In the center of Floreciente, there was once a tree. For as long as anyone could remember, the tree had been there. It was an enormous tree that was wide enough for four people to surround it and barely touch each other’s finger tips.

It was the pride of the town. There were tales of people being miraculously healed under the tree. It was considered a symbol of God’s blessing on Floreciente. Weddings, holidays, festivals, and jubilees were all celebrated around this giant tree.

Until Viscount Barrera took over Fresa March.

While it was true that the Viscount used the Marchioness as a scapegoat, not everyone believed him at first. Marquess Fresa was a terrible husband and a man of questionable morals when concerning interpersonal relationships, but he firmly controlled his lower nobles. The lower nobles, including Viscount Barrera, were thoroughly afraid of the Marquess. But when the Marquess fell ill the lower nobles took advantage of the situation. They behaved in progressively more outlandish ways and, once he died, they no longer pretended to be obedient.

There was a fierce power struggle between the lower nobles. Many were unwilling to submit to the viciousness of the Marquess right-hand man, Viscount Barrera, without a fight. They all hoped to replace him. Some to better the March, some to simply gain his power for themselves.

The strongest opponent to Viscount Barrera was Baron Escudo, a distant relative of the Fresa family. The Escudo family came from a long line of knights who served the Fresa family. Their family was occasionally “rewarded” with a marriage to a Fresa daughter, usually an extra that the Fresa family couldn’t rid themselves of for whatever reason.

Their military service and marital ties to an established higher noble family eventually earned the Escudos the noble title “Baron” from the King. Getting one's title from a King was different from getting it from a higher noble. While Barons were technically lower than Viscounts, being bequeathed the title directly from the King put Baron Escudo on the same level as Viscount Barrera, who got his title from the Marquess.

The Escudo family had always lived in Floreciente. They were one of the three founding families of the March. While Marquess Fresa favored Viscount Barrera for his cunning and ruthlessness, he depended heavily on Baron Escudo for his deep influence over the people. And unlike the Viscount, who was known for being cruel, Baron Escudo was known for his reasonableness and honesty. The Escudo family and the town they lived in flourished thanks to the favor of the Marquess and wisdom of their Baron.

When the Marquess’ health began to decline due to “old age”, the first person Viscount Barrera went after was Baron Escudo.

The Viscount killed many of the Baron’s supporters, most of whom lived in Floreciente. Using trumped up charges and “sudden disappearances”, the Viscount slowly chipped away at the Baron’s influence. After the Marquess died and an indifferent and apathetic Marchioness gained power, the Viscount was able to execute the Baron and his entire family on false charges of sedition against the Crown.

Barrera’s favorite method of execution had always been public hangings. When he finally took down the Escudo family, he followed his usual pattern but added to it: He hung them from the branches of their cherished town’s tree and left their corpses to rot for all of Floreciente to see. And then, after they were nothing but shrunken skeletons, he set the tree on fire.

The tree survived the first burning, but this method of hanging apparently appealed to the Viscount. The worst “criminals” were always hung from that tree and then had their corpses set aflame. It was said he’d watch the tree and corpses burn, and laugh.

The center of Floreciente, once a place of celebration and miracles, became a graveyard. After being continually burned, the old tree finally died. The charred corpses left underneath it’s bare, brittle branches gruesomely reminded the town’s people what kind of person the Viscount really was. They feared him more than the Marchioness, more than the King, more than God.

And then, to their horror, Viscount Barrera moved into Floreciente and made it his “hometown”. He had the Baron’s old home destroyed and built his house directly over it. He found the dead tree distasteful and ordered it cut down, the bones of the dead thrown out of the town. All that remained was a stump.

Despite having cut the tree down, the Viscount still favored that spot as an execution ground for his political enemies and kept using it for that purpose. Barrera had the tree stump sanded down and a raised planked wood gallows built around it.

For many years it wasn’t uncommon to see several dead bodies swaying in the breeze there.

The next generation grew up ignorant about what the Viscount had done. They only knew the history of their town through the filter of Barrera’s loud supporters. The Viscount’s people blamed every bad thing on the Marchioness, continually redirectly the growing discontent towards her. Thus the town of Floreciente became “loyal” to the Viscount in a single generation.

The adults of Floreciente who knew the truth didn’t dare say anything. Those who had been brave or foolish enough to tell the truth had long since been killed, leaving only the timid and cowardly behind. Some didn’t care who ruled and were only glad they survived the massacre. But most felt deeply guilty for surviving when so many of their family and friends had died.

Years passed this way and then rumors and whispers about a strange outlaw began circulating in the March. Those in Floreciente paid no attention to these rumors at first. They survived by keeping their heads down; doing and thinking whatever the Viscount told them. After all, how long could some petty outlaw survive in the face of someone like the Viscount?

But the outlaw survived.

Not only did he remain free and unfettered, he harassed the Viscount to the point where the usually calm fat man would go into fits of rage. The older generation saw this and were secretly pleased, frequently going to church to pray for the outlaw’s success.

Floreciente was the last stronghold of Viscount Barrera. His most loyal and ardent followers lived there. A whole generation of the town had grown up brainwashed by his men. They were recruited by the Viscount to deal with the outlaw and did so with fervent, almost religious passion.

At first.

However, the longer the young townsfolk were outside of Floreciente and had to follow the more questionable Viscount orders, the less confident they became in Barrera’s “wonderful leadership”. One of the strongest of the Floreciente youth was captured by the outlaw and spent several weeks in his “care”. Eventually he “escaped”, bringing back valuable information for the Viscount to be used against the outlaw.

His return was like the first domino to fall in a long line of dominos

On the surface he remained loyal to the Viscount, but slowly he began to recruit the Floreciente youths who were in doubt. The doubters found out that they were not alone and gained confidence. They, in turn, began sowing doubt in those who originally had none and recruiting them.

By the time Barrera kidnapped the Heir, half the youths were on the outlaw’s side. Some of them became spies who worked within the town and specifically within Barrera’s own house as servants. Because these youths sided with the outlaw, they unwittingly sided with the Marchioness and became her allies.

For those “in the know”, Felicia’s men were recognized followers of the outlaw, of Robin Hood, and they contacted the town's secretly rebelling youth. Through the youths, her men were given information on who needed to be silenced to get into town. The adults who still remembered their Baron, watched on without raising the alarm. Though they’d never officially taken sides, by simply saying nothing when the Viscount’s men were killed right in front of them, they showed who they truly followed.

Barrera’s strongest allies left within Floreciente were ruthlessly slaughtered and then had their bodies hung up in the center of the town, right over the old stump. The adults and elderly who’d lived in fear, guilt, and suppressed rage, all gathered at the center of town to gleefully watch the spectacle and ruthlessly heckle the dead.

They could finally express all the traitorous thoughts they’d buried deep in their hearts.

How many innocent people had been hung in this spot? They had all lost count! Finally, real criminals were being hung there! The Viscount, the devil of the March, was suffering in the same way they had suffered! God had not abandoned them in the end!

One of Robin Hood’s most recognizable followers within Floreciente stood in front of the bodies and cried out the news to the crowd: Viscount Barrera had kidnapped the Fresa Heir and tortured him in his basement. The killing today was done to save the Heir. The evidence for the Viscount’s heinous crimes could not be denied, there were many eye witnesses, including the one talking to them, and the basement itself was filled with the tools he’d used.

For this, the Marchioness herself had ordered the Viscount and his men to be put to death.

The crowd of young and old listened in astonishment. The Marchioness’ reputation was terrible, but the Fresa Heir’s reputation was decent. Other than having a horrible mother, no one spoke ill of him. Not the Viscount, not the Viscount’s enemies. Why had the Viscount suddenly turned on the Heir, who he’d even expressed some fondness for in the past, to the point of torture?

While the crowd was muttering to each other trying to figure this out, the half-naked Viscount was dragged to the gallows.

Initially Barrera was struggling against his captors, spewing all kinds of threats despite being gagged. But when he was brought to the gallows and saw who was hanging there, he quieted down. He looked out into the crowds and saw people he’d terrorized for so many years looking at him without any fear. Their eyes were like a pack of wolves looking at fresh meat.

