Chapter 12

  Johan

  “Quite frankly, I think this is a rather stupid exercise,” Baelis complained. Crashing his way through the brush, he must have been in the midst of scorning Old Brute’s training methods. The five soldiers: Smildan, Peter, Gordon, Jess, and Bones were trailing behind him as he slowly led them forward.

  Bones, the interestingly named soldier who happened to be rather slim, gave him a curious look. “What makes you think that?”

  “Well, if you think about it, it’s not very productive to try and teach you lot how to be scouts and rangers. You’re soldiers, after all, not Greencloaks. Stealth and reconnaissance aren’t exactly your specialties, are they?”

  “…I suppose,” Bones said. “But we do have scouts of our own. They receive special training and get special horses, too.”

  “Aye, but most of you are just common foot. You didn’t receive the training to be scouts or rangers. I’m saying this is a pointless effort. Why must you shed your armor, when it makes you a most formidable foe against those feckless creatures? You lot are powerful heavy infantry—the scouting and sneaking is best left to us Greencloaks. Surely, there are better uses for you than trying to force you to act as rangers. For instance, we can use you lot to garrison our bases or simply to just attack the enemies’ strongholds in force. That would be a far more effective strategy, no?”

  The tallest soldier among them, with a scar over his cheek, spoke out in a deep voice. "Perhaps you should bring your grievances to your commanding officers."

  “Gordon, was it?” Baelis looked up at him. “That is a wonderful idea. I’ll be sure to keep it in mind. Now, let’s have a rest here. Bloody feet are starting to get sore.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Yes, yes.” Baelis waved the soldier off. “Now go on, take a breather.”

  Slipping his boots off, Baelis left himself barefooted as he wearily rubbed away at his sores. The others spread themselves out to rest.

  “Shouldn’t Johan and the others be getting back soon?” Bones questioned, rather openly and loudly. “And how are we supposed to beat Arnon?”

  “If we planned it right, and if there wasn’t any trouble, they should be. And to beat those bastards, all we have to do is deprive them of their swords, and then bring in a captured Arnon back to Warhall. Rather simple, really.”

  “I imagine it’ll be harder than that.”

  Baelis shrugged. “It all comes down to the moment.”

  The soldier called Peter, the only golden-headed one in their group, grabbed onto a massive stick and began fiddling with it. “Where could those bastards be lurking about, anyway? Arnor and his lot.”

  “The name’s Arnon,” Baelis corrected him with a scoff. “He may be our foe, but you could at least get his bloody name correct.”

  “Apologies, ser,” Peter retorted. “I’ve only known him for an hour or two. Haven’t even spoken to the man.”

  “I don’t envy you. Not a very pleasing man to make conversation with.” Baelis chortled to himself. “Stuck-up bastard, he is. Best you stay away from him.”

  Johan smiled at Baelis’ ravaging of Arnon, but kept himself from laughing. He had to remain focused on what was happening below and around them. This would be their ambush, not Arnon’s.

  Scanning his surroundings, he was able to make out the rough locations of the other Greencloaks with him: Masdir, Yue Ler, and Ehmar. He could hardly see them, but he remembered where they had gone. Nestled safely atop their trees, and concealed well, they stood at the ready. At a moment’s notice, when the time was right, they would leap down with him to pounce upon their foes.

  His opponent, Arnon, was a perceptive ranger, but Johan held onto the hope that he would underestimate him enough to let his guard down. Just this once. That was the gamble he took.

  Suddenly, a bird call came from the other side. Johan immediately recognized it as Yue Ler’s—he spotted something.

  Blotting out the chatter of Baelis and the others, Johan was quick to notice movement in the bushes below him. Silent as the grave, there was not a sound that came from their boots as a hooded figure emerged from the brush. They were here.

  Not daring to move an inch of his body, Johan could only track them with his eyes. The hooded figure was making his way through, seemingly alone. Suspicious, Johan glanced around to see if there was anyone else. Indeed, there was. Further away, he saw another cloaked figure creeping through the forest.

