As a Reincarnated Aristocrat, I’ll Use My Appraisal Skill to Rise in the World (LN) - Volume 3 - Chapter SS

Side Story: Rietz Muses the Mercenary

The town of Redroot was in the County of Cornlent, a relatively small district located in eastern Seitz, one of the duchies of the Summerforth Empire. Redroot was a small town in and of itself, and was in Cornlent’s northeastern reaches.

Redroot was not a prosperous town. It was located in an arid stretch of land, and growing any crops at all was a struggle. What few buildings there were were old and decrepit, to the point that some looked liable to collapse on account of a stiff breeze. You could tell how impoverished the land was just by looking at its people. Most were poor, and many were beggars with no place to call home.

Rietz Muses was born in Redroot as the son of a slave. Rietz was a Malkan, an ethnicity that hailed from a land that had once fought and lost a war with the Summerforth Empire. In the fallout after the war’s close, many Malkans were enslaved and brought back to the empire to serve their former foes. Free Malkans had gradually become a less uncommon sight as the ages passed, but the majority of the population that lived in the empire still lived lives of forced servitude.

Rietz’s parents were both Malkan slaves, and as the children of slaves were enslaved upon birth, Rietz had been saddled with the same fate since the moment he came into the world. Never once could he remember having been treated as a human being in his youth. His meals were modest to an extreme, he was only fed the bare minimum that would keep him alive, and he was the subject of frequent whippings.

To make matters worse, Rietz’s parents were unable to act as his guardians. His mother died of an illness when he was only four, and even during the period when she was alive, she hardly treated him as her beloved son. She had been compelled by her owners to give birth to a child, and if she held any affection for him, she never let it show. His father followed her to the grave two years later, dying of the very same sickness. He had never shown any interest in Rietz at all, and Rietz couldn’t remember ever having so much as a single conversation with him.

The one family member Rietz did have a caring relationship with, his little sister, vanished without warning when he was seven. She hadn’t died, from what he was able to gather, but she’d been taken away to some other town, never to return. Seven years into his life, he had already lost every single one of his blood relatives.

Then, after withstanding year after year of miserable abuse, Rietz was sold at the age of eleven. The person who owned Rietz was deep in debt, and he chose to auction off one asset after another in an attempt to stay financially stable. Rietz was just the next item on that list. He was left to languish in a slave trader’s cell, waiting for someone to come along and purchase him.

“And here we have a Malkan child! He may be a brat, but he has some decent muscles on him─a fine pick for manual labor, I assure you! Best of all, his price tag: a mere silver piece, and the boy is yours! How about it?”

Rietz stood in a sales yard, his cage lined up alongside those of many other slaves. The slave trader had called out to a passerby and put a price on Rietz’s life: a mere silver coin. He was not, it seemed, considered a luxury item.

“One silver, eh? Pretty cheap,” muttered the man the slave trader was speaking to. He had a frightful face, with scars on his forehead and cheek, and he stepped up to Rietz’s cage to inspect the boy.

Just then, a short man who accompanied the man with the scars spoke up.

“Boss, this kid’s a Malkan,” he said. “You know what they say about those. He’s inferior! No way we’ll get any use outta him.”

The so-called boss rested his chin in his hand as he stared at Rietz, his gaze seeming to penetrate through him.

“Oh!” said the short man. “Oh, I get it! You’re thinking of using him for chores, eh? That’s a job fit for a Malkan, for sure. And he does have a pretty face…”

“Save it, you oaf,” said the boss. “That’s a job for women. This one’s a man, and that means he’ll fight.”

“Oh, for the─why him, then? Why not any of the others?” the short man protested.

The boss ignored him and turned back to the slave trader.

“Do you have anything cheaper than a silver?” he asked.

“No, I’m afraid he’s our most affordable option,” said the slave trader. “Malkans are the cheapest race, and he’s the only one we have in stock today.”

“Oh? Fine, then. I’ll take him,” said the boss.

“A-Are you kidding me, Boss?” said the short man.

“Why so upset? He’ll make a decent enough decoy, and for a silver, that’s all he’ll have to be to pay off the investment. If he’s good for anything else, that’s just a bonus. Imagine if we bought one of the expensive ones and they turned out to be worthless! You wanna put us in the red? Our coffers aren’t exactly full right now.”

“I know, okay?” the short man sighed.

“Anyway, the decision’s been made. Here’s your silver,” he said, flicking a coin to the slave trader.

“A pleasure doing business with you,” the slave trader said. Just like that, Rietz found himself the property of a pair of men he’d never met before.

“All right, kid,” said the boss. “You got a name?”

The men had taken Rietz to a nearby pub to question him. It had been quite some time since anyone had asked him for his name. Most people didn’t pay any mind to the names of slaves at all, and it had been so long since he’d last had reason to say it out loud, it took a second before his name came to mind.

“Rietz Muses,” he eventually said.

A number of dishes were laid out on the table that Rietz and the men were seated at. It was simple fare, but Rietz had been hungry for so long that it looked like a feast to him. His eyes were irresistibly drawn to the food, even as he spoke with the men.

“Rietz, eh?” said the boss. “Well, I’m Varrock Glade. I’m the leader of a band of mercenaries called the Flood. This here’s Pentan, one of my men.”

Pentan, who was seated to Varrock’s side, had spent the whole time since they’d arrived looking down at Rietz and not saying a word.

“You’re…‘mercenaries’…?” repeated Rietz. He hadn’t received any sort of formal education up to that point, and he lacked many pieces of what most people would consider essential knowledge.

“Don’t know what it means, eh?” said Varrock. “A mercenary’s a man who fights for his daily bread. I didn’t buy you to use you as a slave─I bought you to join our crew. You’ll be fighting by our side from now on.”

“But…I’ve never fought anyone,” said Rietz.

“You’ll just have to learn the ropes, then. We’ll say you have a month to get yourself into fighting shape. There are other ways we could use you, to be clear, but they’ll get you killed before you know it, and I don’t think either of us wanna see that happen. Dead men don’t make me money, y’know?” said Varrock. His tone was blunt and level-headed, and Rietz could tell that if he failed to learn to fight, Varrock would think nothing of using him as a sacrificial pawn and letting him die in a ditch.

Rietz didn’t know what sort of end was in store for him if he refused to fight, but one look at Varrock’s expression told him on an intuitive level that it wouldn’t be a pleasant one.

“How should I learn to fight?” Rietz asked.

“By practicing. No other way about it. Becoming capable enough to go into battle in a month’s gonna be tough, though. You’d better train like your life depends on it,” Varrock said flippantly before shoving a piece of bread into his mouth. Just then, Rietz’s stomach let out a loud rumble.

“The food’s for all of us, kid,” Varrock said. “We’ll keep you fed. Can’t fight on an empty stomach, after all.”

Rietz hesitated, wondering if it was all right for him to eat as well. Eventually, he reached a timid hand out toward his tableware and took a few cautious bites, then looked up to see how Varrock was reacting. Once it became clear that his new leader wasn’t going to chastise him, Rietz started shoveling food into his mouth with wild abandon.

When the three of them had finished eating, Varrock stood up and dropped a coin onto the table to pay for their meal.

“That’s about all I have to say for now. Here’s hoping you don’t make me regret my purchase, kid,” he said, though the look on his face wasn’t particularly hopeful. No, it was the look of a man who expected that Rietz would be dead before he knew it.

○

Rietz was led to the mercenary band’s gathering spot and was introduced to a few other members. None of them seemed to have very much interest in him, though for once, it wasn’t because he was a Malkan. Rietz was just a child, but he could still tell that their apathy stemmed from the fact that they expected him to die before long.

All Rietz could do was reflect on the fact that he’d been purchased by the most dangerous owner he could ask for. Getting whipped and forced to do menial labor for the rest of his life might’ve been better than the fate that awaited him here. Painful and miserable though that sort of lowly lifestyle would’ve been, at least he would’ve still been alive at the end of the day.