For the first time in a long time, his soul shook and he realized he’d lost.

Behind him walked the Marchioness herself and with her were a shiny, bronze skinned young man and young woman. There weren’t many who had seen the Marchioness first hand in the crowd. They had only heard rumors of her. Considering how the Viscount rarely spoke the truth, they weren’t sure how much of what they heard was true or not. Though they were alarmed by her presence, they were not as scared of her as they were of the Viscount. And the Viscount was currently bound and gagged, a sorry figure who they were no longer afraid of.

Marchioness Fresa had shiny black hair and eyes, but pale white skin. She was wearing a gray and black dress with simple patterns. Her natural contrasting colors made all her features stand out. Her eyes in particular seemed sharp and unyielding, filled with intelligence and authority. Rather than arrogance, there was a grim calmness to her movements. She didn’t look at all like the rumors described.

Except for the whip she was holding.

The cat o’ nine tails’ metal tips gleamed wickedly as she walked up the gallow’s stairs.

With difficulty, her men had dragged Barrera up onto the gallows. He’d stopped struggling, but he also stopped walking. They had to manually lift him up. As he was extremely obese, it took several sturdy men to get him up.

Once he was in position, Felicia turned to the crowd.

She projected a strong, steady voice to them, “Good folk of Floreciente, before we begin today’s execution, I would have a word with you. When my husband was alive, he trusted Viscount Barrera and so I trusted him as well.

I was young when my husband died, foolish and ignorant. I didn’t know how to run a fief, I could barely command servants. I left everything to Barrera, thinking if my husband trusted him I should too. I didn’t know that my trust was misplaced.

I had a small child to raise and I was widowed, I didn’t have time to concern myself with affairs outside the Fresa Mansion. Vicious rumors spread about me without me knowing for many years. By the time I realized what was happening, the rumors were so out of control I had no way to stop them. The Viscount made no effort to stop these rumors on my behalf and even encouraged them. My reputation was in shambles and no one would listen to me.

Barrera was very sly. He used my son to keep control over me. He wanted Heir Fresa to hate me and only recommended cruel teachers that would break him and fill him with resentment. When I got rid of them, Barrera threatened the safety of my son.” The Marchioness’ voice trembled and her lips quivered, making her look extremely pitiful. The women in the crowd couldn’t help feeling sympathetic while the men looked thoughtful.

Barrera was infuriated listening to such obvious lies. Despite his shock at having lost, he tried to struggle again, to scream out the truth: don’t be deceived, this woman is a chronic liar!

Alas, he’d been thoroughly gagged. All that came out was muffled grunts and drool.

She continued, “Not only did Barrera want my son to hate me, he also wanted Heir Fresa to grow up stupid and foolish. That way, when my son inherited his title, he would ignore me, his own mother, and only listen to Barrera. Perhaps, in the end, he had planned to get rid of me. Just as he had all the others who got in his way.”

The crowd, especially the adults, knew the Viscount’s methods very well. This was exactly in line with how he would work. If they had any doubts about the Marchioness, they were wiped clean in that moment.

“Secretly I raised my son well. Even if there was no hope for anyone trusting me, I could at least teach my son to be wise and clever. That way, he wouldn’t be like me and trust the wrong people. When he inherited his title, he could dispose of Barrera and not only myself, everyone would be free of that villain. But—” She faltered and tears welled up in her eyes. “—my son is still young. When he went to the Sunage Games, he wanted to prove himself. That silly boy decided to show off. Of course Barrera heard about it! He found out and— and—” The tears were streaming down her face at this point. “—he kidnapped him, tortured him… planned to… to make him mute and crippled—”

When the crowd heard this they finally understood why the Viscount had gone after the Heir: the Viscount never cared about the Heir personally and had only intended on treating him like a tool. When that hadn’t worked out, he’d intended on ruining the young Heir until he was no better than a puppet.

“—when I discovered what Barrera had done, I could no longer wait. Lord Curtidor is my son’s teacher, a good honest teacher, he helped gather men to save my son.” She took out a handkerchief and wiped her tears, “I will be forever grateful to those involved in this rescue mission. They have saved my son’s life and in the process helped capture a vile man who had tormented so many of us.”

She repeated, “I will be forever grateful.” and shed a few more tears.

Her appearance was very tragic, like a delicate lady who’d been put into an impossible situation. The crowd already hated the Viscount, but now they felt genuine compassion for the Marchioness.

It turned out the Viscount had not only hurt them, but he’d also deceived and tormented their Lady! No wonder everything was so awful!

Some who understood the wider picture noted her comment about Lord Curtidor. It seemed Robin Hood had people planted in the Mansion too. If the Marchioness was as grateful as she said, didn’t that mean she’d support Robin Hood in the end?

“Today I stand before you, the good citizens of Floreciente, and ask for your forgiveness.” She pinched the side of her skirt and, lifting them, bowed deeply to the crowd. “I will make no excuses. I have been negligent in my duties for many years and you have suffered because of it. My people, I have failed you again and again. But today, will you give me a chance to make it right?”

For a noble to bow to someone was to show submission and respect. High nobles only bowed to Dukes and the Royal family. If it was surprising for a high noble to bow to a lower or lesser noble, it was absolutely shocking to see one bow to a crowd of commoners.

For a moment their minds went blank in disbelief.

After so many years of being trampled on, someone in power bowed their heads and admitted to their mistakes. A high noble was treating them with respect, as if they had value. They couldn’t remember the last time a powerful person cared enough to listen to what they had to say.

A roar rose from the crowd, young and old alike crying out, “Justice! Justice for Floreciente! For Fresa! For the Heir and Marchioness!”

“Kill the Viscount!”

“Hang him!”

“Make it right!”

“Justice for my son!”

“Justice for my wife!”

Barrera listened to the crowd as they swallowed every lie spewed by the Marchioness and was so angry he felt suffocated. These stupid commoners were being used by this witch and they didn’t even realize it! He was going to die as a villain while his accomplice lived on as a saint! The injustice of it made him dizzy.

Felicia listened to the cries of the crowd and inwardly smiled while keeping her head down. DARS was bobbing in the air, as if uncertain of where he wanted to float.

After observing the crowd’s reaction, DARS hesitated and said encouragingly, [Well done. You have repaired Calle’s reputation while destroying Barrera’s reputation in his own stronghold. Now they won’t begrudge Calle for remaining silent all these years nor count any of the rumors as true. People will even consider your host a victim “just like them”. They won’t count Barrera’s death at your hands as you getting revenge for your son, but as you standing up for them.]

‘That fat monkey dared touch my son.’ Felicia's outward behavior didn’t match what she was feeling inside. She was seething with rage, ‘If I didn’t tear him down and humiliate him before killing him, how could I sleep later? Dying isn’t enough! I won’t be satisfied if he dies quickly! I’ll make him pay, DARS, I’ll make him pay…’

A ‘!’ appeared on DARS’ face and he hastily floated a little higher and away from her. [User, don’t be overcome by the host’s emotions. It is enough to get revenge through the host’s legal power. Going further will cause problems later. Don’t you have enough problems to deal with, like Querido’s hand?]

Felicia paused internally, her heart aching at the thought of Rido’s crushed hand. She took a deep steadying breath and forced herself, her host, to calm down. All the wicked, vicious things she’d thought of doing were put aside.

‘You’re right DARS. My son needs me now. I don’t have time to waste on this fat frick.’

***

The execution of Viscount Barrera was the first of its kind in Salvias.

The crowd called out every crime the disposed Viscount committed and, for each crime, he was whipped with a cat o’ nine tails. This process lasted well over an hour. His back was shredded to the bone and he passed out from pain and blood loss long before he died. After he’d been whipped, he was stripped of his last bit of clothing and hung. The gallows groaned under his weight, almost breaking.

Despite being whipped and hung, the crowd still wasn’t content. They found rocks and stoned his swinging body.

