“What brought you here?” Ratcatcher inquired, leaving the market with the boys.

“Got to administer some medication to the Insectones in the tower.” Rowen patted the medical bag. “Nothing serious, really, just a mild case of tuberculosis. But after a nurse got beaten up in an alley yesterday, the Barjonis stopped sending Normies out, even though the Governor saw those responsible hanged. Me, on the other hand? Oh, I’d love to see some punk try to jump me.”

“And as for me, the Champions ordered me to perform a maintenance check on the underground reactor in the same tower.” Jumail pointed at the structure barely visible above the stores.

Ratcatcher put her hands behind her head, slapping the ground with her tail. Yeah, killing people—any people—is bad. She didn’t buy the “desperate times call for desperate measures” bullshit; the government here had the means and space to deal with the criminals humanely. But there was nothing she could do about it, and she had her own problems and interests to pursue.

Speaking of interests. She glanced at Jumail, biting her lip. There was something that has been bothering her a lot. Jumail visited the instructor’s room, and she knew for certain that back at the ship, the instructor had left Vasily alone for hours and disappeared, and Elina saw him hours later talking to Jumail. That could only mean one thing. Augustus often invited his trainees for private training, polishing their skills individually. This was how they all chose their weapon styles and learned to mix them with regular weapons.

What kind of weapon did Jumail choose? The question was eating her from inside. It couldn’t be something destructive; the instructor’s room is rather small… Or is it? Maybe its walls can withstand megaton explosions and… but how would Augustus remain unharmed?

“Okay, lay it out already. Why were you in Augustus’ room on the ship?” she asked.

“Confidential.” Jumail stopped by a stall, swaying his front body down to imitate a bow to an Insectone trader. The boy ignored the girl and started deliberately slowly choosing a roasted insectoid larva covered in sugar.

“C’om, I wanna know, I wanna know!” Ratcatcher jumped a few times. “I’ll tell you all about my own secrets. You can read my diary if you want to! I can give you the mancatcher for a test and a manual on how to use it! I’ll… I’ll pay for your dinner; scratch your back; massage your legs; just tell me already what sort of…”

“I’m getting adopted,” the boy said proudly.

“What?!” Rowen and Ratcatcher asked simultaneously.

This wasn’t what she thought he visited Augustus for! She thought he was going to learn a secret technique, a cool move, or at the very least, a few secrets of trade. How to coerce a guard into giving you information. How to bribe someone properly. She wasn’t planning on getting privy to Jumail’s private life!

“I noticed six messages on my terminal from my little brother, Scytha,” Jumail said, ignoring Ratcatcher’s attempts to stop him. “Well, the first one was an urgent request for talk; the rest were a long stream of profanities for not responding at once. I called him from the instructor’s room, and the little sonic squirt wasn’t the only one who greeted me.” Jumail paid for a larva, swallowed it in one bite, and turned to hug Rowen and Ratcatcher. “My baby sister, Lee, was there too! And not alone; a family had paid them visits for the past half-year, talking, communicating—that kind of stuff. And wouldn’t you know the duo decided to leave the rehabilitation facility with them, and they lived in Iterna’s north for the past week?” Jumail put his teammates on his back, speaking faster. “My supposed new mom and dad look like decent people. Good. Kind. Just what my siblings need to be happy. And best of all, they invited me, me! A person they don’t know a thing, never talked with, to become their son!”

“That’s… That’s awesome!” Ratcatcher hugged Jumail’s ‘neck’, a space where two round parts of his body connected, and the boy grinned. “I am so happy for you! Oh, and sorry for prying.”

“Eh, beat it; I could barely hold it in myself.”

“Not to be a party pooper, but have you done some research?” Rowen asked carefully. “There are people out there who will take advantage of young children.”

