Horses neighed as hooves galloped, riders shouting and hailing; wheels bounced as transport wagons followed; all descending down from that same hill of a protrusion, having been hidden behind. A hill hardly natural in its formation… Although, none knew that—always there, such had been.

  The unicorn held firm, the adventurer’s yellow-amber eyes sharpened in their attention, his posture stiffening although he remained docile. His ice mage companion, meanwhile, remained calm although was panicking internally. Their third and nascent party member stretched her hood, silent and wary—enigmatic.

  One shot had been given—a warning received. The horses quickly swarmed their way, some fifteen in count—a fraction of the total. They encircled the wagon, pistols drawn. The remainder skipped past straight for the ransacked town further behind, men unloading right outside the breached gate and cracked palisades—halberds, guns, and morion steel.

  “Halt!” shouted a caped rider, presumably their leader; his helmet was adorned with a feather. “Surrender immediatelie!” Each rider had up to eight pistols holstered, two presently wielded in hand… Each aimed their way.

  Red steadily raised his hands upwards, simply eyeing.

  They had fine steel cuirasses, plated ancillaries in the arms and legs, morion—or ‘Rejinard-esque’—helmets with armored masks in the fashion of moustached faces, and a soft white-pink dyed tunic underneath. All of their steel armor, likewise, had a thin layer of bronze or brass for no other reason than style.

  These were no bandits—not at all.

  “Identifie thynselves ande the purposes whyfor thyne presences here-at!”

  That dialect… And the heraldic emblem emblazoned on their chest pieces…

  “Relax,” Red spoke softly, “we’re adventurers.”

  “Yah. Obviouslie, from thyne armoryngs and cloaked mages.” Ah… Thus, this was not merely a misidentification. “Question still stands, whyfor thou be here-at?”

  “Ande explayn why bist with that creature? Whence thou received?” And, naturally, one just had to bring up the unicorn… At whom the unicorn so promptly stared, causing an uneased sweat.

  “Thou bist on a side, adventurers! On wilche that be?!”

  It would very much be appreciated if they asked one interrogation at a time.

  Red nearly groaned a strong sigh… “Listen, we’re just passing through—we just got here. Thought to stop at that town back there,” he pointed his thumb behind, “but obviously that didn’t work out. If you’re wondering if we had anything to do with that shit, we didn’t.”

  “Yah. We knowe.” Ah… Thus, this was also not just a misunderstanding. “That bithn’t our questionyng. Why are you here?” their caped leader asked again, in clearer dialect. “No adventures have been this deep tofore. You be no true neutrals, suchly obvious.”

  “Neutrals, ain’t that a word…” Red, however, opted to latch onto that word, his face bland. “I thought Megaberry was neutral.” Indeed…

  Megaberry.

  The largest city in all of the Great Huckleberry Dutchy, and one of the largest in the Central Continent period—outside of the Empire, at least. Urbanized, cosmopolitan, located in a convenient spot which positioned it as an intermediate for trade routes between western, eastern, and southern realms. Much of its growth could be attributed to its…unique internal policies.

  Last he heard, Megaberry had been staunchly keeping itself out of the civil war. Yet these were unmistakably Megaberrien pistoleers.

  “So,” Red thus continued, “I can only ask the same to you… Why are you here?” Indeed, he could only wonder… “You mercenaries? Breakaways? Renegades?” He gave them a cold eye which conveyed much. “I may not be a hunter, but do you have collectable bounties on your heads—is what I’m asking.”

  The pistoleers momentarily looked to each other…before back at him; their pistols’ aim suddenly became sharper.

  “Red…” Blue quietly muttered from her teeth; “…I thought you learned the hard way that you cannot defeat guns…”

  Maroon meanwhile tensed more, no doubt wondering why she was letting him do the negotiating.

  There was a silent stare down. No words spoken; no actions taken. The unicorn licked its lips, puffing. “Neigh.” It made…that abhorrent sound—that deep and deadpan almost human utterance of ‘neigh’.

  And the pistoleers softly jerked, both confused and disturbed… “…w-what? D-did, did that…thing just…”

  “He does that sometimes.” Red merely stated, sighing. “We’re working with the Company.” he finally outright said it, unfolding for their eyes to see…the Far Western map he had.

  “The Companie?” The pistoleers’ leader tilted his head, seeing. “That bith one of theyr mapps.”