But if I just learn to fight…I’ll get to live.

Rietz went right up to Varrock and asked if there was a sword somewhere that he could use to train.

“Already feel like getting some practice in, eh?” said Varrock. “I like your attitude. There’s a bunch of ’em in the corner over there. Take your pick.”

A few old, weathered blades were indeed piled up in the corner. Rietz picked one out for himself, then went outside to start swinging it about. At first he flailed wildly, failing to throw out a single decent blow, but in spite of his wiry frame, Rietz was surprisingly strong. Clumsy though his swings were, they were never out of control, even though the sword he’d chosen was by no means a light one. Varrock had no interest in helping Rietz with his training, and none of the other members had any interest in him in general. He was left to train on his own, practicing his swordsmanship for the rest of the day in solitude.

The next day went much the same way, but this time, Rietz was able to observe other members of the band as they went about their own training. He watched how they held and swung their swords, taking in every detail and trying to replicate their movements. Rietz’s powers of perception and athletic abilities were exceptionally high, and it wasn’t long before he’d copied the mercenaries’ form to perfection. He improved at a breathtaking pace, gaining more and more skill with the blade.

“Oh…?”

A few days later, Varrock decided to check in on the band’s newest member on a whim. He hadn’t expected much out of Rietz, but when he saw the boy’s swordsmanship and stance, he was taken aback.

“You’ve got a knack for this,” Varrock said. “Have you always known how to swing a sword? No, they would’ve charged more than a silver if you did.”

“He didn’t know a blade from a pommel last time I watched him. Just look at him go now, though!” said another mercenary: a bald-headed man named Rayvill.

Rayvill was one of the more serious-minded members of their band, and he made a habit of running through his sword drills on a daily basis. He was the first person who Rietz had tried imitating, and though Rayvill had shared his fellows’ disinterest in the boy at first, his rapid and dramatic improvement caught the mercenary’s attention.

“I just might’ve picked out a diamond in the rough,” said Varrock with a grin.

The Flood was currently operating in the Redroot area, which had become exceedingly unruly as of late. Brigands roamed the roads freely, and public order was a thing of the past. Technically speaking, most of the local ruffians were former soldiers and deserters─in other words, not the sort of men one could take down in a fight with ease. Lacking a proper militia of his own, the Baron of Redroot had been forced to hire mercenaries in a last-ditch effort to restore some semblance of peace to his realm, and that was where the Flood came into the picture.

The baron was planning to set out on an expedition to eliminate as many bandits as he could in a few weeks’ time, and Varrock’s crew would accompany him. The more bandits he and his men eliminated, the better they’d be compensated for their efforts. If Rietz was an innately talented swordfighter, then Varrock had stumbled into a stroke of good fortune at just the right moment.

“If the boy’s got talent, we’d better press him to the grindstone for real,” said Varrock. “Hey, Pentan! You’re in charge of training the brat.”

“What, me?” said Pentan. “Gimme a break, Boss! He’s got a knack, sure, but that don’t mean he’ll carry his weight on the battlefield.”

Whether one was a talented swordsman and whether they could go out onto a battlefield and kill a man were two entirely different questions. Pentan had seen plenty of people panic and get themselves killed when it came time for the real thing, and plenty more capable recruits turned tail and fled the second they had the chance.

“I don’t need you to tell me that, Pentan,” said Varrock. “But you know as well as I do that if he does end up being useful, it’ll be worth the effort we put in now, so just shut up and train the damn kid.”

Pentan let out a sigh.

“Fine, fine. You’re the boss, Boss,” he grumbled, then begrudgingly began teaching Rietz how to fight.

A few days passed by, and under Pentan’s tutelage, Rietz’s swordsmanship improved by leaps and bounds─though whether the man’s instructions were much help was up to question. Regardless, Pentan came to understand that as long as Rietz was capable of putting his skills to practical use, he’d be an immense asset on the battlefield.

One day, the whole band was called together for a meeting. The Flood consisted of a little less than a hundred men in total. It wasn’t a massive band, but it also wasn’t a small one by any means. A hundred men was just about average for mercenaries of their ilk.

Varrock stood before his band and began to speak.

“All right, people, tomorrow’s the big day. We’ve got a job, and the pay’s damn decent, all things considered! Our employer’s got it out for the bandits we’re going after, and he says he’ll throw in a bonus if we exceed expectations, so I expect every one of you to pull your weight!”

The assembled mercenaries broke out in a raucous cheer. A hefty payout meant good food and beautiful women would all be within reach, not to mention all the other benefits that a purse full of coin could bring you. Knowing that their efforts would directly translate to a better pay rate boosted their morale like nothing else could.

Rietz, however, was a bundle of nerves. He’d grown capable enough to defeat several members of the band in practice duels, but this would be his first real battle, and there were too many unknown factors to count. He could hardly have been more uneasy about what was to come.

The members of the Flood went back to their own business when Varrock’s speech was done, but Varrock stopped Rietz before he could get far.

“Oh, right. Hey, kid! I haven’t given you your gear yet, have I? C’mere for a minute.”

“My gear?” repeated Rietz.

“Can’t fight without a blade, can you? I had some armor and a sword made for you.”

This was the first that Rietz had heard of any such custom-made gear. Varrock had had his measurements taken a few days beforehand, but he’d explained nothing at the time and Rietz hadn’t ended up asking what it was all about. Apparently, it was to size his suit of armor. Rietz followed Varrock, who soon presented him with a set of light armor designed for mobility and a rather shoddy one-handed sword.

“Try ’em on,” said Varrock.

Rietz did as he was told and slid on the suit of armor. The measurements had been on point, and it fit him like a glove.

“By the way, those are coming out of your paycheck. In other words, you won’t see a coin from me until they’re all paid off.”

“Huh?” Rietz blinked with shock. All of this came as a surprise to him, from the gear itself to the talk of it coming out of his pay.

“Quit gawking at me, kid. It’s only natural. Nothing comes free in this world, so get used to it,” said Varrock, leaving no room for Rietz to protest.

Surprised though he was, Rietz wasn’t opposed to the arrangement. It was certainly true that he couldn’t go into battle without a weapon and armor, and in his mind, the implication that he would be paid once he’d worked off the price of his gear was something to celebrate. Slaves didn’t get paid, and this was his first time even considering the possibility. He’d spent all his life on thankless drudgery, obeying his master’s orders without so much as a hint of reward.

“Considering the fact that you’re still a brat, I expect you’ve got a lot of growing left to do,” said Varrock. “You’ll have to get new gear when this stuff doesn’t fit anymore, so I wouldn’t get your hopes up about making decent coin any time soon. Not unless you work yourself to the bone, that is.”

Just as Rietz was coming to the conclusion that any pay was better than no pay, Varrock pulled the rug out from under him. It was true, though. The moment he hit a growth spurt, his perfectly-sized armor would stop fitting him, and having to replace it would likely consume all the money he earned and then some. After that brief moment of hope, Rietz was dejected to realize that his slave-like lifestyle wasn’t going to change any time soon after all.

And so, a new day dawned…and with it came Rietz’s very first battle.

○

Rietz’s first battle was imminent. Varrock had led the rest of his band to rendezvous with the baron’s army, and together, they would march into battle. The standing army of Redroot wasn’t large by any means, numbering slightly larger than the Flood, and its soldiers didn’t look well-equipped, either.

“Yeah, not a chance in hell these people could deal with all those bandits on their own,” Varrock muttered to himself when the two forces met, just loud enough for Rietz to overhear him.

The army of Redroot wasn’t led by the baron himself. Rather, one of his chief retainers served as their commander. He was a big, brawny man who looked like he knew his way around a battlefield, and he was famous enough in the region that a few of the Flood’s members already knew his name: Ordovalle.

