It took some adjustments before they could make true of their intentions. Bandaged or not, Karl was still heavily wounded and, despite his strong insistences about the opposite, couldn’t move safely. Eventually, a makeshift stretcher was ready and, at the vigorous encouragements of their wounded leader, they started to move.

Thankfully, their weapons were just where the strangers had said. Beside them, there was the somber vision of their five fallen comrades, each laid to rest on the wagons. Of the brigands, dead or alive, there was no trace.

Armed and with their fallen before them, many of the doubts of the more careful guards dissipated. Karl was right. Without the cargo, the journey would have been a complete waste. And what were they going to say to their families? To the families of the fallen? No, scary or not, the strangers would need to answer for it. There were many doubts still, but they pushed them away. Somehow, they would see this through.

Questions and wonders about the identity of their strange saviors were exchanged. City guards maybe? It seemed strange. Why would guards walk around masked?

They eventually decided that it was better not to know. Westerners were strange like that. It wasn’t like it concerned them anyway.

Numerous and encumbered with prisoners and corpses as they were, it was easy finding the traces of the strangers. Eventually, the trail led them to a vast clearing, filled with tents and soldiers

The numbers they saw checked some of the guards’ enthusiasm, but Karl wouldn’t hear any of it. At their leader’s barked commands, the caravan guards made their way into the clearing.

They had barely made a dozen steps that they were stopped by a bunch of the unknown soldiers.

“Stop!” Ordered what seemed to be the leader, a short and burly individual.

The guards exchanged glances. The officer, if that he was, and his men wore leather masks. If not for the different frames, they would have looked like copies of the same individual.

“You are the guys of the caravan,” the masked man said, surprise and suspicion evident in his voice. “What do you want?”

Karol felt that was the moment to try and be tactful. He had seen his share as a soldier, and that before them was a true war camp if he had ever seen one. They better step lightly or the merchandise would be the last thing they were to lose…

He made his thoughts known by putting a hand over Karl’s shoulder.

If he ever noticed it, Karl didn’t give a crap.

“My cargo, that’s what I want!” The merchant barked loudly enough that everybody present jumped. “Thieves, all of you! What have you done with my cargo? You’re no better than those brigands that attacked us!”

The guards exchanged alarmed looks, the masked warriors enigmatic stares. Karol facepalmed. Thankfully, and he felt bad for thinking it, Karl’s wound decided to act up just at that moment, and the merchant folded over with a grunt.

The masked officer seemed to radiate confusion. “You’re talking about the stuff on your carriages?”

Hunched over himself, Karl managed only to nod quickly.

“I need it!” He panted. “It has been a long journey, and i spent a lot with those bloodsuckers of the Westerners; and… fuck, i just need it, alright?!?”

Not exactly the most eloquent of speeches. Still, Karol couldn’t bring himself to get exasperated at his friend’s antics. He seemed to be suffering a lot…

The masked officer seemed to be hesitating. Maybe Karl’s suffering had touched something in him. Instead of shouting for them to disappear as Karol expected, he drew back to exchange some words with his soldiers. Karol strained to hear, but couldn’t make out anything apart from urgent murmurs.

After some tense moments, the officer returned.

“Right, your cargo,” he began. Despite the mask, Karol couldn’t not notice that he seemed somewhat off-put. “I don’t really have the authority to speak about the matter. Come, i will bring you to my commanding officer. He will decide.”

Karol was thoroughly surprised by that response. Cargo or not, the men had saved their hides. It would have been easy to just say that their debt was dead before it was even born and be done with it.

He wasn’t the only one in thinking that. His comrades exchanged surprised looks. Even Karl seemed taken off guard, before setting back into a determined sneer.

The masked man gestured and, without another word, turned on his heels and marched back the way he had come, his own men in tow.

The caravan guards hastened to follow.

“Hey.” Karol leaned toward the stretcher. “Listen now…”

Karl turned to him with such an angry expression that whatever admonishment he wanted to give him died on his lips.

“Don’t you even dare,” the merchant hissed. He held his side with a clenched fist. “I am the one that bled like a pig, Sun crown! I am the one with the biggest debt! And Seven cast me out, i am gonna see this to the end! We need that cargo, Karol.”