At the end of the day, his body was taken down by the townspeople and carted outside of Floreciente to an empty spot. Hay and wood were thrown on his body and the cart was set afire.

Many of the oldest in town, those who had seen so many die, stayed to watch his corpse burn. They would throw more wood on his corpse to make sure it was thoroughly burned to a crisp.

At least one elderly person was heard saying, “Now I can die in peace.”

***

“He’s got several deep wounds, going through muscle and to the bone, that I will sew shut. There shouldn’t be any issue with those healing as long as they are kept clean. He will have some impressive scarring though. As for the hand…” A middle aged gentleman sighed heavily. “That is beyond saving.”

“You can not fix it?”

“I’m sorry Marchioness.”

Felicia was standing just outside the room Rido was sleeping in, talking to Doctor Pastilla. Valor and Tierno were with her, while Fijo was off completing orders she’d given him earlier.

Pastilla was one of two influential doctors she’d been able to bring to “her side” of the medicine debate. Not only did he believe her germ theory, he enthusiastically followed everything else she’d taught him.

While the young doctor connected to the Blackfire Company was a travelling physician who dealt with general illnesses that were treated with medicine and diet, Pastilla was a “barber surgeon”, someone who could cut bone as well as hair. He was passionate and forward-thinking about anything related to surgery. Unlike other physicians who stuck with the traditional practices, he was willing to take risks and had already been pushing the boundaries of his field of medicine before Felicia found him.

Other than germ theory, Felicia didn’t consider herself introducing anything truly new to Pastilla. It was more accurate to say she clarified and explained things he was vaguely aware of but had no way to articulate or prove. If she had left him alone, he might have figured some things out all on his own. Felicia’s interference had simply pushed his research ahead by 20 or so years, and in the process saved a lot of people’s lives.

Pastilla and Felicia never met in person. Pastilla didn’t know her gender, age, or anything else. They had been introduced to each other by a mutual acquaintance, only contacting through letters. Pastilla had tried to meet his mysterious penpal many times but failed, eventually giving up all together. The only things he knew about his penpal was that they had a passion for medicine, excellent penmanship, and they were likely extremely wealthy and well-connected based on the resources he often got from them.

Pastilla lived in Marron County, near the border of Fresa March and a few hours' ride to Fresa Mansion. He would perform his surgeries in the closest thing to a truly sterile environment available during this time period. This was why Felicia had him brought to her, regardless of whether he was willing.

At no point did Pastilla make the connection that the Noblewoman standing before him was also his “surgeon penpal”. He was only surprised to discover his reputation had reached a point where neighboring nobles knew about him and would call him—more like haul him away— in to treat their children.

While he wasn’t interested in fame or money, his reputation increasing was a good thing for medicine. The better one’s reputation, the more people could be brought to him. The more people brought to him, the more he could save. The more people he saved, the more likely other surgeons were to adopt his practices. They, in turn, would treat more people. A good reputation would save lives!

It was just unfortunate that he had no good news to give when treating his first noble. It didn’t help he’d heard some really disturbing things about the Marchioness. He was nervous about how she’d react.

Felicia, for her part, had known from the beginning the news wouldn’t be good. She was mentally prepared. However, she had to pretend to be bitterly disappointed. So her face crumpled in sorrow, eyes pricking with tears, and her shoulders noticeably drooped.

“If the hand, if it can not be fixed… what should…” Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. “What do you recommend?”

Seeing the notorious Marchioness look so heartbroken but not lashing out, Pastilla’s initial nervousness settled down.

He gave her a sympathetic look as he said, “The bones aren’t broken cleanly, but crushed and splintered. If left like this, the amount of pain he will suffer will be enormous. Marchioness, it is my professional opinion that his hand should be amputated.”

Felicia covered her mouth and stumbled backward. Valor and Tie caught her before she fell, their faces grim at the news.

Someone got a chair for Felicia to sit on, which she promptly used. Her handkerchief came out and she pressed it against her eyes, as if to soak up her tears. Tie stroked her back comfortingly. For several seconds no one talked.

Finally, Felicia looked backed up, her eyes red and wobbled out a “When should it be done?”

“It's better to do it now rather than wait. While the pain of amputation is great, it will be for only a short time.” He paused. “Compared to a mangled hand that can’t heal properly, it will be nothing.”

She closed her eyes for a moment before opening them and nodded.

Pastilla gave a secret sigh of relief.

Many people fought amputation when it didn’t involve an immediate threat to their lives. This made a lot of sense, considering that getting an amputation in the past was as likely to kill you as the injury. Better to endure the pain and suffering of a mangled limb than be dead, after all.

But the success rate was much higher now. It was to the point that removing the injured limb was healthier than living with it untreated. People who lived with severely maimed limbs often suffered other complications, dying of sudden sickness or infection instead. This was no worse than how a person died from an amputation. In which case, it was better to get amputated.

“I will go get my instruments.” Pastilla said and turned to go, only to feel someone grab his arm. He was surprised when he saw it was the Marchioness.

“You must let me be in the room with you.”

He frowned, “I don’t recommen—”

“I will be there.”

“Marchioness, removing a limb is gruesome business.”

“I watched someone get whipped into fainting and then hung to death.” She stated flatly, “I think I can endure it.”

“But you didn’t love that person.” Pastilla explained gently, aware of who had been killed and why. “Especially as a mother, to watch one’s own child—”

“It is because I am his mother that I will be there.” The sorrow on Felicia’s face this time wasn’t fake. “He has suffered enough without me. I will at least be there for him for this.”

“Marchioness it is my policy to never allow family members in the room when amputating. Even if you ordered me, I wouldn’t allow it.”

Felicia stared at him blankly for a moment and then gave a short laugh.

“Would you let a professional in the room?”

Pastilla looked at her in confusion.

“What?”

Felicia leaned back in her seat. She looked at him with an eerily calm expression.

“Pastilla, last time I wrote you I’d sent a new recipe for a painkiller. You said you’d test it first and get back to me on how well it worked. So...”

Pastilla froze in shock.

She smiled slightly, “Did you ever test it?”

***

Amputation in Ye Olden Times had originally been a risky business.

Until recently, most people who had their limbs removed died. This wasn’t surprising considering that things like the tourniquets and painkillers were rare or non-existent. It was common for doctors to place what was left of the limbs into boiling hot oil to cauterize the wound. No one bothered sewing the limb closed, just wrapping it with bandages. Over 80% of those who got amputated lost their life due to infections, blood loss and/or the pain causing the body to go into shock.

By the time Felicia came along, the printing press was already in existence. Much like in her original world, the printing press revolutionized medicine. Old knowledge that had been forgotten was mass printed and new discoveries spread further and faster than ever before. Amputation deaths were significantly reduced thanks to the new way of spreading information.

Unfortunately, over half of people who got a limb amputated still died.

People during this time didn’t understand that blood loss killed people—even going so far as to drain blood from an ill patient—or the critical role the heart and arteries played in circulating blood. Germ theory was a foreign concept. The available painkillers were downright dangerous and others no better than placebo pills.

This is where Felicia’s knowledge and self-study in her previous lives came in handy. Though she never managed to become a Physician Assistant in her first or second life, she’d always kept her interest in medicine. Of course, casual interest and first aid training wasn’t as good as getting a medical degree when it came to healing people, but it was better than nothing. And that’s more or less what she was working with in this world: nothing.

Pastilla had spent the last 5 years unknowingly putting her self-study knowledge into practical use. Thanks to her, he firmly believed in germs, spending a lot of effort to make sure the room, his tools, and even himself, were always immaculately clean before cutting into a person. He wholeheartedly embraced tourniquets and poultices to reduce bleeding and promote healing. Sewing the arteries and the wound shut were standard practice. And he did it all very, very quickly.

If there was any area he was struggling with, it was painkillers. Opium, or a form of it, existed in this world and was commonly used for pain relief. But like opium in Felicia’s world, it was highly addictive. Felicia argued the addictiveness meant that the opium-like drug should only be used for extreme pain and for a very short period of time. Other methods of pain relief needed to be found when dealing with long term pain management. The current discussion between Pastilla and Felicia had been about different “recipes” for painkillers, topical and oral.

