Another one, shot dead where he stood, dropping his bloodied [Steel Axe] as his body hit the dirt.

"That's the last of 'em..." A cyclopean-helmeted Sniper lets out a sigh before their helmet opens up, revealing a young woman with a magenta-red hair that ran down her back, tying it back up into a high ponytail. "... Alright, you guys. We're clear!"

Riding up towards the young woman were a pair of men, with one garmented in bulky green armor akin to that of a Fortress Knight's, the other being a lanky hooded man in a light, red colored armor akin to that of a Hero's, the former holding the saddles of a wagon pulled by a pair of draft horses.

"... How... all by yourself...?" the Fortress Knight gawked in the sheer number of bodies laid before the female Sniper that was acting as their leader.

"Honey, you don't last long in the business without learning how to break a few kneecaps yourself," the woman smiles as she comes on board the wagon, causing the hooded man to jerk in surprise as she sat next to him without a care in the world. "And why are you so stiff after all we been through? Call me Anna, for fuck's sake!"

The Fortress Knight sighs before moving through the dead bodies. "... Anna."

"Yes, Miklan?" the Sniper replied with a wry grin.

"Why did you join the Flame Emperor in the first place?" he asked while keeping one eye out on the road, the other for any more highwaymen. "... I mean, I had all of Conand Tower collapse on top of me and they fixed me back up. But you? Aren't you like some sort of a highly-successful merchant who happens to be one of the THE richest person in all of Fódlan? So why did you join us as Conquistador when you have so much to lose should you fail?"

"Oh sweetie..." Anna then pulls the hooded Hero closer into herself by her arm, causing him to mumble incoherently, behaving akin to an abused animal who was resigned to the whims of his master. "... It was the order from the Emperor apparent herself. I'd be stupid to say 'no' to whatever she's offering."

Miklan blinks. "... That's it?!"

"I have all the money, but she had what I couldn't buy with money," Anna continued with her explanation. "Mainly, cultural authority. It's pretty logical that I'd be in good graces with the future Emperor of the Adrestian Empire if I want to keep my said money. Sure, I do my business everywhere, but given the good thing I already had going ever since I started my career on a loan, why rock the boat?"

The hooded Hero mumbles as he gives Anna a confused look, causing the Sniper to sigh.

"... Look, not everyone needs some grand narrative or a dark and troubled past to spur them to join the Flame Emperor," she pointed out. "Some people are way more simple than you look. I may have the [Crest of Ernest] branded onto my chest ever since I was born, and I may have not foreseen the fact that Karna of all people would've upended the continent's entire economy along with everything else by making us reveal that we're a bunch of failed experiments aborted by a bunch of dead fogies, but that doesn't change who am I at the end of the day! I am Anna the merchant, even as I take on the alias of Conquistador of the Flame Emperor's Four Riders! I don't need to be some disgraced scion of a prominent noble House or an ex-sellsword seeking revenge on another just to fight for a cause that's way beyond my paygrade. Just threaten my bottom line, and I'll act accordingly."

Miklan and the hooded Hero exchanged glances with each other.

"... Wow," the Fortress Knight remarked with a sense of awkward befuddlement. "... When she puts it like that, it really puts our own struggles into a helluva perspective, ain't it, Shez?"

The hooded Hero nods, realizing that them spending a majority of their past lives propelled by the grudges that they held onto on their respective "fateful days" was rendered fruitless the moment when Karna had sent all of Fódlan to hell.

The feeling of not mattering, their scores that they were entitled towards either out of reach or no longer holding any sentimental value... felt somewhat liberating, in a sense.

After all, what was left to their lives should they've accomplished their goals other than waiting to die as they lived their lives out as half-metal slaves to Agartha and the Flame Emperor?

Everything now made sense for both Miklan and Shez as they traveled this brave new world once called "Fódlan."

It's people, once assured of their own purpose, now blind without their light, gone mad from despair and slaughtering their fellow man out of pure spite, whereas people like them now had a chance to find themselves.

Even Anna, keeping her reasoning as simple as possible, felt like someone who isn't meant to be worshipped as their new "purpose," but as another companion to enrich their renewed lives.

Miklan sighs as he wiped his eyes with his gauntleted hands, acting on reflex in spite of being no longer able to shed tears due to his modified body. "... Dammit," he winced. "Why am I getting sentimental?"

