"Is this your work, Bosun Marge?“ The Doctor asked over the rim of his glasses, inspecting the stitches in my throat.

"Aye, Doctor. I have seen my fair share of knifing in the lower decks.“

He nodded, while he got out his bag, organizing the equipment he had. "Can you hold him still?“

Bosun Marge nodded and settled behind me, putting her callused hands on the sides of my face, pressing my head down firmly.

"Don‘t you move your head on me, boy.“ She said, grinning slyly.

The Doctor began his work, lifting a scalpel to my throat and listing off Skills as he activated them. "[Numbing Touch], [Surgeon‘s Precision], [Desinfect Tools], [Clean Wound], [Incision], [Mend]...“ I did not follow all of it, because I could not concentrate on anything but the scalpel at my throat, even if I didn't feel a thing.

"Your stitching was adequate.“ The doctor finally said in a conversational tone. "It saved his life.“

"Thanks, Doc.“ The Bosun didn‘t seem to care one bit that the Doctor had redone her work.

My throat felt fine. No pain, no straining. It was as if I hadn‘t had my throat cut in the first place.

"Thank you.“

"Don‘t thank me. You were lucky that the cut was rather shallow. You would have survived with Bosun Marge‘s [First Aid] alone. Now, get out of that chainmail, would you?“

I had been scratched and wounded on my torso and shoulder, and those wounds had not been treated yet. So I got out of my tattered clothes and my armor, with a shameful amount of help from the Bosun.

I couldn‘t see the face of the Bosun, but the Doctor whistled in surprise as he saw my skin.

"That are a lot of scars.“ He said.

"I had a hard couple of months.“ I tried to sound chipper. But I had hundreds of scars, he was right. Months of repeatedly being beaten to an inch of my life with awful healing conditions, dirty rags as bandages and constantly reopening wounds, because I didn't have the freedom to rest properly. I still had not.

"Looks like it.“ The Bosun said behind me. "Have seen shark food looking better than this.“

"You need to rest, young man.“ The Doctor said sternly, already working with needle and yarn again. "I mean it. Your wounds will open up again.“

I shook my head. "Not tonight. My work is not done yet.“

The Bosun snorted. "Let the captain take care of that, now that he is free. Sit back and enjoy the show. He will have taken the ship back by now. By Tomorrow we can be out of this shithole, ain't nobody gonna catch us off-guard again.“

"No.“ I tried to explain. "I have to go back.“

"Not if I have anything to say about it.“ The Doctor interjected sternly. "Captain Locksley will decide anyways. But he usually listens to my medical advice. Now, stop speaking and let me do my work.“ He said, while he expertly stitched up a cut in my breast and knotted the yarn, biting off the rest of it.

We sat around the table someone had put up again after the bodies of the Wyldlings had been unceremoniously dumped into the ocean. It was just me, Captain Locksley and Number One, or First Officer Higgins as he had introduced himself. The others were busy organizing the crew and the ship. I could see that even now both of them were eager to get out again, to look at what the enemies had done to their ship, to help and bring the Albatross back up to fighting condition. Both of them had blood-stained uniforms from the fighting. I had to pull rank and introduce myself as [Margrave of Ravenrock], to get them to hear me out in the privacy of the officer's mess.

"Now, my Lord.“ Cpt. Locksley said, addressing me formally after I had introduced myself. "I have to, once again, officially thank you for your involvement in the retaking of the Albatross. I, for one, am more than glad that we could wash the shame off our record.“ He lifted his glass, filled with a strong spirit we all were drinking, and toasted.

"You and your crew share my shame and the shame of every man and woman in the Empire.“ I said. "We all failed. And yet you fought back and are still standing. That is more than can be said about most of our peers.“

"Pardon my urgency, my Lord, but there is much work to be done. What was it you wished to speak with me about.“ His calculating eyes were mustering me with a hint of annoyance. What was he thinking of me? A young man, dirty and rugged, that had jumped his captors as if he was a devil from the lower hells himself. Did he even believe me to be who I said I was?

"I do know that you are the highest-ranking naval officer available, and thus have the highest authority on sea.“ I said. The naval forces of the Empire of the Sun were mostly independent of the nobility, a few private fleets excepted. They instead stood under the purview of the Master of the Sea, a highly prestigious position directly reporting to the Emperor alone.

Locksley nodded. "We all are unsure what the chain of command looks like at the moment.“ He said rather defensively. "I have heard about the eclipse. The Emperor might have fallen.“

"All problems for another day.“ I quickly said this was a night about swords, not a night about politics. "There are nearly a thousand slaves, brothers, and sisters from the Empire mainland, on the shores under the whips and clubs of the Wyldlings. Even worse, they do intend to sacrifice them to their dark deities.“

Both naval officers inhaled sharply, brows furrowing. "Those are prisoners of war.“ First Officer Higgins snarled.