A noblewoman like Felicia shouldn’t have known about Pastilla’s current research on painkillers, or much of anything concerning cutting edge medicine. Not only did she know what he’d been researching, she recounted the exact recipe his penpal sent him two weeks ago. She casually mentioned key points to the “pain debate” that he hadn’t discussed with anyone. Irrefutable proof she was exactly who she claimed to be.

He spent exactly 20 seconds being shocked stupid and then came back to himself.

After patting his head and tugging on his short beard several times, he simply accepted it.

He’d always thought the insight of his penpal was extraordinary, to the level of being divinely gifted. Years ago he’d decided to accept whoever his penpal was if he got the chance to meet him. His penpal had been integral in his ability to save too many people for him to be picky about his origins. Though he’d never expected that person to be a woman, much less of noble birth, he wouldn’t let that get in the way of anything.

“If you’re… that person…” He asked after recovering from shock, “Why not amputate the Heir yourself?”

Felicia gave him a wry smile and confessed, “I work more in theory, not application. Frankly, you’ve got more practical experience in amputation than I do. If I did it, I’m afraid my son would bleed to death before I finished.”

He gaped at her. “You mean all that knowledge… you never… you never practiced any of it yourself?”

She tilted her head and raised an eyebrow.

“Exactly when would I have the chance to saw a person’s limb off?”

“...ah.” He nodded dumbly.

She was right. Exactly when would a noblewoman have such an opportunity? It’s not like they went into wars or hung around places where limbs needed removing. And wouldn’t a noble sawing people’s limbs off without having been properly taught be…. Disturbing?

But then, how did she know so much…?

She must have guessed what he was thinking. She said with a sigh, “We can talk more about what I know and how I know it later. Right now I would like to focus on the Heir.”

“Er, right. Right… Since you’re that person, well… uh… well….” He tugged on his beard one more time and then shrugged. “Alright, I will let you in. But as you say, you work in theory. You can’t help with the amputation.”

She nodded in agreement. “I won’t get in your way.”

He sighed and then looked at her oddly.

“Did you know I would need to amputate?”

“I had hoped not.” Felicia gripped her hands together and looked at him mournfully, “Sincerely, I had hoped not. You are the best surgeon I know. If his hand could be saved, you would be able to do it. That’s why I requested you bring all your equipment, to give you more options.”

Pastilla couldn’t help being touched by her confidence. Even if she worked in theory, she was a genius and far above him in terms of raw knowledge and deductive thinking.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t live up to your expectations, Marchioness.”

“No need for apologies.” She gave a light chuckle. “We all have our limits. It is enough that my son’s amputation will be in your capable hands.”

***

The room used for the surgery had everything removed out of it but a simple wood bed. From ceiling to floor, everything was wiped down with diluted white vinegar. Pastilla had pre-sterilized surgery clothing and utensils stored in special bags that prevented them from getting contaminated.

Rido had already been given a strong dose of opium-based medication to knock him out. This was to reduce his suffering from his mangled hand. Even if it was dangerous due to it’s addictive qualities, this kind of medication was exceptionally good at inducing sleep.

He didn’t even mutter at having all his clothes but his underpants removed or being wiped down with cold diluted white vinegar. He also was completely unaware of being tied down so that he couldn’t move an inch.

Despite being heavily medicated, Pastilla took no chances. A sudden, unexpected movement from someone while their limb was being removed could be disastrous. He made sure a person was not only unconscious but unable to even twitch when the time came for removal.

Felicia sat on Rido’s left side, holding his uninjured hand. She blamed herself for his injury. Since she couldn’t stop his torture, she would be there with him through this painful procedure. This was the least she could do.

Pastilla removed the limb just under the elbow. While he could have left more of the arm, part of how he succeeded in this dangerous surgery was by keeping it fast and simple. Removing limbs at a certain point over and over again meant there were no surprises or complications. A person’s life was far more important to him than them having a few more inches of arm or leg.

He did the entire thing, including sewing the artery and newly made stub shut, in less than 15 minutes. He then wiped everything down with white vinegar and sterilized water and wrapped the arm in a poultice covered bandage.

Even while in a drug induced stupor, Rido’s body seemed aware something terrible was happening to it. When Pastilla began sawing the arm off, the young man began groaning. The further along he went the louder the groans got, until they were just short of a scream. Rido’s body tensed, noticeably twitching and sweating profusely. But the drug was preventing him from waking up and his eyes never opened, making everything only a horrible nightmare to him.

Felicia couldn’t do anything other than hold his left hand and murmur words of comfort. She would never forget the sound of a person’s arm being sawed off or Rido’s groans of sleep-muddled agony. It would haunt her in her dreams until she left the timeline.

***

While all this was going on, Felicia hadn’t let her people remain idle.

Barrera being dead was like cutting the head off the biggest, most poisonous snake. There were still “baby snakes” that needed exterminating.

***

“Call all our fighting men from the surrounding towns.”

“...all of them?”

“All of them.”

Tercero Parar, otherwise known as “Robin Hood”, held a small stack of papers he’d received from Squire Fijo 15 minutes ago. It took him less than 2 minutes to actually read what was on the papers, but an extra 13 minutes to work through his shock.

Barrera, that murderous bastard, was dead. And not by the hand of the Marchioness alone, but with the help of the town, Floreciente. That those cowards in Floreciente actually participated in Barrera’s execution was what shocked him.

The younger generation he forgave because they’d been brainwashed and didn’t know any better. But his view of the older generation was not so forgiving. They were what was left of his father’s generation, those who had either turned on him or simply stood by and watched as his family was slaughtered.

His surname now was Parar, but originally it had been Escudo. He was the youngest son of Baron Escudo. When the Viscount had come for his family, he’d been outside with his Nanny. They had run away together, into a nearby forest.

Of course the Viscount’s men had given chase. But his Nanny proved to be a woman with an interesting past. Not only did she outsmart her chasers, she had the bright—if disturbing—idea of digging up two fresh graves of a boy and a woman around their shape and size. She put her and Tercero’s clothes on them and threw them into a pit.

The people trying to find them weren’t the smartest individuals and, when they found the decaying bodies, assumed based on the clothes that it was Tercero and his Nanny. They gave up their hunt and reported to the Viscount that two had died. The pursuers didn’t even bother burying “their” bodies, just leaving them in the pit to continue rotting.

From then on Tercero took on his Nanny’s maternal surname, Parar, and they lived as brother and sister. All the strange skills his Nanny knew, he learned too. He grew up living like a commoner but he never forgot his origins.

Or his hatred.

He wanted revenge.

But it wasn’t easy to get near to the Viscount. The man seemed aware that he was hated and was extremely careful when he travelled or where he stayed, even what he ate. Tercero couldn’t afford to be reckless either. Failing once would mean the end of him.

Him becoming a knight had not initially been in his plans. But he’d met Claro Curtidor, then a squire, and had been impressed by him and his Master. The Escudo family had a long history of knights and it wouldn’t hurt him to learn more ways to kill a person. Putting aside his hatred for a little while, he pursued knighthood.

Living as a squire, becoming a 3rd class knight, working his way up to a 2nd Class knight with Claro, was how he spent most of his youth. Claro was his friend and comrade in arms. He looked back on those times fondly. They were simple and good.

But those days didn’t last. They couldn’t last. Not with the burning fire of revenge in his heart.

As a 2nd Class knight he had a much higher chance of meeting the Viscount with his guard down. And when that chance came, he didn’t hesitate to try and kill him.

But he failed!

Even if his assassination attempt hadn’t worked, that didn’t mean he wanted to die. He had every intention of running away to take a stab at the Viscount again some other day.

To have one of Fresa’s knights try to take the life of the Viscount... naturally the other knights wouldn’t tolerate it. He was hunted by those he once called comrades in arms. Knights were highly trained and much more intelligent than the Viscount’s goons. Getting hunted by them was no laughing matter and, frankly speaking, he should have died.