“Good, you’re here!” bellowed Ordovalle in a voice loud enough that the people of the next town over might’ve heard him. “The time has come to set out and purge the filth that has sullied the peace and sanctity of Redroot’s roadways! Follow me!”

What his men lacked in equipment, they seemed to make up for in enthusiasm. They let out a spirited cheer in response to Ordovalle’s speech, then marched along after him. The Flood fell in behind the army of Redroot.

The combined force’s destination was a hideaway used by the local bandit population. The baron had conducted an investigation in advance of this excursion, and had determined that the brigands were based out of the ruins of an old fort several miles away from the town. It was an ancient structure, and when it was constructed it had only been intended as a temporary fortification to protect Redroot’s borders during a war. The fort had served its purpose well, but when the war ended and peace returned to the barony, it was deemed unnecessary and abandoned, only for bandits to take up residence within it years later.

Having been abandoned an age ago, the fort had reportedly lost what few sparing defenses it had been given when it was first constructed. The bandits, however, seemed to have someone familiar with construction among their number, and they’d made renovations to restore it to a defensible state. Assaulting the stronghold wouldn’t be easy, and that wasn’t even taking into account the fact that there were a fair number of bandits holed up within it, all of whom were at least somewhat used to combat. Worse still, there was a chance that they’d gotten their hands on a catalyzer. If that was true, then the battlefield could descend into a magical death trap at any moment.

The soldiers marched onward, eventually pausing just a short distance away from the occupied fort. Ordovalle was a valorous man, but it had become apparent that he wasn’t much for planning. Where some commanders would have stopped to formulate a strategy, he chose to spearhead a march on the fort, leading his troops directly toward it.

“That stupid son of a bitch,” Varrock muttered as he watched Ordovalle begin his reckless advance. The commander’s decision had caught Varrock by surprise. There was a very high risk that the bandits had set up traps in the area surrounding the fort, and while plowing through them may have been a costly but effective tactic if their force had a numerical advantage, they weren’t working with an excess of men. Charging in without a plan was the height of foolishness.

Varrock paused for just a moment to mull over his options. Unfortunately, he wasn’t much of a tactician himself, and in the heat of the moment, he failed to come up with any better ideas.

“To hell with it,” he eventually shouted. “We’re going in! Charge!”

If Varrock had allowed Ordovalle and his men to rush in on their own, and if they’d somehow managed to emerge victorious, it was very possible that the baron would choose to deny the Flood their payment. That was the one outcome that Varrock felt the need to avoid at all costs, so he followed along in Ordovalle’s wake, leading his men in a madcap dash toward the fort.

The soldiers who had rushed ahead were already at the fort’s walls. They’d put up ladders, and were climbing toward the ramparts. All things considered, the state of the battle seemed favorable as Varrock and his men closed in on the action. The bandits had been less than alert─possibly because their watchmen were sleeping on the job─and hadn’t noticed the Redroot army until the absolute last second. They were taken by surprise, and Ordovalle’s men had made it into the fort with ease before the bandits even began to mount a counterattack. It didn’t feel like the bandits were even trying to mount a coordinated defense at all.

“Looks like luck’s on our side, boys,” said Varrock with a sneer. Nothing could be better for a mercenary than ending up on the right team in a one-sided battle. Not only would the odds of the Flood losing any men be low, but they’d also have the chance to crush their foes with impunity, earning spoils of war and extra pay in the process. That upside was doubly applicable in this case, since there was a fort to be raided. Varrock knew the bandits could have their loot squirreled away somewhere on the premises, and though the Redroot soldiers were required to turn their plunder over to Ordovalle, the Flood’s men were under no such obligation.

All things considered, this job had the potential to be a windfall. The Redroot soldiers and the Flood’s mercenaries alike were in high spirits as they fought through the fort, but Rietz alone was far too nervous for their morale to rub off on him. That was to be expected─it was, after all, his first battle. It was his first time hearing a man’s death wail, hearing the cheers and cries of battle, smelling the distinctive odor of cleaved flesh and fresh blood, and witnessing one man after another slain before his eyes. Each was a new experience, and all of them put together drove him to decide to flee.

Before Rietz had the chance to make a break for it, though, one of the bandits leaped out in front of him. The bandit held a sword at the ready, and swung it at Rietz without a hint of mercy or hesitation. Rietz dodged the blow effortlessly. For all his tension and distress, the movement came to him with ease. An observer might’ve thought him as calm as could be.

Rietz, as it turned out, was the sort of person who could get as nervous as possible without having his nerves manifest in his movements. If anything that tension proved helpful, narrowing his focus and allowing him to concentrate on the foe before him. Rietz watched the bandit, registered how he was moving, and knew what he had to do next.

The bandit swung his sword once more, but Rietz stepped back just enough to dodge the blade by a hair’s breadth. Then, he stepped forward, thrusting his own sword toward his foe’s neck. Rietz didn’t hesitate. It wasn’t that he felt no guilt for what he was about to do─just that the guilt wasn’t enough to stop him from following through. Rietz had already learned that you couldn’t show mercy on a battlefield, and although a storm of feelings flashed through his mind as he watched the bandit collapse, blood spraying from his lacerated throat, none of them had any impact on Rietz’s movements, for better or worse. He seemed unfazed as he moved on to his next foe, swinging his blade once again.

Rietz fell upon his enemies, cutting down one opponent after another. He fought to stay alive, and he fought to prove his worth to Varrock. He grew accustomed to the chaos and death around him at an unbelievable speed. Varrock and the rest of his band could fight without losing their nerve as well, but they had learned that skill after countless conflicts. Every one of them had needed time before they could set foot on the battlefield without feeling timid and terrified. Rietz, however, had gotten over that fear before his first battle was even finished. His skill with a blade was remarkable to begin with, but what truly made him a force to be reckoned with was his ability to fight to his fullest potential, no matter the circumstances.

The battle with the bandits was proceeding smoothly. Some of them attempted to flee, but any bandits who escaped were sure to turn up in the future to cause trouble all over again. Those who tried to run were chased, and those who tried to surrender were cut down without mercy.

“Don’t let a single man escape! Kill them all!” bellowed Ordovalle.

Rietz followed those orders to the letter, relentlessly pursuing the fleeing bandits. It was clear at a glance that he was faster than his prey, and one of the bandits soon realized that he wouldn’t be able to escape and spun around to fight for his life. The bandit wasn’t a skilled fighter, though, and after exchanging only a few strikes and parries with Rietz, he was disarmed, his sword clattering to the ground some distance away.

The bandit toppled to the ground, looking up at Rietz with tears in his eyes.

“P-Please, spare me,” the man whimpered, his voice trembling so dramatically that it was downright pitiful. Rietz hesitated. Could he kill a man who was weeping and begging for his life?

Who would notice if just one of them escaped? Rietz thought. He stepped back, turned around, and began walking away from the bandit…who took the opportunity to pull a knife from the breast of his shirt and lunge at Rietz. Rietz wheeled about, trying to raise his blade, but it was too late. He’d never make it in time, and as the fact that he was about to die sank in, something flew past Rietz’s face and slammed into the bandit’s head. The bandit collapsed, and as Rietz looked down at his body he realized what the object was: a crossbow bolt.

“Thought you were doing a little too well for your first battle, but looks like you’ve got a long way to go after all,” said Varrock as he walked over to Rietz, crossbow in hand.

“I saved you this time ’cause I think you’ll be useful in the long run. I won’t bother next time, though, so you’d better make sure this doesn’t happen again,” he added in his usual indifferent tone. “When you’re on a battlefield, the only thing the people around you are thinking of is how to kill their enemy. That’s all you have to think about, too. Don’t forget it.”