“Of course!” Jumail said it eagerly. “That’s the first thought that popped into my head. Why? Why would they be so open to me and to them? Is this a trap? Are my siblings in trouble? I called both Instructor Torosian and later spoke with Instructor Augustus. Mr. Torosian ran the couple through the database, and Instructor Augustus did one better. His uncle paid the family a visit, chatted a bit, and yes, all is good. Better than good, great! Lee and Scytha have a loving family! And so do I! I mean, I’m still going to kick Scytha’s ass for running his mouth in front of Mom and Dad, but other than that, the future looks bright.” He paused. “That reminds me. Eliza, have you talked to any of the Avengers?”

“No.” The question puzzled her. “Should I? Weren’t all of them somewhere on the mission?”

“They returned at night, earlier than expected,” Rowen said. “They reported to Elina about their readiness to escort us, so we will leave tomorrow as planned. But two of them joined me on a way back from patients, asking me about my future, quickly dropping the subject after I explained I planned to become a doctor.”

“They also tried to ask me some strange questions.” Jumail tapped at his mandibles. “But the Orais in charge shooed them away. I called the instructor and told him all about it, anyway.”

“No, no one has approached me,” Ratcatcher said.

She jumped off Jumail’s back after noticing the chapel and thanked the boy for the ride. The weather was beautiful, and the sun shone brightly, playing in the chapel’s painted windows. She didn’t feel herself even a little bit tired, but a good nap won’t hurt. Tomorrow, they will leave this place and go on with their training. She had to be in her prime, lest she drag the whole team down.

Come to think about it, what was there to worry about? She had survived a battle with the shamblers; should some caves pose a challenge to her? Sure, the instructor had talked about the mechanical horrors that fell into the open chasms, but she could bet her monthly salary that the Academy wouldn’t send her here unless the place was completely safe. Short of falling asleep on a cliff, nothing could hurt her, and even then, the power armor would take care of the fall damage.

Singing a melody from Eugenia’s latest song, “Dreams of the Days Yet to Come,” Ratcatcher opened the chapel door, stepping into the hallway. The only source of light was from the windows above, illuminating the pathway leading to the shrine and the series of benches standing at the sides. The Church of the Planet lacked a confession booth; it was customary for reverends to meet with troubled souls in their offices instead.

The chapel was a poor but comfortable representative of the Church. A wooden floor, which cracked slightly under every step, was covered by a soft green rug stretching all the way to the dais on the opposite side of the hall where the Reverend led prayers at night. At the Reverend’s insistence, all bowls for charity were removed. The Church’s superiors felt it was inappropriate to ask the faithful in the city for donations. In their place were stands with lists of tasks calling for volunteers’ attention and messages about the priests’ whereabouts during the day.

Each church of the Planet always had a medical room on the bottom floor. One of the Church’s core tenets was the healing of the planet: the body, meaning the land, and the soul, meaning the people who lived on the land. For this reason, all clergy were trained in the ways of word and healing; not a single priest could reach the rank of reverend without extensive medical training. Treatment was not free in most parts of the world, and though the Church tried to make it as cheap as possible, its resources weren’t infinite, and sometimes people died at their doors. This chapel lacked medical faculties, but the priests helped carry people to the actual hospitals.

Ratcatcher closed the doors, still whistling the tune, and stopped halfway across the hall, noticing a Troll sitting before the dais. She stirred, rising from one knee, two mechanical arms folded on her back; their treads gave out a light sound upon contortion.

I didn’t even notice her presence! The Troll didn’t breathe; she said nothing; her very being felt like nothing, throwing the girl off balance. The newcomer had concealed her presence in the open.

“My apologies,” the woman in a silken crimson business suit said in a soft tone, her voice easily conveying concern. She wore a black scarf around her gray neck, emblazoned with the crest of the Avengers. Electric currents washed over her skin, illuminating it in tandem as she started breathing. “Have I startled you, Lady Eliza?”

“A bit, yeah!” She nodded and walked toward the dais, stepping on one knee and giving praise to the Planet’s iconography on the wall. Let the newcomer wait. Ratcatcher used this brief respite to calm herself. “I’m afraid you have put me at a disadvantage and confused me for something I am not. Trust me, I ain’t a lady.”

