“What was that?” The scout practically dropped to his knees as he got into a crouch; his terrified eyes shifting from tree to tree. Nothing would come out, but he sure was acting as if something would.

  Unlike his trembling subordinate, Raquel held his head up, searching the sky. Probably trying to gauge where the roar had come from.

  But it was no doubt the fort.

  The hive queen had mentioned a dragon, and it had probably arrived. What would have happened if they’d stayed? A few more dead, most likely, and Jodie wouldn’t be there to save them a second time. So, it really had been a smart decision for the man to leave the fort as soon as he did.

  After a moment had passed and there was no follow-up action from what had to be the dragon Girdenth, the tension in the air slipped away.

  “That was something, wasn’t it, sir?” The scout’s voice broke the silence. His eyes lingered on the space where the woman had been a moment ago, his expression caught somewhere between awe and unease.

  Raquel nodded slowly. He combed his fingers through his long red hair, then turned to Hector. “I believe there’s a lot for us to discuss.” His tone was careful, measured. “And while I’m not sure of who the Jacarandas are, your family clearly is no insignificant bunch.”

  Raquel’s words didn’t sound like a threat. If anything, they sounded like someone broaching a topic carefully, testing the waters.

  But Hector couldn’t help but feel there was an underlying sense of caution in Raquel’s words. A wariness that hadn’t been there before.

  “Hector.” Raquel took a step forward. “If you don’t mind—can I call you Hector?”

  Hector nodded. There was no point in keeping up the name H. It wasn’t exactly his best shorthand anyway, and going forward, more people would surely know his real one.

  If anything—

  He reached a hand up and plucked the mask from his face.

  Cool night air touched skin that had been covered for too long. He blinked, adjusting to the world without that familiar frame around his vision.

  Hiding behind it would no longer prove fruitful. People would know who he was in the future. Know what the Clear Sky Mercenaries could do. Jodie’s actions were but a prelude. A bunch more issues would pop up stemming from it. If anything, the brighter the light, the deeper the shadows they could work in.

  “I want us to work together,” Raquel said, watching Hector’s face with something like curiosity now. “I’m aware you have your own mercenary group, and I’m not exactly sure what you wish to do with it. Though I feel that having you as an ally would make the most sense, not just the Flamelights but the Phoenix Company as well.”

  Hector smiled, shifting his weight.

  He felt the same.

  After all, he couldn’t have every noble in the city hating them. And unlike everyone else in the slums—while he disliked nobles on a certain level—it had become clear with their interaction with Emela, and the interactions he’d had in the trial realm so far, that not all nobles were the same.

  Having one on your side would make things easier. Though how long they’d be allies for was up for debate. Because after all, it seemed a lot of powerful people outside of this planet knew of the Jacarandas.

  And they seemed to have a reputation for taking over worlds.

  —- —- —- —-

  The caravan moved up the dirt path, and as it did, the small settlement of tents came clearer into view.

  It hadn’t been as large when they’d initially left the sanctuary several days earlier. A few tents here and there, belonging to people who couldn’t afford to spend points maintaining a room within the sanctuary walls.

  After all, for some, every point they’d scraped together counted. It could make or break their future progression. The last thing they needed was to want a specific cultivation technique or weapon and run out of points before they could actually afford it—simply because they’d spent those points on a room to sleep in.

  “I have to say, I don’t think I’d be this glad to see those stupidly large pillars again.” Lincoln shifted his spear to his other shoulder, his gaze fixed on the marble columns rising in the distance. “There’s something warming about them.”

  Hector glanced at him.

  He’d been yapping about various things along their travels. Most of them complaints, which was expected, as Lincoln loved to do that. It probably calmed him in some way. Made him feel he was in control of a situation he really had no control over.

  Hector grumbled out a response and rested a hand on Jodie, who still lay in the cart. Unconscious.

  They’d been travelling for well over a day now, and she still showed no signs of waking up. Water had been fed to her to keep her hydrated, but that was about it. If Mirae were here, she could probably have made her a stew to heal her and at least keep her nutrients up.

  But his sister wasn’t.

  She was probably still out there somewhere in the trial realm. Hopefully safe. Hopefully coming back.

  “I don’t quite like the sanctuary as much,” Maribel said.

  The short girl, who had wandered over a few hours earlier, complaining about boredom, looked over her shoulder toward Lincoln, a teasing smile playing on her lips. She was another one who liked to complain from time to time, and she and Lincoln had formed a kind of mutual understanding—as soon as one voiced something, the other would have to reply with some form of almost witty retort.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  It was quite annoying.

  “What? Not enough points to enjoy yourself?” Lincoln said.

  “The Tin Mail Mercenaries are wealthy enough.” Maribel scowled. “We’ve taken down at least several B-class missions. Almost did an A-class one time, but Duncan felt we’d be risking our lives unnecessarily.” Her eyes narrowed, and she shot a glance further up the caravan—toward where Tyler and Duncan were watching over a cart that held Caris within it, being pulled by the larger man of their group, Samual “The fool wouldn’t take a challenge if it clubbed him in the back of the head.”

  Brick pulled Jodie’s cart. The one-time trinket seller turned talisman crafter was more than perfectly content to stay quiet throughout the entire exchange.

  Hector had inquired about how the boy had even made it to joining up with the Tin Mail Mercenaries, but he never really explained. Instead, just said it was an opportunity he couldn’t afford to miss—one he would have regretted deeply if he didn’t take.

  All the while, he’d kept a rather cheerful smile on his face. Which probably meant they hadn’t forced it onto him, unintentionally or otherwise. He’d just found a fresh path and wished to take it.

  Several minutes later, the caravan was moving up the low slope toward the sanctuary, fresh tents passing them on each side.