  “Yeah. They…contracted us to help with their campaign against the…” He scratched his neck, feigning ignorance; he turned behind to Blue. “Hey, Blue, what they were called again?”

  “…the…Fallen?” Blue…did not precisely know what Red was attempting here by playing this way.

  “Yeah, that—those guys.” He did a pseudo-embarrassed laugh. “Not sure if you’ve heard of them or not—I sure fucking didn’t… They’re just goblins and orcs to me.”

  “Goblins, didst thou just speeche?” And, indeed, the leader’s voice seemed attentive. “We heard of the Companie’s war against greenies, but didn’t…”

  “Yeah.” Red just nodded. “They’re a weird bunch too, heh… Darkling underworlders mostly, armored up orcs even. Maybe you noticed anything weird about the Gods’ fucked greenie bands here?”

  He was fishing.

  “Armored…orkens?” The leader’s head nearly drifted, reflecting…

  “They’ve got a den here, actually. A small forest east of this town.” His finger pointed at the dangling map. “This spot… Apparently, it’s very important; we’ve been sent to clear it out. That’s why we’re here and nothing more.”

  The lead pistoleer’s horse strolled closer, his eyes evaluating the map… He then looked to his men who looked to themselves, as if collectively deciding. Indeed, he let out an accepting sigh. “Forgive our performative hostilities,” his eyes returned to Red, “these are trying times, especially since your Guild has abandoned this area.” His accent had swapped. “Adventurers are not a common sight here, let alone a unicorn… Of all possible things.” He eyed that chimera…which eyed him back.

  “Uhuh…” Red remained stern, although he was perhaps becoming slightly confused by this sudden tonal shift.

  Yet then the pistoleers’ leader looked at him. “You’re Dragon Slayer, aren’t you?”

  “…” And Red’s stern face swiftly deflated. “…wait, you already know who I am?” Indeed, if that was so, then what was with—

  “Your fusion of Far Eastern and Far Western armorings are unmistakable.” Right, he did look awfully peculiar. “Besides, who amongst us haven’t heard of your renowned expulsion from Megaberry’s Guild Branch followed by your drunken rampage in the commoner brothels.” Ah… Of course, then there was that. “Our grand knight mentor was the one who booted you out the gates himself.”

  Blue’s cheeks puffed, squeaking a suppressed laugh; the tension faded. “So that’s why you refused to pass through Megaberry…” Indeed, the last time they had been in Huckleberry, which was to say left stranded, Red was adamant not to head for Megaberry during their departure out.

  Now she knew why.

  “We were already heading this way.” another pistoleer chimed in, his accent also clearer—Megaberry being such a cosmopolitan city, they obviously knew Common Tongue. “An advanced sent to scout surroundings noticed your party—or…unicorn, rather. A unicorn, let alone one ferrying a wagon, is a peculiarity. We decided to wait and intercept.”

  “…uhuh.” Alright, Red was now formally—officially—confused. “…when?” He himself did not recall spotting any such scouts… Maybe the fog had obscured them or perhaps he had mistaken them as one of the patrols? How long had they been waiting?

  Either way, had all of this just been some…act, then? If so, he could only ponder the need.

  The pistoleers’ leader holstered his two pistols. “We wanted to scout your intentions firstly,” he thus stated, “whether or not you would be a problem or were here to cause problems—your own reputation notwithstanding, the Guild’s intentions have proved…distrustworthy.”

  “Well, as you can see,” Red folded the map, “we’re here to solve problems, not cause any… So, can we leave now?”

  “No.” Yet the lead pistoleer’s horse began to move. “Redirect your party and follow us. Our goals align.”

  -||-

  Infantrymen, lighter in their armor though still adorned with Rejinard-inspired helmets and bronze-gilded steel, had distributed themselves throughout the torched remains of Littlest Blueberry. Not precisely uniformed or standardized, though there was a shared theme. They moved professionally and had evidently received some degree of training—urban conscripts or volunteers, not mere levies. Closer to soldiers than men-at-arms, although not quite there just yet.

  The dead were being sorted, collected, and prepared—no need for evaluation. For the Megaberriens already knew what had befallen.

  “There was a survivor—a young woman, barely of age…” the pistoleers’ leader, now dismounted from his horse, was thus explaining.

  Red stood there too, arms crossed, listening; the wagon having been parked behind, Blue and Maroon remained aboard. They had established themselves within a large space next to the main road of this former town, effectively their ‘operating station’.