Apart from pain and anger, Karol recognized something very similar to despair in his old friend’s eyes. Let go, choose the safe route and slink back home with a good deal of nothing and five dead; it had to be something unacceptable for this old friend; and, now that he thought about it, it was for him too.

He patted him on the shoulder. “We’ll do it together, you stubborn dog.”

That managed at least to paint a grin over Karl’s face.

Karol grinned as well and drew back, leaving him to take as much rest as he could. Desperate negotiations like those always needed a strong front to succeed. Since their worthy leader couldn’t put it, it was his job. Walking at the head of the group, Karol put up the calmest and firm expression he could manage.

Like that, they entered the camp.

Karol and his comrades were immediately impressed, or intimidated was a term more adapt.

No cheering, no booze, no post-battle relaxation, no throwing away weapons and armors to take some refreshment; instead, the atmosphere was one of grim discipline. Masked warriors, inexplicably still in their armors despite the summer heat, were busy with equipment repairs and maintenance. Few talked, the greater majority completely focused on whatever they were doing. The rasp of files over weapons filled the air.

That didn’t seem a war camp right after a victory. In fact, it didn’t seem like any camp they had ever seen. Where was the rowdiness? The curses about heat and wounds? The lazing around after the stress of combat?

Karol felt invisible gazes bore into him. Out of instinct, his hand clutched the handle of the sword at his belt. Not like he would help him much if violence broke out. His little group was outnumbered at least five to one.

He tried not to think about the possibility.

Thankfully, or not, they hadn’t to walk much. The officer had to have sent someone ahead because they were expected. Standing before a tent slightly large than the rest, a group waited for them.

Karol took a sharp breath as he recognized the freaky knights from the battle. There were three of them, each a true colossus wrapped in steel and holding a massive weapon. Even at the ease that they seemed to be in that moment, Karol still felt a small shiver ran across his back.

There was also a trio of individuals that Karol recognized with surprise; priests? Here?

The priests didn’t hide their allegiances, showing them both in their clothes and the elaborated masks. The first was a tall, regally poised individual. His robe, of a white so pure, that it almost seemed to glow, and the headdress provided with a crown of spikes resembling the sun rays revealed him as a priest of the Sun King. He carried a short mace at the waist, and his mask showed a regal face weaved in silver thread.

The second was a portly man. The blouse he wore was opened in front, showing a hairy chest, and had ample sleeves that opened as well. Short pants and thick boots completed the image, making him look more like a tough, rugged warrior than the priest of any deity. And still, the scars that the man proudly showed on his chest and both arms, as well as the strange, toothed sword he carried at the waist, left no doubt: that man was a priest of the War God Gories, the Voice In The Iron. The mask he wore was a dreary affair wrought in metal.

Out of instinct, Karol passed the edge of a hand over the open palm, soon imitated by his comrades. The Bloodrinker and his sister were widely celebrated in the Seven, and as such their priests were held into high regard.

The man accepted their devotion with a firm nod. Karol could almost feel the wide smile behind that mask.

The third was the most unassuming, but as he took note of her, Karol felt a pang of dread absent from the other two. She wore a simple robe that almost seemed to have been cut out of sackcloth and was held on by a rope used as a belt. Her feet were bare and her long, wispy hair was allowed to fall free and messy. Tall and lanky, she kept her bony hands clasped on her waist, all in her posture expressing a simple humbleness. And still, the mask covering her face, bare of anything but two holes for the eyes and one for the mouth, painted gray with ash, gave her a ghastly appearance.

Karol had to repress the instinct to sign himself again, this time with a warding one. The Faceless was recognized and worshipped in the Seven, but it was more out of fear and desire to keep the attention of No-Eyes and her servants away rather than from any true devotion. In that, the Seven and the westerners had something very much in common.

If she felt slighted by their reactions - not all guards shared Karol’s restraint -, the priestess didn’t show it. She tilted her head in a small gesture of acknowledgment.

Behind priests and knights, a strong group of masked soldiers peered at their guests, hands resting easily over weapons’ handles.

