rapid pace in which he and Mayu had been shooting their way through the enemy ranks, Arthur had expected the Almyrans to send reinforcements shortly. Strangely enough, none came, and it wasn't long at all before he spotted the familiar sight of Ferdinand, Volkmar, and Victor in the distance, the former two holding their weapons with noticeably fresh smidgens of red.

"Arthur!" Ferdinand called out as he and his team drew close to Arthur's. "Good to see you doing well, my friend."

"Likewise, though we didn't exactly go off on a good start," Arthur said. He took the time to look around the area for Byleth, though he caught no sign of her. "How'd you go?"

"Well enough. We saw some of the fires disappearing and proceeded as we planned." Ferdinand said. He then turned to Mayu, pausing for a moment before putting up a smile. "You will not regret throwing your lot in with us, Lady Mayu. I will personally see to it."

The foreign warrior briefly smiled back before glancing aside, deliberately avoiding the young lord's earnest gaze.

"Such a charmer, ain't he?" Arthur couldn't help but smirk at how the woman seemed to flinch at the sound of his voice.

Volkmar cleared his throat, "Perhaps we should proceed with dismantling these infernal siege weapons?"

"Way ahead of you, mate." Victor called out from his spot next to one such siege weapon, a looted Almyran greataxe in his hands. With a grunt, he hefted the weapon above his head and cleaved deep into the wood. "Well? Am I gonna have to do this by myself? Come on, you lot!"

As the others went to help the corporal with smashing the trebuchet into splinters, Arthur picked up a hammer and got to work on another nearby trebuchet. He hadn't asked for help, but soon enough, he was joined by Sir Volkmar with his own maul.

"That woman, hrm!" The knight grunted with effort as he smashed his weapon against the wood, one heavy blow after another. His strikes caused explosions of sound, each blow possessing more than enough force to cripple a limb of an armoured foe. "Mayu, I think is her name... What do you think of her, Mr. Morgan?"

"Hm." In contrast, Arthur went at his task with a critical eye, focusing on hitting weak spots in the trebuchet's design, as well as any sign of prior damage. Fortunately, the latter could be found almost everywhere on the siege weapon, making it clear that the Almyrans rushed to return their burnt siege weapons back into working order. "Why're you asking me, of all people? I don't know the girl well enough to give you a straight answer."

"I expected as such. Hrng!" Arthur had to put up an arm to shield himself from the splinters Volkmar was making with every strike. "My lord... mentioned having felt responsible for her, enough to express an interest in taking her back to Aegir, after our duty is concluded here."

The outlaw shrugged. His next, well-aimed blow shattered a support beam and sent most of the trebuchet's components crumbling to the sand. "Good for her. I'm sure he'll treat her well... maybe teach her some Fódlanese while he's at it. Would be nice to know who she really was, and where the hell'd she learn to shoot a bow like she does."

For a moment, Volkmar stared at the pile of rubble Arthur made, his stance subtly displaying his disbelief. "I... to speak plainly, I think our lord is being overly trusting, especially in light of the newly-revealed possibility of more traitors like Landrich von Bildhofen in our midst, lying in wait for the most opportune time to strike. It pains me to say it, but if the treasonous dog hadn't gone for the Agarthan witch and went for the young lord instead, there is a good chance he might have succeeded."

He raised his perforated visor to expose the lower half of his head and wiped under his nose with the back of his gauntleted hand. "Ferdinand... for all his training and all his combat talent, would never see the blow coming until it's too late."

Arthur acknowledged Volkmar's point with a sombre nod. "I'm surprised to hear you tellin' me all this, partner. Don't you think I could be a traitor, like Landrich?"

"I thought of it, of course. But it makes no sense for an Agarthan to behave as you do, Mr. Morgan."

"What do you mean?"

"You and Ferdinand are more alike than you may think, sir."

Arthur held back from landing his next blow, unsure of what to make of the knight's observation. To him, Ferdinand was nothing like him. Despite having such a greedy, scheming tyrant for a father, Ferdinand was a kind and righteous soul, always trying to do what's right and see the best in others, and unlike him, the boy was always honest about who he truly was, and did not let the wickedness of people and the world change him for the worse.

"That's a load of horseshit." Arthur scoffed, shaking his head. "Trust me on this, sir knight, the kid's better off being nothing like me."

Volkmar swivelled his head to look at Arthur, his exposed mouth set in an inscrutable line. "I suspect there is something you're not telling us, mercenary, but... I suppose that is your business."

Arthur squinted at the other man. He felt as though there was something familiar about the knight's jaw. "Goddamn right."

The knight hefted his maul and made to return to the task at hand. "Our lord trusts you just as much as he trusts his own knights, Mr. Morgan. Have a care not to betray that trust, or you'll answer to me."

"Wasn't intendin' to. Poor boy's already got too much shit on his plate." Arthur said. When he turned away from Volkmar, a rush of relief washed over him as he spotted Byleth running over to them, shotgun in hand. "Ah, there she is. Ms. Eisner! Everything alright?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, Arthur felt the urge to kick himself. His young companion breathed through clenched teeth as she bounded over to them in hurried strides, shotgun held tightly in her gloved hands.

"We have to move!" Came Byleth's strained, raspy shout. "The Almyrans are coming in force!"

"Ah, shit. How many did you see?"

"Too many to count! If we don't move now, their light cavalry will reach us soon!"

Arthur stopped to think at Byleth's mention of the words, "light cavalry". Dropping the now-chipped axe he had in his hand to lay amidst the mess he and Volkmar made, the outlaw took out a pair of fire bottles from his rucksack and waited for his fellow mercenary to catch up to them.

"You said something about cavalry — how many horses we're talkin' here, girl?"

Byleth received a fire bottle from Arthur without hesitation, already knowing what he wanted her to do with it. "Almyran outriders... I saw a little more than a dozen riders heading this way, though there is likely more."

"You think they know we're here?"

"No, but they'll learn soon enough."

"Lucky us," The outlaw tossed his bottle at the pile of rubble. It won't take long before the trebuchet's sundered remains were burnt to cinders before their eyes. He then turned to the knight by his side. "Volkmar... why don't you run up to the others and tell them to make their way here? Could use some more hands, if you get what I mean."

"Not running, are we?" The knight rolled his shoulders.

"On foot, with riders on our tail? We're better off staying put and waiting to get the drop on them." Arthur said. "Besides... after all this walking around, don't you wanna be back on the saddle?"

At this, Arthur saw the knight's mouth forming into a thin smile. "I hope you know what you're doing, Mr. Morgan."

"I ask myself that every day." Arthur said to the man as he departed the area, to give the rest of the party the word. "It's just the two of us for now, Byleth. You got my back, right?"

The girl nodded, "Now and always."

After positioning themselves to receive their horse-riding Almyran guests, Arthur gave Byleth all the shotgun ammunition he happened to be carrying in his pockets and pouches before drawing out the English rifle Victor lent to him. He dropped down to lie on his belly and propped the gun's barrel to rest over the piece of cover he had been using.

"I have been thinking, about what I will do with my cut of our pay." Byleth spoke up as they waited for the enemy to arrive. "In between what I've saved from our contracts thus far, and the funds House Goneril would reward us with, I believe I have more than enough to purchase a plot of land somewhere. A place to call my own."

"What, already thinking of settling down? At your age?" Arthur said, propping himself up on an elbow and looking towards Byleth with a mildly amused look on his face. "That little brush with death really put things into perspective, huh."

"I wouldn't go that far." She shook her head and crawled over to sit next to him. "But for most mercenaries, earning enough to purchase a home was their reason for choosing the life of a wandering soldier-for-hire. It occurred to me that beyond familial ties, I do not have a reason for being a mercenary. I find it strange... how I haven't thought about it until only recently."

"Well, if you ever felt you wanted a change in careers, I reckon you'd be a great tailor, or seamstress."

"I'm flattered that you think so, Arthur." The girl's eyes shone brightly by the firelight. "And what of you... have you any thoughts of leaving the company, to strike out or settle down?"

Arthur thought about settling down himself. While idea of staying put did not much appeal to a man possessed with such a strong sense of wanderlust, he thought having his own personal domain where he could return every once in a while to rest or hunt could be a worthwhile investment.

His coffers could certainly do with some trimming.

"Not really." The outlaw said, trying to sound nonchalant. "After the shit you pulled yesterday, scarin' the hell outta me... nah, don't see myself parting ways with you folks just yet. Your father can't keep an eye on you all the time, so that task falls to some other poor fool." He sighed, feigning dismay. "A poor fool like me, it looks like."

Byleth rolled her eyes at him, a smile threatening to break into her usual stoic demeanour. "You make keeping me company sound like such an unenviable task, Mr. Morgan. I can think of plenty of things we can get up to, and be productive at the same time."

"Such as?"

"Hunting, fishing, riding, training, and contract-hunting. I can also teach you how to sew, if you like."

"Heh, sure. That sounds nice, miss." Arthur chuckled, shaking his head. Spending more time with the young lady certainly wouldn't help alleviate the damnable gossip circulating in camp about the two of them, but for once, Arthur found himself not caring too much for it.

Arthur and Byleth spent another few moments lying in wait and indulging in affable chatter before finally, they spotted their prey riding into the perimeter, drawn into the area by the smoking, fire-engulfed remains of their siege engines, along with the bodies of their dead comrades strewn haphazardly around. Holding up a hand to signal for his companion to stay down, the outlaw bid the girl to wait for his shot as he rose up to a knee and took aim with his rifle.

As more Almyran riders rode into sight, most of those who arrived first began to hitch their horses and dismount to investigate the bodies. Some approached the trebuchets, others began looking for tracks in the sand. Arthur didn't let them get too far in their search as he opened fire, dropping the more senior-looking Almyran with the most elaborate suit of armour before moving down the ranks, landing headshot after headshot. Byleth promptly contributed her own firepower to Arthur's, managing to kill or injure multiple foes with both blasts of her double-barrelled shotgun.

Predictably, after realising they were under attack, the surviving eastlanders immediately loosed arrows in the mercenaries' direction, which they easily avoided by dropping back down under cover.

"Right, that got their attention," As arrows plinked off the stone above him, Arthur whispered to Byleth, who was looking at him as though waiting for his direction. "Now, we wait."

She furrowed her brows at him. "For the archers to stop shooting?"

Arthur changed magazines and set aside his gun, letting it lean against the stone. "For the whole bunch of 'em to start dying."

As though in answer to his words, the startled shouts of the Almyrans from the other side of their piece of cover were soon drowned out by screams and cries of pain. Byleth tried to stand up and join the fight, only for Arthur to stop her with a raised palm.

"Hey, save your ammo. Let them handle it." He said to her. Ferdinand's commanding voice could be faintly discerned amidst the clamour ahead.

When they emerged from cover, the two of them arrived to the sight of the last few Almyrans still standing attempting to climb up their horses' saddles and flee the area. A few managed to escape, but the rest did not get far. Either they were knocked off their steeds by thrown javelins, or shot down by Victor with his rifle and Mayu with her longbow.

Arthur thought about ensuring that none would escape — certainly he was capable of picking off the last of the retreating foes if he wished. Then again, he reasoned to himself, he could think of better uses for his munitions.

"Finally. No more walking around," Corporal Sturges was quick to appropriate one of the horses the Almyrans left behind, though he took the time to introduce himself to the beast with a sniff to the hand, a pat to the head, and an oatcake from his satchel. "There you go, all nice and happy. You're His Majesty's noble steed now, boy. Think I'll call you... Zuljanah."

