By this point, it seems everyone in the squad is getting used to Vulrick being the one who has the most valued opinion, as he’s the only person Rayull seems to listen to. Of course, they don’t mind much, considering Vulrick’s thoughts haven’t lead them astray thus far and also even Carl is a little afraid of him.

The start of the evening is spent at the campfire of the captured squad’s spot. Dresmond and Mullant make sure they have everything they need; it turns out there were a few things that Awnway missed, and there was a pack of rations behind the nearby rock. After a filling meal by a scantly-fed, dugout fire, the squadron of eight conclude the night by entering the hovel, its floor sunken and the actual structure easily mistaken for a large stone in the night’s darkness. Following is another sound night, though Dresmond, a noted insomniac, notices Vulrick step out in the middle of the early morning. As much as Dresmond enjoys entertaining thoughts of betrayal and intrigue, he guesses it’s of little consequence and keeps to himself.

The night passes, and the group awakens to what sounds like the firing of a gun- though deeper, stronger; like the cough of a god. Following right after is the expected magical artillery strike from their own side, a blaring explosion with that distinctively magical sound, a sort of delayed distortion and resonance.

“Gah, okay, I’m up,” Cet says- it takes a few seconds before he realizes that he’s not at the barracks anymore, and he scowls as the others rise up.

“Artillery from our mages… but I’m not sure what was before it,” Rayull notes, on his feet in only seconds after the explosion.

Dresmond takes a peek inside his coat and messes with something as Mullant opens a small caster’s tome to ensure all his daily memorizations are correct.

Carl smirks at the over-preparedness of the two, but Bayl quickly adjusts his crossbow sights to look even slightly as professional as the two new guys.

“So, what’s the plan?” Awnway asks, picking up his long set of tools and weapons.

Rayull stretches his huge ligaments and lets out a smoke-filled yawn. “Our orders stand. Pick yourselves up and let’s go find some more.”

“Got it,” says Bayl.

“Alright,” coos Awnway.

“Bout time,” blurts Carl.

“Yes sir,” from Mullant and Dresmond.

With what sounds like significant exertion, Vulrick pulls himself up from his place of rest, his full set of gear already on him. “Ready.”

“Couldn’t sleep?” Dresmond asks with a covert tone.

Vulrick shakes his helmeted head. “Naw, I slept fine.”

Dresmond immediately drops it, and the group exits the hovel after peeking out: there’s a piling tower of smoke rising above the buildings.

The group sets out toward the smoke, using the various piles of rubble and ruined buildings as cover to approach the spot. They crawl through a school house, a few miniscule skeletons charred out with a larger one, its silhouette imprinted into the chalkboard behind it from whatever blast killed them all.

At the edge of the town, they find a large, smoking hunk of metal, blackened from an artillery spell. Around the metal is a group of easterners, some looking unconscious, and others in pieces. Across from them is a splattered, strewn corpse of what seems to be some now-unidentifiable animal.

“Check for survivors,” Rayull says blankly. The squad salutes and approaches the mess of people- only one’s still alive. He’s quickly disarmed, and then awakened with a wide, quick slap.

“Pistah!” He yells in his eastern tongue.

Rayull looks over to Vulrick. “What’s that big metal thing?”

Vulrick nods, and begins speaking slow, pausing eastern. The soldier spits at Vulrick, responds with something that sounds terribly rude, and Vulrick turns to Rayull. “He’d rather us kill him.”

Carl laughs and Rayull sighs. “Then make it so,” he says.

Vulrick only needs to apply a second of applied force to collapse the soldier’s (Glutare Ut’vi, age 25, engineer, grew up in orphanage, very proud of his country,) skull and send him to the ground with a head-wide hemorrhage. Vulrick takes a stand, looking intently at the hunk.

“So, what is it? Some sort of golem?” Bayl asks, in an uneasy tone.

“Not sure,” Vulrick says.

The heap of metal, with what seems to be a long gun barrel, now bent on top of itself, suspended by two rows of some sort of gear mechanism.