Now that they were there, Karol felt much of the earlier confidence evaporate. With all that strength, these guys could just laugh at their requests and send them away on the tips of the swords.

And if a fight broke out, their lives wouldn’t be worth a dime, of that he was sure. And still, curiosity to see who was the man commanding the obedience of priests and so many fearsome warriors smothered his doubts, bringing his attention over the individual standing at the head of the group.

He was tall, with a straight-backed posture that wouldn’t have disfigured in a noble court. Despite wearing the same armor of his soldiers, the man radiated an aura of authority that Karol could almost feel press down on him. A mask, wrought in the same way of the priestess, covered his face, a blasphemy if the guard had ever seen one: only priests were allowed to carry so blatant an emblem of a deity and something told him that whoever that man was, he wasn’t a priest. He couldn’t see his features, but somehow he knew that he was displeased with what he was looking at right now. That wasn’t good, his old battle instincts told him; with the same certainty with which they warned him of an oncoming blow, they now screamed a single thing: that masked man wasn’t to be trifled with; his displeasure wasn’t something that a wise man should seek.

Karol’s hand found Karl’s shoulder almost on its own.

The merchant threw him a quick glance but otherwise said nothing. He stared boldly at the masked man, not even trying to mask his hostility.

The masked man didn’t address them immediately. Instead, he turned to the officer that had led them there and made a sharp gesture that Karol took as an order to leave.

The officer bowed stiffly and marched away without a word, another impressive demonstration of discipline that impressed Karol. What was the deal with those people? Rather than warriors, they seemed walking statues…

“I’m told you seek recompensation for your cargo,” the masked man began, breaking the tension. He sounded impatient.

“That’s right!” Karl barked, shaking a fist. “And we want it now!” Despite his bluster, he was somewhat off-put by the man’s commanding aura, but Gories strike him if he was going to turn back down, nor all those fancy armors and robes intimidated him!

The others didn’t share his confidence, but their leader’s strength of character encouraged them, and they put up a firm front. Even blocked on a stretcher, Karl was being so brave; they couldn’t be any less, could they now?

The masked man didn’t answer. Instead, he just watched them.

Bewildered, Karol wondered how it was possible for someone whose features were hidden to still manage to project such a sense of power. The man seemed to be growing in stature as he watched him, becoming as a silent, towering idol, making his displeasure known by presence alone. Even Karl, with his stubborn thick-headedness, felt it, and, instead of barking accusations and demands like it would have been his usual, just glared and said nothing. Thankfully, Karol thought. It hadn’t escaped him how the soldiers and knights were caressing their weapons, as just waiting for a command to rip them apart. Just like dogs. The thought sent a shiver through him.

Eventually, the man spoke.

“On what right you make your demand?”

Karol frowned. That was… a very peculiar question.

Still, for Karl it was like throwing a bone to an angry dog.

“On the right of law!” He said, almost triumphantly. “On the law that punishes the thief and protects the honest man!” The merchant shook his fist. Having found familiar ground, he was ready for the fight. “You stole the cargo that I’ve paid for fair and square. I demand compensation!”

A wave of murmurs passed through the soldiers. Karol didn’t need to see their faces to understand that they were half surprised and half outraged by that demand; and he couldn’t really say that they were in the wrong either. They had saved their asses back there!

As a warrior, it was deeply shaming for him to repay blood with money-grubbing; but it wasn’t like they had much choice.

And still, none of them stepped forward to challenge or rebuff. Instead, the masked man raised a hand in an almost absently-minded gesture and the murmurs immediately ceased. Karol would lie if he said that he wasn’t intimidated by that supernatural discipline.

Karl shared the sentiment, but he was the kind of man that only spoke harder when nervousness struck.

“And anyway, who the hell are you people supposed to be? Going around stealing people stuff, with those things on your faces; take them off, i say! What honest men walk around with their faces covered like that?”

And there he was with the insults.

The guards looked alarmed. Karol facepalmed. Of course, he had been asking himself what the deal with these strange people was, but it wasn’t their business knowing, nor, he strongly suspected, it would be a healthy thing to discover. He had hoped that Karl would have the good sense to avoid the topic and focus on what mattered. Why did he ever give him faith?

