Day 35, 5:00 AM

“Don't you know, my son, with how little wisdom the world is governed?”

— Cardinal Richelieu

I’m still angry with the cook when I push open the door. The fucking thing creaks, and I freeze mid-motion. In my ears that squeak rings louder than a gunshot, but seconds pass, and nothing happens.

I squeeze into the room, unwilling to open the door all the way and risk another sonic outburst. The room is spacious, the bed comfortably large, and someone is softly snoring on it. The sound is probably louder than the squeak, but the door’s rusty hinges were the loudest thing when I first opened the door, and drowned the heavy breathing.

I stalk towards the bed, mindful of the wooden flooring, lest it squeaks in my face again. The flooring is solid, though, and I’m standing next to the bed, looking at two faces. I can’t tell how old the skinny girl is, should be fairly young.

The man’s age is also tough to tell. His hair is receding, his temple shining in the moonlight like polished, and his beard is thick. He should be my age, well, the age I was when I died, but estimating age based on hair and beard is tough. I had a highschool friend who had bald patches before hitting seventeen, and I had a thick beard when I was sixteen, maybe even fifteen? Seems like a lifetime ago.

Why do I always stray into trivia when there’s something important to do? It’s not really true, but tonight it certainly seems to be the case.

I steel myself, and pinch the girl’s neck, ready to smash in the man’s face. Nothing happens. She’s still sleeping, he’s still sleeping, I’m breathing hard. I force myself to relax, half expecting him to jump at me, but he just keeps snoring.

I glare at his shiny head, wiggling my fingers like Ohio Johnes. I even lick my lips, and then spring into action.

I grab his head, twist, and with a loud crack, he goes down to join the infernal line and watch safety hazards consume the void world. I wonder how many instances of adultery you have on a married man who had sex with his servants? I bet you had more on me, who was faithful to his wife, you fuckers!

I calm down and stop dissing hell’s administration, then wrap the viscount’s naked body in the blanket, leaving the girl uncovered. It’s warm enough, and she shouldn’t catch a cold.

I didn’t even check her out, I realize and open the door all the way, disregarding the squeaky hinges. I head down the stairs and into the kitchen.

I wash my hands and face, drink some water, and refrain from grabbing an apple before slapping the cook awake.

“Good morning, me again,” I say with a smile, pointing at the body wrapped like a baby, only the head showing. “Is that your viscount?”

She nods, her face turning whiter than the viscount’s.

“Thank you for your cooperation. Would you prefer me to knock you out, or would you like to follow me around as I free the mill slaves?”

She shakes and stares at me.

“I’ll take that as, ‘Please knock me out.’”

I move my hand when she says, “Stop.”

I stop and look into her face.

“Could you please move us to the broom closet? I don’t want anyone seeing us.” She looks away from me, and towards her daughter.

“Lady, if anyone touches you or your children, they will spend the last two minutes of their lives wishing they were this corpse here.” I pause before I continue, my voice equally grave. “I’m afraid of myself when I’m angry. And let me tell you, anyone doing something to women and children against their will makes me very, very angry.”

She nods, not really understanding the extent of Rage’s horror.

“That said, I will gladly move you to the broom closet,” I say in a friendlier tone. “Do you want to carry the kids yourself, or do you trust me enough to carry them?”

I pause, but Blunt has something to add. “You, however, have to walk. You’re too fat.”

The woman laughs, her laughter more than a bit hysterical. “I’ll carry Tina, you carry Ander.”

Five minutes later, I’m striding boldly through the yard, no longer giving a damn whether the nightguards spot me. The viscount’s body is slung across my shoulder and Batsy’s in my hand as I head for the slave pen.

This is going much smoother than last time.

I crush the lock, startling the slaves awake.

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“What’s happening?”

“It’s too early!”

They complain, but it’s pitch black inside, and I can’t see a thing. That’s when I realize I forgot to bring a lantern.

“The night is too damn bright,” I mutter, then continue in a louder voice. “Good morning, gentlemen. Please remain quiet, I have something to say. I’m raising an army, and I’m willing to free any slave wishing to join. Currently, we have one hundred and forty strong. We have executed Holgord’s viscount, and I have viscount Parren’s dead body here with me. Anyone care to enlist?”

“Get me out of here!” several of them scream, and I shush them. I expect the guards to run over or something, but they don’t. Screaming slaves seem to be a normal, everyday occurrence in a slavery-friendly society.

Indifferent, I leave Batsy and the viscount on the grass and stumble through the dark to break the shackles of twenty-two men lord Parren had kept enslaved.

“Wait outside,” I whisper to each of them, and they obey.

The whole affair takes ten-odd minutes, and the sky is getting brighter.

I do a headcount when I exit the pen, and everyone is present.

