Hearing the murmur of voices, I groan, trying to block out the unwelcome noise. The last thing I can remember is … a duel. My eyes snap open and I try to sit up.

A hand on my chest applies pressure, pushing me back into a prone position. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I can see a woman with short hair and clay-brown eyes leaning over. She looks me over with a concerned expression.

“You’re awake! How are you feeling?”

“Who … who are you?”

Behind her, the door opens and light streams in.

“Captain, you okay? He didn’t do anything to you?”

The woman rolls her eyes, turning to look at the latest visitor. “I’m fine. You think he could overpower me in that state?” As she shifts position, I can see the light glinting off her leather armor, where the Korsan imperial family’s coat of arms is displayed prominently on her chest.

“You—you’re a Korsan soldier?”

She raises an eyebrow. “You must’ve hit your head earlier. When we got here, we introduced ourselves, but you seemed a little confused. Do you remember?”

“I … I’m not sure.”

“If you can’t remember, that’s fine. I’m Bicky, Patrol Captain from the Second Legion. And this is Hans. What ‘bout you?”

My eyes flash. Fuelled by a burning sense of fury, I push past the pain to sit up, brushing her hand away. “And where were you when common bandits looted and pillaged the town?”

“Hey!” shouts the man behind her. “Who d’ya think you are, talking to the captain like that?”

“My name,” I answer, “is Rory Wilbor.”

Bicky raises an eyebrow. “Wilbor? Like General Wilbor?”

“Yes. He’s … he was my grandfather.”

“I see,” she mutters. “I heard about his passing. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Okay,” says the other soldier, “your grandfather was a general. But that doesn’t mean you don’t need ‘ta show respect, yeah?”

Bicky winces, throwing a glare in his direction. “General Wilbor was a baron, soldier.”

As it dawns upon him, his eyes widen and he stammers nervously, “S-sorry about that, Milord. It’s just—you never said you were a noble, right? I’m not—if I’d known—”

“Enough!” I shout, interrupting his pathetic whimpering. “Spare me your excuses. What I want to hear is an explanation. Where were you when these people needed your help? When I needed help?”

The petite woman shakes her head. “Milord, soon as we heard, we galloped over. But they were already gone when we got here. My guess is they’ve got scouts. Maybe even informants. They knew we were coming.”

“Informants?” I raise an eyebrow. “Surely the legions aren’t corrupt enough to collude with bandits?”

The very thought of the idea is incredulous—the legions are the pride of Korsa, its sword and shield against its enemies. And yet, the fact that I have to ask is a sad thing indeed.

“Oh, not like that, Milord. Least, as far as I know. I mean locals.”

“Locals? Are you suggesting that there are sympathizers among these peasants?”

Bicky shifts uneasily, and her companion throws her a warning look.

“I wouldn’t call ‘em sympathizers, Milord. Just the fact is that we’re stretched thin as is. The bandits—they run away before we come, and go back when we leave. There’s too much ground to cover, y’know? I guess it’s easier for some of ‘em to come to an arrangement with the bandits, long as they don’t go too far. Like … a protection fee.”

Utterly pathetic. How the mighty legions have fallen so far, to tolerate riffraff openly exploiting Korsan citizens. One can only wonder why the Emperor doesn’t simply crush the bandits afoot.

“If it’s as you say, then you’ve no hope catching the bandits. Instead of running from coop to coop trying to guard the chickens, why don’t you track down the foxes and wipe them out?”

She nods in agreement. “It’s a good idea, Milord. But we don’t have the people to do that. I’ve only got two others with me, and the higher-ups won’t send any more.”

“Three trained soldiers, and you’re afraid of confronting common bandits? Sounds like cowardice to me.”

“Who’re you calling a coward?” shouts her subordinate, and Bicky raises a hand to silence him.

“It’s not like that, Milord. Some of these gangs, they’re big. Maybe ten, even twenty people.” She leans forward and lowers her voice, “and then there are the rumors that they’re taking orders from someone …”

I fall silent at that. “That is troubling. I thought they were just common criminals, but it sounds like they’re more organized than that. Who’s backing them? Could it be a noble looking to cause trouble, or—”

“I—I don’t know, Milord. We can barely keep up as is. As a baron, it would really help us out if you could help us request support from the capital. General Wilbor’s name still carries a lot of weight in the legions.”

I laugh weakly, not mentioning the minor problem of being disinherited from the family and ousted from the barony. I can’t even marshal my own family’s knights, let alone the Korsan legions. In fact, I know not if we have any knights left—with Grandfather’s passing, they may well have left—to be replaced with the two men my uncle found. But I do not blame them for their lack of loyalty, not with my uncle’s manipulations, especially if the rumors of Grandfather’s declining health are true. Even old Bern …

“Actually,” I say slowly, “there was one particular bandit I encountered. A Gold swordsman.”

Her face pales as the implications dawn on her. “Milord, are you suggesting …”

“Yes. I … I was not his match. And I’ve trained in a Cinnabarn Sword Style.”