Ferdinand found himself a powerful-looking steed that seemed to have belonged to one of the Almyran officers Arthur had killed in his first volley. The young lord removed his gauntlet and let the beast have a sniff of his hand before giving it a couple of pats on the neck. Satisfied that the horse wouldn't try to flee, Ferdinand looked to his retainer, "Brother, would you be so kind as to secure four more horses for the rest of the expedition?"

Sir Volkmar snapped a crisp salute. "Of course, my lord."

Ferdinand then turned his attention towards Mayu, who was eyeing the other horses with an uncertain, apprehensive look on her face. "My lady, do you require assistance?"

"Hmm." Mayu reached out to one of the horses, only to flinch back when it tried to sniff her hand. With obvious hesitance, she turned to Ferdinand. "Ah... Ferudinando?"

The noble smiled, bright and eager. "Please, allow me." He took his own steed by the reins and made his way over to the warrior.

Arthur had just finished helping Byleth up on the saddle of her new mount. The girl hadn't been too well-versed with handling horses when they first met, but over the course of the year, Arthur had managed to impart some of his own skill and expertise to her, enough that she seemed comfortable enough on the saddle, confident that it won't buck her off.

"My thanks," She said as she took hold of the reins. "Have you found a suitable mount for yourself?"

"Matter of fact, I did." As for the outlaw himself, he already had his eye on a roan-coated, long-legged stallion, with a lengthy, voluminous black mane that had been braided by its previous rider. It took more than a few soothing words and pats to the head to keep the beast from fleeing at his approach, but it seemed to accept him well enough after he gave it a carrot he had been carrying in one of his pouches just for such an occasion as this. "More of that where it came from, boy. Just gotta take me away from this place."

With everyone all saddled up and with extra horses for those left behind in tow, the group didn't wait for the rest of the Almyran forces to make their appearance as they proceeded to make their way back to where the other half of the expedition should be, the wrecked and smoking remains of the eastlander trebuchets blazing bright enough to light a considerable length of their path ahead.

Sure enough, they found Tekla, Rosamunde, Ulrike and Adelhard where they left them. Tekla seemed to be in the process of helping Rosamunde put her plate harness back on, while Ulrike and Adelhard stood guard over them and the expedition's equipment.

"You're back. Thank the goddess..." Ulrike's shoulders sagged in relief as she spotted the others riding over. "From the smoke trails in the distance, and those Almyran horses you brought, I take it things went as planned?"

"For once." Volkmar dismounted from his steed. The Astral Knight unfastened the reins of one of the extra horses he was towing from his saddle and handed them to his fellow knight. "These are no Aegir destriers, but they'll have to do for now."

Rosamunde walked over to one of the riderless horses, a slight but noticeable limp to her gait. "Almyran horses are known for their docility and the speed in which they gallop over sand. Considering our circumstances, these will do just fine, sir knight."

Ferdinand looked on at his subordinate in obvious concern. "Are you well enough to ride, Lady Rosamunde?"

With a strained grunt, Rosamunde climbed atop the saddle of her new steed. "Ah, Ms. Schneider ensured I would be well enough to return to combat, my lord. Please, worry not on my account."

"I didn't say that..." Arthur heard Tekla mutter from beside him.

"What was that, girl?" The outlaw looked over to her.

"Uh, nothing. Nothing important." The healer sighed and went to take her pick of the horses the others brought.

The expedition spent some time allocating the horses among themselves and distributing their equipment along the bags and hooks the previous riders had mounted to their saddles.

As he waited for the others to be ready to move, Arthur rode up to an elevated patch of sand and rock, some distance away from the others. He then used his binoculars to survey the path ahead. Inexorably, his sights were drawn to the towering walls of Fódlan's Locket further afield, at the end of the valley before him. From beyond the walls, he could make out stacks of black smoke billowing into the evening skies.

"The expedition is nearly prepared to journey on, Mr. Morgan!" Arthur heard Ferdinand's voice as the boy rode over to him on his own steed. With slumped shoulders and an uncertain look on his face, he appeared uncharacteristically subdued as he spotted the outlaw peering into his device. "Is the path ahead clear?"

"I'm sure it ain't." Arthur said, putting down his binoculars and stowing it away. He took his horse by the reins and had it turn to face Ferdinand. "We took the long way through them mountains so we wouldn't run into the Almyrans... now, though, there's only one way forward — straight ahead, into the valley down there, and you don't need me to tell you that it's probably crawling with those eastlander folks."

"Yes. I suspected as much..." Ferdinand leaned back on his saddle, closing his eyes and running a gauntleted hand through his sand-blown hair. "Tell me true, my friend, what do you think of our chances of returning to Fódlan's Locket alive and unharmed?"

"Not good... but not terrible, neither." Arthur replied, attempting to sound encouraging despite himself. "With walls, towers, and barbicans as high up as the Locket's, I'm sure the Alliance would see us coming before the Almyrans do. They'll do what they can to help us get to safety, I reckon."

"That is assuming the fortress has not fallen in our absence." Ferdinand said, shaking his head sullenly.

"Hey, what's with that kinda talk, boy? Chin up there, this crap ain't like you." Arthur said, willing his mount to trot over next to Ferdinand's so he could look at the young lord in the eye. "I've heard the stories — the Gonerils held their fortress for almost a century against the Almyrans. It ain't falling to Haashid's boys in just a couple days. And as for us... we made it this far, didn't we?"

Ferdinand nodded slowly, "Yes... I suppose we have surmounted the odds several times already. But—"

"No, no buts, kid. We got Tekla back, rescued Sturges and Mayu, killed Chilon, survived Myson's ambush, and flushed out that goddamn rat, Landrich. It'd be a damned shame if we all die to the Almyrans now."

At this, the boy seemed to have dispelled most of his sullenness as he began to sit up straighter on his saddle. "You are right, of course. I... I must not give in to doubt. Not now."

The noble breathed in and out, looking as though he was considering something. "To tell you the truth, Arthur, thinking about these accomplishments of ours is precisely why I have been anxious. I know it will not matter should we die in the next hour or so, but should we continue to defy the odds, it will be impossible for me to hide my involvement in this war."

"Believe me, it ain't a hard thing to figure out." Arthur said as they began to ride back to the group together. "And we both know your father's already got an idea of what you've been up to these past few months."

"Only that he did not seem to believe it, if Chilon and Kronya were to be trusted with their word..." Ferdinand said, frowning. It was after a small pause when he spoke again. "But perhaps... perhaps I could use this to my advantage. It is, after all, a rite of passage among those who stood to inherit the Dukedom of Aegir to claim personal glory in battle. Father oft-mentioned that our forebears who inherited the dukedom without having seen combat had short, impoverished reigns."

Arthur looked to him, brow arched and head tilted down. "What're you playing at, kid?"

"I do not know yet," Ferdinand looked back, though he now sported the charming, self-assured look of superiority typical of him. "But I am certain an idea will present itself to me soon. Come, let us pick up the pace."

Arthur and Ferdinand made their way back to the group just as they were finishing their preparations. Neither of them minced their words as they made it clear to everyone that the last leg of their journey might well be the most dangerous. Still, from the determined looks and the resolute nods some of the others gave him when he looked their way, Arthur felt reassured that the expedition would be able to face whatever obstacles appeared in its path.

Without further ado, the group rode onward, into the valley and onto the final stretch of their journey back to Fódlan's Locket. Along the way, they encountered more and more signs of the presence of an Almyran army, leaving no room for doubt that they would face the eastlanders before long.

One hand on the reins and the other on his rifle, Arthur kept his eyes peeled for any signs of movement as the expedition traversed the nameless valley before them. They came across leftover supplies, abandoned tents, and scattered bits of Almyran weapons and armour here and there, but none of the Almyrans themselves made an appearance thus far.

"This bodes well for us. Perhaps the Alliance was successful in their defence, and the eastlanders have abandoned their positions for now!" Ulrike said.

"Not likely. Stay alert, everyone!" Volkmar shouted. "I have a feeling we will see the Almyrans soon!"

After another minute of riding, Volkmar was proven correct.

"Whoa!" Arthur pulled back on the reins, compelling his mount to come to a stop. "Hold up!"

"To arms, comrades!" Ferdinand cried out as he drew his poleaxe.

"No, wait!" Arthur looked behind his shoulder and held up a hand. When the others also bid their steeds to halt, he quietly indicated at the path ahead, a look of horror and alarm on his face. "Over there... look."

Ferdinand seemed to force himself to keep from vomiting as Volkmar uttered a curse out loud. Rosamunde turned away and Ulrike gasped and put a hand over where her mouth was under her helmet, utterly transfixed at the sight before them.

Byleth squinted at the sight, as though committing it to memory. Tekla simply sighed and cradled her head with a hand. Victor said nothing, seemingly more concerned about threats that could be hiding nearby as he pointed his rifle this way and that. As for Mayu, the warrior said something in her tongue and gestured ahead, as though wanting the group to stop wasting time and keep moving.

"What the hell happened here?" Arthur asked, to no one in particular. Dozens of dead Almyran soldiers lay on the sand in front of them, in various states of gruesome dismemberment. Severed limbs and disembodied heads could be found wherever they looked, and strangely enough, there were no sign of whoever could have dispatched the eastlanders in such a bloody, brutal fashion.

Worst of all, at the centre of this macabre sight, some twisted creature had taken multiple severed limbs and arranged them into some kind of symbol on the ground that resembled a crooked blade — a blade that Arthur couldn't help but recognise.

After all, one of them had been in his satchel for a significant amount of time.

"This is not the Alliance's work, of that I am certain." Ferdinand said.

"W-who could have done this?" Ulrike mumbled, her gauntleted hands tightly clutching at her reins.

"It doesn't matter. We have to keep moving before this happens to us next." Volkmar said, a little more hastily than usual. "Come, pay no more heed to this."

As the others swallowed their unease and continued on the path, Arthur thought about the symbol, as well as the blade that he had taken — and returned — to Kronya. He took this as a sign, no, a warning from the so-called Vysinn Sisterhood, and that he would be seeing more of a certain Agarthan assassin soon enough.

"Not a very subtle bunch, them Vysinnians." He muttered to himself as he tugged at his reins and bid his mount to return on the move.

"They never were." The outlaw jolted a bit to hear Tekla's voice next to him. "They call themselves assassins, which implies a penchant for deceit and a degree of guile, but in truth, they are Thales' hunting dogs. They relish a hunt, especially when their prey put up a struggle. If they wanted you dead, unless you haven't been paying attention, you are likely to see them coming."

"That why we ain't seen any of them?" Arthur glanced around just to be sure before turning his head to face Tekla, brows furrowed in suspicion. "Just how the hell do you know all this, Ms. Schneider?"

She stared, blinking slowly. "I'm not... ready to tell you everything I know. This isn't the place for it. Forgive me, I sometimes get ahead of myself."

"Tekla? Tekla!" Arthur watched the healer ride ahead of him, seeming as though she couldn't hear him call out her name. "Damn it."

The rest of the way to the fortress was clear of any Almyrans, and Arthur was unsure if he should feel relieved that the expedition wouldn't have to fight their way back to safety, or embarrassed that he got the others worried about the eastlanders for nothing. Aside from the incident with the dismembered bodies, the group encountered nothing out of the ordinary as they rode as close as they could fortified gates leading to the inside of the fortress' east-facing walls.

They were only forced to stop upon reaching the fortress moat. It was no longer a simple matter getting across the stagnant body of water, owing to the fact that the drawbridge had been raised.

Torch in hand, Victor dared to ride to the moat's edge. Carefully dismounting, the soldier knelt down and peered at the putrid, miscoloured, sludge-like waters below. "Smells like death down there. I wonder how deep this thing is."