“Allow me to disagree with this assessment,” the Troll said pleasantly, throwing Ratcatcher’s off. She pressed a gloved hand to her chest and bowed, spreading a non-existent cloak with one arm. “No one who fought so hard to save poor souls can be anything but a noble lady. A nobility given by blood pales in comparison to a nobility that shines in a soul.”

“Once more, you overestimate my involvement.” Ratcatcher watched the woman with her beady eye. “All I did was survive a bad guy who aimed to kill me. Hardly an accomplishment.”

“Your modesty does you credit, but it is you who undersell your involvement in Birchshell’s sorry business, Lady Eliza. I was there, and I saw your actions with my own eyes and mind. Were it not for the brave Iternian aid, we would have leveled the city from afar, sacrificing our own. I am Countymeister Wivin Magthildis, the one responsible for the Avengers’ technological edge, and on behalf of my chapter, I thank you for saving our people,” the Troll said.

“So you survived!” Ratcatcher went over to the woman and embraced the startled Troll with both relief and a bit of vengeance. Wanted to throw me off, did you? Have at you! “Thank the Planet, ma’am! When the machine melted the wall, I thought the people on it had suffered the same fate.” She stopped, ashamed of her behavior, and let go of the woman. “It is because of us that the Oathtakers lost so many soldiers, ma’am.”

“Call me Wivin, please.” The countymeister placed hands—not biological but mechanical—on the trainee’s shoulders. “Your grief is appreciated, but do not dare take the blame for the deaths of brave men and women on your shoulders. That was not your sin. What are soldiers, if not protectors and saviors of civilians? What do we live for if not to shield and protect them?” The mechanical hands lifted Ratcatcher’s head. “Stand proud, child of Iterna. I despise the decision of your superior to put gentle ones in danger, but had you been an Oathtaker, I would’ve personally recommended, nay, made you enlist in the Heroes’ ranks. You used the Blessing given by God well. It pains me that your country doesn’t follow your example.”

“I am not sure I understand,” Ratcatcher said, keeping her cool. What is going on? Is she in danger? Doubtful: the Oathtakers and Iterna are allies. And she sensed no aggression from the countymeister. But there was something off about the situation. No way the Avengers approached them out of courtesy. “Iterna spends considerable resources on charity and education, convincing nearby countries and settlements to join us.”

“And do you believe that this is the correct way?” Wivin asked, walking around Ratcatcher. She thudded on the rug and sat on a bench, leaving the way to the exit open. “The best path to save lives? To protect those who are weak?”

“Of course! We can build a better world through understanding and cooperation.”

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

“And what understanding could there be with the Chosen Prince?” Wivin asked, and Ratcatcher found herself at a loss. “Do you know why so many countries in the world are so poor and their people live in terrible conditions?”

“Misguided beliefs, bigotry, racism, irrational fear, cruel traditions, rule of the strong, dictatorship... All the things that can be fixed through education, by the way,” Ratcatcher decided to add a little jab.

“If that would be so, why do the Ravaged Lands, with painful groans, move toward the brighter future beneath the King’s rule and despite the presence of a tyrant like Blaguna Nokto?” Wivin said. “No, girl, you miss the point. You named all the valid symptoms, but the sickness is something else.”

“And what might that be?” Ratcatcher asked.

“Corruption.” The Troll’s metal arm moved, and a hologram of a man stuffing himself with money appeared out of its palm. “This is an image from an Old World’s poster calling for workers to unite to get a fairer wage. Let’s change the color.“ Her other arm moved, creating a perfect mirror image of the white man, only now with dark skin. “Is there any difference between them? No. Racism plagued our world long before the Industrial Revolution; after it happened, racism receded.”

“But…” Ratcatcher slapped the floor with her tail. “There were instances when people of different colors clashed.”

“True. And why is that?” The Troll asked. The trainee shrugged, and the woman continued. “In an age where you could speak with a person from the moon, why would anyone care about skin tone? Simple. Because politicians and wealthy people manipulated the media and whipped up hysteria. The Old World was a utopian realm, but not without its problems. A politician gets into power, gets access to enormous amounts of wealth, and it corrupts her. She starts buying stuff…”

“Like yachts!” Ratcatcher added.

