30th of November - 1891

  The nights are getting colder as we draw near to the winter of 1891. I have been performing my duties as an apprentice bodyhunter for four years. Tonight is the time for my promotion to a true bodyhunter. The tasks which I had to perform, the hunting, the corralling, and the shipping. All of it complete. It does hurt me to take children away from their families. There was one lad in particular that I recall a few days ago.

  He and his father resided in a smithy in the centre of the merchant district. We came in the night, roused the slumbering lad from his bed, and dragged him away. He was screaming and fighting and crying for his father to save him. But his father, like most of the desperate parents before him, remained silent and took the money we gave in return. I held a moment of disgust for him. If he had acted, at least he would have died a decent man. But he showed his true skin, like all the others. It was worse when I saw the light of hope fade in that child's eyes, just like with so many others...

  Working as a bodyhunter, I have been given a front-row seat to witness the true depravity of humanity. I have seen mothers barter their offspring away to avoid enslavement. I have seen others offer themselves in slavery to escape an equally dire life they led. I have watched the Fist, the soldiers of the barons, and as an unpleasant result, my colleagues, exploit their position to take anything they wished for those powerless to stop them. At least, there is a small silver lining in that. Should any of the Fist engage in a violent sexual act, the Bodyhunters are well within their right to stop it and deal out an equally violent punishment.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  I would be lying if I said that I do not enjoy it - immensely - when I take my knife to a man's most crucial appendage.

  This is not the life that I would wish on another. But I do not have a choice. I have been given the path by the hands of fate, and it is the path that I shall walk. But I do not do it for myself.

  I do it for her.

  Sandra. She suffered just as much as I. A mother who was neglectful, a father who was absent, and an uncle who gave her the wrong type of attention. Her older brothers died during the coup in ’83, fighting for the losing side. But she remained strong and hopeful for a better life. It amazes me that she would be so gracious and compassionate for another. I would have been bitter. I would have been vengeful. But not her.

  She and I have courted for a long time. Four years of walking, talking, and laughing. It makes me wonder if she trusts me fully or not to take our courtship to her bed or mine. After what she has endured, I cannot blame her for it. I hardly trust anyone myself. But her openness and smile warm the broken pieces of my heart. I hope that I am doing the same for her.

  It is… difficult… to write more in my journal. Bodyhunters are not permitted to keep diaries explaining our actions, for fear that someone would steal them and discover our secrets. And for the obvious concern that Bodyhunters would develop opinions and thoughts of their own. Those would lead to a conscience and morals. Things that would complicate matters. But I am a careful man. I resolve to never allow my heart to rule my head.

  The pay is good. The protection is better. As long as I become and remain a Bodyhunter, my dearest Sandra will never need to work. She would never fear to be taken as a slave. She would never need to fear the unwanted attentions of vile men. She will be protected and loved, and that is all I desire.