"This moat used to be an artificial chasm the fortress' makers had carved into the earth nearly a hundred years past. As far as we are concerned, it may as well be bottomless." Ferdinand said. "And thank the goddess for that. Otherwise, going by the constant raiding the Almyrans do, we would be standing before a charnel pit instead of a moat."

"Ah, fuck." The corporal hurriedly stood up and took his horse by the reins. "Come on, boy, let's back away from the bloody edge..."

"The history lesson's nice and all, my lord, but how are we going get across without a bridge?" Ulrike voiced what everyone was thinking. "Before anyone asks, no, I can't swim. And even if I could, I'm not swimming in that. No way."

"The answer is simple, lady knight. We must draw the attentions of the soldiers stationed in the barbicans, the turrets on the outer curtain wall, or those patrolling the battlements below. Preferably all three." Volkmar said. "Which is easier said than done."

Arthur scratched his stubbled cheek. "Why not? We've all got our signallin' horns, and even if we didn't, three of us have guns. I don't like shooting at nothing and wasting ammo, but if it gets us out of the open and back inside, I won't complain."

"And with all the noise we are bound to make, do you think the Alliance alone would take notice of our presence?" Volkmar folded his arms. "The Almyrans could still be around nearby, Mr. Morgan, and in case you haven't noticed, we are not in a defensible position."

Byleth frowned. "Then by all means, tell us about your plan to get us across the water safely and silently, sir knight."

Volkmar only stared at the girl.

"Easy there, kid. Won't do us any good picking fights with each other." Arthur shook his head.

Ferdinand sighed. "We do not have many choices available to us. For now, it seems that our best course of action is to use our horns and hope the garrison responds quickly to our presence."

"In that case, we should take cover where we can and hope for the best." Tekla said, before turning to regard her charge. "Lady Rosamunde, how are you feeling? We are likely to face combat again."

"I didn't come this far just to die now." Rosamunde declared. With a sharp intake of breath behind her helmet, the knight dismounted from her steed and took her bow and quiver from her saddle. "I am ready for whatever happens next. But nevertheless, should I die, I would prefer that my remains be..."

The rest of what Rosamunde had to say was drowned out by the imposing thrum of the drawbridge suddenly lurching forward. The expedition reacted in collective surprise as the bridge then proceeded in its descent as it was slowly lowered over the moat. The enormous bridge had yet to be lowered all the way down, but the fortress gates were already opening inward with such haste, they almost looked weightless to a distant observer.

"It seems you were right, Arthur. They did see us coming." Ferdinand said as they watched the drawbridge, now visibly damaged in places and feathered with stray arrows here and there, come down to rest over the moat. "Come, friends, it is time to leave this place."

Arthur raised a hand. "Hold up there, boy. You don't have a helmet — they'll see your face. I ain't counting on the local soldiers figuring out who you are, but the Gonerils or any one of their knights might."

The young lord froze, looking as though he only just remembered he was supposed to hide his identity.

With a heavy, grumbling sigh, Volkmar shrugged off his own helmet, revealing the scarred, hawkish face of a blonde-haired, orange-eyed man late in his twenties. "Here, my lord. You may find it ill-fitting, but this should keep them from seeing who you are." Volkmar was already frowning, but a thought he had seemed to only make it deeper. "Once we get to safety, perhaps we should take the time to consider if it may be best to return to Aegir as soon as possible. We no longer have a reason for being here."

"I..." After a moment's hesitance, Ferdinand held up a palm at Volkmar and shook his head. "No. We may have accomplished our reason for being here in the Alliance, but make no mistake... I plan to see this conflict through to the end. It is only right." He rode over to the front of the group and made the first step over the lowered drawbridge.

"I have already come to terms with the fact that my efforts to keep my identity hidden have been in vain. What a fool I have been — to be as arrogant as to believe that I would be able to keep deceiving my father, to leave him in darkness until the time is right." The noble turned on his saddle to look at his companions. "It is no longer in my best interest to continue this charade. From this moment forward, let it be known that Ferdinand von Aegir and a handful of his knights participated in the defence of Fódlan's Locket."

Arthur blinked. "You... sure about this, Ferdinand? There ain't no coming back from this, as I'm sure you know."

"I am certain this is the only recourse, Mr. Morgan." The young lord nodded. "My father... he may not find the idea that I have been traversing the continent in the name of undoing the fruits of his corruption to be credible, but perhaps he may be more inclined to believe that I had been risking my life for the glory of House Aegir all this time."

Volkmar slowly put his helmet back on. "Then it's settled. For all our sakes, I hope you've given this plenty of thought, my lord. I have known Ludwig all my life, and for all that ambition and greed tends to cloud his judgement, your father is shrewder than you may think."

"I can always count on you for advice, my brother." Ferdinand said. "Onwards, comrades. For now, let us put all thoughts of Agartha and the Empire aside, and focus on getting through this war alive."

With Ferdinand at the front and Arthur, Byleth, and Victor bringing up the rear with their guns, the expedition made their way across the moat. At the open gates of the fortress, a sizeable cohort of House Goneril knights and men-at-arms were maintaining a defensive perimeter, shields up and arrows nocked.

"You out there!" From the back of their formation, Arthur heard General Wilhelmina Fischer's low, sharp-pitched tones calling out to them. "Stop meandering and hurry it up! We cannot keep the bridge down for long!"

Ferdinand raised a hand and gestured at the others to pick up the pace. As they thundered over the bridge, knights and sergeants barked orders for their subordinates as their formation split itself in half down the middle, letting the expedition pass through the gates on their captured Almyran steeds.

The castellan of Fódlan's Locket could easily be recognised amidst her men thanks her armoured uniform and the many colourful plumes decorating her hat. She barked at some of her soldiers to take the expedition's horses to be stabled as they dismounted before beckoning at those standing guard just beyond the gates to abandon their positions and run back inside the gatehouse. "Everyone inside! Someone get that damn bridge back up and get those gates sealed, at the double!"

Arthur watched as a pair of soldiers took his steed by the reins to be stabled elsewhere. "Take a load off, everyone. The worst's behind us."

"You would be wrong, Commander Morgan." General Fischer said as she made her way over to them, flanked on each side by a handful of knights. Behind her, a team of soldiers could be seen working together to hoist the drawbridge back up. "We have endured several attacks these past few days, but our forward observers and spotters in the barbicans report that the bulk of the Almyran army has yet to cross the desert to lay siege on the fortress."

The outlaw winced at the woman's curt tone. "Right." It took him some time to muster the courage to look her in the eye. "Listen, general, about them trebuchets... remember when I, uh, promised you won't be seeing them any time soon? I've been a damned fool."

General Fischer shook her head and sighed, letting some of her weariness show on her face. "Do not blame yourself. Had I trusted you enough and assigned more of my skirmishers to join your sortie that day, perhaps your claim would have been true." She glanced at the other members of the expedition behind Arthur, her eyes lingering on Ferdinand, Victor and Mayu in particular. "I take it your efforts to rescue your colleague from the eastlanders had been successful?"

"It ain't the Almyrans, it's..." Arthur bit his tongue when he noticed Ferdinand's pointed glance. Perhaps it wasn't wise to fight more than one war at a time. "...yeah, we got our girl back."

"Good." Fischer nodded as she turned to look at Arthur again. "I have been informed that a small group of knights claiming to be from House Gloucester departed the fortress to look for you the day after you left." She gestured at Ferdinand and his retinue. "I assume these fellows are the knights I mentioned?"

Arthur nodded back, hoping he didn't look too hesitant. "The very same ones, my lady."

She looked unimpressed. With a gesture of her hand, one of the knights standing nearby presented himself before the general with a salute. "Sir Hertwig, you served as a steward for Count Gloucester until recently. I am sure you recognise these knights, yes?"

The knight, Sir Hertwig, raised his visor, revealing the wrinkly, weathered face of an old man. "I'm afraid not, lady castellan. And as you can see from comparing the make of my armour to theirs..."

The old knight indicated at the details of his armour, which included several flowery motifs and filigrees. "...if these "knights" are as they say they are, then they wouldn't be wearing those ugly scraps of metal now, would they?"

"As I suspected." General Fischer droned, folding her arms under her chest. "Did you think you can keep us fooled?"

Ulrike coughed into a mailed fist. "Took them long enough."

Volkmar elbowed her. "Be quiet."

Ferdinand took a deep breath and stepped forward. "You have my deepest apologies for our insulting attempt at deception, General Fischer. I am the one responsible for these knights — they formed my retinue as we journeyed from the Empire to here."

"You do sound like an Imperial." The general said as she examined the lord. "I would know of your intentions here in my fortress, young man, but first of all, I would know who you are."

Ferdinand recoiled slightly. "I will admit, I am surprised that you do not recognise me, my lady." He bent at the waist and bowed deeply, as elegant and formal as could be in full plate armour. "I am Ferdinand von Aegir, the legitimate son and heir of Duke Ludwig von Aegir, the emperor's own right hand and prime minister."

The general shook her head, "The truth now, if you'd please."

"I know it sounds like a load of shit, but the kid's tellin' the truth, general." Arthur spoke up.

Byleth nodded. "Yes. This is indeed Ferdinand von Aegir."

Fischer directed her unimpressed gaze at both of them. "Let's say I believe a word out of this boy, then. Why would the heir of the most powerful, most influential noble in the Empire leave his father's domain to risk life and limb here while disguised as a simple knight?"

The young lord had a very good reason for his actions. It irritated Arthur that he couldn't just tell the general about them. "That's... well, not for me to say."

"It is simple, truly." Ferdinand began. "I am here to prove to my father that I am not adverse to war — that I am willing to fight shoulder-to-shoulder alongside the rank and file in the defence of our realm." He continued, with enough conviction in his voice to make Arthur almost believe him. "I will claim glory for House Aegir in battle and prove to my father that our domains will not be ruled by a craven when I inherit his title. The siege of Fódlan's Locket is my best opportunity to display my true worth as his successor."

"Hmm." Fischer just stared at him. "You know, if you are indeed who you claim to be, I will be duty-bound to inform Lord General Goneril and keep you as far away from combat as possible until he decides what to do with you."

The boy nodded. "I am aware. That is precisely why I decided to disguise myself as a common Allied knight before coming here."

"So you say." She sighed. "Let us dispense with this business. Relinquish your weapons and let us take you and your fellows into custody, Imperial. Lord Holst will seize the truth out of you soon enough."

The steadily-rising clamour coming from the entrance to the gatehouse made Arthur glance aside. "Heh, won't have to wait long, then. Here he comes."

A minute flash of emotion appeared in General Fischer's face. She turned her head and dipped her head in a short bow as two figures surrounded by a legion of bodyguards made their way over to them. "My lord, my lady. What brings the two of you here?"

General Holst returned the bow. "Hello, Wilhelmina. I just read a report that a small group of riders arrived from out west..."

"Byleth! Arthur! There you are!" Hilda rushed past her brother as soon as she caught sight of the mercenaries. "I was just starting to worry! Where've you been? I haven't seen any sign of you for almost a week!"

"Hey, easy now, girl! We're here now, and we're fine." Arthur said, raising a hand. "Well, mostly."

"We had to leave the fortress and make our way east to rescue a friend from enemy custody," Byleth explained to the noble, omitting certain details. "It was... an experience, certainly. I lost my sword."

"Well, at least you didn't lose your life. We can always get you another sword, and we'll make it a good one, too." Hilda said. "Anyway, I'm very glad to see you're both okay. Now that you're here, maybe I can finally relax and let real warriors like you handle this whole "war" business!"

Arthur chuckled despite himself. "Your father won't like it if he heard that you didn't put that crest of yours to good use."