Those words had a profound impact on Rietz, and he would carry them to every battlefield he set foot upon.

○

The battle with the bandits ended in the Redroot army’s one-sided victory. A number of the brigands who tried to flee were wiped out, and Ordovalle was quick to declare the expedition’s success a result of his brilliant work as commander.

“Yeah, right. Luck won us the day, not your orders,” Varrock muttered curtly. Plenty of bandits had managed to escape, and if Ordovalle had taken the time to plan the assault and form a perimeter around the fort, those escapees could have been apprehended and slain instead. In that sense, it was hardly a victory worthy of praise, in spite of the fact that it had been won with very few allied casualties.

Varrock and his men went to report on the number of foes they’d slain and collect their payment for the battle. They had claimed quite a fair number of heads, and were expecting a hefty bonus, but Ordovalle had other ideas. According to him, the enemy had been routed in moments and the battle had barely taken any effort at all. He insisted that the battle had been won by his achievements before the Flood even took the field, and offered a payment lower than that which Varrock had been promised, let alone the bonus he’d expected.

Varrock was not the sort of man to take a claim like that lying down. He flew into a rage, insisting upon the payment he was promised, but Ordovalle wouldn’t budge. Unfortunately for the Flood, an extended conflict between mercenary and employer would look worse for the mercenaries than it did for their client, and when all was said and done, Varrock gave in. The payment was substantial even after Ordovalle shaved it down, and it had been an easy enough battle that, from an effort to payout perspective, the mercenaries had still come out on top. The sight of the weighty sack of coin he was presented with was enough to quell Varrock’s rage, and the conflict ended peacefully, if not amiably.

That night, the Flood descended upon a local pub en masse to make good use of their reward and indulge in an evening of drunken revelry. They’d earned enough to buy the pub out, drinking and eating to their heart’s content in a raucous celebration.

“That Rietz, though!” said one of the mercenaries. “Looks like he’ll be useful after all!”

“Never thought a Malkan could best one of us proper folk, but I know what I saw back there. Some of those bandits were no slouches, and he went toe to toe with ’em!” said another.

Rietz had become the center of the band’s attention. He was a Malkan, and a child to boot, and everyone had assumed he’d never live long enough to pull his weight. Seeing him fight, however, had changed their minds in a flash, and most of the Flood was now confident that he’d be an asset they could count on for a long time to come.

Mercenaries like them were never wont to turn away a capable fighter. The stronger you were, the bigger your welcome would be. After all, more competent men on your side meant greater gains in battle and a lesser chance that you’d be killed. Plenty of them were prejudiced against Malkans, of course, and this by no means convinced them to change their views, but they were willing to make an exception if it would help them live another day.

“Eat up, new blood!” one of the mercenaries shouted.

Rietz looked out over the spread of food before him, and hesitated. This was the first time in his life he’d been welcomed anywhere, and the experience had left him bewildered. He’d been born a slave, and treated as subhuman throughout his whole life. Time after time he’d been told that Malkans weren’t people, and he’d expected the same sort of treatment from his new comrades-in-arms. This reception was completely out of left field for him, but in the end, he overcame his confusion and accepted their offerings, stuffing himself until he couldn’t eat another bite.

When the meal was over, the mercenary band’s men left Rietz behind to go off on their own. According to them, he was too young to appreciate whatever they were planning to do next. Rietz was confused, and it wasn’t until quite some time later that he came to realize they’d gone to pay a visit to the local brothel. On that day, though, his exhaustion won out against his curiosity and he retired to his bed at the inn, where he fell asleep on his lonesome.

○

The Flood traveled from place to place, fighting battle after battle wherever they went. Rietz had thought that they were a local Redroot mercenary group at first, but as it turned out that was just a temporary home while they carried out their business in the region. The Flood’s actual headquarters were located in the Duchy of Missian. They’d trekked out to Seitz for the Redroot job, but typically, their work took place within the borders of their home duchy.

Rietz fought well in his second battle, and then again in his third. Most of his pay was channeled into the cost of his gear, but he was also granted a pittance to spend however he saw fit. Rietz had no idea what he could use the money for, so for the moment, he decided to hide it away and start saving until he came up with a better idea.

Rietz took part in dozens of battles, and before he knew it, a year had come and gone since the day Varrock chose to buy him. Rietz had grown quite accustomed to combat over the course of that year. The more he fought, the more the constant conflict wore away at his body and soul, but he was alive, and he would keep fighting with all his strength to stay that way.

While Rietz was adapting to his life as a mercenary, the state of affairs in Missian was growing more and more turbulent. Missian was never a wealthy land to begin with, and as the circumstances of the region grew more and more dire, its towns grew less and less safe. In a twist of fate, Missian’s mercenaries were some of the few to be spared the pain of the economic strife. To them, after all, more conflict meant more opportunities to line their pockets.

Rietz was aware of the state of the world, and he found himself unable to come to terms with how it benefited him. Every day he wondered whether it was all right for him to stay his current course, but an answer was never forthcoming. He had nowhere else to go, for one thing, so dropping out from the Flood would leave him adrift. He had no choice but to keep fighting for whoever paid him to do so, even if that meant bringing misfortune and death to whoever they pointed him toward.

One day, as Rietz walked through the streets of a Missian town, he came across a trio of his fellow Flood mercenaries who seemed to be making a pass at one of the local girls. The girl was dressed in rags, and Rietz assumed she was one of the many impoverished locals. Her looks, however, contrasted with her outfit: she was a remarkably beautiful girl. She was also terrified, while the mercenaries’ lascivious grins made their intentions very clear. It only took a glance to tell that she was not enjoying their company.

One of the mercenaries reached out for the girl’s bosom, and the girl shrieked, “No! Please, leave me alone!” and swatted him away.

“What, a fighter, are we? Hah hah, works for me! The struggle just makes the payout all the sweeter!” said the mercenary with a sneer. He grabbed the girl, restraining her and preparing to drag her off somewhere. She kicked and flailed with all her might, but was unable to so much as faze him.

There were plenty of passersby in the street, but all of them turned a blind eye to the girl’s plight. The Flood had fought alongside the local baron’s forces on a number of occasions, and had racked up a series of accomplishments in doing so that gave the baron a high opinion of them and their services. That meant he would turn a blind eye to the occasional misdeed they committed in his territory, and the people were well aware that attempting to intervene would bring them nothing but pain. Nobody could bring themselves to object.

Nobody, that is, except for Rietz, who stepped out in front of his comrades.

“Stop it, you three,” he said.

“Huh?” grunted one of the mercenaries. “Oh, it’s you, Rietz. Whaddya mean, stop it? We found her first, and you know what they say─finders keepers!”

“Or what, do you want in on the action? You’re still a bit young for this sorta fun, ain’t’cha?” said another of the trio.

“Trust me on this, kid, you’ll have a better first time if you leave it to a pro! Ha ha ha!” said the third.

The three of them cracked up, while Rietz’s irritation with them grew stronger still.

“That’s not it,” he said. “I’m saying that she doesn’t want this, so you should let her go.”

“Oh, come on,” groaned one of the mercenaries. “Who died and made you sheriff, eh? Decided you wanna be a hero like you see in your storybooks?”

“Ha ha ha! C’mon, not like all of us didn’t go through that phase too!”

“This isn’t funny!” snapped Rietz. “Just let her go and move along. I can’t believe you’d pick on a girl! Aren’t you ashamed of yourselves?!”

“Okay, simmer down, kid. We’re not gonna eat the li’l miss, for god’s sake! We’ll just have our fun, and she can run on home. No problems there, right?”

“Wrong,” Rietz growled. “I can’t just stand here and let you get away with this.”

Rietz stood fast. His comrades in arms had started out treating this like one big joke, but his uncompromising behavior was starting to get on their nerves. One of them even let out an exasperated sigh.