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  “She was found by the Doomberriens”—Vice County of, that was—“aimlessly wandering the fog. Their messenger didn’t specify, but the discovering knights knew what had happened to her from appearance alone. She reported what befell this town in…detail, which the messenger did specify. I shall spare you the same.”

  “Don’t have to spare me anything,” Red just blandly said, “I’ve probably seen worse—from the hands of man. Ever seen a baby get ripped out its mother’s womb then boiled alive? Because I have.” He still could not separate whether such had actually happened or was a nightmare indistinguishable from the reality.

  The lead pistoleer’s facial reaction was obscured by the moustached mask; there was a grunt, however. “War…is certainly a tragedy.” he thus lamented; “This war most especially, being between…fellow berries.” Well, wasn’t this one an armored and armed pacifist. “Regardless,” he steeled himself, “her memories were a mess, according to the messenger, but the girl painted clearly: this was done by the hands of goblins and orcs.”

  “Ah.” Red simply acknowledged, his thoughts kept within.

  “And, from what was described, these were unlike any savage band we’ve heard of. Darkling goblins, grey and bluish. Orcs with actual plated armor, shields and spears—militarized, essentially.” The leader looked at him. “Sounds…awfully like this ‘Fallen’ you limitedly detailed, no?”

  “Yeah.” Red so replied.

  “…wait, the Fallen attacked this town?” quietly mumbled Blue, having been overhearing. “Is that the implication?” To the extent of her knowledge, this conflict hitherto had been practically, entirely, underground. This would be the first…

  Maroon, herself overhearing, had a puff of air leave her nose, her posture tightening as she clutched her cloak—hood outstretched, eyes evasive, a single click in her teeth. She kept herself opaque, silent and in peripheral shadow.

  “According to her, again through the messenger, the offenders appeared from ‘nowhere’ likewise.” the pistoleer leader continued; “They overwhelmed the town’s militia, smashed through the gates, and thoroughly pillaged the town. The people were brutalized and, strangely, sorted; men and boys of age were put the sword; the women and children were…taken.”

  “…taken, huh?” Red muttered, Blue herself echoing his breaths behind—her posture clenched, tensing.

  “The survivor herself managed to slip away after the ash had settled; she didn’t seem to quite know how or why she’d made it out uncaptured. They must’ve thought she was dead.”

  “Hm…” Red had to ponder, for emerging in his mind were dots. “…and she was the only one, huh? Knocked out or something?” he mused, momentarily glancing behind, focusing specifically on that cloaked shadowy figure situated on the wagon’s back, discreetly nervous.

  That totally-not-a-Raven was the only one of her attacked group to be discovered alive. Likewise, the Fallen, if they were the attackers, had killed or kidnapped everyone here…besides yet another lone survivor.

  Spurious or purely coincidental, perhaps; for his sample was only two… But he was nevertheless noticing a pattern.

  “The Doomberrien camp that had found her didn’t want to…respond.” so marched onwards the lead pistoleer; “Not sure how much you know, but the rebels captured Wolfberry holding”—Wolfberry being the barony to which Littlest Blueberry was bound—“not too long ago, forcing Baron Silverwolf and his retinue to flee to Doomberry Castle.”

  Doomberry Castle being, of course, the capital holding of titular Doomberry County and thus also the Vice County of Gloomberry—not to be mistaken for Doomberry City, the capital holding of Doomberry Vice County…

  Feudalism.

  “Suffice it to say,” the pistoleers’ leader nevertheless sufficed it to say, “this whole barony has become contested.”

  “Ah… And without their lord, nobody else’s obligated to protect this town, ain’t that right?” Red so remarked, passively digging.

  “Silverwolf is a housed guest to the count and still the legitimate holder. But the Doomberriens hold Wolfberry proper and have enthroned their own rebel claimant to the barony. So, both are obligated to protect this fief, which—”

  “Which is exactly the problem…” Red sighed, already being able to guess. “And this town’s way too close to the contested boundary.”

  The lead pistoleer nodded. “And scouts are everywhere. The Doomberriens didn’t want to risk an interception by the count’s men or, more pressingly, be presumed as the culprits themselves—that would be delegitimizing.” And legitimacy was important to both claimants. “Especially while being in the midst of a seasonal truce.”

  “Wait, a seasonal truce?” Such would be the first Red heard of such.

  “Yes. Oracles predict a harsh winter is ahead, so it was called early. But regardless,” indeed he kept focus, “word of this ultimately flowed its way to our camp instead.”

