“The so-called weight of life and its meaning varies greatly amongst people. Do not be too quick to apply your own meager understanding to another who might well have their own completely different understanding on things, lest you waste your breath.” - Goruk of Clan Stonehoof, Shaman-Chieftain from the Xewaur Plains, circa 241 FP.

“So when do you plan to tell me that you were dying?” Reinhardt asked Egil rather pointedly once the convoy was some distance away from Paradise. It was not that he minded his people keeping their own secrets, but he felt that something of that magnitude should have been informed to him sooner rather than later. “For that matter… Did you plan to tell me at all about your illness?”

“Honestly speaking, Boss, no. I figured that I’d just volunteer when the time comes that we need someone to hold the rear and sell myself dearly there,” replied Egil rather nonchalantly despite the serious topic. The old goblin seemed far more energetic than during the past weeks prior to the trip, with good reason. “I don’t wanna die in bed from some illness, you know. I’ve lived most of my life being a mercenary, so I wanted to at least go out fighting. I figured I’d tough it out until a chance comes up.”

“Didn’t expect the Silver Maiden to be that nice, though. I think she even took care of the aches in my joints that I’ve been having since a decade ago, well before this illness plagued me,” continued the old goblin with a toothy grin. “I bet I got at least another decade in me like she said, Boss, so just tell me where you want me!”

“I should have predicted that much, I guess,” replied Reinhardt with a sigh. Egil’s response was most definitely far from unexpected. Reinhardt had seen or heard many similar cases, of long-time soldiers and mercenaries with chronic illnesses looking for one last battle to lay down their lives in. Egil likely didn’t do so yet because his platoon was never involved in any melee during the invasion of Levain and were instead always safe at a distance. “Next time just tell me up front about it. I’ll arrange a suitable chance to send you off if such a need ever comes up, all right?”

“Sure, Boss. If I feel like my time’s almost up in a decade or so I’ll let you know,” replied Egil with the same toothy grin on his face. They were all mercenaries for practically all their lives, so they understood each other quite well. Some mercenaries might dream of dying of old age in bed, surrounded by friends and family, ideally some time after they retired and lived their old years happily. Others considered such a fate undesirable and would actively seek out a more ‘worthy’ end in battle instead.

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Reinhardt was all too aware that many of the mercenaries he employed were either that sort from the start or grew into that point of view over the years. It was one reason why the Free Lances were often viewed as fearless mercenaries, since it was all too common for lesser mercenaries to turn their tail and run away at the first sight of danger.

On the other hand, many amongst the Free Lances were all too aware that often life could be found where others would have expected certain death. Soldiers in war were just people, they had their own morale and thoughts, and those things could be targeted as well as an actual, physical object could be. It was something Reinhardt always considered when he thought of the possible tactics to employ.

A soldier’s mentality would be at its strongest and most focused when they were winning, or at least at an advantageous spot compared to their opponent. On the other hand, even older, veteran soldiers were not immune to panic when the tables turned against them. Such older soldiers typically just had a higher threshold and therefore kept themselves under control longer compared to younger ones.

The Free Lances excelled at exploiting this typical mentality due to the irregular nature of their members and their particular talent in breaking formations. Their strongest platoons possessed the destructive force of a heavy cavalry charge yet also had the flexibility inherent to infantry, so they could break into a formation and exacerbate the situation and cause a continuous collapse of the enemy formation.

It was the secret to their success so far, on top of their habit where they always stacked the battlefield to their advantage as much as they could prior to any battle taking place.

The journey back from Paradise to Knallzog followed the same path they had taken to reach the city, just in reverse direction. Some of the Unliving offered to escort them if they liked, and Reinhardt chose to accept the symbolic gesture. A couple of Unliving half-elven women accompanied them for the trip back, together with four of the massive bone constructs they had seen in the city before.

Reinhardt had to admit that having the bone constructs around was plenty to dissuade any local wildlife from trying to attack the convoy, which was no surprise given their fearsome appearance and massive size, as well as the prodigious amount of death mana he could feel emanating from them. In fact he harbored serious doubts whether any of his people – or even entire platoons for that matter – could have taken on even one of those bone constructs in battle.

Of course, to the Unliving women who accompanied them, the fearsome bone constructs were clearly beloved pets and companions instead, something everyone could see with how one of them rode on the massive bone wolf’s back while the other was seated on the shoulder of the fearsome six-headed titanic monstrosity that must be at least five meters tall or so.

It was quite an odd juxtaposition to watch such fearsome being be treated as if they were some cuddly pets, but that was exactly what the mercenaries got to see on their way back from Paradise.