But Claro saved him. And lost his leg in the process. Claro lied and told everyone he’d lost his leg in a fight with Tercero, who had drowned in the river. The river that went out into sea, where bodies were eaten by fish and never found again.

Once again Tercero was “dead” to the Viscount.

Though Claro was a strong witness and his testimony was sound, he’d even lost a limb getting rid of the traitor, the Viscount was still suspicious. He was “retired” from being a knight without being given any compensation. Tercero couldn’t help him because the Viscount’s men were always watching. Claro slowly sank into poverty. A once proud and noble person reduced to begging.

The fire in Tercero’s heart suddenly had a bucket of cold, watery guilt dropped on it.

Was his revenge worth destroying a friend’s life over?

He didn’t know.

Over a year passed and suddenly Claro contacted him out of the blue. While Tercero was busy wandering the countryside, Claro had been taken in by the Marchioness. He was given a second chance at life. And for some reason, despite having every reason to be angry and bitter, Claro had turned around and given Tercero the same opportunity.

Not only could Tercero get revenge like he’d always wanted, he could do so with honor and pride. This time, he would take things slowly and wouldn’t fail. For ten years he’d been whittling away at the Viscount, just as the Viscount had done to the Escudo family so long ago.

Who would have thought the Marchioness herself would have stepped in and gotten rid of him in the end?

Tercero initially felt dissatisfied at the news. He’d wanted to personally kill the Viscount. But when he thought about it, having Barrera die at the hands of those he trusted and looked down on was also good. For a man filled with so much venom and pride, he must have been humiliated before he died. And that filled Tercero with glee. It was just a shame he couldn’t have seen it happen...

The Viscount was dead, and so were many of his supporters. But not all of them had died. The Viscount didn’t keep all his men in one place. For instance, the strongest and most ruthless had been sent to River Port. There were others scattered throughout the March as well.

All needed to be dealt with, and swiftly, before they could stir up trouble.

Tercero ran his fingers across the last paper he’d read. It was an official document, stating he’d been knighted and given the noble title Baronet, Commander of the new chivalry order: Knights of Greenwood. He could knight any of his men and bring them into the order on the Marchioness’ behalf. As knights, they could appoint officers and lieutenants. From there, they could conscript an army from amongst the commoners to fight “those who had aligned themselves with the rebel and traitor Barrera, formly a Fresa Viscount”.

There was a blank page, where the new knight’s names could be listed down. There was already the Fresa herald stamp and the Marchioness signature on the bottom. At the top, she had already written his name: Baronet Tercero Para Escudo.

He laughed with tears in his eyes when he read it.

When he’d initially agreed to working with her, he’d done it for Claro’s sake and because it was inline with what he wanted to do to begin with. Frankly, he didn’t think much of the Marchioness. Even all these years later, he still wasn’t entirely sure about her. They never met except for that once when he “robbed” her. As for communication, that was also kept to a minimum. The person he heard from most often was Claro, not the Marchioness. Despite their ultimate goals being the same, they lived totally separate lives.

He’d always wondered if she would really stand by her promise to clear his name. It was common for nobles to use people and then throw them away afterward. That was why he demanded some kind of proof they were working together. If things went poorly or she tried to disassociate herself with him later, he could use the items she’d given to tear her down.

Now that he had all these official documents, he felt a little ashamed for doubting her all this time. She had dealt honestly with him from the beginning. Even with this “reward” it was showing she trusted him explicitly, enough to let him knight whoever he wanted and carry out her orders however he liked.

His original intention had been to get his vengeance against the Viscount, but now he felt... he’d found a noble worth serving.

***

Rido felt like he was in an endless nightmare.

First he was being beaten by the Governess and then the unnamed torturer was added, slicing into his skin. As if this wasn’t bad enough, eventually Viscount Barrera joined them. The three continually tormented him, pain stabbing into every part of his body, dying the world in shades of black and red.

“My son, my son, I am here. Don’t be afraid, I am here.”

Someone was repeating the same gentle words into his ear, over and over again. Through the suffocating agony, his mind vaguely connected the voice to a face, and the face to a person, and the person to an event.

Mama.

That’s right.

Mama would save him. She would never let any of those people hurt him like that.

The nightmare changed, melting away like snow in the sun.

He was a child again and his Mama was there, hugging him and whispering kind words into his ear. She was soft and warm and smelled of flowers.

Then he was a little older. Lord Curtidor was training him with a wooden sword. He saw an opening and, for the first time, he was able to land a hit on the retired knight. Lord Curtidor looked surprised and then admiring.

He’d turned ten and was in Marron County during his Jubilee. The Marron family and the townspeople were laughing and smiling, giving him gifts. Montana was complaining that he got more than she did. Rather than feeling sorry for her, he felt proud.

He was in the school room with Valor, Fijo, and Tie. Everything smells of papers and ink. It’s spring and the birds are chirping outside, a shaft of warm sunlight is casting a glow on the room. The world was calm and quiet and beautiful.

Again he’d aged, Valor was racing him on Tempest and he was on Glorious. The green field was spread out before them, seemingly vast and unending. They shouted insults at each other good-naturedly, and he won by more than a horse length.

He won?

That wasn’t right.

He’d never won a horse race against Valor. What’s more, since when had his Mama ever said a nice word to him in his life? Lord Curtidor had been proud but never admired him. And there was no way he’d get more gifts than Montana in Marron County. No matter how much they liked him, County folk always favored their own nobility.

Perhaps the only realistic point in any of the scenarios was the school room. And even that lacked some key points. Where was the aching fingers and stiff joints, the snoring Fijo, cheating Tie, and know-it-all Valor?

The discrepancies broke the sweetness of the dreams, leaving him feeling strangely hollow.

With the interruption came a throbbing pain he couldn’t ignore.

Slowly, ever so slowly, his mind began to crawl out of the world of dreams and back into reality.

He blinked several times, trying to force his eyes open. They were dry and blurry.

Once they finally opened properly, he realized there was a strange object in front of him. It was round and white and glowed in a odd way around the edges he couldn’t quite understand.

“...moon?” He mumbled in confusion.

The ‘moon’ jumped in the air. It zoomed around, as if flustered, and then abruptly calmed down.

[What am I worried about? Of course he can’t see me, hehe… eh?] The moon noticed his blatant staring and asked nervously, [You can’t see me, can you?]

The moon and Rido stared at each other blankly for a moment.

“...it talks…”

Strange symbols shown on the moon’s face.

[!!!!!]

[Why can you see me?!] The Moon wailed and suddenly came very close to his face. A light flashed in Rido’s eyes without warning. [Debug Program Initiated, Scanning Target…]

Rido squinted at the sudden light, but was otherwise unperturbed. Putting aside the throbbing pain, he felt no mental distress at seeing a talking moon. Rather, he thought it was amazing and wondered how a moon could talk.

His Mother said the sun, moon, and stars were in an airless void. Talking required air… it also required a mouth. The moon had no mouth, making its ability to talk even more astonishing.

“Wow… a talking moon…”

“Rido?”

A familiar face blocked out the moon.

“Valor?”

Valor’s worried expression softened. Rido had a distinctly doopy expression, indicating the drug’s effects hadn’t worn off completely.

“That’s right, it’s me Valor.”

Rido pointed to the floating orb.

“Moon.”

Valor obediently looked where Rido was pointing.

Obviously there was nothing there. Especially not the moon.

[Hey you, don’t point at me!] The Moon scolded worriedly. [Scanning Complete... Huh? What do you mean no bug found?! How is there no bug! This is obviously a bug!]

“Heh. The moon… it talks.”

Valor raised his eyebrows and then nodded knowingly. He remembered the medication could cause hallucinations. Rearranging his expression, he put on a tolerant smile and pretended he was talking to a small child.

“Rido… it’s in the middle of the day. How can there be a moon?”

[No… wait… maybe he doesn’t consider it a bug, but a “feature”. Let’s look at the manual. Accessing User Manual...] The moon had several straight lines, “|||||”, on its round face.