The soldiers’ shift was minute but still enough to change the atmosphere from wary to threatening.

Another quick gesture from the masked man had them stand down.

“It doesn’t concern you.” He looked at them, the mask doing nothing to dampen the piercing gaze the guards felt on them. “Am i understood?”

Murmurs of assent passed through the group. Karol held Karl’s shoulder. The merchant bit his lip, but still nodded.

There was a little shift in the masked man’s demeanor, and it was like a cloud covering the sun had just gone away. Karol breathed a silent sigh of relief. That had been far too close for comfort.

“Back in the day,” the masked man resumed smoothly as nothing had ever happened. “I knew that the people of the Seven held to certain traditions of honor.” His tone was stern. “Have their customs changed?”

“We are true to our laws…” Karl replied, wary.

“Is that so?” The masked mad mocked. “And still, here you stand, disregarding three of your most important laws.”

Karl opened his mouth to protest; what could a westerner know about the honored laws of the Seven?

The masked man didn’t let him. “The first law you disregard,” he declared. “The law of companionship: my soldiers and i have battled at your side, shed more blood than you in your defense, and still you come bearing demands instead of gratitude.”

Karl tried to interject; the masked man ignored him.

“The second law you disregard: the law of blood. Unasked, my soldiers and i saved your lives. You, i personally stilled with fire the wound that would have killed you. You owe us your very breaths, and still, come bearing demands instead of gratitude.”

The masked man was unstoppable. Karl’s attempts to put some words in were ignored or trampled by his stern speech.

“Third and last law that your broke, the one that Gories himself handed to you: the law of conquest. I and my soldiers won the battle and remained masters of the field. As per the right of conquest, your possessions belong to us. And you still come bearing demands, asking for money,” he said the word like it was something revolting, “in exchange for blood. And you call yourselves children of the Seven?”

He fell silent, pinning them all with a stare that felt like a spear to the chest, mask or not.

Karol felt like he had just been slapped. Those were old traditions, but every inhabitant of the Seven had been raised and bred upon them, laws handed to them by the Twin Gods themselves. It finally dawned upon him how much of a sorry spectacle they had been putting up. Those men had the very laws of the Twin Gods behind them, and they came begging for some scraps in the name of what? Of dirty money!

Shame, heavy and choking, seized him, and he wasn’t alone; all his comrades were pale with it and as the masked man’s stern gaze swept over them, they bowed their heads in disgrace.

What had they been thinking? If recompensation was to be had, it had to come from their own pockets; surely not from begging like starving dogs the same people they owed their survival.

The masked man nodded once, brimming with cold disdain. “I trust this argument to be closed. I wish you a good journey home.”

“Hold on a second now…”

Karl wasn’t giving in. The merchant was pale and his face was coated in sweat.

“Those laws are old,” he argued, looking almost like every word caused him pain. “Old and obsolete; and… and anyway they are valid only during wartime.”

The guards held sharp breaths. The laws of the Twins, obsolete? That bordered on blasphemy! And it was the Westerners that argued about the laws’ fine point, not the sons of the Seven! What was Karl thinking?

If he noticed their distress, the merchant didn’t show it. “We didn’t ask for your help. Who knows, maybe we’d be able to fend off those thieves even if you didn’t show up! You infiltrated on my wagons without permission, stole my cargo and i demand compensation! To hell with those old laws, the law i call upon is the law of property! You don’t steal from an honest merchant, no matter what your excuse is!”

The guards were speechless. That wasn’t how a son of the Seven was supposed to talk. Where was the honor? Where was the piety toward the Twins? Were they to follow weaklings’ rules as the westerners did?

Many threw alarmed glances toward Karol, almost hoping that he would jump in, stop their boss from disgracing himself like he was doing.

But the guard shook his head instead. His pride trembled just as much as theirs, but he had noticed something they hadn’t. Karl was clutching his hand so tight that blood was painting small rivulets down his palm. The merchant didn’t relish what he was saying, not one bit.

