It was early dawn when the Raider departed from Fort George. They went down the green river road to rejoin the Soldier King’s host. Leonhart led the column with Toshiro Mifune riding alongside him.

“You did good, young man,” Mifune said with a hint of a smile.

“I did what I needed to do. I know you would've done the same.”

“I’m a soldier, I follow orders but you, on the other hand, you kept your wits about you. A rare quality to possess.”

“Toshiro?”

“Yeah?”

“Those people back there, the ones that the Raiders hanged, I rode with them. We were just angry kids without a purpose in the world. We hurt and robbed innocent folks passing down the highway. I stood by them without complaint until I got sick of it. Sick of them. I tried to leave but they dragged me out to the fork in the road and left me to die in the dirt.”

“Why are you telling me this now?”

“I'm not sure exactly but I never thought people would look to me for anything and least of all leadership.”

“No man nor woman truly knows what they are until they’re tempered by a sudden and swift wind.” Mifune studied Michael. “When push comes to shove; we show what truly resides in our hearts.”

Michael nodded. They continued to ride together as the pink lotus drifted down the Green River.

***

At the centre of the column, Ezekiel was in the back of the wagon asleep, his ribs bandaged, and his dinted black armor clinking as they go over the muddy road. Nassem wrung a piece of cloth over a wooden bucket, he wiped the grime and blood off Ezekiel’s brow.

Naseem held his hand, squeezed it softly, and he muttered a small prayer for Ezekiel’s wellbeing.

Ezekiel slowly opened his eyes to Naseem. He saw an ethereal beauty and warmth writ on his face; Ezekiel raised his hand and caressed his cheek. He tried to speak but he let out a pained groan, and blood was trickling off his lip.

“It’s alright,” Naseem whispered, “I’m with you now.”

Ezekiel stared into the white canvass of the tent, he only saw the impermanence of the warrior’s way. He turned to gaze upon Naseem, the smell of scented oils off his black braid was a comfort, and his green eyes set him at ease. That’s what I’m fighting for.

“Drink.” Naseem said, holding a cup to his mouth, “A gift from Mifune.”

Ezekiel nodded and drank the milky substance. In his mind's eye, his world went spiraling into black and white. He had his armor on, a shattered sword in hand as he stood on the shores of hell. A mist was coming for him and out of it was a figure in a hooded white cloak, his face shrouded in darkness, and yet his eyes glowed a menacing red.

Ezekial gaze upon him, he became acutely aware of the terrible weight of his sins, the blackest deeds of his soul. Is this my day of judgment?

In a voice that was deep and great, “Ezekiel, the beast of men, struggler on the battlefield, there shall be another star to follow. His reign begins with the torrent of mangled men and ends in the storm.”

Ezekiel gripped his shattered sword. “Who are you? What are you talking about?”

“I am one of many within a single being.” The White Cloak placed his palm on Ezekiel’s brow, a vortex appeared above him and engulfed his entire being, he was screaming as he was twisted and bent. He woke in a cold sweat with Naseem curled beside him. He held his hands out and he touched his wound, it was fully healed.

***

The Raiders return to the Soldier King’s host without further incident. Those who were wounded were quickly tended to and while the fallen were prepared for proper burials. Ezekiel had to lean on Naseem as he got out of the cart, still sore from his ordeal, they went to his pavilion and where he was laid to rest on his feather bed. Naseem emerge from the tent into the light, Michael and Mifune greeted him at the entrance

“Is he going to be alright?” Michael asked.

Naseem smiled a reassuring smile. “Ezekiel is a strong man but he needs his rest to be whole.”

Michael and Toshiro nodded to Naseem, trusting him to take care of Ezekiel. The duo was walking along the dirt path to their tents until they were set upon a boy, a squire of nine or ten years of age, he was drenched in sweat and red in the face.

“Sir? My lords? Um, Soldier King, I mean Commander Charles, summoned Mifune to a war council meeting.”

Mifuned nodded. “Alright, thank you,” he turned to Michael, “You’re coming with me, Michael.”

“Sir? Mifune? Uh, he specifically requested only you to attend as a fill-in for Ezekiel.”

“How unfortunate.” Mifune smiled. “Let’s go, Michael.”

They ignored the boy’s pleas as they walked along the grassy path to the Soldier King’s pavilion on the knoll overlooking the river and the main campgrounds. They entered the tent to see the Soldier King sitting at the edge of his rosewood long table with all of his division commanders sitting to the left of him and his spymaster to his right.

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Delilah, sitting left to the Soldier King, was a woman in her late twenties, was tall, thick of waist, and wore a black and velvet corset dress that accentuated her ample bosom. She had her auburn hair in a long braid flowing down to her lap. Her emerald eyes exchanged glances with the Soldier King’s grey ones, she played with her hair. Her cheeks were flushed. Charles softly smiled at her and gently squeezed her palm.

To Charles’ right, sat Morgan, his second, wearing plate armor of silver and blue, a hawk brooch pinned her white cloak, her long arms corded with muscle. She had her dark hair cut and cropped as long hair is a vain distraction. Her amber eyes fixated on the map of the province, making notes of the terrain and opportunities. She briefly looked up and spotted the glance between Charles and Deliah, she narrowed her eyes at Deliah, her mouth twisted bitterly before returning her attention to the map.