"My father doesn't like many things, Almyrans least of all." Hilda said, shrugging with a cheeky smile on her face. It didn't take long for her to notice the new faces standing amidst Arthur and Byleth. "And who are these people with you? To think, I thought I've seen every mercenary in your company."

"These people may be warriors, but they are not mercenaries." Byleth replied. She gestured at Corporal Sturges, who was leaning the side of his body against the wall as he looked around, staring at the people in his vicinity with an expression of utter bafflement. "That one calls himself Victor Sturges, and he appears to be a soldier from a nation far and away from Fódlan, just like Arthur."

"Just like Arthur, huh? Well, that explains the outfit." Hilda put a hand to her chin in thought. "Maybe I'll go talk to him at some point. He looks interesting, if a bit scruffy."

The girl then pointed at Mayu, who was standing amidst the Astral Knights, silently whittling away at her piece of wood as she curiously looked this way and that. "That one, we only know of her as Mayu. She is another foreigner, but not like Arthur or Sturges. I'm afraid she does not speak a word of Fódlanese."

"Oooh, mysterious," Hilda examined the warrior from afar, eyes shining with interest. "It's a shame about the language issue, she looks like she could use a friend. I'd try and get to know her better, if not for that."

"You may get your chance later, my lady." It was then that Ferdinand approached the three of them. The boy wore a genial expression on his face as he addressed the other noble. "I plan to have her accompany us home after this war. I will ensure that she is tended to by the best linguists and tutors we have at our disposal, as is only right."

"Really now? That's very kind of you." Hilda's smile only seemed to grow as she unabashedly inspected Ferdinand, as though she liked what she was seeing. "So, uh, you probably already know this, but I'm Hilda. Hilda Valentine Goneril. And you are...?

"And this is Lord Ferdinand, of House Aegir." Byleth introduced Ferdinand in the same, deadpan tone she used with the others. "He is a noble from the Empire, and a good friend of ours."

Ferdinand nodded as he reached out to Hilda with a gauntleted hand. "Honoured to make your acquaintance, Lady Hilda. By this war's end, I hope to become your friend just as well."

Hilda was quick to take his offered hand in her own. "Please, it's just Hilda. And believe me, I'd be happy to be your... friend."

"Ah, splendid." The young lord chuckled obliviously as they shook hands. "If it pleases you, you may address me by Ferdinand as well. With any luck, perhaps this is the start of an amicable partnership between our two noble houses."

"Then why don't we start this partnership with a good drink? The tavern's closed because of the siege, but I just so happened to get my hands on this vintage bottle of Dominican white wine before they shut down. Wanna share it with me?"

"Oh, but I am afraid I must refuse — alcohol has led me to making a fool of myself recently. However, I have been told to have a deft hand at the art of tea-brewing, and I brought many exquisite leaves from the Empire with me. Would this be acceptable?"

Arthur had been watching the two young nobles interact with a bemused look on his face. "Had a feeling these two would get along."

Byleth looked up at him. "Why is that?"

The older man shrugged. "Both of 'em love hearin' themselves talk, for one."

"I don't know. Ferdinand... does not look at ease." The girl said, tilting her head in their direction.

Indeed, as Hilda excitedly chatted away with him, Arthur saw the boy glancing in their direction every now and again with a pleading look in his eyes, as though silently imploring them to intervene and save him from the pink-haired monster attempting to devour him.

Arthur shrugged again. "Eh, I'm sure he'll be alright."

Some time later, Holst himself made his way over to the expedition, looking as though he couldn't decide if he should look pleased to see Arthur and Byleth returned to the fortress alive or annoyed to see his sister blithely and blatantly flirting with someone like Ferdinand.

"That's enough, sister." The lord said. "Let me have a word with our... guest."

Hilda seemed to flinch at the sound of her brother's voice behind her. "Ugh. Can't you see I'm kinda busy here, Holst?"

Ferdinand smiled nervously at Holst's unflinching gaze. "Ah, greetings, Lord General Holst. I am—"

"I think I know who you are." The general brusquely cut him off. "Wilhelmina told me a great deal about you, Ferdinand von Aegir."

"A great deal of good things, I hope...?"

"Not quite."

Arthur shook his head in exasperation. "Can we get on with this, general? You know this boy's Duke Aegir's kid, right?"

"Of course I do." Holst responded to the outlaw, sounding offended. "He's got that vindictive, money-grubbing, crest-chasing bastard's looks all over him. I've met with my share of his ill-born gets here and there, and let me tell you, Commander Morgan, they tend to be as insufferable as they come."

Ferdinand blanched at that, too stunned to even make a noise.

"Wow." Hilda put her hands on her hips and looked at her brother disapprovingly. "Don't you think you're being too harsh? Ferdinand came all this way from the Empire to risk his life fighting for us."

"For completely selfless reasons, I'm sure." Holst crossed his log-like arms. "Bad enough that we have to suffer our own nobles plotting and conspiring behind our backs, we have nobles from the Empire coming all this way from their lofty estates, meddling in our business and doing whatever the hell they want in our domains as well."

"General Goneril," Arthur spoke up, letting some of his own irritation show in his voice. "Whatever foolishness Duke Aegir's been up to out here, it happened years ago, and you know it ain't fair to take it out on his kid. Give him a break — he's already been through a lot."

Holst scoffed. "You presume a lot, commander, to think that you can tell me what to do."

"Just back off, Holst." Hilda moved to place herself in between Arthur and Holst. "Do you even hear yourself speak? Because right now, you sound just like our dad."

The mere mention of Duke Goneril seemed to take the general aback. Eyes widening in surprise, Holst took the time to look at everyone in the eye and take a breath. When he next spoke, he sounded almost sheepish. "You're right, I apologise. Things had been... tense, this week. I suppose I shouldn't let it get to me."

"It is... quite alright, my lord." Ferdinand said, looking as though he was still recovering from his shock. "I can freely admit my father has a lot to answer for. But this conversation is not about him — this is about whether I have your permission to join the defence."

"You don't get it, boy. This conversation is all about your father." Holst shook his head, letting his arms fall by his side. "Should you die here, have you any idea of the full extent of the mayhem and grief he can unleash on our house? Your father has Emperor Ionius' ear, and as prime minister, it is well within his powers to do to us what he and the other Imperial nobles did to House Ordelia. That is not a fate I would wish on my worst enemy, much less my own blood and house."

The young lord flinched at being reminded of House Ordelia. But he recovered quickly, as though expecting what Holst had to say all along. "I cannot offer you any reassurances in the event of my death at the hands of the Almyrans, my lord... and I will not lie about the consequences that will befall your house should I die in your charge. I only ask that you give me a chance to prove my worth as a warrior to you, so that you may realise that you have nothing to fear in accepting my aid."

Arthur couldn't help but admire the boy's audacity, if nothing else.

Holst himself looked quite surprised, the way his pink brows shot up. "Is that... am I hearing what I think I'm hearing?"

"I throw down the gauntlet to you in a duel of arms, Lord Holst Sigiswald Goneril." Ferdinand declared, his voice stout and unwavering. "The victor decides the terms imposed on the vanquished, though I believe you already know what I want."

"Then let me be clear about what I want, Ferdinand von Aegir — I want you to leave Goneril and never return for as long as this war is still being waged." Holst said, before quickly adding, "And never to come near my sister again."

Hilda slugged him in the arm. "Seriously, Holst? Not this again!"

"Ow." Holst reached out to Ferdinand. "Do we have an agreement?"

"Aye," Ferdinand didn't hesitate as he took the general's hand in his own. "When do we begin?"

"Tomorrow morning, two hours past first light." The general said. He seemed to regard Ferdinand a little differently now, as though he was more of an obstacle in his way instead of an insect he could crush underfoot. "That should give you plenty enough time to think about your decisions."

Ferdinand tilted his head to the side. "I am afraid I do not get your meaning, my lord."

"Then I suggest you spend what time you have preparing for what comes next. You'll need all the help you can get." The general turned to leave. "Send your second over to negotiate with mine... they should be in the barracks near the southernmost corner of the walls. Tell them to look for Lieutenants Hans Fischer and Denhard Vallen. I bid you a good evening, I suppose."

As Holst and his retinue departed from the area, so did General Fischer and her soldiers, leaving Arthur, Byleth, and Ferdinand and his knights alone with Hilda and what few House Goneril soldiers still around defending the gatehouse.

"Well, that's that, then." Arthur droned, adjusting the straps on his rucksack and rifle. "I hope you know what you're doing, Ferdinand."

The young lord sighed, shoulders slumping. "Excuse me, Mr. Morgan, but I must prepare. Volkmar, can I trust you to escort Lady Rosamunde to meet with Lord Holst's seconds? I believe it is best if she serves as my own second, at least for tonight."

Before Volkmar could answer, Tekla spoke up. "No, sir knight, I'll escort Lady Rosamunde. You and your fellow knights should find somewhere to rest. You'll need your strength for what comes in the next few weeks."

"If your lord wins the duel, and that's a big damned if." Hilda said. She let out a frustrated groan. "Hrgh, I know your chances aren't good to begin with, Ferdinand, but you gotta try and impress Holst enough for him to think you'll be good in a fight with the Almyrans! That meatheaded oaf can't keep dictating what I can or cannot do!"

"Impress him? No, my lady, I intend to defeat him outright." Ferdinand said, and Arthur could tell he meant every word.

Hilda goggled at him. "Well... good luck with that, and I mean it." She let out a breath in an attempt to steady herself. "From that look on your face and the lack of any fear in your voice, I can tell you don't have any idea of what you're really getting into, so let me help you with that — the noble houses in Leicester rarely agree on anything, but believe me when I say that they all consider Holst as one of the best warriors in service to the Alliance... if not the best."

Ferdinand appeared taken aback. "Truly?"

The young lady nodded, "My brother's an alumnus of the Officer's Academy in Garreg Mach Monastery, and he's the reason why the Golden Deer house won their big mock-battle in his academic year. Ever since then, he's been up against Almyrans, bandit clans, pirates preying on Edmund ships, and even mercenaries hired by rival houses... though you didn't hear that from me. Compared to him, you..." She paused, trying to come up with what next to say. "Well, have you fought in a battle before?"

Ferdinand opened his mouth, then closed it again. He spent another moment in thought before speaking again. "Before this, I have killed my share of brigands... and ever since our arrival here, under the guise of a knight from Gloucester, I can say I have slain my share of Almyrans as well. Brought down a charging wyvern with a lucky javelin throw, if I remember correctly."

"If you didn't, I wouldn't be standing here right now," Arthur said. "So, uh, thanks for that, kid."

"You killed a wyvern? Huh." Hilda folded her arms as she looked at Ferdinand in a new light. "Okay, that's... not as bad as I thought. You've more combat experience than me, at least."

"But not as much as Lord Holst." It was almost comical to Arthur, how the young lord's earlier confidence seemed to bleed out of him.

"It'll be an uphill battle, for sure." She agreed, nodding solemnly. "But... Byleth, you probably know more about Ferdinand than I do. What do you think of him in a fight?"

"Give him some credit. Ferdinand is much more formidable than many nobles of his rank." The girl replied, matter-of-factly. "In particular, I think his best qualities are his reflexes, footwork, and speed. He can dance around most foes, dodging and counter-attacking before closing in for the kill."

"Right. Well, what about you, Arthur? Do you think he's any good?"

Arthur took a moment to think of what to tell Hilda. "Let's just say if I ended up having to fight the boy, I wouldn't let him get up close if I could help it."

"Don't forget his crest," Byleth saw fit to add. "In case you didn't know, Ferdinand carries Saint Cichol's crest."

"Now I get why Duke Aegir made you his heir..." All this seemed to satisfy Hilda, or at least made her less outwardly apprehensive. "O-kay, maybe we can work with what you've got. You're not too tired for some sparring down in the training grounds, are you?"