“Pain in the ass, I swear… Look, if we don’t have our way with her, someone else is gonna before you know it. Makes no difference if it happens now or later.”

“H-How can you be so sure about that?!” asked Rietz.

“’Cause she’s a looker. Simple as that. Plus, she’s a pauper. She could vanish into the night, and nobody would bat an eyelash. No way a girl like her is getting left alone for long. It’s only a matter of time before some snatcher nabs her up and sells her off to some noble pervert, mark my words.”

“That’s not true, and even if it is, it’s no reason to not help her when I have the chance!”

“When’d you get this stubborn, anyway? If you’re not gonna see reason, I’m through with this. C’mon, boys,” he said, turning to leave and dragging the girl along with him.

“Hey! Wait!” shouted Rietz, but the mercenaries ignored him and just kept walking. Rietz could tell that words wouldn’t get through to them, which meant it was time for his last resort.

Rietz drew his sword and dashed out in front of the mercenaries, barring their path.

“O-Okay, seriously, kid?” said one of the mercenaries. “You’re one of ours, and you know our band has rules, don’t you?”

“That’s right!” shouted another. “Infighting’s banned, and you know it! You trying to get driven out?!”

The Flood didn’t have very many precise, concrete rules, but what few it had were taken seriously. Its members weren’t allowed to fight each other for personal reasons. Conflicts were to be reported to the boss, no exceptions, and when the rule was broken, whoever started the fight was liable to be expelled from the group. There were a few other rules as well─members were prohibited from committing crimes against each other, and picking fights with anyone the boss labeled as off limits was right out. This town was poor, it was worth nothing, had received no such special distinction, meaning that as far as the boss was concerned anything his followers did in it was their own business.

“Personal conflicts aren’t allowed, but as long as whoever picked the fight had a good reason, they can make an arrangement with the boss and not get driven out,” said Rietz. There were exceptions to every rule, and when one of the band’s members was humiliated by another member, or had one of their belongings stolen or broken, Varrock was known to sometimes side with the aggressor and decide that they’d had no choice but to resort to force. In those cases, the aggressor was absolved of their offense.

“And you’re saying that saving this girl’s a good reason? Try thinking that through one more time and see how it sounds to you, moron,” said the mercenary.

He wasn’t entirely off-base. What was and was not permissible was entirely at Varrock’s discretion, and harassing or assaulting townsfolk wasn’t in violation of any part of the Flood’s code of conduct. Varrock himself had stated that he didn’t give a damn, as long as nobody took their misbehavior too far. Judging by the boss’s words, the mercenaries were undoubtedly in the right, but Rietz still had no intention of standing down.

“You’re really not gonna let this go, are you?” asked one of the mercenaries.

“I’m not,” said Rietz.

“It’s three on one. You get that, right?”

“I do. What about it?”

The mercenary clicked his tongue in irritation. Rietz’s words were full of confidence, and his comrades knew that his combat ability was unmatched. The three of them weren’t remarkable fighters by their band’s standards, and there was a good chance that they’d lose, even if they all rushed him at once. Rietz, meanwhile, was incensed, and it was obvious he was in no mood to see their side of things. If they fought him, there was a very real chance they’d come out of the encounter maimed, or even dead. Fearing the worst, the men came to a silent consensus and let the girl go.

“Hmph,” snorted one of the men. “You’ll live to regret this, brat. The boss is gonna hear you drew your sword on us.”

With those parting words, the three mercenaries went on their way. Somehow, Rietz had managed to save the girl, who was now sitting on the ground in a daze.

“Are you all right?” asked Rietz, offering a hand that the girl did not accept. She stood up on her own and fled without saying a word. Rietz caught a glimpse of her face before she went, and he recognized the meaning of the expression she gave him: it was one of clear contempt.

Speechless, Rietz could only stand there and watch her leave. In that moment, he remembered that being a Malkan made him an object of prejudice and loathing. Mercenaries didn’t care what race you were as long as you could fight, but the rest of the world saw things differently, and outside of the bubble he’d been living in, Rietz was someone society looked down upon. The prejudice was so ingrained that the average person would despise him, even if he’d saved them from a terrible fate mere moments prior.

Rietz hadn’t saved the girl because he was hoping she would thank him. Still, her contempt left a wound upon his heart that would not heal for a very long time.

○

“So? If you have an excuse, let’s hear it.”

The moment Rietz made it back to the Flood’s current base, Varrock called him over for a talk. The subject, of course, was how Rietz had drawn his sword on his fellow mercenaries earlier that day. Nobody was hurt in the end, but baring steel on an ally was still an unmistakable violation of the group’s social standards.

“They were trying to do something awful, so I stopped them. That’s all,” said Rietz.

“And you think that gave you a good enough reason to draw on them?”

Rietz nodded without hesitation.

“Frankly, I don’t give a damn about what happens to some filthy little street lass. I think what the three of them were trying to do was pure idiocy, but being an idiot’s not against our rules. No matter what happened to the girl, it wouldn’t have been any problem for the rest of us.”

“Still, I had to help her!” shouted Rietz.

“Let me remind you that my word is law here. Whatever you had to do isn’t my problem,” snapped Varrock with an icy glare that he maintained until Rietz stopped trying to protest. “Look, kid, we’re not heroes.”

Rietz hung his head in silence, and Varrock carried on.

“Smacking down thugs isn’t our job. Our job is to go into battle and kill our enemies. If you want to be a knight in shining armor, then you’re not cut out for mercenary work. Save us all the trouble and go find some lord to serve.”

Serving a lord.

Rietz knew very well how unachievable of a goal that was for him.

“Not that anyone would take in a Malkan like you, ’course,” Varrock continued, echoing Rietz’s thoughts.

Rietz couldn’t bring himself to say a word in his defense. He knew that no matter how much he polished his skills, the thought that a nobleman would choose him was the stuff of pure fantasy.

“You’re tough. Smart, too. But there isn’t a lord out there whimsical enough to take a Malkan into their household. You’ll never be anything other than a mercenary,” said Varrock, driving home the cold truth of the matter. Rietz understood that even if he couldn’t stand the way his fellow mercenaries behaved, this was still the only place he’d ever be accepted. “Nobody got hurt this time, so I’m willing to just let it go. I paid to bring you into this crew, after all─no sense wasting that money. There won’t be a next time, so tread lightly. Oh, and apologize to those three next time you see ’em.”

The thought of apologizing to the men who tried to do something so foul, needless to say, didn’t sit right with Rietz at all. If he lost his place in the company, he’d lose the only means he had left to live. The way the girl he saved had scorned him made Rietz understand how impossible it was for a Malkan to get by in an empire that despised his people. No matter how much he hated it, this was the only place that would accept him, and no matter how hard he argued his case, he knew Varrock would never lend him an ear. Left with no other option, Rietz swallowed his pride and went out to apologize to the other mercenaries.

Varrock scowled as he watched Rietz leave his chamber.

“Brat really pisses me off sometimes,” he muttered to himself. “It’s like looking at my own damn self from back in the day.”

Varrock thought back to days long past, remembering the man he used to be. In the present day, those memories brought him nothing but irritation.

“Least he gave up nice and easy, though. Could tell by the look in his eyes,” he continued. When Rietz had gone out to find and apologize to his comrades, Varrock had felt assured that the boy had given up entirely.

“Hmph… Son of a bitch,” Varrock muttered. The scars on his face throbbed faintly.

Ever since that day, Rietz stopped questioning the actions of his fellow mercenaries, no matter what they did. He turned a blind eye to their every deed, however distasteful they might have been. He never joined in on the wrongdoing himself, but he was under no illusions as to his culpability. By ignoring the misdeeds of his fellows, he felt he was just as guilty as they were. He simply didn’t have the courage to protest. Rietz wasn’t brave enough to stand up against the lifestyle he hated and risk losing the one place he could call home.