“And what’s more, “ he barked, looking as white as a sheet. “If someone has a blood debt, it’s me! I led the caravan, i brought them here! The responsibility is mine and so the blood debt is mine alone! And if the debt is mine, they aren’t indebted but owed instead; especially the fallen. I owe them their recompensation and i cannot give it to them without the cargo!”

He was contradicting himself, everybody could see it, first denying the Laws and then considering them valid; clinging to mirrors in a desperate effort to make his point come across as the most valid.

From the point of vies of the Seven, his speech besmirched his honor, but the guards now saw what Karol had already seen. Karl was throwing away his honor, something he had always been proud of, for their sakes. Pale, they were speechless.

The masked man stood silent, an enigmatic statue.

“You owe me the cargo,” Karl continued, wiping his brow from sweat. “And if you refuse to pay, i am gonna go to the town’s guard and have you all arrested.”

The threat wasn’t taken well. In the blink of an eye, the caravan guards were surrounded by a ring of steel. The men exchanged alarmed looks, clutching their battered weapons. Karol didn’t even try to: if a battle broke out, they were toast anyway. Karl had eyes only for his interlocutor.

The masked man stood perfectly immobile, his silent gaze over the merchant.

“Why do you go to such lengths?” He asked, the question soft-spoken and charged with a calm kind of inquisitiveness.

Karl’s eyes flickered toward Karol for a brief moment.

“It’s for my men, dammit!” He barked. “I cannot pay them if i come out of this cursed journey with nothing! I lost five men! I cannot recompense their families without cargo! I cannot…!” His words ended into a rough whimper as he folded over, his wound acting up.

If he felt pity, the masked man didn’t show it. He said nothing for a while, just watching silently.

“Some of my scouts will follow you,” he eventually said, impassive. “If you try to return to town, i will know.”

And that was it. No recompensation and only a bunch of shame and slighted honor for it. The guards lowered their heads, defeated. Even Karl, still struggling against his wound, deflated on his stretcher, managing only to shake a fist in frustration.

“It’s alright,” Karol murmured, the guard leaning to help him. “It’s alright, old boy. You did your best.”

Panting heavily, Karl snorted. “The best, but not enough. And what’s the point then?”

Karol bit his lip, frustration beating inside his chest like a drum. He would have loved to tell him otherwise, but he was right.

And then they noticed the boy standing before the stretcher.

Short and lithe, it was easy to imagine him disappear amongst a crowd of tall warriors and fearsome soldiers.

Karol and Karl gave him quizzical looks. The boy held a small casket in his hands.

“I trust that the sum is enough to cover your loss,” said the masked man, dryly.

Bewildered, Karl took the casket and opened it. He and Karol’s eyes turned saucer wide at seeing the content: bars of gold lined the satin-padded interior, a king‘s ransom in precious metal.

Karl gaped, speechless. Turning to the masked man, he opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again.

“T-this is…” He finally stammered.

“Your compensation, yes,” the man said gruffly. “I trust is enough. Take it and go.”

Half-dazed by the fortune he had just borne witness to, Karl hesitated. Despite everything, his honor still gave a small kick.

“B-but, this is much more than the cargo’s value…”

The masked man, that was already in the midst of turning away, stopped half-way.

“You already wasted enough of my time,” he said. “Don’t push it.” Karl and Karol felt more than seen the stern glare he gave them. “Keep your wits about yourself during your travel home. Farewell.”

And just like that he was gone, disappearing behind the rows of soldiers that came forward.

Karl and Karol exchanged a dazed look. Still, the chance to add whatever else was lost. They couldn’t but follow the soldiers directing them away.

The journey back passed as if in a daze.

The masked soldiers escorted them back to the wagons before disappearing back into the woods as conjured specters of the wild.

Still half-dazed, Karol slumped on the driver’s seat of a wagon. Clustering all around, the rest of the guards fared no better. They still couldn’t believe what they had actually gone through.

“So, that happened,” the guard said. “Anybody has any idea what exactly was all this deal about?”

All the answer they could give him was shaking heads and vacant stares. They could barely believe it themselves.

Laid on his stretcher on a wagon, Karl was busy inspecting the small treasure they had been given.