  Given that his foes were likely plotting an ambush, he assumed their ranks were similarly spread in a way that surrounded Baelis and the others. They were closing in for the attack. The time for battle was nigh upon him.

  Taking a deep breath, he steadied his quivering hands. Not yet, he told himself. They must take the bait first.

  Johan watched in silence as the foe closest to him raised their hand, presumably to signal the others. That must be Arnon, he noted. Baelis... I hope you’re ready.

  Drawing their swords, the cloaked figures sprang out from the bushes and began their charge as a hellish war cry was unleashed. So it begins.

  “Here they come, boys!” Baelis bellowed, his voice cutting through the onslaught. Scrambling for the high ground, he unsheathed his sword just in time to deflect an oncoming blow. Steel clanged against steel as they traded attacks with one another. Although initially on the backfoot, Baelis retook the initiative, utilizing brute force to wear down and overwhelm his opponent's defenses. A final, powerful smash left his opponent reeling, and with a final kick, Baelis sent him crashing into the dirt. Pressing forward, Baelis ensured the elimination of his opponent by kicking away his fallen sword.

  Then the rest of Arnon’s forces surged forth, colliding violently with Johan’s soldiers. A chaotic melee ensued as blunted steel clashed and men shouted, each combatant fighting as if their lives were truly at stake.

  Johan saw his moment. Convinced that Arnon had committed enough of his men in the attack to avoid the disaster of a counter-ambush, Johan decided it was time. He leapt down from the tree, sending leaves flying as he landed. Taking out his blade, he rushed behind one of Arnon’s men—distinguishable by the dark blue ribbon tied around his arm. A precise strike deprived the soldier of his weapon, leaving him stunned amid the chaos unfolding.

  Nearby, the soldier Peter had resorted to using his giant stick from earlier. He was locked in single combat with Kirgan, one of Arnon's chosen Greencloaks.

  Kirgan barely ducked beneath a wild swing that had been aimed directly at his forehead, his expression twisting into one of outrage. “You’re bloody cheating!” he spat, dodging another swing. “Who the hell fights with a bloody stick? And stop trying to hit my fucking face!”

  “I’m not cheating!” Peter retorted. “And all is fair when it comes to war.”

  Enraged, Kirgan pressed the attack against him, every landed strike chipping away at Peter's stick. With his defenses wavering, Peter began a retreat to avoid being overwhelmed.

  Arnon's ranger was quick to begin a pursuit of him. "Come back here, you coward!"

  Emerging from behind, Johan caught up to Kirgan and smashed him in the back with his blunted longsword. The ranger yelled out in pain, clutching his back with one hand.

  Still writhing in pain, Kirgan was unable to react as Peter swung at his head from the front—a powerful strike that knocked him unconscious.

  Whipping around, Johan desperately searched for where Arnon was. With the chaos that was unfolding, however, it proved to be an impossible endeavor. Without much time to stop and think, Johan could only react to an incoming charge from another one of his foes.

  The brute of a soldier screamed as he hurled blow after blow against him in rapid succession. It was all Johan could do to check his sword in time and parry him, each strike chipping away at his strength. His footing faltered, his posture wavering as the sheer force of each attack pushed him further back.

  Yet, somehow, Johan was holding. Although his defenses held strong, he knew the futility of trying to overpower a stronger opponent. But he didn't have to try that. He just had to outlast him.

  Johan shifted his focus to evasion, taking advantage of his agility. He let the brute wear himself down, dodging his attacks and parrying only when forced.

  Eventually, the soldier's movements grew sluggish. His stamina was faltering. Johan saw his chance, and sprang into action by going on the offensive. Attacking with sharp, measured blows, his attacks gained momentum, until at last he shattered the brute's defenses and struck his sword-hand with a final, precise maneuver. The blade clattered to the ground as Johan's sword found its mark.

  Disarmed and seething, the soldier grumbled in pain as he retreated to join the rest of the defeated fighters on the sideline.

