"The Roniceri?"

       "Yes, my lord Rory."

       Rory's eyes widened. "My lord Rory...?"

       "Yes. We serve you and you alone, my lord. We are no mutts of the Vyncis."

       "What."

       "We were all taught of your greatness, lord Rory."

       "What."

       Rory felt someone pulling on his sleeve.

       "Rory, what are you going to do about that guy?" Rosa asked.

       "Oh, yes," Rory said, snapping back into attention. He turned towards the captain of the guards he had brought. "Take him back to the village."

       "My lord? How shall we punish him?"

       "Don't."

       "What! But, Rory, he tried to kill you!" Rosa protested.

       Rory smiled. "I have an uncomfortable amount of symphony for him," he said, pointing at this now healed leg. "Besides, I need these people to fight for me. By their own choice, hopefully. I don't believe killing one of them will help with that."

       "Our lord is so merciful!" "How thoughtful!" "Our lord's legendary cunning is true!"

       One of the masked ones turned towards them. "Shut up! How dare you speak so openly in front of him!"

       This is really creepy. "Uh, no, it's okay. I don't mind if you speak in front of me. Feel free to."

       All of them went to their knees, crying out, "Thank you, lord Rory!"

       Rory sighed, covering his face with his hand and beginning to finally enter the mansion. Why does nothing make sense out here?

       Not yet a day had passed. Rory was standing in front of the door, waiting impatiently for a guest to arrive. Bored, he turned his head towards Rosa, who was currently attempting to slide down the handrail.

       "What are you doing?"

       "I use to do this all the time."

       "How old are you again?"

       "Fifteen, now."

       "Aren't you afraid of showing up your skirt or something?"

       "Aren't you married to me?"

       "Not yet, technically."

       "Oh, whatever," she replied, beginning her endeavor. Rory watched her slide down, slowly at first, picking up speed as she went. He sighed and turned his head, but soon heard a shriek come from behind him. He quickly spun around, his fingers reaching for Chronos, only to see Rosa, caught by about five of the Roniceri.

       "Are you okay, my lady?"

       Rosa laughed sheepishly. "Yes, uh, yes I am."

       "Can you please not do that?" Rory sighed. "And who are you people again? Why are you in my house?"

       "We are here to protect you and your consort, my lord Rory."

       "How do you randomly appear everywhere?"

       "We are trained in the arts of stealth and tactical warfare."

       "Great, now I have a bunch of crazy ninjas who worship me. What is going on..."

       Rory heard a cough from behind him. Spinning around for the umpteenth time, he saw a sinewy old man, whatever hair left on his hair a crisp white, his flesh emancipated by age.

       "You called for me, my lord?"

       "Yes," Rory said, gesturing for the man to sit down. "From what I've heard, you are a sort of a local leader?"

       The old man hesitated, before sighing. "Yes, my lord. Some consider me that. But, my lord, my power originated from respect due to my age. It is nothing as concrete as your lineage."

       "What is your name?"

       "Cairn. Cairn Earls, my lord."

       "Well, Cairn, I am not punishing you. Far from it. I need advice."

       Cairn looked surprised. "Advice? From me?"

       Rory took a deep breath. "I'll be honest here, Cairn. I need to reinstate the draft. Don't ask why, just know that I must. And I realize from the reaction today that it may be significantly more difficult than I imagined. You are familiar with the people."

       "My lord, if you would pardon my words—"

       "Don't bother with the 'my lord'. Or the politeness. I don't have time for it. Speak to me as you would any other person, or else I'll have your head off."

       "A-alright. The first obstacle is you. You are a stranger to the lands and the people do not trust you. Rosa is too young and too feminine—the people love her, but they will not be willing to fight under her. If Pier was the one calling, then no doubt every man alive in at least the northern territories would be here and drilling within a week."

       "That is a problem I cannot rectify. Pier will not be coming."

       "I understand. It's the alternate year, is it not? The second obstacle is the current state of affairs. The weather has not been kind to us. We have not had proper rainfall for months now. It is also still summer; you are asking for the men to leave the farms during their most crucial period."

       "Do you have no irrigation systems?"

       "Irrigation?"

       "Your confusion is music to my ears. I have a plan, Cairn. I need you to help me support it," Rory said, eagerly writing something on a piece of parchment.

       "What shall you do?"

       "Say, Cairn, how will the people react if suddenly they don't need the rain anymore?"

       "What do you mean?" he asked, his eyes widening.

       "I mean water all year round. Anytime. Oh, yes, how do you plow? With what animal? Do you have fertilizer?"

       "We plow as all do, my lord."

       "Do you double over?"