Ferdinand was clearly in a dark mood, but at the mention of training, the boy couldn't help but smile. "I am never too tired for opportunities to improve myself. Are you offering to help me?"

"I'd rather I didn't. It's late, and I need my beauty rest, you know?" Hilda's expression turned sour. "But my towering idiot of a brother saw fit to involve me in this, and I'll be damned if I'll let him get away with imposing himself on my life like it's his right! Again!" She started clenching her fists by her sides. "Just... ugh! Come on, Ferdinand I'll show you what I know about his technique, so you better pay attention! And for both our sakes, you better put up a good fight!"

"I will strive not to embarrass myself." He gestured in the direction of the gatehouse exit. "After you?"

"Hold on," Byleth hailed them before they could get far. "May I accompany you? I could use some training myself, and I have a few techniques I could teach you, to help with your duel tomorrow."

Hilda put up a strained smile. "Plenty of room, if you don't mind the giant rocks all over the place."

Ferdinand looked pleased. "Training with the Ashen Demon? You need not ask, Ms. Eisner."

With Byleth running off to join Ferdinand and Hilda, Arthur shrugged and decided to let the three of them sort out another issue while they're trying to solve Ferdinand's problem. "Hey, Sturges! Come on over here!"

Victor, whom had been spending the time taking in the fortress stoneworks and the rest of his new surroundings, appeared startled to hear Arthur address him. "What? Did something happen?"

"Those kids, they was headed off to train," Arthur indicated at the retreating forms of Byleth, Ferdinand, and Hilda. "You should catch up and ask them to give you some pointers."

"What, right now? At this time of the day?" The soldier scratched his beard as he looked at the outlaw in disbelief. "You serious, old man? It's too dark out for bloody training."

"That's good, means you get to learn how to get accustomed to fighting in the dark." Arthur said. "I'm bein' serious here, boy. The sooner you get used to fighting up close, the better your odds of getting to live to the end of this war."

"Yeah, yeah, don't need to repeat what I've already heard a hundred times in basic training." The soldier took a breath before breaking into a measured run to catch up with the other kids. "Wait up, you lot!"

...

---

The morning after, Arthur picked a spot in the grassy courtyard with a steaming bowl of chicken and mushroom soup in hand. The outer curtain walls towered to the side of him, giving the area some much-needed shade from the encroaching sun. It wouldn't be long now before the duel commenced.

"Damn it, Morgan, why didn't you tell me?" Shez was already there, of course, with Hilda sitting beside him on the grass. "That poncy knight pretending to be from Gloucester was the duke of Aegir's son? That woulda been nice to know!"

"He said he wanted to keep a low profile. I ain't speaking a word about it to anyone not already in the know. Not even if it's you, kid."

Shez huffed, crossing his arms. Arthur noticed how he winced a little with each movement. "Byleth would've told me."

Arthur sat cross-legged on the ground and continued to eat. "Naw, she wouldn't." He pocketed the spoon and started drinking the slurry leftovers from the bowl. "She's a good girl who knows better than to tell on our friends."

The boy rolled his eyes and grumbled to himself.

"That reminds me, how did you two end up as friends with such a high-ranking Imperial noble?" Hilda couldn't help but be her nosy self. "I don't imagine mercenaries get to interact much with the children of their noble employers."

"We never worked for Duke Aegir." Arthur said to her. And thank God for that. "It's Ferdinand who hired me and Ms. Eisner for a job, and believe it or not, he got his hands dirty and risked his neck to help us finish his contract."

Hilda looked impressed. "Heh, I'm not surprised. I honestly don't think I've met any noble like him." Her grin widened as she continued to chat away. "And wow, I didn't expect him to fight like he does! I think I lost count of how many times he's swatted my weapon out of my hand. I thought I was trying to help him, but he ended up giving me a lesson on footwork and stances!"

Shez let out a strained chuckle. "So much for helping him win against Holst. Not that Aegir had much of a chance against a hero of Leicester in the first place."

"Not in a straight-up fight, maybe. But this is a proper duel between heirs, which means they're only doing this until one of them draws first blood." Hilda said. She thumped a fist into her palm. "If he doesn't lose his nerve and remembers what Byleth taught him about keeping his elbow up after parrying an attack, I think Ferdinand may actually stand a decent chance of winning!"

"Someone really doesn't want to see her own brother win this fight, eh?" Arthur set aside his empty bowl. "Speaking of Byleth, anyone know where she was? Ain't seen her since the three of you kids went out to train the night before."

"I saw her coming back to her tent late last night when I was on sentry duty." Shez said. "That was probably two or three hours past midnight. She looked exhausted."

"Probably resting." Arthur shrugged. "Don't worry about it, then. Wouldn't be surprised if those two wore each other out."

"Ha!" The gleeful look on Hilda's face made Arthur realise his unfortunate choice of words, to his weary dismay. "Now I regret leaving the yard before they did. That's something I would've liked to watch."

Shez tilted his head to the side. "I don't get it."

Arthur leaned back with his hands on the grass and sighed. "Keep it in your pants, girl."

Hilda dared to look him in the eyes. "Hmm, maybe I should have asked if I could join them. Goddess knows I'd let either of them... heh, wear me out."

It was then that Shez realised what Hilda was talking about. "Uhhh. That's... um," He must have realised he was blushing when he quickly turned to the side. "Wow."

"Jesus, Hilda." Arthur leaned his weight on one hand as he used the other to pinch the bridge of his nose. He tried not to look too amused at the young lady's antics. She reminded him of Karen, in a few ways. "What would your daddy say if he heard you talking like this?"

"As if he's one to talk!" The girl tittered, shaking her head. "He can blame our crest of Goneril or the Ten Elites all he likes, but my dad's always been a randy bastard. Growing up, I've lost count of how many times I've been shaken out of my sleep late at night by the noises my parents make in the bedchamber adjacent to mine."

Arthur stared at her. "Right, that explains a couple of things."

"Okay... thanks for the horrifying mental image." Shez croaked as he clutched at his head. "Seriously, I did not need to hear all that, thank you very much."

It was then that Arthur noticed the courtyard had started to fill up with observers like them. He noticed most of them consisted of the soldiers and knights who accompanied General Fischer the evening before, and a few of the guards who received them in the gatehouse. To the outlaw, it seemed as though Holst or Fischer took the effort to ensure word hasn't spread about the duel between the heirs of two dukedoms. Otherwise, the courtyard would have been swarming with people by that time of the day.

It was probably for the best. Herding the fortress' defenders into one place while a siege was going on was likely to lead to tragedy.

"Morgan! Shez! What's all this?" By chance, Lady Catherine and a couple of her fellow knights were passing through the area when they noticed the people gathering nearby. Catherine insisted they stop to investigate when she spotted the two mercenaries and their noble companion sitting together.

"Good day, lady knight." Shez nodded and smiled.

"Oh, hello, Lady Catherine. Looks like you're just in time." Hilda said.

"Just in time for what?"

"My lady," Arthur doffed his wide-brimmed Big Valley hat at the knight in greeting. "Ferdinand dropped the act. Holst ain't too happy to learn he's here, mostly 'cause bad things will happen to the Alliance if the kid dies here."

"No kidding," Catherine sat down close to them, which her comrades took as a sign to do so as well. "But that doesn't really answer my question, you know."

Behind Catherine, Arthur spied General Holst and his retinue approaching after rounding a corner. He figured Ferdinand should show up soon.

"The general wanted him outta here, so the kid challenged him to a duel." Arthur bluntly replied, to Catherine's visible surprise.

"That's crazy," The knight shook her head as she talked, disbelief clear in her voice. "Does he have any idea what Holst is capable of? I mean, the kid's a good fighter, I'll give him that... but he's not on Holst's level. He's still got a lot of growing up to do."

"It is only until first blood, lady knight. In that regard, the outcome of this duel might surprise you."

Everyone turned to see Byleth coming their way. Nodding in greeting at each of those present, the girl sat on her knees next to Arthur. "Why is everyone looking at me like this?"

"...had a look in the mirror lately? You look terrible." The outlaw was the first to speak up. "When was the last time you had some sleep, kid?"

Byleth shrugged. "I haven't slept." It was only by the time her words had left her mouth that she seemed to realise she was supposed to make up an excuse. "I, uhm, had plenty of rest prior to our return to the fortress, Mr. Morgan."

Arthur frowned. "Not good enough, miss." He glanced around for a moment. "Where's Ferdinand? He should be here by now."

"I saw him praying at a shrine to the goddess." The girl said. She seemed to shrink away at Arthur's disapproving stare, which was shadowed by his wide-brimmed hat. "I am... sorry?"

"You really oughta learn to take better care of yourself." Arthur reached into his duster and fished out a piece of cloth before soaking it in water from his canteen. "Hold still."

Byleth closed her eyes and let out a breath as she let Arthur wipe away the worst of the dirt, grime, and dried blood stains from her face. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Arthur pocketed the damp cloth and sat up straight, ignoring the looks the others were giving them.

"Okay, did anybody else see that?" Hilda sounded like she was trying desperately to keep her voice down. "She let him clean her face! That was so sweet..."

Shez coughed into a fist as he side-eyed Arthur. "Ehum-khm! Softie."

Catherine looked like she was going to comment, but the sound of Holst's voice interrupted her.

"I'll be damned!" The general said as he hefted his greatsword over his shoulder. "You turned up. I thought you'd have done the smart thing and left the fortress."

Flanked by Volkmar, Mayu, and the Astral Knights, Ferdinand revealed himself as he strode over to the centre of the courtyard with Holst and his retainers. "My apologies, lord general. I am here now."

Holst kept silent as he watched the young lord hand over his cloak to Volkmar before taking his position across his opponent, holding a longsword by its scabbarded length. "Should we begin?"

"In a moment." Holst said. He raised a hand, which two of his retainers took as his cue to step forward. "I name Lieutenants Fischer and Vallen as my seconds, just as before."

Ferdinand breathed in and out. "Lady Rosamunde von Arnheim cannot appear in person, as per her injuries. Today, Sir Volkmar von Lichtenswald is my second."

"In that case, I propose that we postpone this farce until after the siege is lifted." Volkmar said to his counterparts, eliciting a round of laughter from some of the observers.

Holst smirked. "A little too late for negotiations, sir knight."

Ferdinand was uncharacteristically stone-faced. "Indeed. We should not keep our audience waiting."

The general nodded as he took up a fighting stance. "Well, you've more courage than your half-siblings, at least." He made a show of saluting his opponent with his blade. "For what it's worth, I take back all those things I may have implied about you. But I'm afraid you've overstayed your welcome here."

"I thank you, my lord." Ferdinand bent at the waist in a formal duelist's bow for Holst before smoothly dropping into his own stance, unsheathing his weapon as he did. "En garde!"

For a lumbering, musclebound warrior, Holst moved like a man half his size as he lunged for Ferdinand, clearly intending to end the duel in a single stroke. Ferdinand ducked under the first swing, deflected the next, then sprung backwards to avoid the general's half-sworded thrust. Seeing his opportunity to strike, Ferdinand raised his blade and moved to attack Holst while he recovered.

"Predictable!" Holst swung his greatsword upwards to intercept Ferdinand's overhead strike, but it was only a feint. The general barely had enough time to bring his blade down to block the young lord's follow-up thrust. "Hm!"

Ferdinand moved his head to the side, just in time to avoid being struck in the face by Holst's crossguard. He also evaded the gauntleted fist Holst threw his way, which he responded to by holding his sword by the blade alongside the handle and using it to shove the general away. From the wide-eyed look on his face and the force in which he stumbled backwards, Holst clearly wasn't expecting much out of the other noble's strength.