  “And…who are you exactly?” Red so finally asked—yet again.

  “We’re the reason you haven’t been ambushed by monsters.” one pistoleer could not help but interject himself, as if boasting to the adventurer. “We’re the ones keeping these lands sterilized from rot and stench.” The pistoleers’ leader, however, raised his hand, and his mouth closed.

  “Megaberry is neutral, as you know.” the leader went on to say; “Count Cuddleface, Fortune’s blessing to his compassionate heart, refuses to participate in this senseless bloodbath. However, expeditions like ours have been sent to clean the mess left by this catastrophic war and attend to the roads.”

  “That’s a colorful way of saying protecting Megaberry’s commerce and access thereto.” Red was cynically blunt.

  “To secure routes for flighters and the victimized.” The pistoleer leader preferred a rephrasing.

  Indeed, unlike Strawberry, Megaberry was more receptive to desperate refugees—as if a tumorously expansive blob always eager to keep growing and growing.

  “Regardless,” he continued forth, “our gilded armor is unmistakable, and our neutrality affords us privileges. We don’t affect the war, only alleviate the wounds; both sides have to come to rely on us to handle…sensitive situations, such as a goblin horde sacking a contested town.”

  “So, essentially,” Blue began to ask, her cutesy head sticking out from the wagon’s edge, “you are akin to the Wandering Frogs? Formally neutral, just attempting to help, so on?”

  “No.” Yet Red was quick to refute, staring the pistoleers down. “A Green Frog would probably throw himself in between a griffon’s beak and a peasant’s life. These guys, though? They’d just stand there and watch, unable to attack the griffon… Only burying the bodies. They don’t defend anything—they don’t save anyone.” He was not one to particularly care for such vapid ‘neutrality’.

  The pistoleers’ leader took a moment’s breath. “An attack like this by any greenie horde is unprecedented.” Naturally, he did not bother addressing Red’s point. “Hitherto, it has been opportunistic ambushes on the roads or small villages, not an assault on a town of this size. Hundreds of women, girls, and children were raped from their homes, certainly destined to be sold in the underlands as playthings.”

  Blue’s eyes drifted. “…sold as playthings, huh? Enslaved…” she lowly muttered, only a slight tremble to the arms—barely noticeable to even herself. She could only wonder if the wrongness came from the perpetrators being goblins and not mans.

  “This attack happened more than a week ago by now.” the pistoleers’ leader spoke on, nevertheless, his tone solemn. “Word took time to flow down the stream to us; our response took equal time. But we are here now, and so are you. And I don’t think our co-happening was a coincidence, Dragon Slayer.”

  Red could already guess where this was going…

  The leader proceeded to extend out his hand, as if requesting. “Your map, if you will.”

  Red complied; he fetched the map from the wagon and once again unfolded it before their eyes.

  “This ‘Fallen’, you said…” the lead pistoleer leaned forward, stroking the false chin of his armored moustache-mask. “The location of their den isn’t a coincidence. According to your map, this is the nearest town to them… They had to be the offenders.” Indeed, he nodded. “Yes. Our joint arrival has to be a boon from Lady Fortune herself.”

  Megaberry’s patron deity was Fortune; so, much tended to be framed accordingly.

  “And lemme guess: you wanna help us now?” Indeed, Red nearly grunted.

  “You’ll help us; we’ll help you.” The pistoleers’ leader preferred this rephrasing. “Two separate purposes converging to the same goal.”

  “Ugh…” Red needed to contemplate this…

  On one hand, he would prefer to manage only those two with him and not a whole…regiment of men. However, they could also make for decent meat shields, these faceless goons.

  Truly, not even within his own mind could he admit that he would appreciate the added help of trained men. This mission from the start was very risky, considering the Company had no idea what they were even being sent to deal with. And the Fallen were well-armed.

  “Our expectations, Dragon Slayer,” the lead pistoleer thus spoke, “as we made our way hither was that we were to clean up a mess; that by the time we hunted down those responsible, it would be far too late to find the raped.” He looked Red in the eyes. “But your arrival, your map, has saved us time. It might still be too late, but now we may actually be able to save…at least some of them. Fortune favors the generous.”

  Red’s eyes so drifted aside… “Well, aren’t you a fucking knight…” muttered his breaths. Truly, he could only wonder the scope of the hypocrisy; the atrocities this one had headed… They were all the same in his eyes.

  Knights and men-at-arms.

