"My Lord, the wagon has arrived," Tristam announced in his tent.

Lord Prestonheim has been waiting somberly, alone his tent staring at the Principalia's banner. His mind is still trying to grasp the situation he has created for himself. At the back of his mind, there's a little hint of regret as to why he kept Servus 132-X's group alive. He could've just ended it right there, if only he hadn't listened to one cunning slave.

Or was it really about his cunningness that got him to listen? Was it not about that damned stone? His mind wanted to put reason to a decision he had already made. The decision which got him to this point. A crossroad between the Principalia's progress or its demise.

His brooding didn't go unnoticed. Tristam, who stood by the opening of his tent, observed his Lord's odd behavior. The young knight couldn't resist but pry himself over his Lord current conundrum.

" You seemed to be troubled, my Lord?" Tristam approached Lord Prestonheim to offer any help he can provide his distressed Commander.

" This is nothing, Tristam," Lord Prestonheim sighed.

Lord Prestonheim stood up from his seat and approached the banner once more. He grabbed it and spread it again.

" Tristam, what makes an empire great?"

" Sorry, my Lord?" the young knight completely baffled by his Commander's unusual question.

Lord Prestonheim glanced at him while still holding the banner. " What makes an empire great?"

The young knight pondered on the question. " Its people, my Lord," Tristam answered with pride brimming from the knight.

" And what makes the people of the empire great?" The aging commander asked the knight.

" Uhmm…" Tristam stared at the ground trying to find an answer suitable of his rank and status. But before he can answer it, Lord Prestonheim answered it for him.

" Listen, young knight. What makes the people of Principalia great, is their mindset to do whatever it takes for their nation." Lord Prestonheim kissed the banner and saluted to it.

Moved by his commander's answer, Tristam lifted his head and stood up properly like how a knight should stand in front of the Imperatur. After seeing Lord Prestonheim kiss the banner, the proud knight made his salute to the flag.

" Quia ad Principalia, non refert sumptus!"

The commander nodded to his young knight. Tristam went ahead outside and lined up the new slaves, while Lord Prestonheim glanced at the flag one last time, before donning his cape and leaving his tent.

The sun shined brightly irritating Lord Prestonheim's eyes. He squinted his eyes to adjust from the glare. In front of him were the slaves lined up by his knights. Lord Prestonheim walked in front of them, examining them from head to foot and gauging their sizes.

The gods might have been listening to his ails! An elf with a lanky frame, and deep-seated blue eyes was the first one who caught his attention. A barrel-chested dwarf, with a patchy beard, breathes heavily to the point of being audible. A human male riddled with scars from the pox. Lastly, a young skinny beastman with one eye, blinded from a form of sickness, finally completed his selection.

Lord Prestonheim felt the heaviness of his chest. He took a look at the line of slaves once more, but his eyes read nothing but emptiness. The stress from his polarizing decision took a toll on him. He comforted his pulsating head, massaging the bridge of his nose. He then approached Tristam, who looked worried at him.

The instructions sounded out of Lord Prestonheim's character. The details he whispered to Tristam made the young knight uncomfortable-- close to defiance. Tristam's face said it all, but the knight followed without question.

" You four, stay!" The rest of you, will be guided to your own barracks," Tristam pointed at the four selections, while also ordering the other knights to guide the slaves to their barracks.

Lord Prestonheim's heart pounded heavily inside his chest. He took a deep breath to calm himself down, before giving the order.

"Drag them to the clearing," The Commander's voice sounded flat and devoid with emotion. His eyes looking beyond the horizon, and his face blank--numbingly expressionless.

The baffled knights dragged the slaves in to the clearing under the sweltering heat of the sun. Confused with the situation, slaves protested and tussled from the chains they were bounded by.

" M'Lord! Good sers! What's wrong?!" the elf asked as he tried to struggle away.

His cries were left unanswered as the baffled knights took glances to Lord Prestonheim, looking for answers as well. But Lord Prestonheim never offered an answer.

The confusion blew into chaos as the slaves refused to follow the knights to their destination. But no punch, kick or spit can stop the armored warriors from doing their job. The knights overwhelmed the slaves with their own punches, leaving them battered on the ground to the point of unconsciousness.

"W-why, sers?" the bloodied dwarf asked as he was being hoisted back to his feet.

"Good gods!" The young beastman sobbed as he was dragged along with the unconscious human slave and the concussed dwarf into the clearing.

" Please, M'Lord!" The young beastman begged. He tried to reach out for Lord Prestoneim, who followed right behind them, "M-my Looorrrdd! I don't want to die! PLEAASSEEE!" He begged.

Lord Prestonheim pretended as if he never heard their cries. But his heart slowly broke with every wail and plea the slaves tried to ask. HIs father taught him that all men were created equal under the sun and the sky. It has always been the House Prestonheim's words. A paradigm that he stood up for.

During the last fifty-seven years of his life, this principle was something he had always upheld with great pride. He inculcated this teaching towards his knights, sternly inculcating into the hearts of the 5th Batallion. He championed for equality and became the beacon of hope for the masses. But all of it, came crushing down with his decision.

He signalled to his men to make the slaves kneel before him as he will soon pass his judgment. Lord Prestonheim approached the struggling slaves, looking at their despaired faces for the last time.

Lord Prestonheim clenched his fists as he hesitated on whether to continue his plan or not. There's still time to change his mind, if he truly wants to stop it. But, would he? Clearly, he can't and he won't. He wants his plan to succeed-- the mining of Aetherium. The element to set the Principalia to a new age.

"Mercy! Mercy! MY LORD!" the dwarf shouted his last.

"Pppleasssee…" the elf begged once more.

By the corner of his eye, he saw Servus 132-X and his group looking at them with bated breath. The horrified look on their faces, only shows how much they know to what was about to happen next.

Lord Prestonheim, never said a word even after all the pleas the slaves did. He never broke his silence as the moment of end came closer. His world became eerily silent, no longer able to hear anyone around him. He's conscience finally went numb at that very moment.

He raised his right fist for everyone to see. The knights unsheathed their blades in response, and position themselves to the left-hand side of the slaves. Once the knights have been situated to their positions. Lord Prestonheim, drops his right fist.

The blades descended into the poor slaves' neck, slicing it off in one clean cut. Their heads rolled on the blood-drenched soil.

" I'm so sorry." Lord Prestonheim uttered as he walked out from the clearing.