When he was on the battlefield, though, Rietz could forget everything. He could devote his mind to killing, and killing alone. He focused solely on cutting down his foes, just as Varrock had taught him to.

○

Another year came and went. Two and a half years had now passed since Rietz joined the Flood, and though he was still young, he had grown into one of the most capable fighters in the band. The Flood’s reputation had risen in turn, and as its name spread, more and more members began to join. They had yet to participate in a major war, however, and most of their work consisted of hunting down bandits and other similar small-scale engagements. The Flood was still far from famous, even in Missian alone.

Rietz’s skills had improved, but the lingering doubt of whether it was all right for him to keep living the mercenary life weighed on him.

This is stupid. I shouldn’t even be questioning it, he thought to himself over and over. Every time, he reached the same answer: It doesn’t matter whether or not it’s okay for me to do this. It’s my only option.

The Flood was the only place that would accept Rietz for who he was. That was the truth, and it was inescapable.

I have a bad feeling about this, though. Varrock’s gotten too desperate to spread our name…

Mercenary bands lived and died on name recognition. The more famous a band was, the more work came in for them. The Flood was plenty capable, but they simply didn’t have enough accomplishments under their belt to get that kind of recognition. Large-scale conflicts that a band like theirs could have a substantial impact on were few and far between, and so far, none of their jobs had led to the sort of publicity they needed.

Varrock believed that his men were capable of pulling off a big job on a proper battlefield, and he would boast about their capabilities at the slightest provocation, but for all his talk he never seemed to bring in anything other than bandit hunting or supporting minor nobility in skirmishes with their neighbors. Small jobs still paid, so his livelihood was never at risk, but the Flood was hardly prospering. To Rietz, Varrock seemed dissatisfied with his current lot, and it felt like he was in a hurry to find the sort of job that would propel his band into the limelight he believed they deserved.

One day, Varrock called the band together for a meeting. Judging from past precedent, Rietz knew that probably meant he’d found a job for them. That was just about the only reason Varrock ever called meetings on short notice.

Sure enough, when everyone assembled the first words out of Varrock’s mouth were “We’ve got a job, boys!” He was grinning as he said it, which took Rietz by surprise. The job itself wasn’t a shock, but Varrock was almost always in a sour mood. Cheerfulness was very much the exception for him.

“It’s a big one, too,” Varrock continued. “We’re finally getting the chance we’ve been waiting for!”

That explained his good mood. Varrock had spent day after day wishing that a big job would come his way, and it seemed that wish had been granted. Small wonder he was excited to tell everyone about it.

“Seems some petty baron in a backwater county called Upusna’s staged an uprising. We’ve been called in to put him down,” Varrock explained.

The County of Upusna was in the far northeastern reaches of Missian. It was a small county, and as Rietz absorbed the details of the mission, he found himself questioning whether this was a big job at all. A lord in a territory that minor wouldn’t have much in the way of a standing army to his name, so it seemed unlikely they’d have to engage in any large-scale battles.

Rietz wasn’t the only one with doubts, and the others were far less hesitant to voice them.

“You call that our big break?” jeered one of the gathered mercenaries.

“We might be up against a petty lord, but that petty lord’s saved up a fine stack of coin,” Varrock argued. “He’s hired mercenaries of his own, and a sizable troop at that. All told, he’s got quite the fighting force to his name─enough to rival the Count of Upusna’s standing army. Seems that count doesn’t want to have to go to the other lords in the county for help, so he decided to call on us instead.”

A force large enough to rival a count’s army would certainly have to be rather substantial. Rietz still wasn’t convinced that this was the chance Varrock had been waiting for, but it would result in a larger-scale battle than the skirmishes with bandits they’d been dealing with up to that point.

“If one of us takes down a bigshot in battle, they’ll be singing our praises across the duchy before we know it! And that’s not even starting on the coin─this’ll be the biggest payout we’ve ever seen! Get ready, people! We’re making it big!”

The gathered mercenaries joined Varrock in a triumphant roar of excitement. Rietz, however, remained silent as he looked on. A discomforting feeling that this wouldn’t go well was beginning to brew within him. He just couldn’t shake the feeling that this battle was a trap, and that the Flood was about to walk right into it.

○

It took the Flood a few weeks to make their way to the County of Upusna. Rietz’s bad feeling about the mission remained as present and ominous as ever, but the rest of the band was raring to go and he knew it wasn’t a good idea to rain on their parade without any conclusive evidence that something was wrong. He kept his premonition to himself, trying to convince himself it was all in his head.

The Flood’s destination was the city of Upusna: the county’s capital and namesake. When they arrived, they found a city that was clearly not ruled over by a lord with much money to his name. The keep was old and decrepit, and the surrounding town was hardly thriving. It was clear at a glance that the forces of commerce hadn’t blessed the county with much in the way of prosperity, but perhaps that was a given. If the count had been rich, after all, he would’ve reached out to a more well-reputed band of mercenaries than the Flood.

The band soon met with the Count of Upusna himself, Terrence Prantory. Terrence was a heavyset, middle-aged man who looked like he’d never set foot on a battlefield in his life. Despite the dire economic conditions his county was coping with, the count was dressed to the nines in an expensive outfit that told Rietz his subjects’ taxes were not being spent to further their interests.

“I welcome you to my home, fine men of the Flood! And my, what a capable band of men you…hm? I say, isn’t that a Malkan?” Terrance began, then paused to scowl as his gaze fell upon Rietz.

“He might not look it, but the boy’s got as good a sword arm as you’ll ever see. I’d appreciate it if you’d turn a blind eye to him, Your Lordship,” said Varrock.

“Hmm? Well, it hardly matters. The situation is urgent, so without further ado, I’ll explain what it is I need you to do.”

Terrance gestured to one of his servants, who spread out a map of the local area. They’d only just met the count, and he was already launching into an explanation of the battle to come.

“Frankly, the state of things is dismal,” said the count. “The revolt sprung out of nowhere, and the rebels claimed a number of essential strategic points before we could do anything to bolster our defenses. They have momentum on their side, and we must do our utmost to ensure it does not last! We believe their next target will be here: Fort Bazul. We must defend that fort to the last, no matter what it costs us!”

The Flood had never fought a defensive battle before, at least since Rietz joined. As such, this would likely be most of its members’ first experience fighting on those terms. More so than that, Rietz was struck by just how much worse the situation was than he’d anticipated. They’d been told that the count had called them in to save face, not wanting to ask the lords beneath him for their assistance, but that story didn’t line up with Terrance’s explanation. If the situation was that bad, saving face would be the last thing on his mind. Varrock, however, had no interest in giving the count advice he hadn’t asked for and accepted his explanation without protest.

“Needless to say, we’ve prepared a lavish reward for whichever band of mercenaries contributes the most to our cause,” said Terrance as he brandished a hefty-looking bag, pulling out a handful of gold coins to show off to the Flood. It was a tremendous amount of gold for the count of a realm so clearly impoverished to be offering, which went to show how desperate he was for a way out of the corner he’d been driven into.

The mercenaries, for their part, looked at the sack of gold with greed and glee in their eyes. Varrock was comparatively composed─after all, to him fame was just as important as money, if not moreso. Whatever their reasons, the band’s morale was high across the board as they set out for Fort Bazul, accompanied by several other groups of mercenaries and the Upusnan army.

○

The Flood filed through the gates of Fort Bazul. Being an important strategic point for the county’s defenses, the fort had been built to weather any assault. Unfortunately, it had also been built quite a long time ago and had gone through very little in the way of repairs or improvements since. The modern battlefield was dominated by magic, a force that hadn’t had any tactical application when the fort was built, and whether or not its walls would stand up to a magical barrage was unclear.