“We will go to the house, quietly,” I say. “There we will capture everyone and hold them in one room, under close supervision. If anyone hurts someone who is not resisting, I will inflict twice or more the injury onto you. We are civilized. If anyone sexually molest or assault anyone, I will tear you to pieces, like I’ve done with the chains. Once we are certain we are safe, you will eat and drink water. No getting drunk. Once everyone is full, we will arm you, and then go to the main square, where we will hang the viscount, and make a public declaration of our cause.”

I pause and look at their excited faces. “Any questions?”

Surprisingly, there are none. They follow me to the house, and I wonder whether the gate guards have fled. Maybe they are asleep?

“Sit down. Wait here, I have to check something.”

I walk over to the gate, and sure enough, the two guards are sitting on a pair of stools, drool oozing out of their gaping mouths and down their chins. I pinch their necks, grab each of them under my arms, and carry them back to meet the sitting slaves.

“Any veterans here? Raise your hands.”

Five hands shoot up.

“Stand.”

I take a moment to eye them, pick the best-fitting duo, and pass them a guard each. “You take his gear, you take his. Tie them up, but don’t kill them.”

An hour later, I walk into the dining hall to check on things. There’s twenty-seven people inside. The two armed veterans are watching over the slaves, servants, the stripped guards, the viscountess, and her little boy. The guards and two nobles are bound and gagged, everyone else is free to speak, as long as they keep sitting on the floor, their hands beneath their butts.

“Once more, sorry for the inconvenience,” I say to everyone, and hand yesterday’s bread and thick slices of ham to the two vets.

“Take turns eating. The rest are nearly done, and then it’s time for the main event.” I leave them to their own devices, and head to make the viscount’s corpse decent, for everyone’s sake. I stop as I’m about to close the door and look at Cellie.

She rejected the offer of freedom, as did the cook and her children. The only ones who joined me are the mill slaves. Everyone else looked shocked or despondent when I broke the news.

It’s strange. I can’t deny Harkgord is more prosperous than Holgord. There are no broken windows, and while discontent veterans must be around, I have not visited cheap taverns to meet them face to face.

Maybe the man was doing a good job managing this town? Maybe his people loved him? Is that why my thoughts wandered?

I enter the kitchen, and the crowd looks at me, their mouths full. They aren’t using plates, but they are almost done with their chunks of bread and meat.

“Finish your meals quickly. We have work to do.”

They nod, and ten minutes later we are climbing onto the spacious scaffold. Several passersby look at us and gasp, but I ignore their shock and hang the deceased viscount Parren’s body.

“Ring it,” I tell Kash, who yanks the bell’s chain.

Reality clashes with my expectations right from the get-go. The first ones to come running are the town guards. Eight of them dash into the square, out of breath. They look at the stage and see their lord swaying from the noose.

“What have you—” one of them starts, but I refuse to give them the initiative.

“Join us or fight,” I shout, and they gape at me.

I’m shocked to see them all draw their swords in near perfect sync.

They didn’t even consider it? I thought my presence and charisma were high enough to convince them into joining us.

They run towards us, and I spot my followers drawing swords, getting ready to charge.

“Defend the gallows,” I shout, and, swinging Batsy, I leap to meet the guards.

My order wasn’t to reduce the loss of life. I have to defeat them alone. I have to cow any other potential attackers with overwhelming martial might, because we lack the numbers.

What if everyone turns against us? The town has some twenty-five hundred residents, roughly a third of them are children, half are slaves, half women. That means three hundred and twenty men of various ages, let’s say two hundred and fifty combatants. Against twenty of us. We’re fucked if things get out of hand and they realize they can drown us in bodies.

Let’s hope nobody would waste their life for nothing.

All those thoughts flash through my mind mid-air beforeI land, sprinting forward. Batsy whistles through the air as I swing her like a madman. I smash a guard in a downward sweep, crushing his skull and spine. Using the leftover momentum, I swing the staff sideways, hitting another guard’s leg and tripping him.

I pull Batsy back while jumping back to open some distance. They hesitate for an instant, and I use the chance. I club another guard on the side. His arm bends and cracks and he falls down screaming.

My body learns something after every battle, and my skills are improving. However, my progress is too slow. I’m nowhere near a real martial artist. More like a gorilla with a thick stick, I’m roughly as strong, but more agile, and my mind is much keener.

Still, strength and agility are enough for now. Three guards are down and their morale buckles.

“Surrender, and we will spare you,” I say and they hesitate. “We’re not monsters. We just want freedom. We will pay for everything we need and leave if you don’t want us here.”

I pause, and the youngest of them relaxes his stance. He looks like he will drop his sword.

“I only executed the viscount, and I have legal justification.”

The oldest standing guard looks at me suspiciously, a nasty scar marring his cheek. “What possible legal justification could you have?”