  Not wasting a moment to celebrate, Johan turned his attention to how the others were faring. By the looks of it, Baelis was still standing, along with Bones, Yue Ler, and Peter with that stick of his. The rest, he presumed, had already been eliminated.

  For a moment, it seemed as if the fighting had come to an end. Both sides took the opportunity to regroup, collecting their survivors. Johan wiped the sweat off his face as he nodded to Baelis, panting with much exhaustion. “Good fighting.”

  Baelis gave a light smile. “Aye, you too.”

  Turning to face their remaining foes, Johan counted three in total—including Arnon. Suspicious, he scanned around to see if anyone else was lurking about. With the fighting having quieted down, he heard nothing else besides everyone's exhausted breathing. The brush seemed empty, with no reinforcements lurking in the dark. There was not a soul in sight around them—besides the eliminated, who were looking on with much anticipation.

  Although confident that there were likely only three enemies left, Johan took no comfort. He kept his gaze trained on Arnon, who stared back at him with an unphased look.

  “Bones and Peter, guard our flanks,” Johan commanded. “Yue Ler and Baelis, let’s take them.”

  “Understood.” Peter dropped his stick to finally unsheathe his longsword. “Best of luck.”

  Johan took a quick breath. “Go!” he shouted.

  Charging directly toward Arnon, he took the center, while Yue Ler went left, and Baelis right. As planned, Bones and Peter remained in the back to counter any reinforcements.

  Arnon and his lot assumed defensive stances as Johan’s vanguard drew closer, bracing themselves for the onslaught that was to come.

  Channeling whatever strength he had left, Johan swung down first against Arnon. After his initial strike was parried, he began trading additional blows. As Arnon’s specialty was with the bow, he had hopes of eventually outmaneuvering him.

  His expectations were soon upended, however, when Arnon suddenly lured him into a feint. Arnon’s dulled blade drove into his chest with absolute precision, sending out a shockwave of pain that radiated through his ribs.

  Gasping for air, Johan barely had time to react to the next attack—the pommel of Arnon’s sword cracking beneath his jaw. The ground was quick to greet him as he fell backward, the world spinning, his sword still clutched weakly in his quivering fingers.

  Get up! he screamed to himself, struggling. Get up!

  Depriving him of any chances, Arnon’s boot slammed into his face and drove him back into the dirt. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth, mingling with the dirt that had found its way inside. His vision blurred and his senses dulled, he could only make out a shadowy glimpse of an enemy standing over him. He despaired as the thought of defeat drew nearer.

  But then it came—a war cry, a guttural, deafening one that echoed through the woods like the roar of a lion.

  The shadow went away from Johan at once. He turned himself over to get a better look. Baelis!

  With his sword raised high, the brute of a swordsman came thundering toward a stunned Arnon. Screaming once more, Baelis swung down hard against him, shattering his defenses with one powerful blow. Relentless in his ensuing attack, he then followed up with a second, precise stroke that masterfully disarmed Arnon in one smooth motion.

  Having defeated the last of their remaining foes, Yue Ler joined him in pressing his sword against Arnon’s chest. A prideful, yet tired smile crept its way across Baelis’ lips. “…Gotcha.”

  Kerion Vorna

  Someone was knocking at his door, calling out his name. “Captain Kerion, ser?”

  He wasn’t sure why they were knocking. What did they want?

  “…Just let me rest,” Kerion muttered sleepily.

  Whoever it was, they didn’t seem to have heard him. They just kept on knocking. “Captain Kerion, ser? I must insist. Your presence has been requested.”

  Requested? By whom? Opening his eyes, Kerion painstakingly raised himself up from his desk. It felt like every part of his body was aching. Glancing out the window, he saw that the sun was drawing closer to the horizon, its golden rays engulfing the castle. Kerion figured that he had likely been out for several hours.

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  “I’m awake,” he called, groaning as he stumbled his way to the door. Before opening it, he took the opportunity to quickly adjust his cloak and tunic to make himself a little more presentable. He also made sure his dagger was at the ready, just in case.