Still, the general recovered his balance quickly. "You could have taken a swing at me there..."

"You were waiting for it." Breathing hard, Ferdinand flourished his sword. "I saw it in your stance."

"I was." Holst was smiling now. "You lasted longer than I thought, Aegir. But we both know how this will end."

"With you being humbled, yes."

"Oh? That's not what I see. The way you've been jumping around... won't be long before you tire yourself out."

"I will not back down."

Holst laughed, "Have it your way. Prepare yourself!"

Ferdinand suddenly had to jump out of the way as Holst charged at him. The young lord dug in his heels and attempted to go on the offence, only to find Holst already within striking distance, lashing out with his sword in a frenzied whirlwind of swings and thrusts, leaving Ferdinand with no choice but to parry and dodge each blow as it came.

Every time Ferdinand managed to block each of Holst's strikes, he seemed to take a physical toll as his reactions became slower, and his movements less fluid. Still, he lasted an impressive amount of time weathering Holst's unrelenting flurry of attacks, and it was only when the general held his greatsword by the blade and swung it at Ferdinand in a heavy-handed murder-stroke that Ferdinand seemed to hesitate, unsure if he should dodge or parry the blow.

His split-second hesitance cost him too much time to manoeuvre out of the way, however, and Ferdinand was forced to try and block the attack, which proved to be too much for him.

"Hrrg!" Ferdinand could grit his teeth as his blade was wrenched out of his grip, sending it tumbling into the air before landing on the grass nearby.

Laughing in triumph, Holst reversed his grip on his weapon and hefted it above his head in preparation for the finishing blow. Arthur prepared to avert his eyes. He was hardly expecting Ferdinand to throw himself at Holst, already brandishing a small blade in his hand.

"Halt!" One of Holst's seconds cried out as he spotted the weapon. He stepped forward, as though making to interfere in the duel, only for Volkmar to drag him back into his spot. "Hey! What are you..."

Volkmar glared down at him. "No."

With his opponent firmly inside his guard, Holst scrambled backwards and tried to get his blade in position to sweep Ferdinand away with it, but he moved too late, and the young lord moved too quickly. He grunted as Ferdinand sunk his dagger into the flesh of his arm, just as he lashed out with his sword in a desperate skyward motion.

Ferdinand was struck squarely across the breastplate with enough force to knock him off his feet and launch him backwards, his body landing in the grass a short distance away in an unsightly heap. Thankfully, when he stood up from the grass, it was clear the young lord was unhurt aside from the weeping gash under his jaw, where the tip of Holst's blade had raked him.

"Alright, that's enough!" Holst's other second shouted for all to hear. "First blood has been drawn!"

Holst stared at the dagger sticking out of his arm. Blood dripped from the wound around the blade. "Huh. Didn't see that coming."

Ferdinand dabbed his hand across his wound and examined the blood staining his fingers. "Did I lose...?"

"Indeed you have," One of Holst's second, the same one Volkmar had dragged away from intervening in the fight, glared at the young lord. "You should be ashamed to call yourself a noble!"

"Why is that, lieutenant?" Volkmar's voice was set in a muffled growl.

"Your lord wilfully violated the terms of this duel!" The other second, the one they called Fischer, continued to shout. For such a short young man, his voice was deafening. "We made it clear to that woman that since our lord is unwilling to fight with polearms, swords are the weapon of choice—"

"Did it? I thought you and Lady Rosamunde agreed to blades, not specifically swords." Volkmar pressed, drawing on his height to tower over the other man. "The victor of this duel is Lord Ferdinand von Aegir, as per the drawing of first blood."

"Questionable! Lord General Holst drew first blood, not your sorry excuse for a lord!"

"You dare contest my judgement? Perhaps you'd like to find your own second and name the terms of a duel of our own."

"Sir Volkmar, no." Ferdinand shook his head as he massaged his jaw. "No more violence... we may consider this matter settled. I only wished to show Lord Holst what I am capable of."

"And what a showing it was." Holst strode over to them. He didn't seem too bothered about the dagger still lodged in his arm. "I won't lie, I accepted your challenge with the expectation of an easy win. I couldn't resist the opportunity to give what I thought was an arrogant, glory-seeking Imperial lordling a sound thrashing, especially one sired by someone like Duke Ludwig von Aegir."

Ferdinand grimaced. "You did give me a sound thrashing at the end, there..."

"Are you serious? That's just a scratch, and a clean one, too. It'll leave a nice scar for the ladies to admire." The general smirked at the embarrassed look on the other noble's face. "Anyway, I believe it's clear who won this duel. My seconds can get a little enthusiastic, but I know what I saw — you drew first blood. Congratulations."

"I am grateful, make no mistake. But, um, your arm, my lord..."

"Ah, right." Holst nonchalantly took the blade out and tossed it aside. "It was starting to sting."

Ferdinand cleared his throat. "I understand if you think less of me for resorting to such an underhanded move... but you left me with no choice, disarmed as I was."

"Don't worry about it. This is war — I would have done the same damned thing. The fault was mine for underestimating you."

"Still, I would rather not have to do such a thing. I must strive to become better." Ferdinand shook his head. "But enough about this. Let me cut straight to the heart of the matter — have I not proven myself enough? Or have I earned your blessing to count myself and my retinue as a part of this fortress' defenders?"

"I still don't like it," Holst admitted. "But if this is what you want, then I can't stop you. I only ask that you keep your knights close, and try not to take unnecessary risks. You strike me as the sort of noble who'd do that sort of thing."

"You are not wrong." Ferdinand nodded. "I am ready to put this business behind us and return to my preparations for battle, my lord. Is there anything else you would like to discuss?"

"Well, there's one other thing..." Slowly, Holst's eyes strayed over to Arthur's small group of observers. It seemed as though it took a great amount of inner strength for him to say what was next on his mind. "You may... continue to interact with my sister. But nothing more than that, you hear me?"

Ferdinand laughed nervously as Hilda shouted obscenities at her brother. "You can rest easy then, lord general. I came here to fight, nothing else."

Holst squinted at him. "Right, can't be too careful around an Aegir. Carry on then, Lord Ferdinand."

"You will find me fit for battle the next time we meet." Ferdinand thumped his mailed fist against his armour in a salute to the other noble. "Ruin betide those Almyrans who would dare step foot in this fortress now."

That very night, the Almyrans conducted another raid on the fortress. Arthur contributed his guns and his bow to the defence as the eastlanders suddenly appeared on their side of the walls, attacking anyone not on their side. To make matters worse, wings of wyvern-riding skirmishers flew in from the east and strafed the defenders' positions, reaping a bloody toll amongst the ranks of the Alliance bowmen stationed atop the walls in particular. Arthur himself would have caught a volley of arrows after a flanking wyvern rider caught him off-guard, if not for Tekla blasting the beast rider off her saddle with a well-aimed blast of whitefire. After a bit of heavy fighting and scores of dead Almyrans later, the defenders repulsed the raiders and started scouring the streets for any stragglers to capture and interrogate.

General Holst was very insistent on acquiring information about any hidden entrances into the fortress or the possibility of traitors in the ranks of the garrison. He had been desperate to find out how the Almyran raiders could somehow bypass the outer curtain walls and attack the fortress directly, mitigating a significant portion of the Alliance's advantage as the defending side. Morale among the defenders took a hit for a few days when Holst and General Fischer announced that they had been considering withdrawing all Alliance elements stationed in and behind the outer walls and relocating them behind the inner walls, if matters persisted.

As for Arthur, he was more concerned about how the Almyrans seemed to be keeping the bulk of their forces away from the fighting instead of committing to an all-out assault on the walls. While their currently-preferred tactic of launching constant raids on the fortress always caused many casualties because of their ability to appear where the garrison troops were at their most vulnerable, this came at the cost of all Almyran forces participating in the raids being almost completely wiped out, with what few remained being taken to the fortress dungeon should they survive their wounds. The outlaw was baffled at how callously the eastlanders threw themselves into certain death and rarely showed fear in doing so.

The days turned to weeks as the siege of Fódlan's Locket raged on, and despite inflicting heavy losses on the Almyrans every time they raided the fortress, it seemed as though the Almyrans cared not how many warriors they sent past the walls to die. Fortunately for the defenders, slowly but certainly they learned to adapt to the raids by relying less on the outer walls and erecting makeshift defences and barricades inside the fortress itself, where the eastlanders were observed to be more likely to appear in the event of a raid. And as more time passed, as the weeks turned into months, the garrison only became more effective at fending off the Almyran attacks. What once was a dreaded occurrence became something of an expected part of the defenders' weekly routine, as knights and men-at-arms responded to the raids as soon as they appeared and ended them just as quickly as they began, often with minimal casualties and more eastlanders left alive to be taken prisoner, willingly or not.

Despite the seemingly favourable state of the defence, however, Arthur still couldn't help but continue feeling on edge, as though something wasn't right. The supply of provisions, medical supplies, and war equipment from out west remained as steady as before, and the garrison even received reinforcements from both House Goneril and the Knights of Seiros to replace the defenders who lost their lives in the constant raids... but every time the outlaw climbed up the observation perch in one of the barbicans and peered east with his pair of binoculars, he noticed how much the ranks of the main Almyran army had swelled over the months. Barracks and towers sprouted up from nothing in a matter of weeks, new siege weapons started being built, and every once in a while, the eastern skies seemed to become filled with hundreds if not thousands of dark, foreboding shapes.

Whatever Emir Haashid had been planning, Arthur could only hope he had enough ammo for it.

It had been more than three months since Captain Jeralt's company arrived in Fódlan's Locket when Arthur found his new routine of training, fighting, drinking and sleeping broken when he was approached by a woman he hadn't seen before.

"Commander Arthur Morgan?" The woman stood just a little taller than Byleth, had pale skin, eyes and hair in the same shade of dark purple, with an air of detached professionalism about her. She was wearing the armour of a Church-affiliated ranger with the bow to match strung across her body, along with a voluminous quiver strapped to the small of her back. "Catherine said I'd find you here."

Arthur had been in the middle of training with Jeralt, Shez, and a handful of other mercenaries when the woman came to her. Shrugging off his plate harness and taking a moment to catch his breath, the outlaw turned on his heel to face the ranger. "Yeah, that's me. Did she need me for something?"

She nodded. "It concerns a high-ranking Almyran prisoner the garrison has been holding captive for some time." She glanced around, frowning when she noticed Shez and some of the other mercenaries trying to listen in on their conversation. "Come find me outside when you're ready," She gestured for him to follow her as she turned to leave the yard. "We can talk more then."

Arthur squinted at Shez, who shrugged and went to find some other person to spar with.

"Go on then, Arthur." Jeralt said from his corner of the yard. "And if you see my daughter somewhere around, can you tell her to come see me? I think I've made a decision about what the replace that sword she lost."

"Sure thing, captain."

After taking stock of his things and arming himself in case of a sudden raid, Arthur made his way past the training yard. He caught up to the ranger shortly, finding her quietly examining a banner emblazoned with Jeralt's personal coat-of-arms hanging from a barricade.

"Ready to leave?" She asked, not bothering to look his way.

"Yeah, I'm good to go." The outlaw said. "So, where are we headed?"

"The dungeon, of course." She replied as she returned on the move, with Arthur walking after her. "Catherine and another knight should be waiting for us there."

Arthur had never been down to where the defenders had been keeping the few eastlanders they managed to capture. He hoped it wasn't anything like what the Agarthans had in Fódlan's Throat. "What're you Church folks expecting me to do in there, exactly? I ain't much good for anything 'sides tracking, shooting and killing."