       "Why, of course."

       "And with what animal?"

       "Oxen."

       "Very good, very good," Rory said, a mischievous look in his eyes. His hands danced on the parchment, words appearing as fast as his mind could hatch his new plots. "Does your land grow bad?"

       "Of course. If it would not, then we would not have spent the effort expanding."

       "What do you grow?"

       "Wheat, barley, rye primarily."

       "Any beans? Clover?"

       Cairn looked confused. "I'm not entirely sure what those are."

       "This gets better and better. Man, people were retarded."

       "'Retarded'?"

       "Don't worry about it. Fancy noblemen language. Alright, you may go. Keep in touch with me. I'm going to go invite some friends." Rory stood up, letter in hand, the ink not yet dry. "Rosa, could you go send this to a courier?"

       "No. Do it yourself."

       Rory sighed. "Could one of you go send this to a courier?" he asked, gesturing towards to the Roniceri.

       "Of course! We would be honored to—"

       "No, don't! Don't let him get any lazier."

       The Roniceri members were utterly confused, looking back and forth between Rory and Rosa, torn over who to follow. Rory, feeling his brain cells deteriorate by the second, waved his hand. "…I'll do it..."

       Two days later, Sym, a relatively rural settlement which didn't usually receive that many visitors, was filled by outsiders. A long chain of carts and wagons still extended from the town. The townspeople were flabbergasted, and the farmers more so. From before the sun had even risen above the horizon, men had gone to most of the farms, digging trenches and stringing along strange black string. They were met with hostility at first, but Rosa had been sent to placate the farmers, and by afternoon most of the work was done.

       Rory had called for all available persons to meet at the Plaza for announcements and an explanation. Now, he looked on over the heads of more than 1,000 people, up on the gallows. Why is the only platform available the one they hang people on anyways... No microphones yet, so he had no choice but to yell as loudly as he could.

       "Good afternoon! I am sure you have seen my men working on various parts of your farm recently. Do not be alarmed; this is all in due process. Now, though you may not know me well, know now that I am considered a great engineer in the capital. And today, I have brought many of the newest technologies to our humble abode, so that we may live fuller and more comfortable lives. Now, as I have well heard, the land is currently facing a drought. No more! You see the tunnels constructed throughout your land? Those will bring water to you."

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       Gasps and murmurs filled the crowd. One brave soul managed to yell out, "How the hell did you do that?"

       "An Archimedean Screw. Water is pumped from either the river or various artesian wells I have drilled throughout the land. The pumps are powered through an electric motor—"

       "Electric?"

       "Indeed! Electricity. It is energy, somewhat like fire. But it can be easily stored and used! Not even the capital knows about it. You will be the first to use it."

       Upon hearing that they would have technology more advance than even the capital, the people began to grow excited.

       "The electricity is supplied by the black wires you see extended over your land. It is generated by either the wind turbines," he yelled, pointing over at a few of the towers, "or by the water turbines at the river. And electricity can do more than that! The hand mill has been replaced by one also powered with an electric motor. You no longer need to manually move it." He briefly looked behind me; good, the sun was beginning to set. "And finally, we can do this!" he said, snapping his fingers. At once, light flooded through. "No longer will the sun limit our activity!"

       'Ooo's and 'Aah's resonated around him. Rory smiled.

       "I'm not done! This," he groaned, barely lifting a giant amalgamation of steel, "is a heavy plow. You will only need to plow once with this. And no, the oxen will not be strong enough. I have supplied each household a workhorse, which has enough strength and stamina to use one of these. Treat him well."

       "Who's paying for them?"

       "Why, I am, of course. Your taxes will be unaffected. More to come throughout the weeks!"

       "Then why are you doing it?"

       Rory blinked. "As a Vyncis, I feel it's necessary to improve the lives of my subjects."

       "Why haven't you even come here before, then? Why now?"

       Why hadn't he come here? Too preoccupied, he supposed. Too distracted. Independent power, the kind of power that forms empires and rules nations, comes from people. They, after all, make up the army. But he had forgotten about why he needed that power. Forgotten about why he was here in the first place. It certainly wasn't to play Aristocrat cum businessman.

       "I... I suppose I haven't the time," he managed to squeeze out. He looked out at the thousands of faces staring at him. From now on, I'll make time.

       Night had fallen on the land. Tired after his oratory, Rory was lounging in one of the hearth rooms. He noticed a few shadows in his room.

       "Come out."

       The two masked Roniceri appeared in front of him, kneeling.

       "There are more of you, are there not?"

       One of them whistled, causing twenty more of them to appear.

       "Is there something you need?"