  A fellow Greencloak greeted him when he opened the door. Kerion recognized him at once as Yue Ler, a ranger renowned for his proficiency in combat.

  His eyes felt like they were burning as he stared at him with a blank expression. “Yue Ler. How are you?”

  “Doing well, captain,” Yue Ler responded. He took a gander at Kerion’s bleak condition. “You look tired, ser.”

  “Just a bit groggy. I made the unfortunate mistake of falling asleep on my hardwood desk.”

  “Ah.” Yue Ler nodded at him. “I know the feeling well. Are your eyes on fire?”

  “They are.” He gave them a good rubbing in hopes of mending the pain away. It didn’t really work.

  “Perhaps Henri Tores has a remedy that can help. If you want, I can go and fetch it for you, ser.”

  Kerion shook his head. “No, I’ll be fine. Who sent for me?”

  “One of the refugees that was rescued from the Bothic, ser. Calls himself Eren. He wanted to speak with you.”

  He remembered Eren well as the man they had rescued after their flight from Ingrid, along with his wife, Alyssa, and their little girl, Lianna. With the burden of preparations for the upcoming expedition chewing up most of his time, he had barely gotten the chance to speak with them ever since their return to Warhall.

  “I’ll go at once,” Kerion told him. “Where is he?”

  “In the second layer, ser, in the refugee quarter.”

  “Thank you, Hennis.” He stepped out of his room, shutting the door and locking it. Yue Ler followed after him as he began descending the stairs.

  Winding their way through the corridors, Kerion made small talk with his companion to pass the time. “Have you been doing much of interest lately, Yue Ler?”

  “Training, ser,” he answered.

  “Oh?” Kerion inched his way past a group of incoming Greencloaks in the hallway. “What sort of exercises did Old Brute conjure up this time?”

  “He had us train with the soldiers, ser,” Yue Ler explained. “Some sort of war game in the woods. He split us into teams, and selected captains to lead them. Whoever captured the other team’s captain and brought him back to Warhall first was declared the winner.”

  They reached the outside, finally making their way out of the central keep.

  “I see.” Kerion gave Yue Ler a curious look. “Who did Old Brute pick as your team’s captain?”

  “Johan, ser.”

  “Johan?” He was pleasantly surprised to hear it. “How did he fare? Did you win?”

  A sly smile crossed Yue Ler's face. “We did, ser, against Arnon’s team.”

  “Arnon’s?” Kerion was shocked, yet impressed. “How did you manage to—” He shook his head. “Never mind that. I’ll have to ask him about it myself later.”

  As they drew closer to the third layer’s gates that led into the second, Kerion spotted Commander Leopold making his way toward them, accompanied by his righthand man, Captain Loft, and Ser Vance Otto, commander of the Imperial forces. It seemed that Ser Vance’s squire had not followed them.

  “Captain Kerion,” Leopold called to him.

  “Commander.” He stopped at once, bowing his head as a sign of a respect.

  “You’ve been gone for a while. Are you feeling alright?”

  Kerion’s head felt like there was something was pounding away at him, and his eyes were still engulfed with a burning sensation. “No,” he replied with a light smile. “I’m afraid a sickness may be getting ahold of me.”

  “What are you feeling like?”

  “My head hurts and my eyes are burning,” Kerion said.

  “I’ll send word to Henri about it. He’ll find you something to help stem the illness.”

  “There’s no need, ser—”

  “I am ordering you, Kerion.” The commander gave him a stern look. “You will accept these remedies.”

  There was nothing more to be argued. Kerion merely nodded his head. “Yes, ser.”

  Leopold sighed. “You should get as much rest as you can. We were going to have a meeting with the vanguard commanders tonight, but I suppose we’ll have to go ahead without you.”

  “A meeting?” Kerion couldn’t miss out on something as important as that. “I should be there.”

  “No, I am commanding you to rest. I’ll have someone transcribe the meeting’s contents and send it to your room tomorrow morning instead.”

  Accepting his fate, Kerion nodded to him once more. “Very well, ser.”

