The man who had been waiting for the Anbieter’s convoy was not far from the bottom of the mountains. However, he was not alone. About two dozen people had accompanied him, mostly southern porters he had hired earlier but also a couple of his own Titanian employees. He couldn’t have been by himself, for how would he distribute the material that they needed to pass the border post?

“Marquess Rask, how wonderful it is to finally see you!” the Anbieter extended his right arm out. Instead of taking his hand, Rask wrapped his hand around the other man’s elbow and held it firmly for roughly two seconds while maintaining eye contact humbly. This was how Titanians would greet each other, using a gesture called the ellebogengriff in their old tongue that had long since fell out of everyday use. The Anbieter reciprocated by pressing against his fellow noble Titanian’s elbow for a similar duration of time, before retracting his hand.

Rask, who was a couple of years older than the Anbieter’s 28 had a similar, slim build but his hair was somewhat lengthier, flowing down to the top of his back.

“Baron Linden, I’m happy to see that you’ve honoured our agreement,” Rask smiled. “It seems us Titanians aren’t too different after all, even if we live on different planets.”

“Prestige is what connects us.” The Anbieter agreed.

“Wait,” Meinrad asked. “You’re called Baron Linden? You’ve never told us that before.”

“I’m guessing he doesn’t want you lot to be reminded of his heritage, boy,” Rask laughed. “I wouldn’t want to be either, if I were in your place.”

“Well,” the Anbieter said rather loudly, trying to shift the attention away from him. “Marquess, since I’ve done my part of bringing all my units over the mountains, can I have your word that you’ll carry out yours?”

“Not yet,” Rask said. “Anything can happen. I’ll wait until after we get through the border post. But for that to happen, your soldiers will have to be able to enter it in the first place.”

He motioned for some of his porters to bring along a length of rope a few hundred meters long.

“Good thinking, Marquess.” the Anbieter nodded. There was only one way to get hundreds of northerners into south Yeupis without raising suspicion. The Anbieter had his soldiers line up single file, while pulling himself and Anwen—the only non-northerners, away from the group.

“Fold your hands together, everyone!” the Anbieter commanded. Most of the soldiers and medics obeyed promptly, but some hesitated.

“Are we getting tied up?” one soldier asked.

“I see how it is,” another one groaned. “You’re going to make us look like slaves so we can pass the border post.”

“I’m sorry, friends!” Rask cried. “I wish I could make this easier, but I too am not immune from Titanian law. This is the only way I can shuttle this many of you into the other side.”

“You’re already breaking Titanian law by conspiring against them, aren’t you?” a soldier muttered as his hands were being bound together by rope by a southern porter.

Less than five minutes later, 248 of the Anbieter’s convoy not including himself and Anwen were bound together in a single-file line by rope that tied their hands together.

“There’s no way we’re gonna having these things around our wrists for an entire week, right?” Detlef sighed.

“I’m sure there will,” Meinrad said in his usual laidback tone in front of his medic friend. “I mean, we’ll have to have bathroom breaks herd and now, right?”

“I’m not taking a dump in front of anyone, and I sure won’t be having someone else wipe my ass while I’m at it!” Detlef groaned.

Meinrad chuckled, acknowledging that continuing to tease Detlef was pointless.

The guy isn’t so soft anymore, Meinrad remarked. I’m sure Leon helped bring out some of that confidence he’s been hiding since I met him. No matter what happens… I hope it stays that way.

Anwen stood near the front of the group, awkwardly looking towards the ground.

So this was why I felt weird, Anwen noted, as she fiddled with her fingers. I guess I was right.

A finger tapped her shoulder, and she turned around to see one of Rask’s porters greeting her, a wide grin on her face.

“You’re Anwen, I reckon.” the woman, who was in her middle ages said in a friendly tone. She wore trousers that were baggy around the waist but tapered around her ankles, below which she wore leather slippers. She wore a long, tunic-like shirt. She realised that Jay had told her about this sort of clothing—the typical dress of the south, the salwar kameez.

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“And you are…?” the girl asked with a confused look.

The woman howled with laughter, and Anwen could only stare at her, trying not to cringe. The woman seemed to feel the girl’s embarrassment, after which she calmed down with great effort.

“I’m sorry, sweetie, I just… I ain’t think that accent would come outta’ your mouth. My apologies. Jay did say that you grew up in the north, I can’t really blame ya.”

“You know Jay?” Anwen squinted her eyes with more perplexity.

“Why, of course I do! I gave birth to that boy. I know him better than anyone. My name’s Paridi.”

“You’re his mom?” Anwen asked in awe. Jay had wished to acquaint her with his mother. His wish came true.

“Uh-huh,” Paridi nodded, before presenting to Anwen a set of clothing from a basket she held that was similar to her own. “Now, put these on, sweetie. We can’t have you going down in northerner clothing.”

“Um, where can I change?” Anwen asked as she took the clothing out of the basket.