"Eh, I don't consider that a bad thing," Anna replied before grabbing her helmet and fiddling it around.

"And I'm a little afraid to ask this..." Miklan grumbled before shifting in his seat, "but why are you sticking with us?"

"Eh, I got nothing better, and I just happened to find you two," she replied before leaning back. "... So, whereto?"

The Fortress Knight sighs before stopping the wagon and looking back at Shez.

"... We still need to find her, don't we?" Miklan pointed out, to which the Hero nods in response. "Hey Anna, you know any locales that the Four Saints might show themselves at?"

Anna then crosses her arms and legs as she began thinking. "... I do remember a little tidbit about Rhodos Coast being a sort of a... hallowed ground," she recalled. "... Wait a minute, come to think of it, I remember a certain legend of a certain 'Lord of the Lake'!"

Shez then looks at Miklan before the latter comes to the same conclusion. "... Thinking what I'm thinking?"

The hooded Hero nods in agreement as he knows for sure that the remaining Four Saints would gather together in a time of great tumult as is now.

"How far are we from here?" Miklan asks Anna, to which the latter then pulls out her map and compass.

"By our current estimates..." She then guesstimates where they are now and how far was it from their next location after about two weeks of wandering around Fódlan. "... Three to five days if we hurry. But given that every pocket of civilization is now a clusterfuck of rioters turned bandits, about a week and a half should our resistance be within reasonable difficulty-"

"DIE!" A [Hand Axe] was thrown onto their wagon, spooking their mounts as several more despair-mad villagers rushed out of the bushes, armed with crude farm tools as their weapons. "THE GODDESS NO LONGER EXISTS! EVERYONE FOR THEMSELVES!"

"Aw shit." Anna then puts on her helmet as Miklan and Shez quickly arm themselves. "Think you guys can keep up with me?"

"Hey." Miklan then lifts up his [Hammer] while Shez draws his [Killing Edge]. "... You're the ones who fixed us up back to working order in the first place. Mind teaching that us later on?!"

Anna then quickly nocks an arrow onto her [Bow of Bael] before killing a maddened villager with a smooth headshot. "If we make it past them!"

Lesson 3: Guided Tour Part 3

Day 17

"Hey, it's been a few days, hasn't it?" one sellsword remarked as he and his partner looked over at the bulletin board of requests.

"You mean those guys that look as if they belong in a traveling circus?" the partner replied. "... For what? I already forgot about their faces."

The front desk receptionist sighed as the old man came out of the back room. "... Already rough this early in the day?"

"I know that our line of work isn't for the faint of heart..." the young man remarked before continuing. "... But does it kill them to at least show some concern for lives being thrown to the wolves?"

"Not in Almyra, boy," the old man replied. "... They made their choice."

The receptionist sighs before checking in today's requests, ranging from basic bodyguard duty for some small farming villages to extermination of a bandit group causing trouble around a remote area within one of the regions.

"Never a dull day in Almyra..." he sighed before handing the bounties to his coworker so that he can post them up on the bulletin board. "... Poor bastards-"

"We're here!"

The doors leading into the Alamut's Military Office were kicked open, revealing Karim (Karna), Kulthum (Tsukiko), Baki (Byron), Vasim (Víðarr), Sabiha (Sorcha), Suha (Selene), Taslima (Topaz), and Ishtiyāq (Cyrus) all coming into the building's main lobby/tavern, with a feeling of victory hanging over their heads and posture.

The sellswords present, the very same ones who were quite literally betting on their lives being snuffed out, were left in shock as the eight came back in high spirits, with scruffs and bloodstains on their wayfarers' clothes being proof of their struggle.

But just as any of them could raise their objections, the leader of eight then takes out a small, bloodied sack of burlap before placing it on the front desk, ringing the bell to call over the receptionist.

"Coming!" The receptionist then runs over to his station to meet the newcomers who joined a couple days prior. "... So, you're all still alive."

"Yes." Karim nodded before pointing at the bloody bag. "... Inside that's what's left of Khalil, by the way."

Nervously, the receptionist then opens up the bag to find his rotting scalp inside, gagging at the smell before closing it back.