  “Go to Henri’s as soon as you can,” the commander instructed him. “If you don’t for some reason, I’ll have him sent up to your chambers later.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  Leopold walked past Kerion toward the keep, with Ser Vance trailing behind after giving him a polite wave to say goodbye. Captain Loft remained with him for a moment longer, however.

  “Get as much rest as you can, captain,” Loft said, his eyes dark and cold. He placed a gentle hand on Kerion’s shoulder. “Once we get out there, we’re not going to have the luxury of a warm, comfortable bed, nor a tavern, nor an apothecary to brew up whatever remedies we need. It’ll just be us… and the forest.”

  Then Loft was gone, having joined Leopold and Ser Vance in the keep.

  Kerion began walking again, with Yue Ler in tow. As he went, Loft's words swirled inside of his head, the very thought of them sending chills through his veins. He had seen it first hand, how unforgiving the Bothic was. There would be no room for comfort—only pain.

  Yue Ler eventually parted ways with him in order to pay a visit to the tavern, leaving Kerion by himself. The rest of the journey to the refugee quarter was a rather quiet, though painful one. His headache refused to subside. Regardless of the pain, however, he was determined to speak with Eren.

  Stepping past the guards, Kerion entered the refugee quarter at last. Cramped as it was with tents and campfires, he pressed onward. The sound of babies crying, children playing, and idle conversation filled the air all around him.

  Upon reaching the center of the refugee quarter, he stumbled upon a garden of sorts. In the midst of it, he found Eren’s wife, Alyssa, and her daughter, Lianna, picking flowers from it together.

  Raising a small yellow flower to her nose, the little girl took a whiff with her eyes closed.

  “Mama!” she exclaimed, jumping on her feet. “This one smells good!”

  “Oh?” Alyssa brushed a strand of hair back. “It looks just like the ones we have at home. Well, put it in the basket, we’ll add it to your crown.”

  Giddily nodding her head, Lianna placed the flower inside and began gathering more just like it from the garden.

  Kerion couldn’t help but smile at the sight. Despite everything that had happened, they had managed to keep their sense of joy. For a moment, the pain in his head seemed to go away.

  Looking up from the ground, the little Lianna spotted Kerion and began excitedly tugging at her mother’s arm. “Mama, look!” she shouted. “Kerion!”

  Alyssa was delighted as well to have seen him. “Captain!” she called out with a wave.

  A smile on his face, Kerion waved back to her.

  Running over to him, Lianna presented one of her small yellow flowers as a gift. “This is for you.”

  “Thank you, Lianna.” He took it from her with a smile. “This is a very beautiful flower.”

  The little girl giggled with glee. “You’re welcome, captain!”

  Kerion safely tucked the flower away in his hair, which seemed to amuse her.

  “I wish to speak to your father,” he said, kneeling down. “Do you know where he is?”

  Turning around, she pointed in the direction of a large open area, where two men were dueling each other with wooden swords. Concerned yet intrigued, Kerion observed the scene closely. “…Is that your father fighting someone?”

  “My husband has taken to getting proper training with a sword,” Alyssa chimed in. She held out a small basket full of flowers to Lianna. “Sweetling, can you take this inside for me, please?”

  The girl gasped. “Are we going to make it later?”

  “Yes, we will be. Together.” Alyssa smiled at her daughter. “I promised you, didn’t I? Now run along, I’ll be with you shortly.”

  Squealing in delight, Lianna snatched the basket at once and ran off to their tent, which was close by.

  Kerion approached Alyssa, observing the plants that were being grown around her. “I never knew there was a garden here.”

  “There wasn’t,” she replied. “Not till we came here, at least. I figured it would get our minds off what’s happened.”

  “It’s a lovely garden. What have you been growing?”

  “A charming assortment of flowers, tomatoes, and some beans.” Alyssa sighed. “It’s not much, but it’s honest work.”

  “And that’s enough.”

  “It is.” She gave him a light smile, nodding her head. “Well, I shouldn’t keep you any longer. I understand that my husband wished to speak with you.”