“The Twins curse me,” he mumbled.

“So… how much?” Karol asked, unsure between feeling apprehensive or jittery. The memory of all that gold still dazzled him. In all his life, he had never seen so much wealth in a single place.

“Four times? Five times?” The merchant was incredulous. Closing the lid, he put a hand over his forehead. “I-i don’t know, man. I never…” He paused to take a deep breath to steady himself. When he finished, he felt a bit more like himself. “I reckon that there’s at least five times the cargo’s value in here.”

Aghast murmurs passed through the guards. Some just stared, pale. That was more they had ever seen in all their lives.

“Sun Crown…” Karol breathed.

For some moments, nobody said anything, each guard trying his best to wrap his head around the riches that had just ended up in their hands.

“Who the hell is that man?” Jon said eventually.

The question was shared by all presents. Who the heck were these people that hid aboard merchant cargo, went around masked and fought like the Twins’ themselves? And who in the Golden One’s name was the man that commanded such obedience from them? That handed over riches like those almost on a whim?

“A highborn, no doubt…”

“A duke?”

“This seems too much even for a bighorn like that…”

“The Lord-Mayor?”

“No no, that is a woman.”

“Then who…”

Karl slammed the casket shut, putting an abrupt end to the suppositions.

“Whoever that guy is, we don’t care!” He barked. “Come on! Let’s get out of here before someone else come!”

Those pragmatic words pulled them out of their daze. Still murmuring and shaking their heads, the guards dispersed to prepare the animals for the journey back.

Only Karol remained by the merchant’s side

“So, what now?” The guard scratched his head, still trying and failing to make some sense of all that situation.

Karl laid on the stretcher, the casket held between his arms like a newborn baby. “Now we get back home, as fast as we can.” He cursed. “Fucking dammit, it will be a miracle if we manage to return without some orcs shanking us for this grub!”

That drew a smile from the guard. If his old friend started cursing like that, it meant that he was recovering from his wound already.

Still, he couldn’t keep this unease away from him. He should have felt happy, he supposed, but… it had been all so strange! He needed some time to think about it all, and something told him Karl needed it too.

“Seriously, though, what the hell, “ he murmured.

Karl waved gruffly. “The heck do i know?” He grumbled some other curses and held the casket tighter. “The only thing i know is half of my part is going to the Seat. Fuck! It’s the bare minimum if i hope to mend my honor.”

Karol almost jumped at that. “You serious?”

Karl avoided his gaze. “Yeah, i am…”

It was too much. Karol exploded into laughter.

“Sun Crown, man!” He said, ignoring the strange glances thrown his way from the guards. “We’ve just hit big and you still manage to find a reason to get depressed!”

“Somebody has to,” Karl’s glance was resentful. “If it was for you, we would all end in some orc bitch’s cauldrons, while her boys use this gold to make necklaces.”

Still laughing, Karol bumped him on a shoulder. “You’re a good man, old friend,” he said. “Maybe that’s why he gave you all that gold. Like the old tales, remember? Like that one with the Old Man. Maybe he’s a god in disguise that wanted to reward you!”

Karl looked surprised, then serious like he was actually giving the possibility some thought.

Karol’s hilarity drained away. Now that he thought about it, he could almost believe it as well.

“Right!” Karol laughed raucously, breaking the spell. “Like if some God would come out the Mountain to give money to us! Ow, fuck! You asshole! That hurt!”

Karol smiled, feeling strangely relieved. Admittedly, the idea that some bigshot went around killing bandits and giving out money felt more reassuring than being it some God. Gods weren’t to be trifled with after all.

“Rest now,” he said. “The journey will be long, and we don’t nee you bitching all the way because you reopened something.”

In all answer, Karl gave him the middle finger.

Laughing, Karol jumped down the cart to care about the horses. Thankfully, the beasts were still there, just ready and waiting for them to start their journey once again.

As he went off, Karl laid on the stretcher with a deep sigh. The merchant turned thoughtful.

“A God, eh?”