       One of the masked ones responded. "Yes, my lord. We heard your speech today and felt it was very inspiring. If you could possibly spare some time..."

       "You me to teach you?"

       "Yes, my lord."

       "You two," he said, pointing towards the masked ones, "you have names, do you not?"

       They hesitated. "I am... Deimos." "And I am Eris."

       "Very well. Before I teach you anything, all of you—including you two, Deimos and Eris—must complete a challenge for me."

       "Anything, my lord," they answered.

       "Who are you?"

       Some of them blinked in confusion. "What do you mean, my lord?"

       Rory sighed. "Look, you all just appeared in front of me, declaring your loyalty. For all I know you're a bunch of enemy spies. Who are you? Where are you from? How do you know me? I need to know your stories."

       "We're not important—"

       "Shut up. I've spent plenty time wallowing in self-pity, believing myself unimportant. It's grating and insulting, to both you and me. I am not going to teach a bunch of emo kids. If you wish to stand with me, you will stand tall and stand proud."

       All of them stood up upon hearing this, saluting him. "Yes, my—"

       "Stop it. Honorifics are merely a way of gaining power over another. If I need arbitrary constructs to put you all in line, then I am not worthy of teaching you. No honorifics, no polite speak, and absolutely no groveling. I told you to stand proud, and I expect you to stand proud, especially to me."

       None of them spoke, unsure of what to say.

       “Good. If you don’t have anything to say, then don’t. Filling it with a ‘Yes, my lord’ is a waste of air. Now, how did this… group form?”

       One of them began. “We were freed from various jails by you, and then happened to group together—“

       He was interrupted by another Roniceri, who shook his head. “That’s not true. I will not lie to you, my—Rory. And neither should any of you,” he said, looking around. A few of them turned their heads down in shame. “We were put together by a Tykis.”

       “Illan, then?”

       “Yes.”

       “I’ll give him an earful when I get back. Go on.”

       “All of us, apart from Deimos and Eris, were collected from jails. We were freed by you, Rory.”

       “And Illan took you in? Damn him, he must have intercepted my orders. What did he have you do?”

       “He taught us about your exploits, Rory. You’re a great man.”

       “I’m not even old enough to be a man.”

       “His men trained us in mathematics, sciences, and assassination.”

       “And what? Excuse me?”

       “Assassination.”

       “What.”

       “Yes, all of us have at least assassinated one person,” he said, a hint of pride in his voice.

       “That, that… that’s insane. That’s terrible! The hell is wrong with him!?” If I didn’t have this damn war to deal with I’d have him in a court by now.

       Once the shock began receding, Rory started again. “That is enough, thank you. I will teach you,” he sighed. As he looked through the crowds, the Roniceri suddenly seemed much smaller, no more a pack a murders than a group of tainted souls. They all stared at him with hopeful eyes, innocent eyes. Rory made up his mind. I must do all that I can to right these wrongs. That includes righting you, Illan.

       It had been nearly a week. Rory was breaking fast with Cairn, whom he had invited back in.

       "How do they think of me now?"

       "My lord—"

       "Stop. I already told you, I don't have time for that."

       Cairn took a deep breath. "They like you quick a bit, now. You've brought many great things to them."

       "Any dissenters?"

       "I'd say the majority have a positive view of you. Some are skeptical, though. They don't believe that you would do all that with naught to gain. In particular, there's a group of immigrants who have been slandering you all day."

       "Group of immigrants?  Where from?" Rory already had a faint idea.

       "Aklan."

       "Of course. Are they persecuted? There was a recent war, after all."

       "Somewhat. They're not well liked, but I'd wager that comes more from their actions than their heritage."

       "Go on."

       "They're quite brutish. No sense of etiquette. Spit everywhere. Speak roughly. Harass people."

       "And you haven't evicted them yet?"

       Cairn shook his head. "We feel that would be against what Pier Vyncis would wish for. He always wanted peace."

       Peace, huh. Rory stood up, taking off his cloak, revealing a set of worn trousers and tunic.

       "Where are you going? What are you dressed in?" Cairn asked, alarmed.

       Rory walked over and put on a traveling cap. "Going to see for myself, of course. Are you coming, Rosa?"

       "Of course! This sounds fun."

       "You've certainly become more carefree recently."

       "I don't have to worry about the household, now."

       "Well, don't be too carefree. Oh, yes, wear this hood."

       She pouted. "Why? It's ugly."

       "Because everyone and their mother knows what you looks like."

       Cairn stood up, protesting, "It will be dangerous, my lord!"

       "Dangerous?" Rory asked, turning around. He smirked. "Do you think I have time for danger?"