The ranger turned her head over her shoulder to look at him without breaking her stride. "That depends on what this prisoner wanted. I won't pretend I know much more than that." She set her sights back on the path ahead. "I'm Shamir, by the way. Shamir Nevrand."

Arthur nodded, recognising the woman's name. "Well, it's good to finally put a face to your name, Ms. Nevrand."

"Finally?"

"Catherine mentioned you a couple times. Said you was friends."

Shamir chuckled quietly. "Seems about right." It was a moment before she spoke again, "Catherine often sent back reports and letters to the monastery. Your name came up every third report or so, and rarely without a few lines' worth of praise."

"Yeah? Well, she probably thinks we're friends, too." He said. "That woman's easy to get along with, if you don't think she's annoying."

"You say that, but you haven't spent as much time around her as I have, Commander Morgan." She said. "Some days, just hearing her voice gives me headaches."

The outlaw snorted. "I suppose you have your ways to deal with it, then."

"I just tuned her out. Pretended she wasn't there." She answered, deadpan. "Works pretty great, if you ask me."

For the better half of an hour, two of them navigated the barricaded streets and walked past guard posts while making short, laconic conversations when the mood struck them. Arthur learned Shamir was not much for small talk, but then again, neither was he, which made the bouts of complete silence between them feel much less awkward.

"Hey, Arthur!"

Just as they drew near to the inner gates, both Arthur and Shamir stopped to see a pair of figures moving past the crowd of soldiers to make their way to them.

"Friends of yours?" Shamir didn't look too pleased to be interrupted from their walk.

Arthur nodded. "Yeah."

A moment later, Arthur and Shamir stood before Byleth, with Victor hovering just behind her.

"Thought you'd be up in the mercenary quarter," Victor said. "What're you doing all the way back here?"

"And who is this?" Byleth stared at Shamir, who stared right back.

The outlaw shrugged. "Got business with the Church, about this captured Almyran they was holding in a cell somewhere in the fortress." He thumbed at his ranger companion. "This here's Ms. Nevrand, Catherine's friend."

Victor nodded at the ranger in greeting. "Corporal Victor Sturges, from England."

Shamir quietly returned the nod, showing no emotion.

Byleth broke her gaze to look at Arthur, then back to Shamir. "Byleth Eisner."

"The Ashen Demon." The ranger intoned. "Hmm."

Arthur glanced aside to her. "Not what you was expecting?"

"No." She shook her head. "Younger than I thought."

Byleth continued to examine Shamir further before eventually, she turned to Arthur. "We were hoping you could join us for firearms and bayonet training once more. Some from the garrison have taken an interest in watching us shoot... and there are a few who have expressed an interest in participating in our exercises themselves."

Corporal Sturges generously providing them with access to his trove of fresh ammunition and guns meant that Arthur and Byleth could begin training with firearms again, though only with the guns the English soldier and his fallen comrades had brought with them due to differences in bullet cartridges. Thankfully, the girl had adjusted quickly to using a Webley revolver, and he even started teaching her how to handle rifles with the Lee-Enfield.

Unfortunately, training would have to wait for later. "Maybe next time, miss. I don't think this business can wait... and it ain't fair to Ms. Nevrand if I just ditched her right here."

Shamir arched a brow at him, but said nothing.

Byleth looked disappointed, but unsurprised. "Another time, then. Good day to you, Arthur."

"One other thing, you might want to come see the captain later today. Old man said something about getting you a new sword."

"Ah, thanks for letting me know. I'll see you at dinner?"

"You bet. Later, girl."

Victor threw a sarcastic salute at Arthur and Shamir before turning around and walking after Byleth.

"Right then," As the kids walked away, Arthur gave Shamir what he hoped was an apologetic look. He realised it could be hard to tell from the volume of hair that made up his beard and moustache nowadays. "Sorry 'bout that. I'll let you take me back to it."

Shamir stared at him for a moment before gesturing for him to follow. "Were you considering leaving me behind for them?"

Arthur matched his pace with hers. "Sure. But to me, Ms. Nevrand, business comes before pleasure."

"A useful attitude to have, commander." She said, a note of genuine approval in her voice. "Call me Shamir. Easier that way."

The outlaw could respect a practical woman. "In that case, then I'm just "Arthur", if that's fine with you. Ain't much of a commander without a big fight going on."

It was only another handful of minutes later when the two of them arrived at an innocuous-looking structure just past inner walls' central gatehouse, with a not-so-innocuous amount of soldiers from both House Goneril and the Church of Seiros patrolling around its perimeter.

"Mistress Nevrand," The more senior-looking knight standing guard at the building's main entrance hailed them as they approached. "And... ah, Deadeye Morgan. You're just in time. Lady Catherine and Sir Feodor are just down the lower holding chambers. Would you like an escort?"

"No need." Shamir shook her head as she strode past the knights. "Coming, Arthur?"

The knights stood aside as Arthur also moved past them. "Right behind you."

Arthur knew he was in a safe place, but his old instincts as an outlaw still made him wary of his surroundings as he stepped inside the dungeons. Memories of Sisika Penitentiary came unbidden to his mind as he surveyed the cells lining the halls, and he couldn't help but grimace when he remembered how deep he was in the throes of tuberculosis at the time.

"You alright?"

The sound of Shamir's voice brought Arthur back to the present. He hadn't realised she had been watching him for some time. "Just some bad memories."

She stared at him, as though gauging his expressions. "Been to prison before?"

"At my age, who hasn't?" He drawled, feeling particularly self-destructive at that moment. "You, uh, worried I'm some kinda criminal?"

"No." She answered immediately. "Not here, at least. You've made a name for yourself in the past several moons, Mr. Morgan, and so far, you kept your nose cleaner than most. Catherine and many of the knights also believe you to be a man of principle."

Arthur sighed. "Wasn't always like that..."

"We all have our regrets." Shamir said. "But it'll do you no good to linger on them. Believe me, I've been there."

"Guess I'll take your word for it."

"Just keep doing what you're doing."

Their destination, as it turned out, was underground. The two of them descended a spiraling staircase and passed another checkpoint manned by knights before they reached a fortified door with several visible locks keeping it shut.

Shamir knocked on the door. "Open up, it's me."

A small panel on the door slid to the side, uncovering a pair of dark green eyes. "Nevrand," A rough voice sounded from behind the door. "Did you find the mercenary?"

"He's right behind me."

"Then stand aside and let me see him."

Shamir let out a disgusted noise and leaned against the doorframe. "Mr. Morgan? If you'd please."

Arthur silently strode over to the door, letting the man standing behind it examine him with narrowed, accusing eyes.

"Hey, Feodor, was that Shamir? Did she bring Arthur with her?" The next voice that spoke behind the door was undoubtedly Catherine's. "Move over, you crusty bastard!"

"Catherine, wh—"

"I said move over!"

The mistrustful green eyes were replaced with Catherine's bright blue ones. Arthur couldn't see her mouth, but he could tell from her eyes that she was smiling.

"Why, hello there, Morgan. Don't you know the dungeon isn't a safe place for old men to be in?"

Arthur chuckled sardonically. "Ten more years and you'll be as old and decrepit as me, blondie. Now open up, don't keep Shamir waiting."

"Being on this side of the door suits me just fine, Arthur." Shamir said, making a show of checking her nails.

"Hey! Are you two already on a first-name basis? You only just met!" Catherine exclaimed. Her eyes shifted to the side, in Shamir's direction. "Who are you and what did you do to our cold and aloof ranger?"

"What can I say, he's made a good impression." Shamir said. Arthur could tell she was trying not to smile. "Better than you did, back when we first met."

"Ah, there's the Shamir I know. Where've you been, my friend?" She looked at Arthur again. "For an old man, you really know how to reel 'em in, did you know that?"

"And for a knight, you're real full of shit, did you know that?" Arthur shook his head, chuckling. "Much as I enjoy interacting with you from behind a closed door, we really oughta get this movin' along, if y'all don't mind."

"You're being too subtle for the likes of her," Shamir pushed herself upright, rolling her shoulder. "Get this door open, Catherine! Stop wasting our time."

"What was that, Shammie? Still a little too subtle for me." The knight's laughter echoed from her side of the door. "Kidding, kidding. Right, just give me a minute — gotta unlock all these deadbolts."

A full minute of noisily unlocking bolts later, Catherine held the door open for Arthur and Shamir as they stepped inside the room, grinning like she always did. Arthur noticed how her hair had grown longer and more unkempt, which she kept tied back and out of her face with more bands.

"Don't mind the old blood stains." The lady knight said. "The former warden and his cronies were a bunch of sadists using their jobs as an excuse to torture prisoners with impunity."

"Yeah? What happened to them?"

"Reassigned to the walls." Shamir said. "Except for the warden. He's probably rotting in his own cell in Garreg Mach by now."

The other knight who was with Catherine, the one who must be Sir Feodor, sighed loudly through his helmet. "Haven't you three exchanged enough pleasantries?" He pointed at the centre of the room with a metal finger. "The prisoner is waiting. Isn't this the man you wanted to see, barbarian?"

"Yes... I believe so." At the centre of the room, seated in an uncomfortable-looking, manacled chair that looked to be used for interrogations, Arthur saw a bearded, exhausted-looking man outfitted in the ornate battle-dress of an Almyran noble looking back at him.

"You are the one they call Arthur Morgan, yes?" The bound Almyran asked. The raspy quality of his voice and the oddly-shaped, partially-healed scar on his neck indicated at a severe throat injury that must have almost taken his life not so long ago. "Come closer, westlander... let me have a look at you."

At Shamir's nod, Arthur did as the man told. "Make it quick, partner."

The Almyran spent the better part of a minute just looking at the outlaw, his expression seeming to darken by the second. "You are... yes, I am certain it's you. Gods preserve me, you are the man who would have claimed my life, if not for the skill and misbegotten persistence of your healers."

The more he looked at the man's throat wound from up close, the more the outlaw realised it resembled those left behind by a bullet from a small firearm... a pistol, for instance. "Hm. 'Fraid you got me at a disadvantage, partner. We, uh, know each other from somewhere?"

He grimaced, more out of pain than in offence. "You do not recognise me, westlander, but we met in the field of battle not too long ago. You slaughtered my warriors and torched the siege weapons we were supposed to protect. I remember the horrors you inflicted on us that day... with those terrible weapons you wield. Much time has passed, but I still wonder why the gods saw fit to spare me, while others died where they stood, not even knowing what killed them."

At this, Arthur fought to resist the urge to scoff. "Don't know if you've noticed, partner, but there's a whole goddamn war going on — a war that your people started." He shook his head. "And we still don't know what the hell for."

"Of course you don't. Not even our own nobility know the true cause of this invasion. They think this is the beginning of a war of conquest, just like the days of King Qasim al-Farid... but the truth is far more mundane." The man's grimace seemed to deepen. "This invasion is simply the ploy of a power-hungry man convinced he is the most fit to rule in the wake of our father's death... and that damned half-breed."

Catherine stepped forward, looking rather startled. "Wait, did you just say, "father"? Wouldn't that mean..."

"I am Sheikh Armid Yusri ibn Sulaaiman al-Nazir." The eastlander said, giving the ranger a curt nod. "I am one of Haashid's few surviving brothers. He has already sent most to their deaths for being threats to his plans to rule, and soon enough, I will join them."

"We won't just kill you, if that's what you're thinking." Shamir said. "It's different here. The Fódlanese don't make a habit of executing noble captives."

"And why not? Killing me would be a mercy. I am already considered dead to my own people, and if they discovered the fact that I let myself be taken prisoner by you wretched foreigners and willingly spoke to you?" The princeling looked down to the floor. "I will be worse than dead... they would assume the worst, and all traces of my existence will be struck from the memory of Almyra as though I was never born."