Nah, it was preposterous. And still…

Despite all their bluster and laughing about, both him and Karol, as well as the rest of their comrades, had some thinking to do; if only to wrap their heads about the riches they had obtained. More questions about their mysterious benefactor would come in time. They would probably go unanswered, but they would come nonetheless.

Thankfully, the journey back home was long enough for all of that.

Karl smiled. Half was going to the temple of the Twins. The other half? He would decide in time. Still, there was that ring Mildred had been bitching about…

Who knew? Maybe he could make an exception to the old merchant rule of saving.

Gorren was deeply fascinated by how a culture could change across the centuries.

“The people of the east were considered such a barbaric people by Truvia. Highlanders clinging to their backward traditions, refusing to partake in magic that wasn’t connected to their old tribal customs and war-like Gods,” he thought, recollecting the times when he walked the hall of the Truvian Kings, hearing about the provinces that fell in and out of the High Kings’ power. “And now i met one of them with the nerve to reject their old customs, in the name of the law of property of everything. That same law that his ancestors called the whimper of weaklings.”

Ah, it was deeply amusing in its irony. The barbarian lords of ancient days would have balked at seeing one of their own play the merchant, or worse, reject the laws that the Twins had handed to them. To think that one day the chosen people of Gories and Atlanta would change to such a degree!

“And to think that the Turian sages foresaw that the barbarians’ society would crumble in less than a century. They thought sure that the barbarians would end up absorbed by their more civilized Kingdom, seduced by their riches or at worst annihilated and scattered when their war-like lifestyle brought them to clash with the Truvian armies.”

Gorren shook his head. Destiny had such a refined sense of humor.

“Amusing that i am given the chance to see culture change and shift. Truly, i don’t belong to any generation anymore. As my body has transcended death, so my existence transcend the centuries.”

Was it a curse or a blessing? Philosophically speaking, the question was complex and probably without a definite answer, just as it was deciding if the cultural shift of the barbarians was for good or for bad. Stages of civilizations had all their pros and cons after all.

Eventually, Gorren didn’t care; but he could appreciate the irony deep in it.

“Master, we are ready.”

The voice of Tur broke him out of his reverie.

“Good.”

It had been an interesting diversion but in the end only that, a diversion. Now, it was time to get back to real business.

His servants had set up a number of bonfires on a clearing beside the camp. There, the prisoners had been bound, spread-eagled, to stakes planted into the earth. They had been quite rowdy in the beginning but had fallen silent once the loudest of the bunch, a fop that was supposed to be a guide or something, had been impaled straight through by one of his Ur. The corpse was still in its bounds, the hulking blade jutting out of his chest.

Followed by a small group of Gremlins, Gorren walked before the row of prisoners, inspecting them with analytical calm. As he hoped, none had managed to escape the ambush. There wouldn’t be any warning for their camp for the moment. What it needed to be done could be done without a hurry, at least not too much.

“I offer you a choice,” he said at eyes wide with terror. “Tell me everything you know about your group and i will let you go free. Refuse and you will know pain.”

Terrified glances were exchanged, hands and feet shifted uneasily between bounds, whispers escaped through closed lips. Nobody talked.

Behind his mask, Gorren arched an eyebrow. Such loyalty by a band of cutthroats. Very surprising. Another proof that something more moved behind them if something like that was even needed anymore.

Oh well.

He nodded to a group of soldiers waiting by.

They grabbed the first of the row, a fat man that had been identified as some kind of officer. Grabbing hold of his bonds, they hauled the protesting man toward one of the bonfires. A guard took out his boots, revealing his naked feet.

Hands behind his back, Gorren walked over and watched him impassively. The man struggled fruitlessly against his bonds, terrified gaze moving from him to the fire close by.

“Well?” Gorren asked.

The bandit whimpered something and struggled harder. Gorren gestured.

His servants turned the man feet-first toward the fire. One grabbed him by the ankles and pushed his feet toward the flame.

The man squealed.

“Well?” Gorren repeated.

“Y-you can’t do this!” The fat man shrieked. “The Gods will curse you!”

“I care little about the Gods.”

Close by, Nama chuckled.

“Well?”

Still struggling, the fat man watched the flame then him, then the flame once again.

He started to talk.