Next to the right of Morgan was Donovan, a dark-skinned man with his head shaved and a fully grown beard well salted with streaks of white. He wore a thin red coat that bore the bear emblem of his mountain clan with chainmail beneath. He leaned back against his chair and lazily sipped white wine from his horn and nodded to Mifune as he entered the council meeting. Mifune took his seat next to him. Michael sat at the foot of the long rosewood table, directly facing the Soldier King.

All eyes were on Michael Leonhart, their judgment was weighing heavily on him, he felt the cool, grey gaze from the Soldier King especially as if Michael’s faults, sins, and shortcomings were brought to bear witness. He remains steadfast, not giving any hints of weakness in the presence of these seasoned soldiers of fortune.

“Who in the hell are you?” Morgan demanded impatiently, her copper eyes staring daggers at Leonhart.

“Michael,” he said, “My name’s Michael.” He looked towards Mifune and Morgan took notice.

"You brought this green boy to discuss the affairs of war and strategy. This is not a game for children, Toshiro."

“Do you trust my judgment?”

“Why would I trust the judgment of a man who refused to be a husband to his wife and a daddy to his little girl?”

“Go to hell, Morgan.”

“Enough!” Charles slammed his iron fist to the table. "The issue of the boy attending this meeting will be discussed later between me and Mifune. Morgan," his grey gaze pinned her to her chair, “You’ll comport yourself in a manner that fits the dignity of your station or I’ll find another that can.”

Morgan bowed her head. “Yes sir,” she said in a hushed voice. Donovan continued to sip from his horn and smirked.

“Now let us begin. Morgan?”

“Right, sir. White Castle is on top of a mountain surrounded by forest. We can clear it and live off the land while we set up camp and the war machines, but to be blunt, this will be a long and destructive endeavor. God is not always on the side of the heaviest battalion. The terrain alone will make our men vulnerable to arrow fires and riders.” Morgan concluded.

“I’m not going to lie, me and my men are thirsting for a good fight but this does seem fruitless. We be making an enemy out of the Old Man and his friends he has elsewhere in the world.” Donovan said. “And aside from that, the Old Man has been generous to our company.”

“That's where you’re wrong,” Mifune said, “He sent his dog Moloch and the White Rose Company to ensure the Raiders ain’t leaving Fort George alive or very least to kill our best man on the field. Either way, the Old Man wants us dead."

“Why cast us asunder and break cord with us? We have been the shield of his province and the protector of his people while he fought his personal wars elsewhere.” Donovan was vexed by this notion.

“We're soldiers of fortune,” Mifune explained, “Our loyalties lie with ourselves and the highest bidder. We ain't bound by the way of God's principles of honor or justice and even the most biased in our favor views our way of life as a cut above a thief.”

Donovan sat on Mifune’s words. “We should flee with all of our fighting strength intact. There's plenty of men with gold to do whatever we so desire and…”

“No,” the Soldier King cut him off, “We are taking everything he has.”

“Why?”

“It’s the Warrior’s right to do so, Donovan,” Charles said, “And by this right, we lay our claim, therefore, the force of the warrior’s right is extended and manifestly transformed into obligation; for the destiny of the warrior is not measured in riches but by duty.”

“I would not have it any other way, my Soldier King but I feel it to be wise to approach with prudence. I fear the actions will result in a conflagration beyond our ability to control.”

“That is what I intend to do.”

Everyone exchanged glances at each other in astonishment and confusion.

“What do you intend to do?” Delilah said.

“He intends to burn the forest down,” Morgan answered. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Let the men of the Morningstar choke on smoke and ash while we finished them off with iron and blood.” Charles said in a tone that leaves no desire for further questioning. “Mifune.”

“What is it, Charles?”

“Before we move out in three days, I have an assignment for you: the elimination of Naoya Inoue.”

“The Monster?” Mifune's face turned deathly pale. “I don’t want any part of him. He’s a little dangerous for my liking.”

“It’s exactly why he needs to be removed from the chessboard before the game even begins.”

Delilah cleared her throat, studied the people around the long rosewood table, and spoke in a low and measured voice. “Naoya Inoue,” she said, “is a wise and cunning warrior, his participation can change the outcome within the battlefield.”

“The problem is he knows me or have you forgotten, spymaster?”

“Of course not. It is precisely the reason why you’re sufficient for the task at hand, Toshiro.”

Mifune pressed two fingers at the sides of his temple. “Give me fifteen men.”

“No,” Charles said.

“Why?”

“It needs to be done quietly and without incident.”

“Fine.”

“Then we are adjourned. I expect all of you to make the proper preparations in the meantime.”

Donovan and Delilah exited the tent and what remain was Mifune, Leonhart, and Morgan.

She began without the preamble, “Why bring this boy to this meeting, Mifune?”

“I have a name, miss.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“That’s enough,” Mifune said. “He’s the hero of the hour and deserves to know the inner works of our company. He earned my respect and trust, Morgan.”

“He’s a hero, this boy?”

“He is,” Mifune affirmed.

Charles studied Leonhart, his gray gaze was penetrating and petrifying as if he reading into the soul of this young man. Michael was made small by this man among men.

“You rally the main bulk of the Raider force on your lonesome? While Ezekiel and Mifune were elsewhere, impressive. Very impressive. Ezekiel needs to recover his strength you’ll be in charge of the vanguard of the Raider Unit for the time being, Michael Leonhart.”