Before Arthur could say more, Sir Feodor stomped forward, his hand resting on the pommel of his sheathed arming sword by his side. "Mercy? You mud-skinned heathens deserve no such thing as mercy from the people you're invading. The only thing we offer you is scorn and righteous fury."

Arthur ignored him. "Sorry to hear that, your highness, but all that don't really concern me. Why am I here? What the hell did you want from me?"

"Nothing. I have seen what I wanted to see. I would ask that you free me from these shackles, give me an axe, and let me take your head... but you will not do that." Sheikh Armid turned his head to look at the three knights. "You may kill me now, if you wish. I am ready leave this world behind."

Catherine shook her head and brushed a tangle of her hair out of her eye. "I told you, we're not gonna do that. Why don't we make some kind of agreement instead, hm? How about this — you tell us about how you're getting your soldiers past the walls and what you know about your brother's plans, and we'll let you run back home. We have a deal?"

The man stared her down. "If you do not wish to kill me, then just leave me here to rot, westlander. I said this before — my own people already consider me a dead man. Even if I escape this hell and make it far enough to return east, they would have me killed where I stood for the crime of letting myself be captured instead of dying on my feet and facing my foes."

"If we go by your people's warrior ethos, you may be redeemed in the eyes of your people only if you returned from captivity with a tale of bravery and heroism," Shamir began. "A tale of making your enemies bleed for the audacity of taking you prisoner instead of giving you an honourable death in battle."

The sheikh turned his head to stare at Shamir this time, though he no longer stared at his captors in hopeless contempt. "You may continue."

"As you wish. Many of the prisoners we have here have already agreed to serve us in exchange for their freedom, and with some instruction, they'll be willing to play the part of your fellow runaways. When you return to your people, they will sing your praises and hail you as their saviour, and a warrior without equal. They will say General Holst Goneril himself fled when you managed to stab him in the arm."

As Shamir fell silent again, Armid seemed to look impressed despite himself. "And if they say otherwise, we would all be killed as our culture dictates. You have given this plenty of thought, it seems."

"And if this isn't enough to entice you, we also offer you what I can tell you crave the most — revenge." Shamir continued. "You said your brother sent you out to fight and expected your death. Tell us what we wish to know, and I guarantee he will not live to see the end of this war."

Arthur looked to Shamir, then to Catherine. These two women couldn't have been more different, he thought.

"There are many ways this could not go as planned," The Almyran princeling sighed. "But for the chance at vengeance, I am willing to risk everything."

---

A/N: I'm so sorry. It's been a very busy few months for me. I realise it's been a while, but I haven't been neglecting the story as some of you might suspect. 50k is a lot of words, but I'm afraid it's still not enough to wrap up this arc as I hoped last year... but it's pretty damn close. I won't make any more expectations or promises. I'm just really done with this arc and very excited to move on to White Clouds.

Speaking of White Clouds, I've spent a lot of time brainstorming a ton of ideas, and I hope I'm skilled enough to write them all down in a way that relates well to the overall plot and isn't too tedious to read. In particular, I wasn't satisfied with how the game handled the many nameless students that populate the three houses, so I came up with a slew of OCs to fill out the roster some more and make Garreg Mach feel more alive. Some existing characters like Shez (he may as well be an OC with how different he is to canon Shez, lmao) and Tekla will end up as students as I planned long ago, and a few others like Sturges and Mayu can also end up on the student roster if I don't change my mind. Dorothea may not be the only commoner in the Black Eagles, House Charon may send its best and brightest to the Lions, and Claude may have his hands full dealing with new personalities in his house, which is exactly what the Deers need, right? Of course, over the school year, some students may end up dissatisfied with their house for one reason or another and end up transferring to the other two houses. It could be like those old Scooby-Doo episodes with the door chases.

Anyway, which of the three houses do you think Byleth will end up teaching in? What's Arthur's part in all this? Is he going to be some kind of assistant professor? A guest instructor? A knight? Rhea's guest? Some wandering hobo who pops up every few days to say hi to Byleth, have tea, and immediately leave?

And why the hell is Ferdinand (von Aegir) of all people getting this much focus? IS MYSON — OUR LORD AND SAVIOUR, THE STORM THAT IS APPROACHING, NEMESIS REBORN — REPLACING ARTHUR AS THE NEW PROTAGONIST OF THE STORY?

Eh, who knows, really. But I'm excited for Rogue Magister: the Myson Chronicles for sure.

I'll write part 2 (3? I dunno) of this chapter straight away after I write down my replies to the reviews. No promises when it'll be done, though I'm sure it's shorter than this one. I've already written much of what I had planned — all I have to do now is lay down the finishing touches in this arc.

Alright, on with the replies:

PopeYodaI

This one made me laugh in the middle of a incredibly busy work day. 10/10.

YetiGoZeti300

Wouldn't be Three Houses without Byleth, yeah. Don't worry, she's here to stay, and more besides.

SilverJoJo

Wow, great review! Bloody fantastic. Arthur will definitely try to change things for the better, but he may not always succeed. After all, he's just one man, and other parties have already been moving their pieces long before he entered the picture. And yes, it's one of the big questions about the story - which house will Byleth teach? I regret that she can only be the professor of one house, but I plan to put equal screentime for the two other houses she doesn't choose. And oh yes, there will be scenes where Arthur becomes more open about his origins, and his background. I've already laid the foundations of the latter in this update, I think. Man's just afraid of losing his first real friend in this continent.

SilentXD7

Who knows what'll happen? My plans change a lot.

Spartan-666

Haven't even thought of Mercy, to be honest. Though I guess they're kinda similar in looks and skillsets, as well as one other thing I won't write because it's a spoiler. Of course, Tekla's background is... different, from Mercy's. Most of you probably already guessed what it is.

nantono

ok

Oleander

The SMLE is my second favourite gun, no joke. If only it made a ping sound like the Garand, it'd be perfect.

Edelgard will definitely be interested in Arthur and Sturges' weapons. Some of them are probably half as tall as her.

DOOT76

Ah, here we are again. I'm super flattered that you think I'm like that, but I was hoping to finish the arc with this chapter. As you can see, things didn't pan out. This is chapter 1 of 2 of the arc 1 finale.

As I've written above, I have a big cast of OCs I'm planning to write for future chapters, and maybe even more. It won't be just students, but also knights, nobles, Agarthans, and people from outside the monastery, the latter of which includes Arthur's retainers and hanger-ons as a full-fledged knight. I don't know if I can manage to write them as well as I think I've written Tekla, but I'll try my best, of course.

Okay, now I feel bad for wasting the perfect opportunity to introduce Gavin's friend, lmao. I guess I'll just have to introduce him later in the story... maybe, uh... in the middle of a tense and dramatic moment during Marianne's paralogue? Yeah! That sounds perfect!

Felix... oh man, Felix. He's got a lot of new rivals to pick fights with, that's for sure. While I don't plan to have Mayu use a katana too often (she's not an onna-bushi in the traditional, historical sense, the specifics of which I'll reveal later down the line), should she be stupid enough to give Felix a katana, and he'll basically just be Vergil minus the child support and tax problems, lol.

Scr4ftyboi

Arthur in full plate armour is basically a terminator already, I think.

Mattywilkss

Whoa, someone does not like Kronya. Too bad — she's here to stay.

I just think she and the Agarthans are incredibly under-utilised in the game. That changes here.

mad thought

Caveman - There will be caves in the story, and there will be men in them.

Roman - Holst and every other character classed as Heroes (I know he's a swordmaster, but he may have been planned to be classed as a hero before they canned that class in Hopes) are already cosplaying as Romans.

Hacker/cyborg/robot - Hey, I think I can actually write this in. Everything can happen in Agartha.

Rook435

Hello again, and thank you for this stellar review and the link you sent some time ago! I appreciate it very much, and I did give it a read. I'm not sure if you found my reply to your PM, so I'll just post it here so you do for sure:

One thing I should note though is that according to Three Houses lore, Byleth never had a pulse to begin with. 3H SPOILERS AHEAD, EVERYONE, SO BEWARE:

From what I could remember, their mother Sitri was some kind of flesh construct Rhea made to house Sothis' consciousness, which she planned to do by implanting her with the Crest Stone of Flames, using the crest stone as a heart of a sorts. Well, that didn't happen, and later Sitri fell in love with Jeralt and they made a child, who was born with no heart and slowly dying by the second. Unwilling to see her newborn die and possibly already dying of childbirth-related reasons herself due to her frailty, Sitri asked Rhea to take her crest stone and implant it in her child, whom they named Byleth (or whatever the player named them as). Byleth, having a crest stone for a heart, does not have a heartbeat, and therefore doesn't have a pulse.

That linked story's idea is very unique, I must say. My own ideas for the regular Agarthan people run a bit different - they haven't won (yet), so they're mostly confined underground in Shambhala and many remote or not-so-remote settlements, whose populations may or may not support what Thales and his "Scions of Agartha" had been up to. In addition to the civilians (who have their own upper, lower, and "undesirables" classes), I plan to have Agartha itself to have its own governing body and military arm, both of which have their own leaders who support Thales' vision of conquering the surface and taking vengeance on Rhea and her works, but also with their own agendas, with fewer zealots in their ranks.

At least, that's what I had planned.

Anyway, as for your actual review:

Mayu is... not quite an onna-bushi. I'll just say that she's from an alternate universe very unlike our real one, and she knows what European knights are given that she mistakes Arthur for one, and believes Ferdinand to be a knightly lord. Her old role as a warrior in her universe was to run around with others like her and defend border villages from invaders. She does know about firearms because they exist in her universe, but they're not very commonplace. And yes, her main weapons are her bow and naginata, though she has to make do with a more Western (Fodlanese, I guess) glaive, due to losing her weapons after being captured. As you can imagine, she doesn't belong in the Sengoku period, and only has a vague idea of what Japan is because she's a citizen of a successor state to Japan.

I realise now that I said a lot, but I'm too lazy to edit this. Oh well, lol.

As for Sturges, he is a British veteran of Gallipoli and the Somme in WW1. He's from the RDR universe.

Writing Kronya's been a lot of fun for me. There'll be more of her in the next chapters.

Spartastic 4

A twisted joke?

x-x-TheBurnedMan-x-x

It's been a while, hasn't it? As you wished, here's a (maybe incomplete) list of the things they found in that cave:

I. SMLEs with bayonets (enough for an infantry section).

II. Webley revolvers

III. A lot of Mills grenades

IV. Maybe a Lewis machine gun disassembled and packed away by Sturges? I don't feel good about this one, tbh. Might be too overpowered, and therefore boring.

V. Flare guns.

VI. An M4 Benelli. God knows how it ended up there.

No other modern guns, and I've written the Scions of Agartha as too arrogant and hateful to see the benefits of adapting firearms for their own use, as they see them as the weapons of primitive beasts. Of course, since the Scions are not the only Agarthans in this story (but they're the only ones who spend time meddling with surfacers), there may be some Agarthans who'd be angry at the Scions for being short-sighted. Guns would solve a lot of their problems, but of course, some problems can't be solved with bullets.

naufalrakha0104

I'm having too much fun to leave this unfinished. More to follow.

shadyxlr

I try my best, haha.

Fourhead

I aim to please.

Bob of the A

Them being here means that Arthur isn't special, and him being in Fodlan may not be some kind of freak accident if others "like them" keep appearing, or have appeared before, as hinted by that random modern shotgun the Agarthans were keeping.

The Disquieting One

They're original to the story.

DaedalusFlights

I can't wait to write this.

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Well, I think that's it for now. Off to write part 2.