A few days after the Flood arrived at the fort, the enemy force went on the attack. The rebellion had been staged by House Rudasso, a long-established noble family in the region. The Rudassos had never had an especially good reputation, and as chaos swept across the empire, rumor had it they’d been scheming and maneuvering their way toward greater power via less than legitimate means.

They’d supposedly tried to carry out a plan to delegitimize House Prantory, the current count’s family, but the plan had failed and their plot was exposed for the world to see. This rebellion was their last-ditch effort to avoid the sanctions they’d otherwise face. It seemed impossible that the Rudassos hadn’t realized that even if they managed to succeed and unseat House Prantory, the Duke of Missian would put them and their ambitions to rest before they knew it. Still, the Rudassos were intent upon fighting to the bitter end.

The rebels descended on the fort in a frantic assault. Their morale was high, and their commanders seemed quite competent as well, making them a force to be reckoned with. House Prantory’s commanding officers were no slouches either, issuing orders with speed and precision, and they held the advantage in terms of numbers.

The majority of Rietz’s combat experience so far had been against groups of bandits. This was, from a certain perspective, his first time participating in a real, all-out battle. No matter how the particulars of the battlefield changed, though, Rietz’s job was always the same: kill the enemy before they killed him. That was all there was to it. He’d cut down a soldier who was trying to gain a foothold within the fort, then move on to the next. And the next. And the next.

Rietz aside, the members of the Flood were riding unusually high in anticipation of their reward, and were making great contributions to the state of the battle on the whole. Varrock’s efforts in particular stood out among the rest. He tended to go into battle with a lackadaisical attitude, but today, he fought with the strength and ferocity of a demon taken human form. Rietz had never seen Varrock fight with all his might before, and he was stunned to learn just how dangerous his boss could be when the need arose.

“Gods be damned,” muttered one of House Prantory’s soldiers. “Who the hell are those people?”

“Mercenaries,” said another. “Call themselves the Flood.”

“The Flood? Never heard of ’em.”

“Well, their boss is a monster! Dunno how the hell someone like him’s gone this long without getting any attention.”

“Did you see the Malkan, though? He’s a monster in his own right! Weren’t they supposed to be inferior, or something?”

House Prantory’s men were in awe at the Flood’s work, though they were no slouches themselves. The tide of battle was steadily flowing in the defenders’ favor, and as the enemy’s soldiers fell one after another, their morale began to plummet. They’d started out with absolute confidence that the fort would be theirs, but as the battle carried on and they made no progress toward capturing it, their confidence declined. Eventually, their commander judged that taking the fort was a lost cause and ordered a retreat.

“The enemy flees! Victory is ours!” cried one of the defenders. Since defending the fort was the operation’s entire goal, the enemy’s retreat signaled their victory in an instant, and the defending soldiers let out an ear-splitting roar of victory.

“I suggest that we pursue the enemy, Lord Terrance,” Varrock suggested, keeping his cool even while everyone around him celebrated.

“Pursue them?” said Terrance. “Well, it would be wonderful to end their little rebellion here and now, but my forces are exhausted. You and yours have fought well too─no shame in taking a rest, don’t you think?”

“We may have won this battle, but the enemy’s army is far from spent,” Varrock countered. “If we press the advantage now, we could reduce their numbers and skew the odds of the war on the whole in our favor.”

“You make a compelling case…but as I said, my men have been fighting for days on end! They’re far too worn out to pursue the enemy now,” said Terrance. The count showed no interest in following Varrock’s advice.

“Fine, then… In that case, the Flood will pursue the enemy on our own.”

“You can’t be serious,” said Terrance. “The enemy may be on the retreat, but they do still have a whole army at their disposal! You have many daring warriors in your band, I’ll admit, but chasing them down on your own would still be far too dangerous!”

“There may be a lot of them, but an army that’s been routed is little more than a disorganized mob. They’ll never get the better of us in that state,” said Varrock with an air of absolute confidence.

Rietz was shaken by his leader’s attitude. The attack he was proposing was as high-risk as they came, and obviously so. It was true that pulling it off would put them in the count’s good graces and further bolster their reputation, but the Flood had already distinguished themselves in battle. In Rietz’s mind, pushing their luck in a needless pursuit was greedy to the point of foolishness.

One look at the rest of the Flood, however, proved that Rietz was the only one who harbored such apprehensions. His comrades had worked themselves up into an ecstatic frenzy.

“You heard the boss!” one of the mercenaries shouted. “We’ll slaughter the lot of ’em!”

“We’re not just gonna let the bastards get away, are we?!” yelled another.

Not one of them had stopped to consider what would happen if their excursion failed. Rietz was certainly in no position to convince them to stop, though as their employer, Terrance could have ruled out the attempt with a single word, and Varrock would have had no choice but to obey. Rietz looked to Terrance, hoping against hope that the lord would see reason.

“Well, if you’re that enthusiastic, I see no reason to stop you! Give the enemy what for!”

Rietz’s hopes were dashed, and the Flood set out to pursue the retreating enemy force without delay.

The Flood chased after their foes with the utmost of zeal, Rietz aside. The mercenaries had gotten so carried away after their initial victory that they seemed utterly fearless.

Varrock is usually more composed than this, Rietz thought. Why is he this desperate to prove himself in this battle?

The more the Flood’s name spread, the better the jobs it’d be offered, and the easier it would become for its members to live in relative luxury. This job was already set to pay out a hefty reward, though─enough to live on for some time, and in comfort at that─and Varrock had never been one to splurge in the first place. He never accompanied his men to the brothels, and he never overindulged in food or drink, either. He maintained his weapons and gear, of course, so he spent some money, but Rietz had never gotten the impression he was desperate for cash.

But if he’s not after money…what does he want out of this?

Mercenaries fought for money. If there was any other purpose that could drive someone to live this life, Rietz couldn’t think of it.

Under Varrock’s command, the Flood charged forward, their spirits as high as could be. Before long, they sighted the fleeing enemy force in the distance. The moment Rietz caught sight of them, alarm bells began ringing in his head. They looked unaware and defenseless, so much so that it felt unnatural. They showed absolutely no sign of realizing that the Flood was drawing near, and while it was plausible that an inept army could be that unobservant, the way they’d fought back at the fort proved that they were anything but incapable.

Rietz wasn’t well-versed in tactical theory, and even though he could feel that something was wrong, he had no idea what exactly it was that the enemy was attempting to do. Varrock, meanwhile, saw the enemy’s inattentiveness as the perfect opportunity and ordered his men to charge. As they raced toward the enemy’s back ranks, their soldiers spun about in unison to face the mercenaries. It wasn’t the sort of move they could’ve managed off the cuff─they’d known the Flood was coming, and they were prepared for it.

The mercenaries were taken by surprise, but not nearly enough to convince them to call off the attack. Moments later, a pair of soldiers emerged from out of nowhere, each of them holding a small catalyzer: mages. The road the Flood had been charging along happened to cut between two small hills, giving the mages the perfect location to stage an ambush.

“Mages?! Fall back!” Varrock frantically shouted. However, it was too late. The mages unleashed their spells, sending countless bolts of magical fire raining down upon the Flood.

The enemy mages weren’t very skilled, but the Flood didn’t have a single mage to its name, and they lacked the ability to defend against magical attacks in any capacity. They were perfectly vulnerable to this sort of attack, so it proved most effective. The mercenaries fell in droves, burning alive in the blink of an eye.

Rietz managed to dodge and weave his way through the rain of fire. It felt more like a miracle had spared his life than he’d saved it himself, really.

“Ugh,” groaned Varrock. Rietz’s eyes fell to the band’s leader. His leg had been pierced through by a bolt of flame, and it was obvious he wouldn’t be walking any time soon.