"... Do you need further proof?" he continued as Karim then gestures Baki to bring forth the Warrior's bloodied maul that they've claimed for themselves as a trophy of their accomplishment. "As for the body, we left it to the vultures."

"... Impossible!" one of the sellswords raised an objection. "No rookie could able to take down Khalil 'The Cruel'!"

"Yeah! You cheated!" another accused. "I bet that 'scalp' of his is just a horse tail stitched onto a rawhide!"

"And the blood on that maul is from a wild animal!" another continued raising accusations against the group of eight, much to their displeasure. "... Yeah! Yeah! And anyone can make that crude of a weapon and pass it off as that bastard's own like if it was the real deal!"

"Bunch of frauds!"

"Drop dead, you cowards!"

"You want settle this here and now?!" Ishtiyāq then walked up as he cracked his knuckles.

"Bring it." Sabiha reached for her [Durandal] before pulling it out. "I will show you our true strength-!"

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!"

Suddenly, the commotion was ceased by the bellowing of the old man in charge of the Military Office.

"Ah! Boss!" the receptionist remarked before he then ran over to his superior before explaining everything in detail.

The old man scratches his eyepatch before using his only good eye to discern what was happening. First, he glanced at the sellswords who were about to start a brawl at the lobby. Then, he notices the bloodied maul held by Baki, looking at it with a hint of familiarity before moving on. And finally, he then walks over to the bag, and pulls out the scalp, the squishy and wet sound of the rotting skin clinging on with hair being shown out in the open to everyone else, causing the rest of the sellswords to be taken aback at the horrid and visceral trophy, dispelling the accusers' claims without another word spoken.

"... The eight of you, inside," said the old man as he tossed the rotting scalp into the receptionist's arms, causing him to squirm and shudder in disgust. "Now."

Without a word, the group that had returned follow the old man into the same back room where their initial interview a couple days back took place, causing the rest of the lobby to begin quietly murmuring among themselves at this sudden shift in events.

Once the door shuts, another one of the receptionist's co-workers then help him back up to his feet, dropping the scalp down as it made a sound not too dissimilar to a freshly-soiled undergarments hitting the ground.

"... You pick that up."

Inside the Back Room...

Why are we here again? thought Baki as they all sat in the same spots when their interviews took place, with the old man sitting across from them with a discerning glare from his sole good eye.

The silence in the room was absolutely deafening, as both sides continued staring each other down, waiting for the other to slip up and expose their vulnerable weak spot.

"... So," the old man broke the silence, "you insane bastards managed to do it."

Karim nods, confirming that they were the ones who disposed Khalil "The Cruel."

"And the rest of his band?" the old man continued. "All dead?"

"Down to the last man," confirmed Karim. "The Ocher Rams aren't going to hurt anyone anymore."

The old man snorts before laughing. "You did!" He continued cackling, slapping his armored knee as if he'd heard a well-written joke. "... Knew that the ones endorsed by the damned Amira were something special."

The group of eight then looked amongst themselves in confusion.

"... Are you implying that you set us up?" Taslima pointed out.

"What?! Of course not!" the old man replied as his laughter calmed into a smirk. "... Though I have to admit, with him gone, the number of our future newcomers into this line of work can expect to swell. If anything, you eight did all of us a huge service."

"Yeah, yeah, but what about our reward?" asked Ishtiyāq. "We didn't spend nearly a whole week traveling back and forth from Mardikh to Azhdar just to keep us locked up in a room."

"Steady!" the old man warned as he raised his hand. "... Your pay will come, but first, hear this old man out first."

The group then brace themselves for another round of questioning from this old man sharp as a blade.

"So," the old man began, "how did Amira Khawlah find you lot?"

"Pure luck, really," Karim answered honestly (technically, he's not lying, since the fact stands, the Dustbin running into Khawlah during the invasion of Derdriu was by pure chance).

"Ah, then the gods of fortune smile upon you lot, then," the old man commented with a smirk. "... So, what were you lot doing as slaves to make you all so proficient in works dangerous as ours?"

"... Our prior work as slaves were quite perilous," Karim recalled vaguely. "In fact, I asked my former master why, and the answer was painfully simple: I am to die from every labor I perform and survive. The rest of us were within the same with our own former masters. They despised us for simply who we were. So in turn, we learned how to spite them by continuing to cheat death at every turn. And picked up couple useful skills of our trade along the way."