"And yet, they do not know honor like we do.“ I said. "Those Wyldlings do not at least, I have met others. I implore you, no I beg you, to join me. Tonight, I will free the slaves. I will lead the revolt and throw the Wyldlings into the sea.“

"And how would that be possible?“ Locksley asked. Higgins sat up straight, clearly agitated and eager for decisive action, and began to speak up, but Locksley raised his hand, silencing him immediately. Locksley‘s cold eyes returned to me. "What is your plan, my Lord?“

I licked my lips. That had been easier in my imagination. The Captain was an impressive man, to say the least. "There are three slaves for every [Warrior] of the Wyldlings. All they need is a chance and the spark that lights the fire. They have nothing to lose. And the man commanding the Wyldlings, a [Shaman] named Barak Bloodbraid, has left the port and has taken the highest level individuals with him. It is now or never.“

"I am very well acquainted with this Bloodbraid.“ Locksley stood up, pacing around with his hands folded on his back. He was calm. "He used me to steer this ship after all. And I know him to be an opponent more formidable than I. He has beaten me once, I am ashamed to say, and would again. We can take a hundred passengers, maybe half as much again on rations, and there are only two more ships to take for our needs. So we cannot take them all and flee. And the Bloodbraid will return. What then?“

I sighed. Was this the way it was going to go from now on?

"I am a Twice - Born.“ I stated matter-of-factly. "I have allies capable of standing up to the man. And we will, if we work together.“

Locksley‘s brow rose inquisitively as he heard me say that. I went on to explain a little bit more.

As he learned that the main force of the Wyldlings had retreated into a pile of ships, of all things, both of the naval officers began to smile a little dangerous smile. Now they understood why I had freed them first.

We landed on the pier with nary a sound. As soon as my feet touched solid ground, the crew turned the boat back into the darkness, where the Albatross waited. We could not risk moving in larger groups, not without having done everything we set out to do. So it fell to me, on my own decision, and against all the arguments of the Doctor, to set the second phase of my plan in motion. The crew of the Albatross would be plenty busy with their own tasks, they could not spare even a single sailor for me. Once again, speed and stealth would be my only allies.

It was an age-old conundrum, the question that Captain Locksley had asked me, how to fight battles involving high leveled individuums. How do you best the likes of Barak Bloodbraid? There may be a point at which a single individuum might even be to mighty to get stabbed in his sleep. The Emperor had been of that category. You needed higher leveled people to win against the elites of the enemy. But you also needed soldiers to win the battles, to hold the land and the infrastructure, and to control the populace. It was a precarious balance. Skills of high leveled fighters might be strong enough to turn the tide of a battle, unopposed that is, but a single arrow could kill him still, if the circumstances were right, or they could be overwhelmed by numbers. Or worse, a cunning assassin or traitor. Which is why countries protected their trump cards and used them sparingly, and mostly in dire situations because losing them was worse than losing thousands of soldiers. The Emperor of the Sun had never taken the field in my lifetime and not many years before that. The mighty all reached a point at which even using their Skills was a decision not to be made lightly, proof being the 13-day eclipse that had decimated the clans of the Wyldlings.

So it would not matter if I had a thousand warriors against the 36 of Barak if they had enough levels and we did not. Barak and his elites had beaten every last one of the humans here in battle and taken them as prisoners and slaves afterwards. But all of them together? The Captain, the wounded people that had impressed Barak enough to be personally tortured by him, Cogar and Kara and the Wyldlings of the Bear Clan, and last and maybe even least, me? Still, not enough to be sure.

But good enough to rise up and fight.

I swept the area for the campfires and guard posts of the Snake Clan. I knew I could take them. And I had the time to spare. Everyone I got now, in the safety of the night, was one that would not try to kill a human when the storm would break out. I killed 6 pairs of guards on the pier, close to Shipwreck Bay. This was no fighting. This was sneaking and strangling.

It was one hour after midnight when I reached the outer fires of the slave camps. There were a couple of guards huddled around their fires, around the outer ring. A teacup trying to hold the flood that would sweep them away. The slaves were bound and chained, every one of them. I snuck into the middle of the camp. Tired and lost gazes followed me, as I walked among them. Looking for a few with a spark in their eyes, with fight left to give.

I found them here and there. Eyes glaring in the light of the fires in challenge or question. People with scars and marks of bloody whippings, sitting strong and unfazed. Those that wore the rugs with confidence and unbroken spirit. Those that left the embrace of a loved one, ready to stand up to defend them. Those that would just not let a little bit of being enslaved ruin their cynic humor. The devout left behind by the gods, but not leaving their flock behind. The soldiers, stepping up to do their job. The fathers, stepping up to protect their families. The mothers, always ready to fight for their young. The young, in youthful anger and ignorance. The old, because it was the right way to go out. People of the Empire of the Sun saw me walking, heard me talking. And a whisper rippled through the masses of slaves. A whisper promising hope, revenge, a death worth singing about. And the slaves stirred in their stupor. Hope bloomed where desperation had burnt everything. And I was in the middle of it. I had weapons. I had tools. I had a Dimensional-Flexibel-Chest filled to the brim with weapons, from the Albatross, and tools, from the golem maker. And bindings were severed as knives wandered from dirty hand to dirty hand. Chains got cut and broken, timed with the moan and cough of others. But the waterfall swallowed every noise.

As we struck, not as slaves but as people of the Empire, the screams of the Wyldlings were shorter than the sound of metal hitting flesh. Much, much shorter.

Two hours to sunrise.