  Bodies milled about between the canvas shelters—trial realm participants who’d clearly seen better days. One man sat on an overturned crate, his arm wrapped shoulder to wrist in stained bandages, the fabric yellowed at the edges where something had seeped through. A woman nearby adjusted a splint on her leg, wincing with each slight movement, while her companion crouched beside her and re-wrapped the binding with practised, tired hands.

  Firelight flickered in scattered clusters throughout the encampment. Crackle. Pop. The flames cast dancing shadows across faces drawn tight with exhaustion, with calculation, and with something harder than either. Small groups huddled around the warmth, their voices a low murmur that rose and fell like distant waves—snatches of conversation drifting through the evening air.

  “—heard the eastern region has a—”

  “—not worth the points, not with only three of us left—”

  “—regroup first, then we can talk about—”

  The mood wasn’t exactly sombre. Not tense, either. But there was a heaviness hanging over everything now. A seriousness that hadn’t been there the last time Hector had left the sanctuary. These people had seen things. Done things. Lost people.

  In a strange way, it was probably a better mood for them.

  When the trial realm was done, these slum dwellers would go back to their old lives as changed people. This would change even the common folk. The only group that would be mostly unaffected by entering the trial realm would probably be the nobles. They still strode around with a sense of right, like every action they took just came naturally.

  And in all honesty, it probably did.

  Because they did indeed fight—if not amongst themselves, then a few of them, at least, left the walls of the city to go out to the wilds just beyond the lake of Middlec.

  The only group that would be completely unaffected in any way would be the mercenary groups that had already established themselves before joining the trial realm. They had already lived a life of exploration and taking on quests given by those with access to more resources than they had. Mercenaries like the Flowerbanks.

  As Hector continued to muse on the surroundings, the convoy came to a sudden stop.

  Lincoln shot him a look. Though what he expected Hector to do, Hector wasn’t sure. So he just shrugged in reply and tiptoed, trying to get a better view down the line of people.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Maribel’s voice pitched upward with indignation. “No way they’re gonna stall us right here. This is stupid.”

  And right on cue, Lincoln let out a sigh. “Not as stupid as having us walk the entire time. Could at least try to tame some beasts and tie them up onto these things.” He slapped the side of the cart with more drama than his complaint warranted.

  Rolling his eyes, Hector scratched at his forehead. That complaint had barely related to their stopping. Lincoln was running out of steam, it would seem.

  But Maribel was indeed right—why had they stopped? There should be no blockage when moving into the sanctuary. There hadn’t been one before, anyway. And unless the pileup of carts had somehow caused a problem, they should have had clean movement.

  Several of the people in the surrounding tents stepped out, looking on at the convoy with mild interest. Elbows jabbed into ribs. Chins jerked toward the procession.

  They were drawing quite a crowd.

  “I’ll go check it out,” Hector said. There was no point in just standing here and waiting for something to happen. That would be the least helpful thing he could do.

  “And you just want me to stay here?” Lincoln narrowed his gaze, then gestured to Jodie. “I mean—I guess I should just watch over her. But still.”

  Hector’s gaze lingered on the boy for a second longer than necessary, with warning. “That’s all I need you to do, Lincoln. Stay here. Watch Jodie.”

  After all, Lincoln wasn’t exactly the best talker, and he’d probably go up there and somehow get himself into trouble. It was best for him to stay with Jodie. Watch over her. And in case anything happened—

  Let Jodie take over.

  Lincoln sure as heck would not be able to handle the situation.

  But that was if she woke up.

  Though there was an itch at the back of his mind. What if she didn’t wake up, and something happened, and Lincoln just left Jodie?

  But surely he wouldn’t do that.

  He’d changed. At least enough for him to be trusted with something this small. At the very least, Brick and Maribel wouldn’t just leave her there.

  Nodding at the three of them, Hector made his way down the line.

  The convoy stretched out before him like a wounded serpent—carts and people and exhausted faces, all pressed together in a slow crawl that had now ground to a halt. He moved past a pair of mercenaries leaning against a supply wagon, and the taller one straightened when he noticed Hector approaching.

  “H.” The man dipped his chin in greeting. “Any idea what’s going on up there?”

  “Finding out now.”

  A few steps further, and a woman carrying a water skin called out to him. “Hector or H! I didn’t get a chance earlier, but I just want to thank the Clear Skies.”

  He raised a hand in acknowledgement, offering what he hoped was a reassuring nod. These were people who’d fought alongside them. People who’d bled for the fort’s survival. The least he could do was meet their eyes and let them know he saw them.

  More nods. More brief exchanges. A hand clasped on his shoulder from a grizzled fighter whose name he couldn’t quite remember but whose face he’d seen holding the line during one of the bug assaults. The man said nothing—just squeezed once and let go.

  Small celebrity, indeed.

  The attention sat strangely on his shoulders. These people looked at him as if he had answers. Like he knew what he was doing.

  If only.

  He passed the cart holding Caris, and Tyler looked up from his position beside it. The boy’s hand rested on the wooden slat, his expression caught somewhere between concern and confusion.

  “You know what’s happening?” Tyler asked.

  “Was about to ask you the same thing.”

  Tyler shook his head. “No idea. We just stopped, and then—”

  “It’s probably something to do with the Frostkeeps.”

  The voice came from the other side of the cart. Duncan leaned against the wheel, arms crossed, his weathered face set in grim resignation. Like this was exactly the sort of thing he’d expected.

  “Frostkeeps?” Hector frowned.

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  I don't know if you saw the announcement, but I have launched my new series. This one shall be dropped to being posted once a week until complete, which isn't too much longer. I want to thank you again. For reading, you can expect the next chapter on Sunday. With the occasional bonus chapter.

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