Again, that wasn't a lie. The Church of Seiros seemed to have an inclination to send the Dustbin on suicide mission after suicide mission. They lived, of course.

"Well, then I suppose that I have no reason to pry any further, given how tumultuous your former lives have been," the old man stated, to which everyone of the group of eight agreed in silence (said old man has no idea how RIGHT he is). "Alright, I'll notify my staff to get your reward. Wait here."

The old man goes back outside before coming back in with a large sack of telâh in his hand.

"Here you are, 30,000 telâh." The old man then sets their reward down. "Don't think that you'll get this much in the foreseeable future. You're still going to have to work your way up the Ranks. But given that you took out the bane of all Bronze-Ranked sellswords as your first assignment, I think it'll only be a matter of time."

"It's simply a job, sir," Karim replied as he took their reward, opening it to check it if it's real. "... We look forward to our next assignment."

"Yeah, yeah, don't spend it all at once, you bastards." The old man then lights his smoking pipe before shooing them off. "... Come back soon."

The group of eight, Eltanin, come back out into the lobby with their reward in hand, earning shocked stares at the rest of the sellswords present in the lobby.

"... Aren't we supposed to, you know, not stand out?" Ishtiyāq pointed out.

"Can't be helped," Karim replied as they headed outside, stashing the bag of money away into his robes from envious eyes. "... We'll simply have to adapt to unfavorable circumstances. And who knows? Maybe our legend can uses a quite of an opening act to cement ourselves into everyone's good graces."

And so, Eltanin disappear into the streets of Alamut as the sun began to set below the horizon, bringing forth an end to another day.

Back at the Military Office...

"Boss, I'm clocking out for the evening." The receptionist then leaves his receptionist desk before heading towards the front door. "See you tomorrow morning!"

"Right, take care of yourself." The old man then waved off his subordinate as the activities for the Military Office wound down, leaving him alone to tie up today's loose ends before closing up shop for today.

Alone in the room with nothing but his thoughts, the old man then begins organizing today's finished works from the other sellswords.

"Bodyguard duty... culling a few local predators... bandits... bandits... bandits..."

The old man sighs at the disproportionate amount of requests related to bandits coming in was eyewatering.

"Stupid Royal Family and their 'games'..." he muttered to himself as he sat in his study. "... At least clean up your own fucking mess."

Then, another thought entered his old and wary mind.

Khalil "The Cruel" wasn't just a former sellsword. He was a sellsword originally sponsored by Ameer Shahid himself.

In fact, he was one of many that the Shah's eldest son had many sellswords that he'd endorsed, numbering hundreds, if not thousands of unsavory characters that acted upon that brat's whim if it meant for a quick monetary gain (and partake in the piece of the Ameer's "gift" if given the permission to "share").

Ignoring the fact that most of them were former bandits and pirates, the moment that their endorsement was null and voided after the Ameer's death, it didn't take long for them to go back to their old ways (assuming if that they weren't only paying lip service to serving the public goodwill as a pretense for recieving a blank check for their unsavory actions).

Khalil himself in particular had earned his epithet as "The Cruel," in that even during his legally sanctioned incursions, he'd slaughter civilian and bandit alike, all the while, the Ameer would bribe (on paper, "make reparations") the victims into silence. He had the entire nation's coffer's at his fingertips. A few missing assets could easily be earned back by the capital, so everyone under Shahid's protection are immune to the consequences as he is.

The old man, ironic to his current vocation, loathed the profession of sellswords working under the umbrella of the Military Office.

He well-remembered the time when the Almyran Military had served the people exclusively. From guarding trade routes to culling bandits, to fighting off invaders to invading other nations that were annexed into Almyra as regions, he'd done his due in his decades of service.

While he held no love for the Almyran Royal Family, from the current, to the previous, and the countless Shahs that had come before, he could at least tolerate the notion that at least they kept their own affairs to themselves/out of public view.

Then came the "democratization" of state affairs initiated by Shah Mansur. Specifically, the allowance of third parties to perform "excess" Military duties.

All the old man could feel in his heart for the current Shah was nothing short of bile. Not only his profession was now allowing possible bad actors to come in and do whatever, but it also forced him to "transfer" (read: retire) to Alamut's Military Office as it's head administrator.