  “He did,” Kerion said. “I’ll be seeing him now. Have a good day.”

  “You, too. Take care.” She waved goodbye to him as he walked away.

  Moving past the garden, Kerion arrived at the open area and stopped to watch as Eren dueled. To his surprise, the young man's opponent was Baelis himself.

  “Captain!” Baelis slapped away an attack from Eren with his wooden sword. “Good to see you.”

  The ranger then followed up with a relentless wave of strikes against his opponent. Raising his blade to meet Baelis’, Eren managed to check them all—though barely.

  “Very good!” the swordsman shouted, a smile on his face. “You’re getting faster.”

  Eren lunged forward, his posture low, and drove his blade toward Baelis’ stomach.

  “But not fast enough!” Baelis parried, answering Eren’s attack with a diagonal slash that forced him to retreat. Pressing onward, he exchanged several blows with him before landing a solid strike against his chest, thrusting his blade forth and knocking him to the ground.

  Eren groaned in pain, slowly lifting himself onto his knees. “…Good hit.”

  “I know,” Baelis replied, chuckling. He helped him back up to his feet. “You weren’t so bad yourself.”

  “Thank you.” Eren turned to face Kerion, bowing his head. “Captain. I’m glad to see you.”

  “Please, you may call me Kerion.”

  "Of course..." Eren paused and frowned, his gaze fixating on Kerion's ear. "...May I ask what the flower is for?"

  "Oh?" Kerion smiled. "Your daughter gave it to me as a little gift."

  The young man laughed aloud. "Lianna? How sweet of her."

  Baelis chuckled. "She's the brightest little girl, isn't she?"

  "Indeed, she is." Kerion looked at him. “And Baelis, I had no idea you were training Eren how to fight with a sword.”

  He gave a huge, proud smile. “Well, the lad asked, and I answered. We practice whenever we can during the week. He’s getting better—though it’ll take time.”

  “I may never be a knight, or a hero,” Eren said. “...But at least I’ll have the skills I need to better protect my family.”

  The captain observed him in quiet admiration. Within the man’s eyes, he saw a glimpse of fiery resolve that burned brightly, a fierce commitment to safeguard the lives of his loved ones.

  Kerion thought back to how Eren had fought to defend his family, and how he had even risked his own life to aid Kerion and his men. Here he was—a mere, ordinary commoner, standing up for himself and his family. The young man's courage gave Kerion hope, inspiring him to do better.

  As inspired as he was, however, his troublesome headache persisted. If only I had been born a mage, he mused, wearily rubbing his temples. Of course, there was no such thing as magic, but it would have been convenient to have the power to simply will your pain away.

  “Are you alright, Kerion?” Eren looked at him with much concern. “You look pale as a ghost.”

  “In all honesty, no,” the captain replied, feigning a smile as best he could. “But I’ll survive. You wanted to speak with me, did you not?”

  “I did. But, I’m not sure if—”

  Kerion cut him off, then and there. “No, I’ll be alright.”

  “…Are you sure? Perhaps this is a conversation that can wait until you’re better.”

  “I insist, Eren.”

  The young man sighed, nodding his head. “Alright, then.”

  “I suppose this is my cue to leave,” Baelis chimed in. Picking up Eren’s fallen wooden sword, he began walking away. “Captain, my best of wishes to you. Get well soon.”

  Kerion smiled. “Thank you, Baelis.”

  Glancing around them, Eren looked to him. “Perhaps we should find somewhere a bit less crowded to speak? Preferably, somewhere we can walk.”

  “Of course. I know the perfect place to go.”

  Kerion led the way forward and out of the refugee quarter, ascending the stairs that led up to the second layer’s walls. Hugging against the wall, he squeezed his way past a trio of Imperial soldiers that were headed down. “Are you willing to disclose what our subject of discussion will be?”

  “It regards the status of the refugees,” Eren replied, climbing after him. “The others are unsure of what’s to become of us… and you haven’t been very informative or open with regards to that.”