[...I can’t believe I have to read through the manual, does he think I have the time for this kind of nonsense…]

[Where’s the features section… ah, here it is…]

[5 Million? Hah... hahahahaha! Who does he think he’s kidding?]

[Let's search instead— what the— no search function? You mean I’ve got to go through it one by one?!]

Rido’s eyebrows pressed together and lifted as he watched the enraged moon orbit in a tight circle while somehow also hopping midair.

“...is… is that right….???”

“That’s right, it’s definitely not the moon.”

The orb that was not-the-moon suddenly stopped.

[Calm down, calm down. As long as Fee doesn’t know, it’s fine.] It paused, apparently not convinced with it’s own assurances. [Let’s just cover our bases… mmhmm, just to be safe...]

The orb flew very close to Rido, until its round smooth face was only an inch or two away from his.

[Hey you. Don’t you dare breathe a word of this to anyone…. Uh, anyone else I mean... If anyone else asks about it later, you just act stupid, alright? Think of this whole thing as a drug induced delusion.]

“...why?”

The moon gave a bone weary sigh. [Why? Yes, I too would like to know why. Why is my life difficult? I’m not asking for much. Just for bugs to be reported as bugs and features be real features! How about having a basic search function in the manual? Ah, I could go on and on about the injustices I face...]

Valor, who couldn’t hear half the conversation, assumed he’d been asked why the hallucination wasn’t the moon. The bronze man opened his mouth to explain the moon’s orbit and placement, and then realized this was an exercise in futility. Astronomy facts were not likely going to work on Rido at the moment.

After hesitating, he picked the answer that he thought might be the simplest and easiest to understand:

“It’s too big to fit into the room.”

Meanwhile Rido felt a swell of sympathy for the orb. It seemed the-not-moon was having a hard time. Why it was having a hard time, he didn't understand. But having gone through many-a hard times himself, he could sympathize with the emotion.

“Okay.”

[Excellent!] The orb seemed pleased. [Since you’re cooperating with me, I’ll do you a favor.]

Before Rido could ask what kind of favor, the-not-moon came close again. This time, its smooth white body touched his forehead.

Something like an electrical current seemed to pass between him and the orb. Daja vu overwhelmed him and the sense that he was forgetting something important swelled up from deep inside him.

The moment before he was about to remember that “forgotten something”, the-not-Moon spoke in a voice that reverberated into the depths of his soul:

[Sleep.]

Instantly Rido fell asleep. Unlike before, it was a deep dreamless sleep.

Valor saw the young Heir had fallen asleep again and sighed with relief. At least for a little while longer, Rido would be ignorant of his injuries.

DARS, the moon shaped orb, also sighed. But for a very different reason.

[...I better not get in trouble for this later. If not for his lazy coding, would I have to resort to these kinds of measures? I’m keeping this whole operation together and what do I get in return? Complaints from above, below, AND sideways! Really! I’m the victim here!]

***

The next time Rido woke up, he was fully in charge of his mind. He had no recollection of waking up the first time.

The moment he understood where he was, he felt relieved. He was in his room, at home. This meant he was safe.

The second thing he felt was a throbbing pain in his right arm, followed by a strange numbness where his hand should be. He looked at his arm to see what was wrong and was greeted with a stump.

His mind blanked at the sight. For a long time he was too shocked to react and simply stared at his stump stupidly.

Finally, the reality of his situation fully sunk in. He curled up in a tight ball, holding what was left of his arm to his chest, and trembled violently. His eyes were closed and his mouth opened, but what should have come out as an anguished scream came out as a pitiful whimper.

“Rido, are you awake? Is the moon still talking to you?”

Rido’s whole body stiffened in astonishment. There was the sound of someone moving nearby and a familiar hand touched his forehead.

“Good, no fever. It appears you’re truly on the mend.”

Rido’s eyes slowly opened.

“Valor?” He choked out in disbelief.

“Yes?”

Valor was standing next to the bed, whole and well. From his movements and posture, he looked entirely unharmed. Just like usual. It was as if he’d never been shot!

Rido’s body trembled even more violently from the surge of intense emotions.

How could Valor still be alive? He had seen him shot with his own two eyes! He reached out to touch Valor where there should be a wound, only to realize a second later that his arm was cut off and he could feel nothing. The overwhelming astonishment briefly distracted him from his grief.

Using his left hand, he felt where the injury ought to be. Even if it didn’t kill him, there should be some kind of wound. And it would take time for it to heal, putting Valor in a lot of pain. But even touching that area did nothing.

Valor chuckled slightly, “I’m really alright.”

He took Rido’s reaching hand and gave it an affectionate pat. Rido stared at Valor, open mouthed and amazed.

“You’re…. You’re alive. How can you… how can it be? I saw it... I saw the arrow pierce your heart.”

“It’s true I was hit and close to dying.”

“Then how..?”

Valor furrowed his brow and looked away for a moment. Finally he slightly shook himself, straightened his spine, and gave a wide smile at Rido.

“It was a miracle.”

“M….miracle?”

“Mhm. I am completely healed. There’s not even a wound now. I am so thoroughly well that if you told anyone I had been shot in the heart, they would not believe you.” Valor raised an eyebrow. “I have no idea how it was done. Your Mother and Fijo found me lying in the field near the edges of the estate. By then, I was healed and only had bloody clothes to show something had been amiss.”

For a moment, Rido sat in stunned speechlessness. If he hadn’t seen the original injury and now seen Valor healthy, he would have thought Valor was lying through his teeth. But how else could it be explained? If Valor himself didn’t know how it could be done, then all that was left was a miracle...

“...you are really well?” He asked, still hesitant to accept it.

“Let me prove it.” Valor took off his vest and lifted his shirt, showing his shiny bronze chest. There was nothing but smooth skin.

Tears began to flow silently down Rido’s face. He clutched his chest, whispering over and over again: “Thank God, thank God…”

Seeing Rido crying earnestly over him, Valor felt a prickling of guilt for lying and sighed.

He mumbled in his native language softly enough Rido could not hear him: “I am not worthy of your tears.”

The Marchioness had given up her chance to cure his hand to save Valor’s life. He didn’t understand why she could heal his life-threatening wound but not Rido’s arm, but he knew it was so. It also seemed she was aware of the sacrifice she was making, even while she did it.

He was still surprised that she’d done such a thing for him.

It’s true she treated him and his siblings extremely well. They were educated in the same way as the Heir and given sincere affection from her. Well, as much as such a harsh-tongued woman could be affectionate.

His siblings treated the Marchioness as a parental figure in return for her care. Their true family, far away from Salvias, had long since been forgotten by them. There were only vague images left of that time and their mother-tongue, which Valor insisted they practice despite having “no use” for it here.

Valor was older when they lost their parents and remembered his homeland more clearly than his siblings. No matter what the Marchioness did, she could never replace his deceased parents. And his hope had been someday to send his brother back to their motherland to find their extended family and reconnect with them. Even if he stayed here, it was not his real "home".

Besides that, he’d always been suspicious of the Marchioness’ behavior. Knowing things she shouldn’t know and all that. Though of course that didn’t bother him now.

There was also a third factor to why he’d been unwilling to view her as family: there was a class wall between them.

After all, though she treated them well, she did not adopt them and they were expected to work to remain in the Mansion. They were only like her children, not her real children. They were clearly not on the same level as Rido in the Marchioness’ heart.

Or so he’d thought.

Prior to her extraordinary healing, he would never have expected her to sacrifice for him. Certainly not at the expense of crippling her son. He truly thought she would put her son first.

Yet…. he lived.

It turned out they did not need to be her “real” children to be valued.

And the son was not any different from the mother. The boy lost his arm but still had tears of relief to shed for Valor. Perhaps it was to be expected. The mother was divine, the son must have some divinity in him as well.

With this mother and son combination, Valor felt like a small, petty person. He didn’t feel worthy of their whole-hearted endearment. Because he felt lacking, his motivation to try to make up for his shortcomings was stronger than ever before.