Even worse, the current Shah's lineup of hellions that he called "children" began personally endorsing certain groups of sellswords for their own ends through the very same system that had wronged him.

Sure, he's still a man with a stable income that lets him support his wife and daughter (both running a tavern with a modest following of customers), but it felt like any dignity that he'd had as a military man for Almyra had been thrown to the wayside.

Any protests that he might have against those who have caused him so much grief could easily be quieted by them easily threatening the lives of his family.

The noble and valiant profession he'd once was an active part of has now devolved into an elaborate pissing contest between the Almyran Royal Family's children, ambitious bureaucrats, and any upstart trying to get ahead in the political game of who can amass the most power while common people like him are left to suffer in silence.

"... They are all the same."

Finishing his routine check-up, he then leaves the Military Office for the evening.

Day 18

"So... I must ask."

Everyone turned towards Byron as the the rest of the Dustbin and Aali were having breakfast.

"Oh, your proficiency for our tongue has improved significantly," the young master commented.

"Thank you." The [Talos] then addresses their question before switching back to Fódlander tongue. "Regarding Sorcha and Tsukiko, how is it that neither of you have been questioned about your augmentations?"

"Honestly, I think dey take it fur just armor," the Brigidian Vanguard hypothesized as she flexed her [ATA ver.3.0: Midas], the golden sheen of her half-mechanical arms catching the glimpse of Amina's attention. "I mean, it kinda looks like it, rite?"

"True, but the coloration of our said armor is rather... conspicuous, to say the least," Tsukiko added as she looked at her own blued [ATA ver.3.0: Idaten] with crimson streaks printed across her limbs. "... I mean, as long as we don't confirm anything, we should be fine, right?"

"In hindsight, I should've bought something more covered-up, but the boutique we went prior weren't selling anything else, so let's leave it at that." Karna then empties the bowl of hummus before handing it to the servant girl eying at Sorcha for seconds.

"At this rate, we're going to run out..." groaned Amina as she took the bowl back to the kitchen for a refill.

"Don't fret, I will make arrangements," Aali reassured his subordinate before turning towards Cyrus and Topaz. "... So, how was your first job as sellswords? I heard tales of your felling of the barbarous Khalil 'The Cruel'. Is 'Eltanin' the name you go by here as sellswords? If so, a bold naming choice!"

"To be fair..." Cyrus then finishes eating his pita bread before replying. "... It was his idea."

"Guilty as charged!" Karna threw up both of his hands in surrender. "Hell, I thought that the Amira herself could use some brand recognition. You know, the gambit where the 'mythical protectors of the people' is unmasked as the supporters of the Amira, showing the people that Khawlah 'The Ruthless' is more benevolent than her reputation paints her! Good public relations require a healthy balance of fear and admiration. Otherwise, you'll be too busy fending off the enemies you've made to actually do any public good."

Everyone in the room nodded in agreement, particularly the Dustbin, given their firsthand experience with the Church of Seiros and how it handles their own public relations (i.e., if one so much as look at them the wrong way, then send in their own personal military; in fact, the reveal of the Flame Emperor being a threat that they simply cannon quash with brute force forced them reevaluate, but by then, it was too little, too late, for the Dustbin had already made their move to upend the entire continent AFTER successfully securing their exit plan out of Fódlan).

"... I wish that were the case with the current Royal Family," Aali commented. "... The Shah's too soft, letting his children take the helms. At least Amira Khawlah acknowledges this."

"That's why you joined?" Topaz pointed out.

"My fellow noble peers are too drunk and content with the current state of affairs," the young master pointed out. "On the surface, Almyra looks powerful, but I know deep within that the scars left behind by this generation of the Royal Family's children are going to cripple this country from within."

"How so?" asked Karna. "... Not that I'm against taking advantage of chaos for opportunity."

"Khalil used to work for Ameer Shahid."

A few of the Dustbin choke on their breakfast upon that reveal.

"... So, wait a minute!" Selene gagged before resuming to speak. "Yer sayin' dat de fat bastard...!"

Aali nods in confirmation. "Not just him, either," he clarified. "... Several, if not all of the Ameer's sellswords have returned to banditry after their 'endorsement' was null and voided after his untimely death."