The group inspects it for a few seconds, but no one comes to a conclusion other than “mobile cannon”.

The troop moves further along mid-land, as things steadily get colder and the land rises in altitude. The mess of clearings are broad, relatively safe, and very peaceful. Rayull decides to take the moment to catch up.

“So, Dresmond,” Rayull asks.

Dresmond, his hood up to protect against the elements, adjusts his glasses. “Rayull?”

Cet scowls, seeing the two are on a first-name basis.

“What brought you here?”

“Well, after getting back to the knight headquarters, I was given an assignment and notice that I was back on loan, and was to be deployed immediately. Thirty minutes from assignment to stepping off to the field. It was tough.”

Rayull raises a brow. “That’s a shame, at least I had a day or so before I was put back in.”

“Yup- that’s the life of a soldier, though.”

The two share a moment roughing it up the mountain in which they both think of Liefland, the Fairy Kingdom, the bright lights, the music, the warmth, and how it felt good killing the enemies- for Necromancers are not often akin to giving sympathy of any kind. This is all so different from that fever dream of an adventure: they’re killing people out here as well as breaking families to pieces.

“Yeah, it is.”

Dresmond nods. “Any word on Knight Love?” he asks as Mullant and Carl argue if Kanvanian or Whihelmishian culture is superior, Bayl occasionally quoting biased statistics to back up Mullant’s claims to attempt to disprove the common conspiracy theorist perception that Kanvane is a cesspool of human rights violations for the progression of magic research.

Rayull’s expression gains complexity. “No, a recon party went to get her because it was presumed that she’s with Overlord Chaos.”

Dresmond actually stumbles from the words, though a root was nearby as well. “R-really?”

Rayull nods with a bland expression.

“Is that… the first time a knight willingly defected to The Overlordship?”

“As far as I know, and because he questioned the ‘First-Realmer’, there’s no telling what Chaos knows or plans to do next,” Rayull adds, referencing the Liefland incident in which Chaos interrupted and ultimately stole the key part in a critical fairy ritual with an extra-dimensional being- an offence that calls for more than just a death sentence.

“Scary stuff,” Dresmond says, getting a few peculiar looks from some of the other soldiers.

Awnway, a man who prides himself on his citizen’s education, looks especially concerned. “Overlord Chaos? You two met him?”

Dresmond and Rayull exchange light, almost content glances. “Nah,” Rayull says, “I heard he passed through, but I didn’t get the ‘honor’.”

“Neither did I,” Dresmond says. “He’s a sneaky bastard for someone that everyone’s looking out for,” he adds.

Awnway hisses through his teeth in nervousness, a very Spirakandrin way of communicating discomfort. “Scary doesn’t even describe that. I’d shit my pants in a second,” Awnway says with a clenched grin. The three share a laugh as Bayl and Carl enter a shouting match about how immoral the other’s country is.

“Oh, and get this,” Rayull says. Awnway and Dresmond address Rayull with intent gazes. “The recon party is made up of knights Order, Redemption, Glory, and some coalescence-travel guy from the K.M.C.,” Rayull says with a lofty expression.

“Damn,” Awnway says. “That’s a serious all-star team. Bet there’s at least 20,000 years of experience between all of them.”

Dresmond gives a quick nod in agreement. “You could practically finish the war with a group like that. “The Chaos Bane” Order, and the Lord Knight Captain both have leave to do it?” Dresmond asks.

“Considering they’re hunting Chaos, anything less would be a complete failure, and Redemption makes the rules in the first place. I’m sure he wants to get Chaos back for snapping Order’s arm like he did.” Rayull says.

Awnway looks between the two with a wide, shocked expression. “I had no idea that Royal Knight life could be so… intense. I thought you guys mostly did community service and stuff.”

Rayull laughs, and Dresmond scoffs. “Definitely not,” Rayull says. “They keep us busy as hell so long as we’re not in administration- that’s the only comfy job,” Rayull says. “If you’re put over a town to oversee its economic, societal, or even moral protection, you can expect a nice office and an aid at least.”