He put his shirt down and vest back on while thinking about these things and gave a single nod when he was done. He then did something very peculiar: he lifted up the bed covers, exposing one of Rido’s legs. The younger man was wearing underpants that went down just below his knee. Valor knelt next to the bed, clasping the edge of the thin pant material near the knee, head bowed.

Rido sniffled and was rightfully confused by this behavior.

“What are you doing?”

“Give me a moment.”

If Valor had to explain he wanted to do an oath and what that was, he suspected he wouldn’t get the chance to do it. Rido wouldn’t understand and would likely try to stop him. After being stopped once by the Marchioness, he didn’t dare give any opportunity to be stopped a second time.

To his people, repayment for a good or bad deed was a moral obligation. Repayment was done through an oath. The kind of oath varied based on the deed done. Because Valor and his siblings had worked for their room and board from the moment they arrived at Fresa Mansion—him as a valet and they as child companions— there was no obligation to give that kind of oath as there was already a form of repayment (that being work) in place. But his life being saved, especially at the cost of someone else, was an entirely different matter. An oath needed to be made, otherwise Valor’s conscience would never let him rest!

Clearing his throat, Valor spoke in his foreign tongue again:

“An eye for an eye, a hand for a hand, a foot for a foot. Whether in evil or in sacrifice, there must be an equal payment. I acknowledge that my life has been saved and I owe a life debt. Therefore I, Shakti Samudr Saahas Valor, swear by the gods, by the glory of the Maharaj of Sabz, and by my Shakti ancestors that I will serve Querido Fresa as my Master. His friends are my friends. His enemies are my enemies. His land is my land. His death is my death. If I break this oath today, as the gods are my witness, may my corpse be fed to the dogs and my name blotted out from the heavens and the earth!”

When he was finished, Valor exhaled in relief and let go of the edge of Rido’s pants.

It had barely been two days, but not having a chance to repay his debt properly had been agonizing to him. Now he was free of that suffocating feeling and could breathe easy.

Rido had been listening and frowned, uneasy. Though he’d never been formally taught, he did understand quite a bit of what Valor said. After all, these three siblings often spoke this language when the adults weren't around. Rido had been curious and they’d taught him a bit of it, just enough for him to have an idea what they were talking about so he didn’t feel left out.

He didn’t understand the phrase “equal payment” or the word “oath” and a few other words but it almost didn’t matter. He perfectly understood the phrases “His friends are my friends. His enemies are my enemies. His death is my death.” and that sounded… heavy.

Gripping his bed sheets, he asked again tensely, “Valor, what did you just do?”

Valor got up and dusted off his knees.

“I have given you a… I don’t know if there’s a formal term for it… but the literal translation would be: Oath of life and service.”

“What.. what does that mean exactly?”

“It means that my life is in your hands. If you told me to drink poison, I would. If you asked me to murder someone, I’d do it. Whatever you ask of me, to my utmost ability, I will do it.”

“Why would you do that?!” Rido blanched. “That’s no better than being a slave! Mother saved you from that life, why would you willingly walk into it again?!”

Valor answered calmly, “My life was saved to serve you.”

“That’s nonsense, didn’t you say it was a miracle?”

“Without a doubt.”

“Then how exactly do I play into it?”

“It was a miracle. But I must repay my life being saved, an oath must be made in return.”

“What the— doesn’t that mean the oath should be to God then? Giving it to me doesn’t make any sense. Go become a Priest!”

Valor shook his head. “That won’t do. It must go to you.”

“Did God tell you that?”

Valor looked thoughtful, “In a manner of speaking.”

“Then it wasn’t God, it was the Devil.” Rido sat up and grabbed Valor’s sleeve. “Valor please, take it back. You are my brother, not my slave. I don’t want or need this kind of loyalty!”

“I can’t take it back Rido. I have already spoken it. If I tried to escape the oath now, I would bring a curse on myself.” He took Rido’s hand and forced the younger man to let go. “I knew you wouldn’t understand, this is why I didn’t tell you in advance. But you shouldn’t be upset. You have lost nothing and gained everything. This is a good thing for you.”

“It’s not about gains or losses...” Rido slumped back into bed, pressing the palm of his left hand over his eyes in despair. “We’re family, don’t you understand? We’re family...”

“I do understand.”

“Do you really though?”

Rido lowered his hand and turned onto his side, hugging his throbbing stump to his chest and feeling miserable.

Perhaps outsiders would think he was over-reacting.

Rido was an heir and had plenty of servants in his life. In fact, he was up to his neck in them. But as for family, friends, and equals, he had very few. His inner-circle was very small and he treasured those inside it, as if they were part of his body and soul.

Valor had been working as his valet for years, but that was just a job. Outside of work, they treated each other as equals and friends, like siblings. It was this brotherhood that defined how they behaved around each other, not the positions they’d been given at birth.

The oath changed their relationship in a fundamental way. It made him feel like Valor had died a second time. The body was alive but the spirit between them would never be the same. He had lost something precious, like losing an arm, and it hurt.

Valor rubbed the back of his neck, grimacing at Rido’s reaction.

This was an instance of two cultures clashing. If they could talk about it calmly and rationally, everything would be fine. But Rido was obviously not in a place emotionally to have such a conversation….

‘He just needs some time.’ The bronze man decided after a bit.

Immediately after this thought the door swung open and the Marchioness’ practically ran in, heading straight towards the young man in bed.

Valor was startled at her sudden appearance. The Marchioness was currently swamped with paperwork, cleaning up the loose ends left from Barrera. Only Valor had been left in the room to watch over Rido. How had she known he was awake?

The moment the question rose in his mind he dismissed it.

At this point, he wouldn’t be surprised by much of anything she did…

The Marchioness placed a hand gently on Rido’s oily haired head and said in a heartbroken voice, “My son.”

Rido felt her hand and burst into sobs. She sat down next to him, wrapping her arms around his body and stroking his back comfortingly.

“Mama, Mama…” Rido cried, his solitary left hand tightly gripping onto the cloth on her back. He wept out the injustice and grief he felt but had no words to express.

It was only after he could cry no more, did he start to speak bitterly, “Look what he’s done to me, Mama. Look what he’s done to me…”

The Marchioness nodded silently, patting his head softly.

Rido didn’t expect his mother to talk. When he was being particularly vulnerable around her, she did not speak but expressed her concern like she was doing now.

“Mama, where is he? After what he’s done, he can not—”

“He is dead.”

He leaned back, loosening his hold on her and looked shocked.

“Dead?”

His Mother smiled. It was a particularly vicious smile, the kind that said the person was rejoicing in someone else’s misery.

“Of course.” She reached out and used her thumb to wipe tears from his cheek. “How could I allow such a filthy creature to exist after he has harmed what is mine?”

Rido felt a mixture of joy and frustration at the news. Joy because the nightmare was finally over, and frustration because he wasn’t able to directly get his revenge.

He licked his salty lips and asked with a nasty glint in his eye, “Were you there Mama?” When she gave a nod, he continued, “How did he die? Tell me the details. I can not rest until I know that yaldson scunner breathed his last…”

The Marchioness raised her eyebrows at his cursing but didn’t rebuke him. Instead she began to describe, in disturbing detail, how Barrera suffered during his execution. Rido, usually gentle and kind, vividly imagined how the fat old man suffered with relish and would even chuckle cruelly at the parts he especially enjoyed.

After she was finished, the Marchioness smoothed his bangs to the side of his forehead. Her expression was one part doting and one part anxious.

“My son, if I could have killed him with my own hands, I would have done so. He has killed and stolen from me one too many times. But such is the burden of nobility. Justice comes before revenge, otherwise I am no better than that piggish man.”

Growing up, she’d taught, both in theory and by example, how a noble ought to rule. Before it had been easy to agree with her methods and reasoning. Now….

Rido clenched and unclenched his remaining hand.

“It is unfair.”

“I know.”

“I should have been there.”

“Mmm.”