Víðarr's eyes widened as his mind connected the metaphorical dots. "... This... our fault?" he commented. "... We... killed him. And now... the people... suffer."

Aali shook his head. "... No, what's done is done," he reassured. "... Shahid needed to die. We were ready for the consequences, anyway."

"And that's where you all come in."

Everyone then spots Khawlah clinging onto the ceiling like a bat, causing everyone to shriek in surprise.

"Oh come now, you're all still that dull?" The free-footed Amira then lands between all of them. "And before you ask, my covert patrol around Alamut starts at the crack of dawn."

"Seems sensible enough," Karna sighed. "... So, what brings you here?"

The Griffin Knight then hands her a small stack of letters written in Fódlander script. "... Think you can be little Khalid's pen pal?"

"My, this soon?" Karna chuckles sinisterly as he then takes the stack before reading them over, mentally citing that all of them are addressed to his fellow classmates from the Golden Deer.

"When I can expect that the forgeries to be finished?" the Amira asked.

"Given the ability of each student's legibility and combined with their remoteness of their respective residencies..." Karna then begins planning out a mental timeline to see if how each of the student's correspondence would be arranged, and how long would it realistically take for the letters to be delivered by wyvern, Almyra's go-to postal and courier service. "... I'd say... give me around 30 to 90 days. The well-read ones like the noble-born and Ignatz will come first. As for the rest, I can afford to be a bit more lenient with my time given, especially that oaf whose hands are good for nothing but punching."

"I already have my agents within the ranks of the postmen," Khawlah reassured as she then made her way back upstairs. "As for the rest of you, I'll have my agents within the Military Office pull some strings to expedite your advancement through the ranks."

"Does that mean we're likely to take more dangerous jobs in remote areas?" Khawlah then nods at Cyrus' remarked, to which the latter smiled, unnerving Amina at the sheer joy that he is emitting at the mere thought of shedding blood. "... Good."

"Shahid's scattered sycophants need to die yesterday," the Amira pointed out. "... I'll leave the rest to you."

Once Khawlah disappears, Karna then claps his hands to get everyone's attention.

"Alright, so here's our plan." Karna then pulls out the map of Alamut as Amina clears the table of the emptied plates. "I will be staying here in this house drafting letters to fool our current Crown Ameer into thinking that Fódlan's all hunky-dory. In the meantime, the rest of you will take bounties on your own accord, and hopefully, rise up to Silver-Rank within the space of few months so we can get rid of Shahid's former supporters among the banditry. Our focus, however, will remain the same: endear ourselves to the common people, keep out of Khalid's sight, and above all else, no Fódlander shit. Are we clear on that?"

"Clear as day, tou-san," Tsukiko answered as everyone else nods and puts on their cloaks (and mask, in Byron's case).

"I'll attend to my own duties within Alhambra's halls," Aali remarked. "... I'll also be looking out to see if anyone else within those halls are going to be a threat to our greater plans. After all, Ameer Khalid and the current aren't our only enemies. The [Janissaries] and other branches of power will pose a threat when they're neglected vigilance for too long."

"And I'll keep an eye out on the streets, stick close to the Amira's own agents, and restock on the beans and yogurt, because someone is eating all of them," Amina remarked with a hint of sardonic annoyance.

"Alright!" Karna then claps his hands once more, breaking up the gathering. "Good luck, everyone."

The group then head to their own directions for the deeds that needed to be done for today.

Meanwhile, at Alhambra...

"I've returned." Khawlah then leaps into the window of one of Alhambra's hallways, greeted by the spooked chambermaids and attendants going about their daily routine.

"Amira, you do know that you can come in from the front gates," one of the servants pointed out.

"Forgive me, force of habit." She then makes her way towards the throne room, where she found Shah Mansur and Ameer Khalid inside. "... Father. Younger brother."

"You missed breakfast, by the way," the Shah deadpanned as he looked at his only daughter with a narrowed gaze. "... Out and about as usual?"

"As always," she replied as she knelt and bowed her head before her father. "... Throne or no throne, I have my ways of keeping the people of Alamut safe."

"Skulking around the shadows and watching from the dark?" deadpanned Khalid. "I'd find it admirable if you weren't so... reprehensible, dear sister."