“That’s crazy,” refutes her companion. “If I was a Gold swordsman, I’d be filthy rich. A house knight for a margrave or duke, at least. A bandit—it’s impossible!”

“Well,” I say, “I saw it with my own eyes.”

They share an uneasy glance, and the brunette nods in my direction, eyes full of concern.

“Thank you for letting us know, Baron Wilbor. Up ‘till know we’ve only had rumors, but to have them confirmed by a baron … I’ll need to inform my superiors. By the way, may I ask which way you’re headed?”

It’s good to see they’re taking this seriously. While this village isn’t quite within my territory, it’s not too far away—it’s not hard to imagine the bandits expanding their coverage to victimize my own subjects. With things the way they are now, it’s troubling to think how little I can do to take care of the problem. Then again, at this very moment, my uncle continues to inflict his own brand of suffering upon my people … upon my return, there will be a reckoning. I can only hope it won’t be too late.

“I’m headed south, Captain, for Dorban.”

Bicky smiles refreshingly. “Then, if you’d like, we could escort you up until Belford, Milord? We’ve got a small outpost stationed there—they’ll take our message back.”

“Captain!” exclaims the man, “you can’t—”

“The bandits don’t dare to attack us directly,” she interrupts, “so you can be assured of your safety, Milord.”

“I’ll gladly take you up on that offer, Captain. I’ve got urgent business down south, and I can’t afford to be delayed again.”

“Good. We’ll be setting off in the afternoon, if you’re feeling up to it.” She turns to her comrade, “Hans, check up on our horses. I’m going to replenish our supplies.”

As the two soldiers depart, I stagger out of bed, groaning as my back aches in protest. What is going on with the Empire? Are bandits really so rampant, or I am just unlucky? And why is a Gold swordsman leading a group of bandits?

Lost in thought, I wander around the village, observing the aftermath of the raid. Surprisingly, things do not seem as bad as I remember. With the exception of one house heavily damaged by fire, there are no signs of an attack, as if I had dreamed the whole thing up. My bruised and battered body quickly puts that notion to rest.

Near the town center, I spot a sword half-buried in the dirt. It’s scratched and dented—evidence of its mediocre constitution. And yet, I recognize it immediately—it’s the blade I held earlier. As I reach down to pick it up, a trio of men approach.

“Hey,” the one in front calls out, “you that kid that fought the bandits?”

His tone is aggressive, even hostile. He is not here to thank me. I scoop up the blade, grasping it firmly in hand, then straighten back up to look him firmly in the eyes.

“And what if I am?”

He sneers. “Then you’re not welcome here. Get out, and don’t come back.”

“Those are the words of a coward or a traitor,” I retort. “Which one are you?”

Incensed, he takes a step forward, bolstered by the presence of his two friends. “You callin’ me a coward?”

“I fought off the men who attacked you, and yet you chase me out. What are you if not a coward?”

Instead of approaching further, he takes a step back, then spits in disgust. “Easy for you to say, stranger. But you don’t know what you’ve done. You gone and pissed ‘em off, and next time ‘round they’ll ask for more to make up for it. How you gonna answer for that, huh?”

“If someone comes and threatens you, do you simply hand over your belongings? No! And to pass on the blame to me? Don’t you think you’ve gotten something wrong here?”

“Oh,” retorts the villager in a sarcastic tone, “we’re just supposed to fight ‘em? Well, I didn’t know that. Maybe you tell me where we gonna get the army for that, eh?”

“Most of these bandits are common thugs, weak and untrained. If you band together, you even outnumber them! Can you not fight them off yourself?”

“That’s rich comin’ from the likes o’ you. Didn’t you get beaten up? And we’re supposed to take your advice?”

Before the argument can come to blows, a woman’s voice calls out from the side.

“There you are, Rory! Come over here, quick. There’s something urgent for you.”

I turn to the side to see Bicky beckoning for me, and I give the man a one last glare before making my way over. The man grunts unhappily but backs off.

“What are you doing?” she whispers furiously as I draw near.

“I didn’t do anything,” I defend. “He confronted me out of nowhere, telling me to get out.”

Bicky sighs. “He’s probably one of those who prefer to pay off the bandits. As far as I can tell, there’s a bunch who think like that.”

“What? You should go and arrest him, then! Treason is a capital offense.”

“You arrest half the village, then what? Who’s going to guard them all? Are we going to escort all of ‘em to the nearest town?” She shakes her head. “Never mind that. Some of the villagers aren’t happy. You’ve stirred up the pot. I think we need to leave soon. Are you ready?”

I turn to stare at the men watching me from a distance, narrowing my eyes. Very well, then. This time I’ll overlook the situation. After all, considering my circumstances back home, my personal journey to Cinnabar is far more important than some personal crusade for justice. I cannot allow myself to be delayed by diversions not of my making. Besides, these are not even my lands.

“Yes,” I answer slowly. “I’m ready to leave.”

“Excellent, she responds. “I’d hoped to secure a cart, but there’s no time for that. Let’s set off now—Hans has the horses ready.”