“I should have killed him with my own hands…” He gave a bitter laugh as he looked at his stump, “...hand.”

His Mother furrowed her brow and said slowly, “In a way…. This method of death is also good. Did he not trample on the commoners and view them as chaff? But in the end, it was the chaff that tore him to pieces.”

Rido didn’t comment, only continued to stare at his injury. There was some truth to her words, but it still didn’t satisfy the deep resentment, anger, and hopelessness he was feeling.

She reached out and held his ruined arm. Her grip was loose, clearly avoiding putting too much pressure on the remaining part of the arm lest she cause him pain.

“My son.”

“Hm?”

“I have saved you.”

He looked up, frowning.

“I know.”

She shook her head slightly, “No, that is… I have saved you… you must… must be… erm… grateful to me.”

Usually he was good at interpreting her words but just then he did not have the mental or emotional energy for it.

He stared at her blankly and said, “Thank you?”

The Marchioness sighed deeply and grimaced.

“Listen, I have saved you. You are still Heir to Fresa March and Mora County. This has not changed. A child of mine will not be weak, will not succumb to despair, but will cling fast to their family’s honor, to my honor. This will be enough for them.”

Rido vaguely understood what she was getting at but was in no mood for it.

“What good is being an Heir and family honor when I’ve become a cripple?” He moved his stump away from her grip and held it, face twisted. “Though that pig is dead, my being crippled by him remains. When people think of me, this is what they will first remember. No matter how good I am at other things…” He suddenly laughed. “If I can be good at other things now.”

“A child of mine will always be excellent.”

Rido glanced at her and saw her expression was sincere and felt relieved and annoyed at the same time.

“I can no longer use a bow and arrow or a sword… as for guns…”

“What, do you plan on being a foot soldier?” She rolled her eyes and snorted. “It’s not as though you must do the Games again. And as for hunting, it’s not as though you much enjoyed that nobleman’s leisure. You now have a very good excuse for avoiding it.”

“Writing will be a problem.”

“You will simply have to relearn with your left hand.”

“And how long will that take?”

“Since you are my son, not very long, perhaps a month or two.”

“Horse riding—”

She snorted. “Lord Curtidor can ride and his problem is worse than yours for riding. Are you saying he, a commoner, can do it but you, a product of years of fine breeding, can’t?”

He made a face at her, displeased that she was cutting off his avenues of self pity. Bringing up Lord Curtidor in particular was a low blow. There was no way he could feel sorry for himself when his own teacher was in a similar predicament and still persevered.

He felt it wasn’t a fair comparison either. Firstly, Lord Curtidor was a knight. They’re mentally prepared to lose their lives, much less limbs. In fact, just surviving several wars in a row is considered doing well for oneself. Secondly, Lord Curtidor was old. Did anyone care if an old knight lost a limb? No one cared! But he was young, people would pity him, which he despised, and girls would definitely—

When he thought of the female half of mankind, he felt like he had a justifiable reason to be upset. One that his Mother couldn’t just brush off.

“No girl will want to be with me.”

While it was more typical of young girls to obsess over who they were going to marry and boys to treat it as a second or third priority in life, it didn’t mean boys weren’t concerned about it. Who they married determined their influence and power politically and socially. And wives ran the home, maintained interpersonal relationships, and had absolute control over the children. The woman of the house made life worth living or they made life miserable. Naturally every boy wanted a happy, influential life and would therefore put some thought towards who might be their future partner.

Rido was no exception to this. Though he differed from his peers in that he didn’t flirt, nor did he find it interesting to do so, and a girl’s attractiveness played no role in his thoughts about her as a potential wife. Rather he was more concerned about how to increase his family’s influence and who would be a good mother to his children.

Fijo often said he was cold blooded for being so ambivalent about the opposite sex, but Rido didn’t take the critizism to heart. It’s not like Fijo’s marriage was going to make or break two fiefs and everyone living in them, so of course he could flirt with impunity and not think deeply on the matter. Rido, however, felt the weight of his responsibility and took it seriously.

His Mother was also aware of how his injury was already making a complicated matter even more complex. She froze and a flash of discomfort flittered across her face.

“Who will want to marry me now?” Rido continued mopily, taking perverse pleasure in his own situation. “Before I was young and had potential, even if the fief was a wreck and our reputation was poor I was at least handsome enough to be attractive on some level. But now? Not to mention girls, what noblewoman would marry her daughter off to me?”

His Mother pursed her lips for a moment in thought. Finally, she stuck her nose in the air and announced snobbishly, “If they are scared off by such a small thing as a missing limb, I dare say I don’t want them as in-laws. In fact, it has saved me a lot of future work. Anyone like that is clearly not worthy of being related to me.”

“Are you really going to say my crippling is a small thing?” He snapped back in annoyance.

She choked slightly and cleared her throat. “Don’t nitpick! Of course it’s unfortunate, but you’re alive aren’t you?”

“That’s easy for you to say, you’ve got two hands!”

“Lord Curtidor has only one foot and look how well he’s doing!”

“Oh, you mean how he lost his knighthood, lived in poverty, and is still single despite practically being an doddering old man?!”

“Doddering—” The Marchioness glared at him, “Boy, he is ten years younger than me! How is he old?! If he’s old what does that make me!?”

“Who cares if you’re old too! That’s not the thing to be focusing on!”

“Of course it’s the thing to be focusing on! I’m still young! I’m the picture of youth!”

“Mama, focus, please!”

“I’m quite focused! It’s you who’s not focusing!”

“How am I not focusing?!”

“You are insisting on being negative! Yes, it’s most unfortunate you lost your arm! But you are alive, without fever or serious illness! What’s more, that pig Barrera is gone, which means you no longer need to hide your skills! Which you still have even without your right hand!” She pointed her finger at him angrily. “The future is bright for you, but only if you’re willing to look past your hardship! And I am not old!”

“You’re practically a grandma!”

The Marchioness almost turned purple from his insult.

“Stop focusing on yourself, Mama! This is my life that’s been ruined! And I am angry! ANGRY!” Rido slammed his fist on the bed, eyes tearing up again. “Am I not allowed to be angry? To be bitter? To resent that I’m a crippled?! Am I not allowed!?”

“Of course you’re allowed to be angry, but not unreasonable!”

He suddenly fell back into his bed, unwilling to look at her and instead looking up at the ceiling, acting like a dead man. His entire expression was one of stubborn resentment. The perfect picture of someone being unreasonable.

As always, when his Mother was angry, she didn’t speak but found some other way to safely express herself. In this instance she stood up, frustrated at his rebelliousness, and stomped around in a tight circle next to his bed. She would occasionally cast him a glare and make “harumph” sounds.

They were both like this for several minutes.

Valor was standing by the door and struggling to keep a straight face.

He was relieved to see them behaving this way. They were both being childish but that was better than Rido holding in his resentment, frustration, and anger until it caused his soul to rot. It was better than the Marchioness moping around, like she had since Rido’s surgery, looking like the world had lost its color.

Yes, it was good for both of them to be ridiculous.

Finally, the Marchioness stopped pacing and scratched her nose awkwardly. Having calmed down, she looked ready to talk. However, before she could, there was a hurried knock on the door.

Valor opened it and Tie’s head popped in.

She glanced anxiously into the room before saying, “Sorry to interrupt, but there’s a small army at the gates flying the Marron banner.”

“Ah, yes, they’ve come… good, good... ” The Marchioness sighed in relief and then glanced at Rido. “It may be Count Marron or Heir Serio who has arrived, are you willing to see them?”

He simply lay there like a log, silently protesting everything.

She snorted, peeved at his childishness.

“Fine, just act the dead man. Harumph!”

With that, she marched out of the room to leave Rido behind.

When she was gone, Valor walked over and stared down at him. Rido’s eyes flickered toward him for a moment and then he frowned, remembering their earlier argument. With a “harumph” that sounded very like his mother’s, he turned his back to Valor angrily.

Valor put his hands on his side and raised an eyebrow.

“Be angry all you like, but it won’t change anything.”

When he got no response, he sighed.