"I'll take that as a compliment." Khawlah gave no weakness as she remained in the throne room, the smell of incense trying to pry her iron trap of a mind, but minded to keep herself firm. "... May I resume to what little duties that I have, father? I rather keep myself busy rather than be confined in my room all day."

The Shah sighs. "... Dismissed."

With a wave, Khawlah disappears from the pair's sight like a phantom.

"... How does she keep doing that?" asked Khalid.

"Practice, it seems," Mansur sighed before shaking his head. "... Perhaps I should've kept a closer eye on her during her childhood. At least that way, she would've turned out more... agreeable."

"Come to think of it, why didn't you?" asked Khalid. "I mean, don't get me wrong, father. I'm not insinuating anything of you. Just merely curious."

The Shah sighs before explaining. "... You are aware that my daughter, Khawlah, was born from a dead mother, correct?"

The Ameer nods. "... Yeah," he confirmed. "... Anyone would've gone through an ordeal being an orphan, royalty or commoner."

"... The truth is, I may have contributed to being the way she is," Mansur revealed. "... After I personally found her covered in the blood of one of my many sons, I ordered the [Janissaries] to throw her into the palace dungeons in order to contain her bloodlust. She escaped a week later, without anyone noticing until her cell was empty, and her shackles unlocked."

Khalid blinks studiedly at how a child was able to perform a jailbreak all on her own. "... When and how did that happen?"

"She never told me. Tight-lipped, that daughter of mine," Mansur grumbled as he slouched on his throne. "... Every time I look at her, whether she's coming back from her daily patrols or reading one of the many scrolls in the royal library, I can't help but feel... unnerved, to say the least. Always get the feeling that she's planning something. Scheming behind all of our backs, as if everything I can and could do will be for nothing. No evidence to trace her to anything, no implications that I can accuse her of without making myself, let alone, anyone sane, sound like they've gone utterly mad. I'm not sure she's even human anymore, Khalid. She's basically an apparition all but in name."

"... And that's why she has supporters in spite of her illegitimacy to the Almyran throne," the Shah pointed out. "She won her supporters' hearts with her power over fear, acting as their guide in a world of chaos, her wisdom of being born in the deepest, remotest recesses of hell being their undying light."

Khalid, realizing what Khawlah had said about his time as "Claude von Riegan" being a "pleasure trip" was making more sense.

He was way behind her in terms of sheer experience and mastery of Almyran politics. Whereas he struggled, she had thrived through her hardships and established a power base for herself during his time in Fódlan through her own merits and gaming the pre-established system.

If this were a board game, then Khawlah had already made several moves before he could make his first.

"... Father, now I understand," he revealed. "... I understand why I need to take the throne."

Khalid understands perfectly what would happen if Khawlah would take the throne for herself.

"A nation ruled by fear and cunning, treating its subjects like pieces of a game board is no nation at all!" the Ameer proclaimed. "That's simply egoism! A monument of one's own hubris which I cannot stand and accept!"

A fire now lit in his heart, the illumination within lighting his way forward.

"... I will show the people that Almyra can move on from being dictated by fear!" he declared. "Father, I know what I must do!"

Mansur smiles at his son's resolve. "... The sellswords, correct?"

"I'll assemble the most promising, trustworthy band of heroes to act upon the interests of the Almyran people!" Khalid declared. "My sister is taking the field herself to endear the populace? Fine, two can play that game!"

The Shah smiles and nods in approval. "... This will be your first lesson in leadership, my son," he replied. "Show me that you can lead your people."

"I will, father!" Khalid stiffens his back, ready to face the world beyond his study and books. "This shall be my first step!"

However, just behind the windows of the garden surrounding the throne room, a groundskeeper overhears the Ameer's bold declaration before noting it down on a slip of paper he had carried with him on his person.

"... So, the Ameer makes his move," he mumbled to himself before picking up his basket of weeds and trimmed greenery and carrying it towards the compost.

Back inside the throne room, Mansur and Khalid walk out to the halls as they talked with each other.

"So, my son," the Shah began, "can you describe me your experience in Fódlan?"

"Sure!" the Ameer replied with a smile. "We never got to catch up."

Meanwhile, at Alamut's Military Office...

"... So this is the normal bounties present, isn't it?"

Everyone nods.