“Yachts? They were nothing back then. The elite bought spaceships, often never having time to even use them in their race for more money and more growth. The corporations experienced the same: an urge to show, an urge to expand. They didn’t rest, they didn’t enjoy their wealth, they crushed all those who tried to take away their wealth, staged clashes among the population to discredit their opponents, because the fear of losing the money was even greater than the fear of losing their lives. This is corruption. Whether it is a desire for authority or money, corruption comes first. Blaguna and the King are both vile things, but for now, their corruption is ruining them rather than their nations. They have yet to call for genocide, but I have little doubt that it’ll happen one day.”

“You seem to put too much focus on the individuals.” Ratcatcher sat on the floor and wrapped her tail around her waist.

“You disagree?” Wivin’s voice sounded like a question, but the woman’s face remained impassive. “Whether you like it or not, there are extraordinary people. I could never replace the noble Brogard, and you could never replace the Redeemer. Individualism plays a key role in shaping a society. Humans, as a whole, are good. Very few people would ever take up arms and kill a neighbor out of hate, even if they irrationally fear that neighbor because of, say, extra limbs. Look no further than Stonehelm to see proof of this theory: the Malformed work side by side with all others, and no one blames them. But if you had, as an example, a radio station that called for the death of the Malformed day and night, some might be moved by the poisonous words. An individual corrupts a whole collective.”

The trainee didn’t know what to say, but this assessment didn’t sit well with her. It absolved both the population of responsibility and their accomplishments. True, talent existed, and it was foolish to think otherwise. And true, individuals, like the accursed Mubarakari, had caused tragedies around the globe with their forked tongue. But at the same time, it was the Iternian people who marched on, broke down the gates of the facilities holding the Abnormals, demanded that Mubarakari’s cronies surrender, and she herself resigned. It was not a movement led by the Queen, or Eugenia, or even the Artificer. The people rose, horrified by the atrocities at the atrocities done through their inaction, and imprisoned the guilty, vowing never again to repeat the horrific crime.

“The Reclamation Army decided to fight against corruption by placing the right people in the right places,” Wivin continued. “Their leaders are not the smartest, but they are somewhat incorruptible and can take good advice. Such a system cannot last, for people come and go, and eventually, as their state expands, corruption will creep in. A single block can rot and bring down the entire pyramid. Iterna believes in checks and balances, handicapping itself and making it near impossible to expand at a rapid pace. We believe in a mix of both systems. Through the union of faith and cooperation, we expand our borders, often not in the nicest ways, but never in cruel ones like the Reclaimers. And our leaders are both the best for the job, know how to delegate, and are dedicated to their core through our connection with the Oath.” The Troll brought her mechanical hands together, joining her palm, and the images merged, turning in the Lightbringer. “Many claim that the Oath takes away a chunk of your free will, but as you can see, a person can still choose which nation to serve. The Oath aids in upholding moral guidelines rather than binding a person to a political ideology. It helps a person care. A perfect tool to stir a nation.”

“And this excuses your subjugation of neighboring nations?” Ratcatcher asked bluntly. “The Oathtakers may not invade as directly as the Reclaimers, but you still infiltrate smaller societies, kidnap leaders, and force them to sign treaties.”

“No,” Wivin agreed easily. “Nothing can excuse a child’s head being popped under an iron boot.” She met Ratcatcher’s eyes. “We sin in our actions. We know our crimes and our duties, for unlike the times of the Old World, we live in the New World, in a time when the strong can live forever, making it impossible for their subjects to overthrow them. Living demigods capable of reshaping their surroundings. Some say we live in a more enlightened era, but I say always remember the names. Mincemeat. Kande Dapaa. Vasco Murzaliev. Blood Graf. Mad Hatter. Chosen Princes. And that’s just to name a few. Some say that less than a little over a dozen is nothing to fuss about, but you are smarter than this. We both know that as the number of people in the world increases, so do the chances of an S-Class being born. By the Oath, it hasn’t even been a century since the Gilded Horde’s invasion. Perhaps at this very moment some other S-Class Blessed is conquering a land and preparing to stage another invasion. Wilderness can’t go on; no child should be left to be raised under the heel of similar tyrants. Civilization must return. And this is the reason for my coming to meet you.”

