As soon as the horses were saddled, they set out on the road through the hills; only five people were going to the place: both marked, Samson, and two of his farm workers.

Samson would have liked to bring some other farmer fed up with the theft and looting. However, he was realistic. Most in the area were worrying their own heads, so he knew that, if anything happened, the bandits would retaliate against those who helped them. Truth be told, it had always been, more so, where they lived.

The girl wasn't entirely well. She could freely handle the horses, even those who accompanied her. However, the continuous swaying from the galloping still made her nauseous. She had been left with no choice but to share the mount with her companion.

"Are you okay?" asked the marked boy.

The girl looked at him with a cold stare but with an aspect that at any moment, she could vomit.

Then, the boy to Samson's farmer, "Samson, how many of them are there?"

"More than I wish, boy," he replied with his eyes focused on the road.

"Why are there so many?" asked the akajsi girl.

The farmer waved his head before clicking his tongue, "Many of those bandits were Union soldiers. They saw it was easier to get riches at the point of a sword than farming the land."

"Maybe they're smarter than us," joked one of the workers, trying to relax the situation. It worked, at least for a few moments.

"Where the hell are we?" The girl gasped and asked. "We don't even know where we're going, much less have any idea."

"We are in the domains of The Council of Mostarde," Samson replied. "Mizuna is the name of these lands."

"Where are the people who rule here?" the akajsi girl asked. "There must be someone who rules here, right?"

Then, Samson and his workers laughed.

"Far away from here," answered one of them mockingly.

"Eating, at this hour, a good fillet of fish," replied the second.

"They are in Lastrel, to the south," the big man with the reddish beard replied confidently. "It is a coastal city. The Council rules there, but neither the Eastfront representatives seem to care much about what's going on here."

"Why don't they do something about it?" the Akajsi girl asked Samson fiercely.

"Because they don't care," one of the farmers work took the word. "They must have their asses stuck to their thrones. They sure haven't seen anything outside their palaces in a long time."

The marked boy frowned, and soon he clicked his tongue, "This looks harder than I thought..."

The boy hadn't thought about how many bandits he would have to fool, much less the whole situation those people were going through.

"Boy," Samson caught his attention, "Don't worry. Let me try to talk to them first. I've never missed a payment. If I can convince them, maybe we won't have to use your skills."

The big, ruddy-bearded man smiled, and the marked boy tried to match that smile, but he had too many hesitations.

"If I can't convince them and they tried to attack us, I hope she is very good with the bow," the huge man pointed out.

The girl smiled softly.

The long march was finishing as they descended the path that followed over the hill. So soon as they descended with the horses, the marked children's faces wore a grimace of disgust and amazement.

When they reached the foot of the hill, they saw wooden pillars on the road. As they approached, all faces stared in disgust when they saw dozens of rats pinned to the top of the post, covered in flies and a stench that made the akajsi on the verge of vomiting.

"What the hell..." said the boy in a shaky, disgusted voice.

"The warm welcome of The Black Rats," said one of Samson's workers.

"It's disgusting," the girl said before feeling a loud retch that ended in nothingness.

"T-They're insane!" exclaimed the boy with wide eyes.

"And you ain't seen nothing yet, boy..." predicted Samson.

As they crossed the last hill, a pair of smoke screens welcomed them.

In the distance, a wooden fortification surrounded a vast camp with dozens of tents. The horses slowed further to the site's gates, where four men guarded the place.

The slow pace of the horses gave the boy time to psyche himself up about what would happen. If everything went well, they would leave the place without further ado.

But, on the other hand, if everything went wrong...

The elf turned her look to her partner. She said nothing, just nodded to him.

The marked boy saw Samson and let the man speak after exchanging stares.

"Halt." said one of the camp watchmen.

Curious at the presence of five travelers, his three companions were the first to step forward and approach the horses.

"Greetings, how are you getting on with the day?" the farmer asked politely.

"What do you want?" the watchman asked bluntly.

Samson averted his gaze to one of the camp guards approaching his right side, "I'd like to speak to Feber; there's been a misunderstanding."

The man in front of them watched him for a moment. He soon widened a mischievous grin.

"Ah, I see," said the watchman, who stepped forward and observed the huge man closely. "You must be the chubby guy's father..."

The other three watchmen smiled at the presence of Samson and his employees.

"Heh, I remember you," one watchman pointed to Samson's tallest assistant. "You came in the morning with the kid. I thought they made it clear to you not to come without money."

"Please," Samson pleaded, appealing to the word, "If you would let me talk to Feber for a few moments..."

"I think you should turn your horse around, big guy," the watchman nearest him pointed out. He soon pulled his mallet from his grip on his waist and brought it to his shoulder, "Although, I like this horse."

Soon, the marked boy was off the horse, burying his feet in the mud. The guard near his horse watched the boy do so.

"Something the matter with you, boy?" the man asked.

After a heavy sigh, the boy scratched his chin with his left hand, "We've been riding for hours. My legs are numb."

The man looked at the gesture and more intently at the symbol on the boy's hand.

Then, with a bit of astonishment, he turned to his companion, "R-Reb, the boy is a demon."

"What the fuck is that you say?" asked his partner angrily.

The watchman stepped back and let the dark-skinned boy advance. Peasant and serene, he watched the stockade casually and soon approached the one who seemed to be in command there.

The boy glanced at his companion, Samson, and the helpers. Their hearts were beating in a rush. They could almost hear them; the girl seemed poised with her hand near her dagger, ready to stab the retreating watchman. Samson watched him warily, as did his workers.

The marked boy, for his part, was scared to death. But, he tried to contain his fear from the depths of his being. If he fell, so had the others.

Reb, the watchman, saw the boy approaching him; the young man held his chin as if he were analyzing the place's entrance.

Then, the guy saw the triangular mark on the back of his hand and opened his eyes in disbelief.

"Y-You've got to be kidding me..." said the man.

"No, it's not," replied the boy casually, "Reb, right?"

The man watched him and slowly nodded.

"Can you open the doors for us?" asked the boy, annoyed, "We're in a hurry. My friend and I need to get to Lastrel. Can we settle this quickly?"

The man looked at him cautiously, trying to sweep him off his eye.

"We don't have fucking time," the girl said roughly.

Even being weak, she could pretend that was boredom, so it didn't seem suspicious that she leaned against the saddle of her mount, "Blow the fucking door off with a slam..."

The men were alerted by that and almost became defensive.

Instead, the boy clicked his tongue, "That's what I did outside Windcall. I killed two miners for it."

The girl gave a mischievous grin, "It was fun, you have to admit..."

The boy laughed and held back the trembling in his arm with a clenched fist.

"Hey, what do you say, can we talk to your boss?" the boy grinned and soon leaned against the man's shoulder, subtly letting his weight fall against him.

The man let out a gasp. You could hear his breathing getting louder.

"O-O-Open the doors!" the watchman shouted in a trembling voice, "Q-Quick! Open the doors! Someone wants to talk to the boss!"