Awnway shrugs. “I always thought about joining the knights, but I couldn’t get any magic down and I was too tall to win any of the melee try outs.”

“Too tall?” Dresmond asks.

Awnway grins with a dark humor. “The try-out test was always wrestling.”

“That sucks,” Dresmond says.

Awnway grins. “I’ve accepted it. I’m just happy I can fight in some way.”

Rayull hums. “You got anyone back home?”

“Yes sir. Quite the looker, too. She works in the Spirakandrin National Library.”

Dresmond smirks. “So she gets paid to sleep?”

Awnway glances over with a good-humored look that simultaneously suggests a readiness to fight. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Dresmond rights his glasses. “As a half Spirakandrin I’ve gone to the library a bit. It’s got a full staff for each section, and most of those sections are complete ghost towns.”

Awnway laughs. “Okay, granted. So long as it’s not about agriculture or music the library is pretty relaxed. She tells me the biggest part of the job is chasing off youngsters.”

Dresmond gestures a pointing finger. “Right. Can’t say the Ragnivanian National Library’s much more active- but you can guess what sorts of books they like to check out.”

Another laugh is exchanged between Awnway and Dresmond, but Rayull squints an eye. “Uh, what?”

Dresmond looks to Rayull with a friendly, if perplexed, look. “You know the quote by that comedian… what’s his name-”

“Venn Steinbach,” Awnway offers helpfully.

Dresmond gives a quick point in his direction in acknowledgement before continuing: “So the quote’s: ‘We all know Ragnivanian streets. They’re wild. As you all know, rag’s job is to clean up two things: blood, and for when the in-laws aren’t around—” Dresmond motions with his hand to have Rayull finish the sentence.

“Blood and… what?” he asks, looking back and forth between the two humans who are just grinning at him like a pair of goofs.

It takes Rayull to piece it together, but when he does, he immediately feels embarrassed that he hadn’t put it together right away.

“... Oh ancestors preserve. You humans are ridiculous,” Rayull says with a look of obvious disgust.

Awnway and Dresmond laugh, and Vulrick sighs in some sort of disappointment. “R-right,” Dresmond says, finishing the topic immediately as he hadn’t the slightest clue that Vulrick was listening, and now also feels embarrassed.

The group ascends the apex of their current slope and spots a long, verdant pine forest, the canopy touched with gentle, pure drafts of snow. Everyone peers on in some kind of disbelief.

“Wow,” Dresmond says.

Carl grins. “Those easterners have burnt up a lot of shit, but looks like my northern forests are still standing.”

Bayl sighs. “You realize these forests are technically eastern, right?”

Carl coughs and crosses his arms. “Naw, they stole them from us.”

Vulrick is motionless, but he speaks. “I’ve never been this far North in mid-land… I can’t believe there’s still so much life here.”

The breeze blows, and for the first time in days, it doesn’t smell of burnt flesh and spent lead. It’s wind that comes from the woods, with all its precious, twisting spices.

For a slight moment, everyone thinks back to finer things- friends, family, lovers, but then Rayull speaks. “It’s only natural that we’ll have to check it out- it’s on the battleground…. Something concerns me, though.”

Dresmond and a few others look over to him. “And that is?”

“If there are easterners in there, they can’t have fired a shot.”

Bayl nods. “Because the artillery mages would pick that up.”

“Right. I’m not sure how long it’s been since the W.K.D.F. sent a team up here, so we’ll need to be on our feet.”

Cet laughs with a smartass look about him. “As if we weren’t already?”

No one laughs, but at least Carl gives him a humoring nudge.

“Sure. Just don’t slip up, and we’ll be fine. Let’s go,” Rayull says, the minute of standing about appreciated by the squad, but everyone knows it couldn’t last.

As they step through the deep, cool, silent pines, Rayull considers who to chat with next. He glances down the line and lifts his head slightly in decision.