With a click, the mechanical arm reached out to Ratcatcher. She tensed, expecting to be attacked, but instead a flash of light came from the palm, making her skin tingle. It wasn’t a flash, her vision wasn’t impaired, and there was no assault, but the teen’s skin tingled, and as the crusader started speaking, her voice sounded dull, echoing off the invisible walls.

A dome of silence! The Iternian confidential system worked by absorbing the sound when it tried to leave the area; the cruder Oathtakers’ devices created a small force-field, reflecting the sound back. Same result, different methods. Now she understood why the woman hugged her with the mechanical limbs. No doubt there were several sensors capable of telling if the trainee had a recording device on her.

I suck at the spy game. Gotta get better!

“If only we had access to more advanced Iternian technology.” Wivin remained seated, keeping herself relaxed, and the way to the exit was open. “Imagine how many lives we could’ve preserved and how many countries we could have persuaded to join us if we had better means. Is it fair to allow people to toil beneath a tyrant’s rule…”

“I don’t like where this discussion is going.” Ratcatcher cut her off. “I swore… well, I will be swearing my allegiance to Iterna.”

“And I respect it.” The countymeister nodded. “But where does your loyalty truly lie? Is it for an individual country or for humanity as a whole? I am certain you would agree that imperialists like the Reclamation Army should not win, must not win. And throughout history, the Oathtakers and Iterna have shared a history of cooperation, with very few quarrels. Our countries are allies; is it wrong to help your ally better resist a tyrant? Please consider our offer for the sake of the people. We will never force you to steal from Iterna. But through your work in the field, you may occasionally come across a curiosity or an interesting contact…”

“No,” Ratcatcher said, putting her hands on her knees. There were no illusions about the outcome; if Wivin attacks here, she’ll die. But she was betting on her civility. “You think Iterna moves slowly. We let other nations grow and develop on their own, make their own mistakes, and maybe join us one day. Is our method perfect? Planet, no, it is not! This is why the explorators are needed to mitigate a potential catastrophe. But your solution, Wivin, is to give in to fear. To take freedom from others simply because one day they might one day be a threat to you. And that is a solution I will never support.”

“So you choose to leave the helpless under the tyrants.”

“I choose nothing of the sort because I can’t save everyone. I believe in the ideals of my country. We are not perfect, and no one is.”

The two kept looking at each other. There wasn’t even a glimmer of emotion in Wivin’s pale eyes; she stopped breathing, and only the illumination of her skin by an electric current reminded her she was alive. Ratcatcher was nervous; sweat trickled down her temple, her fingers twitched. The Troll was so big—almost double her height—and had decades of actual combat experience. She could kill her faster than the trainee could blink.

“Eh,” Wivin inhaled, and the dome popped, banishing the echo. “Maybe there is something I don’t understand. Every single one of you has given us the same answer. That leaves only one option. Iterna values understanding, so let us speak. Do you have any questions about our chapter before tomorrow’s mission?”

“You bet!” Ratcatcher fired. “First of all, why did you make us wait two days in the city? Was it to have a chance to sway us to your side?”

“In a sense,” Wivin admitted. “I had hoped that by getting to know the city and its people, you might be more willing to cooperate. But no, it was only a lucky coincidence. As you know, criminals have overrun the surrounding cities. The president-elect has entrusted us with your safety, but the people who live there are my countrymen. When the chance came…”

“You took it.” Ratcatcher nodded. “I’d have done the same in your boots. And there is no problem; Stonehelm and its people are awesome!” Well, aside from certain people at the market, she didn’t mention it for fear that Wivin would report it to the Governor and he would order the woman hanged. Sure, she was a bitch, but there was no need to hurt her. “All of them. You could’ve called us for help!”