"Hey!" one of the other sellswords remarked from behind. "... There's like, only seven of you! Where's your boss?!"

"He trusts us enough to get the job done," Taslima pointed out as Ishtiyāq ripped off one of the bounties reading the following:

HELP WANTED: Culling the Local Jackal Population

Last seen near the Zimourv Region's Fig Orchards

13 Farmhands and 21 Children Injured; 2 Farmhands Killed

REWARD: 5,000 Telâh

NOTE: Please keep the Jackal casualties below ten; they keep the local herbivore population from eating our harvests

"If we can take Khalil, then we can handle ourself just fine," she reassured as she and her group took their request to the front desk.

"Tch! Pompous bastards like you are in short order for a quick end to your careers!" the other sellsword jeered.

"That endorsement from that fucking Amira ain't gonna be worth shit when you guys eat it!" taunted the first before they got back to picking out their own quests for the day.

"What's their problem...?" Suha grumbled to herself.

"Ignore them." The receptionist then stamps their quest in approval. "They're Silver-Rankers who were around during the early days of this business. They kinda don't like 'endorsed' sellswords, thinking them as a waste of everyone's time."

"So envy, basically." The receptionist nods at Kulthum's remark. "... Is that common for us newcomers?"

"Trust me, there's hazing everywhere you go," the receptionist replied before finishing the process. "... As usual, aborting this request will cost you. Good luck, and come back alive if able."

"Will do!" Sabiha replied as she slugged around her [Durandal] behind her back as everyone else followed.

"Alright, so shall we say it?" Baki suggested as they reached for the door.

"... For good time's sake," Vasim added as he hung his [Armads] over his shoulder. "... First step... of many."

Kulthum smirks as she then leads the party of seven to their next job.

"Eltanin! Move out!"

The group of seven cheer in unison as they leave the Military Office.

"Tch." One of the sellswords then spit into the potted plants by the doorsill. "... Pompous bastards."

To be Continued...

Author's Notes: Writing this chapter felt like a chore, only because of personal reasons.

While writing this, I ran into two problems:

First, my initial model of writing this fic by the seat of my pants with a vague outline of a plot progression is not working. As a result, I am in need of a restructuring of my plot outlines so that things don't end up as a glurge in the long run.

In hindsight, I should've seen this coming, given that I don't have the Three Houses game plot as my skeleton to base my plot progression off of. And that's not getting into the issue of having to compact all of Part 2 of Three Houses into a single finale arc and disperse some elements through it during the "Five Year Timeskip"-story I am working on.

Secondly, the fanfictions that I've been following have not been as uploading as frequently, and my mind is in a bit of a "drought" state.

As a result, I'm taking a week-long break just so that I don't end up hating myself. That and I have a backlog of Gunpla that I bought from a pop-up Gundam Base at Irvine to tackle.

Now for the chapter itself, honestly, it's a bit of a breather chapter before things really hit the fan. Supports (especially Tsukiko/Kulthum's) will come during the next chapter. Who will come first and how will it be written is gonna be a bit of a mystery, but hey, uncharted territory and whatnot.

As for Ameer Khalid, aka, Claude, he's now finally making his move by employing his own endorsed sellswords as his PR campaign to counter Khawlah's. Unfortunately for the latter, she's been in the game for over twenty years, and it's gonna take a lot of catching up to even come close.

Oh, and speaking of Khawlah...

SHE INTERCEPTED KHALID'S LETTERS TO FODLAN. And Karna's more than willing to play puppetmaster, all in order to make him dance to Khawlah's tune...

All the while, Eltanin/the Dustbin, are doing their own side quests.

As for Fódlan itself, it's safe to assume that the commonfolk who spent their whole lives worshipping the Goddess Sothis has now gone off the deep end after their origins were revealed. Suffice to say, they're no different from bandits now.

And Anna joined the Flame Emperor... simply because Edelgard threatened her business and flaunting her Imperial authority. If all people were as simple as that.

Anyway, sorry about the short chapter. Fanfic aside, I have a busy week, and hopefully, the week-long break is something that I can use.

Tune in next time as the Dustbin and the rest of Almyra enjoy for what will it be their last peaceful months of their lives.

No references this chapter (as a testament to how creatively drained I am: I read fanfics to spur my own writing juices).

Until then!