If Rietz left him there, Varrock would be killed for sure. Fleeing alone would have raised the odds of Rietz’s survival. And yet, Rietz chose to stop and save Varrock. There were plenty of ways in which he didn’t see eye to eye with the man, but when all was said and done, he saw Varrock as his savior─as the man who’d given him a place where he belonged.

Rietz dashed through the firebolts, made it to Varrock, hoisted the man onto his back, and then fled as fast as his legs could carry him. Proving that desperation can trigger inhuman feats of strength, Rietz ran at an incredible pace despite carrying a fully grown man. Unbelievable though it was, Rietz managed to escape from the flaming death trap and flee for his life.

○

A few hours had passed, and night had fallen. Rietz’s adrenaline-driven sprint was far from sustainable, and when fatigue began to set in, he’d found a nearby watering hole to stop and rest at.

Varrock’s leg was in a terrible state. He’d suffered horrific burns across the rest of his body as well, and his injuries were clearly debilitating. Finding the watering hole had been a stroke of luck that helped him hold on, but in his current state, it wouldn’t have been surprising if he’d dropped dead at any moment.

“Why didn’t you leave me?” asked Varrock, who was just barely clinging to consciousness.

“Because I owe you. I couldn’t abandon you,” said Rietz.

“You owe me? Since when? I bought you ’cause I thought you’d be useful. There was nothing else to it.”

“I know, but that’s not what I meant. I feel indebted to you on a personal level, that’s all.”

“Hmph,” Varrock grunted derisively. “Well, one way or another, you wasted your time. I won’t last much longer.”

“Wh-Why would you say that? You can’t know that for sure!”

“Oh, I know. It’s my body, and I know it better than anyone. Maybe I’d pull through if I made it back to the fort and got treated, but I’m sure as hell not walking, and you’d need at least three days to drag me there. It’d take more than one miracle for me to last that long. It ain’t happening, kid.”

Varrock spoke of his own death with brazen indifference. If he was scared to die, he didn’t let it show.

“Considering how things looked back there, I’m not the only one who’s not making it out,” Varrock continued. “I’d say eight outta ten of us didn’t make it. The Flood’s finished.”

“H-How can you be so casual about this?!” snapped Rietz. “You might die, you know? Don’t you care?!”

“What, you were expecting me to kick up a wailing fit about it? What kinda pathetic excuse of a mercenary would go out on a note like that? Leave the sobbing and pissing to the nobles and merchants who’ve never had to risk their lives─I won’t have it,” Varrock spat. It was a tone Rietz could never have imagined hearing from a man who knew his death was close at hand.

“I really blew it this time, though. I always knew that getting greedy would bring me nothing but pain, and look at me now… Hah… Hah hah,” Varrock weakly chuckled.

Rietz could tell just by watching Varrock that he was right. He clearly wasn’t long for this world.

“Y’know what, Rietz?” Varrock muttered. “I was a slave too, back in the day, just like you.”

“What?” said Rietz, eyes widening in shock. Varrock had never told him anything of the sort before.

“The one difference is that I ran away on my own. Stole the key, popped my shackles, and made a break for it,” Varrock continued, paying no mind to Rietz’s astonishment. “Never wanted to live a mercenary’s life. Thought I could really make something of myself, but they don’t teach slaves the skills a man needs to live an honest life. Mercenary work’s all I could manage, and honestly, I wasn’t even cut out for it. Killing for money, watching the folks I fought beside act like petty crooks─I hated every goddamn second of it. Still, I put up with it. I just kept going, and going, and holding it all in, and before I knew it, I didn’t feel anything at all anymore. ’S not that I got used to it. It broke me. My heart couldn’t take much more of it.”

As Varrock spoke about his past, Rietz’s mental image of the man fell to pieces. Every word of his story was so far afield of his expectations that he almost couldn’t believe it.

“Even after all that, I still had one last shred of ambition. I wanted to be a nobleman. I thought that if I got my name out there, if my band of sellswords got famous enough, then somebody somewhere might decide to toss me a scrap of land and a title to go with it. And here I am, for all the good that wish did me.”

At long last, Rietz understood why Varrock had always been so fame-hungry. The Summerforth Empire had entered an era of turmoil, and men who could fight were sought after no matter where you went. Well-known mercenaries being granted noble titles was hardly unheard of in the modern age.

“You’re like me, Rietz,” Varrock continued. “You’re no mercenary. You’re not cut out for it. And if you don’t wanna end up like me, you’d better put this life behind you.”

“But…I don’t have any other choice,” said Rietz.

“You’re a Malkan, all right. There’s not a man out there who wouldn’t look down on you for it. But you’re also strong, and there’s not a man out there who can deny that. You’re strong, and smart, and it’s only a matter of time ’fore you find someone with the sense to notice it.”

“You don’t know that…”

“Who knows?” said Varrock. “Maybe some nobleman out there with a good eye and no common sense’ll pick you outta the crowd and give you the job you deserve.”

“N-No, that’s just not possible.”

“Everything’s possible. That’s the sorta world we live in. Nobody knows what’ll happen next,” said Varrock as he looked Rietz in the eye.

Rietz knew that the fantasies his leader was describing were unfeasible, but somewhere, deep down, he hoped that Varrock was right.

“All right, that’s enough of that. Time for you to leave my sorry corpse behind and get back to the fort.”

“What? No! I can’t!” shouted Rietz.

“Just shut up and listen… Carrying me along with you would take more stamina than you’ve got. I doubt you’ve even noticed how much carrying me this far took outta you. Way I see it, you might not make it back at all, and that’s not even mentioning that the enemy might be out there looking for us. If you’re hauling me along, you won’t stand a chance of getting away. There’s a thousand risks to taking me with you, and not one damn merit. I’d drop dead halfway there regardless.”

“Th-That can’t be true! Just look how much you’ve been talking to me! If you can talk that much, you can hold on until we get to the fort!”

“I’ve only managed to talk this much ’cause I’m not worrying ’bout saving what strength I’ve got left. Just go, kid.”

“I…I won’t!” Rietz shouted, then hoisted Varrock onto his back and started walking once more.

“H-Hey! Dammit, kid, I told you to leave me behind!” Varrock exclaimed. However, Rietz didn’t even respond, and just kept walking.

“Peh,” Varrock spat. “Suit yourself, idiot.”

Varrock seemed to give up and stopped trying to protest, while Rietz plodded on and on, one step after the next. Varrock was bigger and heavier than he was, but still Rietz walked, bearing both of their weight. Exhausted though he was, he never stopped.

By the time he reached the fort, having miraculously evaded the enemy force’s search parties, Varrock was already dead.

Roughly twenty members of the Flood made it out of the engagement alive. Most of the survivors returned to the fort missing a hand, or a leg, or their vision. Losing a hand wasn’t a death sentence for a mercenary, but going blind or losing a leg meant the end of your career, no question about it.

Out of all the remaining members, only seven could even consider continuing to live as mercenaries, Rietz included. Perhaps they would’ve done just that, carrying on as the Flood and clawing their way back up to their former glory…if Varrock had survived. With their leader dead, however, what little hope they had left died as well, and the Flood disbanded for good.

Rietz took Varrock’s final words to heart and chose not to seek employment with another mercenary band. He traveled here and there, all over Missian, but no matter where he went, nobody was willing to give a Malkan like him a chance. He still had the savings from his time as a mercenary, so he was able to eat, at least. Most towns were home to at least one merchant who was willing to sell him food, albeit usually at a steep markup.

The longer Rietz wandered, the closer he came to the limit of his endurance. Eventually, he found himself in Canarre, a remote county on Missian’s border. There, like everywhere, Malkans were scorned and despised. He had hit his breaking point, and was just coming to the conclusion that living as a mercenary was his only choice after all…

“I’d like you to become my retainer!”

…when he crossed paths with a peculiar child who spoke with an oddly adult-like affect, and everything changed.