“No,” Wivin said. “What happens outside these walls is too cruel for children to see. An entire police unit was wiped out in the action, and by the time we arrived to restore order, the gang that did it had fallen to vigilantes. We destroyed anyone who tried to resist and helped the police establish their presence. But all of this is mere barebones, with our army spread so thin…”

They talked for half an hour, and Ratcatcher even received an offer to pass a training course for the future crusaders. In the past, only Trolls received such positions, but much has changed in the last decade. She agreed, promising to visit Brightburn, one of the larger training centers and a vast city to the south, during her leave. This could serve multiple purposes: first, she could make some contacts with the Oathtakers, learn about their culture, see more of the outside world, and hone her skills. No doubt they’ll try to recruit her, so no taking anything of worth, and Liam will miss her. Some sacrifices had to be made.

She drank some tea and shared crackers with Wivin, remembering Elina’s words about the sanctity of hospitality in these lands. A spiritual shield is better than no shield at all. As the woman went about her business, Ratcatcher stormed up to the second floor, too disturbed by what she had heard.

Every single one of you has given us the same answer. The words echoed in her mind. Wivin had tried to throw her off, planting a seed of calmness in her mind. Ratcatcher wiped her face at a small sink, too scared of the potential hidden behind these words. Why would the woman say them and then have a long discussion? If what the instructors taught her in the Academy was correct, Wivin was throwing her off by assuring her that everyone had refused. In reality…

She paced back and forth, wondering if she should call Augustus. He probably already knows, but a report won’t hurt. But the worry that one of them could’ve betrayed their trust never left her. The thought of a trainee leaving to live in these lands didn’t bother her; everyone has the right to live as they see fit. But a betrayal of trust was a big deal.

At last, Ratcatcher called Elina, finding herself unable to sleep. The leader’s face appeared on the screen, her face swollen with huge purple welts and bruises that hid her left eye, and she held a bag of ice to her cheek. But Elina’s eyes shone with happiness.

“Hi there,” she mumbled, spitting blood. “How’s life been treating you, Ratcatcher? Ready for tomorrow?”

“What in the world happened to you?!”

“An Orais cast a fist. You know, I can’t recommend the experience for everyone, but by the Champion, I never felt as alive as I did during the morning training. Gotta get this sweaty asshole one day.” Elina pushed a bottle’s top through the battered lips and took a sip. “It’s awesome here; when we don’t work, we train! I have learned so much about building muscle in the last few hours that I think I have found my spiritual creed. All hail the Outsider! Glory to the Champion!”

“Are you leaving us for the Reclamation Army?” Ratcatcher asked.

“What? No, you dummy! I don’t worship the Outsider as a person; fuck that maniac. I worship his divine aspect and his holy book on how to bulk up.” Elina put the bottle away. “Listen, I’d love to chat, but my everything hurts. Has something happened?”

Ratcatcher laid it all out, telling Elina every bit of her doubts and fears. The other girl listened, blinking with one bloodshot eye to stay awake, and at last nodded.

“I know. I asked Carlos to agree after they visited me.”

“What? But why?” Ratcatcher asked with relief.

“Because if they plan to play us, we might as well join the con.” Carlos’ image joined the discussion, taking up half the screen. The boy was yawning, sitting behind an expensive wooden desk, and struggling with graphs. “And who else to serve the role, if not a spoiled, disenchanted rich boy? Not that I think we’ll get anything of value, they’re not that stupid… Elina?!” he asked in shock. “Who the hell turned you into a squashed potato? Mom! Mom, someone beat up my classmate! First the nurse, now a trainee; this whole den is rotten to the core! Get me a medical team ASAP!”

“Shut up; it is not what you think it is! Stop making a fuss out of nothing; we have training tomorrow!” Elina pleaded, and Ratcatcher turned off the communication, letting the two of them sort it out, relieved that everything turned out all right.