“Hmm… let’s see…”

The no-man’s land was sparsely forested, but it was not because of development. It was to aid in the case that a slave attempted to run away—there would be nowhere to hide. But Paridi’s astute eyes caught sight of somewhere that fit the needs of the girl she had just met.

“…that outhouse over there is perfect,” she said, pointing at a metal structure just a little ways off of the dirt road. “Don’t take too long, though. The Marquess ain’t the most patient man.”

The Anbieter and Rask were completing a final look-over of their convoy to make sure nothing about them stood out. Meanwhile, it seemed that they were not alone. To their left, another group of people were passing by. A loud cracking noise broke through the air as a whip reinforced by Reserve flew over the heads of about 50 men, women and children.

“Faster, I said!” a Titanian man roared. “The border post isn’t getting any closer.”

His harsh demands were followed by the screams of people of all ages, from various settlements. The one thing they had in common was that they were northerners.

The Anbieter averted his gaze from the uncomfortable sight. He knew very well what was happening. It was not something he was being witness to for the first time. The slow footsteps of the captives only became more apparent as the smaller line passed the larger one.

“You’ve got yourself quite the catch, don’t you, brother?” the mastermind behind the actual slave-raiding mission said, patting the Anbieter’s shoulder.

“Keep your eyes on your own herd, pal,” the Anbieter said, attempting to hide his animosity towards the man only by feigning contempt. “I know jealousy when I see it.”

The foreman crossed his arms, and his already wide smile became even more pronounced.

“Jealousy, you say? That’s funny. Because I feel a pair of eyes on my back,”

He slowly turned around towards the front of the Black Shield convoy. Stefan breathed heavily, staring daggers. If his eyes were knives, they would’ve sliced straight through the slave-raider’s body. His eyes only told one emotion—rage.

The foreman clenched his fists as he stomped towards Stefan, whose intensity did not decrease a bit even as he got closer to him.

“You damn nobles are so spoiled… you can’t even keep your livestock in check. I’ll do it for you, don’t you worry.”

The Anbieter locked eyes with Rask for a moment, and the Marquess knew what he had to do. He followed up right behind the foreman and grabbed his shoulder.

“Weren’t you telling them to be faster?” he asked in a condescending tone. “Focus on your own herd, brother.”

It seemed that there was a fire in Niklas Rask’s eyes, waiting to flow over his eyelids and onto the foreman, who readily backed off and returned to commanding his shipment of slaves towards the post which was about 200 yards away.

“Lad, attention is what we least need to attract,” he reminded Stefan, who had calmed down by then. Simply the sight of what his mother might’ve had to go through so many years ago made him furious. He could only hope that a miracle would happen and free the innocent people being hauled away. But that was what the Black Shield sought to make come true. “But I like your energy. Don’t lose it,”

Rask turned to the Anbieter with a grin on his face. “I like this kid. You found yourself a good one, Linden.”

The Anbieter smiled back and nodded humbly. Shortly after, the convoy began moving again and reached the border post, a small building made out of a beautifully sleek, flawless tile that was foreign to Terra.

“Names of party leaders and purpose of entry?” a Titanian soldier asked as he leaned out of a window adjacent to the road that led into south Yeupis.

“Marquess Niklas Rask,” one of the Titanian men in the convoy raised his hand.

“Baron Egon Linden,” The Anbieter added. “Importation of labor.”

“Marquess Rask, I remember you leaving the south just yesterday,” another soldier said, poking his head out of the window, much to the chagrin of his colleague. “Back so soon? Oh, and Baron Linden! You’re finally back from your two-year slave-hunting trip.”

“Hey,” the first soldier said. “We don’t use those two words here.”

Other than that, he agreed with his colleague’s praise of Egon Linden.

The Anbieter simply nodded, beaming politely.

“My apologies. Sorry, go on. I won’t bother you.” the second soldier said, before returning inside the building.

“Anyways,” the original colleague sighed. “Number of imports entering the territory?”

“248.” the Anbieter confirmed.

“And number of additional persons accompanying the party?”

Rask counted the heads of the southern porters he had hired, plus those of his own Titanian servants, and Anwen.

“21.” he answered.

“Everything seems okay,” the soldier said, his eyes skimming over a communicator he didn’t bother to read. “You may enter. Safe travels, brothers. They found a trader dead just a little south of here! He was burnt up so bad they couldn't recognise him.”

“Thank you, brother,” Rask said, the Anbieter offering up another polite, but not kind, smile to the soldier. "I'll keep an eye out."

“That seemed way too simple.” Anwen noted as soon as the border post was out of her sight.

“They can’t be bothered to do it the hard way,” Rask shrugged. “The pay isn’t there. Being a border guard here in the Titanian military is like… what, being a waste picker in one of your villages?”

“Just about.” the Anbieter affirmed.

“You are one of their nobles, right, Anbieter?” Anwen asked suddenly.

“Yes, I am, Miss. Why?”

“I was just thinking… isn’t that a lot better than having a job like those two guys?”

“If it was,” he answered. “I wouldn’t have spent two years of my life playing for the other side.”