  “…do you really want to save them?” Blue, however, was the one to speak up, leaning out from the wagon; “…the stolen.” Her eyes were slightly evasive, posture tense. “…the enslaved. They aren’t your people.”

  Megaberry was one of the only realms in the whole continent to have explicitly prohibited the sale of slaves in general—thus, not exclusively mans but other races too. It simply was not their trade. However, sale and ownership were two separate matters. Whether or not this was intentional or an oversight was irrelevant.

  A slave still remained a slave either way…

  Which, to her, was also sort of a problem if the stolen were enslaved by the Fallen.

  Slavery, after all, was not merely some formalized or legalized institution. It was a largely customary practice long held as a nebulous ‘fact of nature’.

  There was genuine ambiguity regarding whether or not enslaved individuals—mans or otherwise—were still chattel if the enslaver or seller was a goblin, orc, or another ‘enemy’ race. While there were customs and regulations governing slaves, there was no universal law, rule, or code governing a ‘legal process’ of enslavement—to the victor went the spoils; by the mightier rendered the servile.

  And once a person was so branded a slave even in the abstract, the fact of their enslavement at all potentially made them fall under commercial and property customs which varied from realm to realm.

  It was open to selective interpretation, essentially.

  And, indeed, Blue looked at them straight. “…you are not merely going to…say saviorship only to then…claim ownership by privilege of looting rights and or resell them somewhere else?” Mercenaries, adventurers, men-at-arms: anyone participating in clearances had customary right to salvage loot.

  Her question was whether or not the goblin-enslaved people, now without homes, were part of that loot.

  During her former life, after all, she herself personally knew a few who had thought themselves ‘rescued’, only to end up, well, where she was.

  The pistoleers’ leader turned his eyes up to her, his expression hidden… “…have the thousand realms become so defined by horror that something as compassion has been rendered alien?” A platitude, not necessarily an answer…

  Though, it was…enough for Blue. She was not getting a bad sense from these people; perhaps her history was making her…needlessly distrusting.

  Blue sighed… “Well, then. Have you cleared a cave before, if I may?” she then suddenly asked, as if engaging in some vetting process.

  The pistoleer leader took a moment, his eyes drifting to his others. Their heads shook… “No.” he admitted.

  “Alrightly!” She stood up. “So, if you want to work with us, then you will have to follow our decisions. No exceptions. This is for your own safety.”

  “Heh. Look at you…” Red mumbled, almost half-smiling. He was hardly displeased by her sudden seizure of the initiative; she echoed some of the words he himself had told her too many times.

  “Goblins are often considered weaklings,” indeed she went on, “but they compensate for that with their intelligence and tactics.”

  “They’re dangerous.” Red took over. “Walk in there without forethought, you will get ambushed.”

  “Unless, of course,” then Blue had to say, “you are the Company’s armies, in which case you may march in and burn them out with firethrowers and gas.”

  Red nearly sighed a groan, once again reminded of the growing obsolescence of his whole profession.

  “…gas?” The pistoleers had not even the faintest clue.

  “Mhm.” Suddenly, Blue hopped down into the depths of their wagon, rummaging through their things before springing back out. “Gas.” There was a strange sort of…thing in her hand, which she held perhaps too casually.

  It looked almost like a bomb, yet had no obvious fuse… Rounded, elliptical, with some sort of…key or similar sticking out from the top. It was a strange contraption.

  “Anti-goblin gas.” Blue clarified. “Affects only goblins, orcs, and greenies.” So she had heard.

  “Careful with that thing, Blue…” Indeed, that was hardly a playing ball.

  Suffice it to say, shovels were not the only things they had so ‘borrowed’ from the Company’s camp. They likely would have ‘borrowed’ a firethrower and a rifle too, had they been able to get away with it.

  “It’s a bomb—a key bomb or grenade. Remove the key, it goes boom.” Red explained. “Point is: we came prepared; we know what we’re doing.” Half of the time, at least, and often a quarter of that half was still improvised on his part. He was never going to tell them that, though.

  “Hm.” The pistoleer leader just stared, both at him and the anti-goblin grenade in Blue’s palm. “You’re the professionals.” He, indeed, acknowledged. “Dusk is settling. We’ll head out in the morning. In the meantime, shall we discuss this further? Your recommendations for composition and so forth… What you’ve encountered before.”

  Ugh… Always wanting further elaboration, which Red always found cumbersome to give. Never mind that both he and Blue were still left with lingering distrusts.