  Pacing along the walkway atop the walls, Kerion gently caressed his beard as he thought. For a brief moment, he paused to admire the setting sun. “To be frank, I’m afraid I can't offer any answers for the moment. At least, nothing certain. Commander Leopold has yet to discuss it with me.”

  “Well, I suppose now is a good time to express our concerns, regardless.”

  Kerion glanced at him. “My ears are open.”

  Stepping alongside the captain, Eren sighed as he leaned against the wall’s parapets. “As you may know, most commonfolk aren’t quite as used to dwelling in tents for long periods like rangers are. Especially in cramped spaces like these, surrounded by an army, with the very same land of horrors that drove us from our homes not far to the west. A constant reminder of what we’ve lost, and of the monsters that lurk within.”

  “Do you wish to be relocated?”

  “Many do.” Eren nodded. “I wish for my family to be sent away, as far as far goes. They deserve a normal life, a peaceful life. Not… whatever this is.”

  “I don’t know why you haven’t been moved away,” Kerion said. “…But I can imagine the reasons are political ones.”

  Eren’s brows furrowed as he looked over at him. “What do you mean?”

  “I can't be certain, but the Crown likely doesn't wish for news of what's happened in the Bothic to spread. Of course, they could simply play it off as mere rumor, but undoubtedly there would still be... curious folk.” He sighed. “You saw what I saw. If the word were to spread, it would spread like a wildfire, sewing chaos and jeopardizing the empire’s stability. Everything would fall apart.”

  “Surely, the word has already spread of every settlement in the Bothic disappearing without a trace. We still have relatives beyond the Bothic, you know. Not to mention, the deployment of thousands of Greencloaks and soldiers.”

  Kerion sighed, fidgeting idly with his hands. “I’m sure it has spread by now. But, the Crown’s more than likely offered explanations to stow chaos. Bandits, perhaps.”

  “Bandits are just as bad as—”

  “Are they?” Kerion turned to him, his eyes staring deep into Eren’s.

  He remembered the horrific, monstrous faces of the villagers that had attacked them. How Nova’s chest had been torn into and savaged. Blood everywhere. His face, distorted and ruined beyond recognition from whatever had poisoned him. …Can a bandit be any worse than that?

  Eren’s lips tightened as he turned away from the captain, his gaze drifting to a column of soldiers marching below. “Possibly," he said. "But, humans can be just as horrid, you know… Anyone can be a monster.”

  ...Anyone can be a monster. The words echoed throughout Kerion’s head. As a Greencloak, he had already seen much of humanity’s dark side, the evil that they were all capable of. Killers, rapists, slavers, and many others. He had fought some, arrested some, and even killed some. All of them, flesh and blood, with mothers and fathers, as much a human as he was. Anyone can be a monster.

  “Eren!” Alyssa’s voice rang out from below, vanishing his thoughts. “Supper’s nearly ready, my love!”

  “Damn,” Eren muttered under his breath. ”I had hoped we’d have more time.”

  Kerion placed a steadying hand on the parapet. “Perhaps another time.” His headache still rattling away at him, he rubbed at his temples. “But I’ll be sure to bring your concerns to the commander. He’ll sort things through, I assure you.”

  Eren turned back to him, the tension on his face alleviating. “Thank you, Kerion,” he said with earnest. “…You’re all good men, I’ll have you know. You, Leopold, the whole lot of you. Our winged guardians.”

  “Thank you.” Kerion smiled. “I’ll be sure to keep you informed if anything new transpires.”

  “My thanks, captain.” Eren began walking away. “Have a good, restful night. I hope that dreaded sickness of yours fades soon.”

  Kerion chuckled. “I hope so, too. Enjoy your meal.”

  “I shall try, although my wife’s cooking never fails to please. Farewell!”

  Left alone, Kerion lingered over the parapets, his gaze fixated upon the haunted Bothic woodlands that stretched endlessly beyond. Although the sun’s golden rays bathed its trees with a soft, radiant glow, he knew of the darkness that lurked underneath—horrors that he would soon have to face once more.