The industrial district of the Capital was bustling with activity. The wide streets in particular were crowded at this hour. Junil had to dodge a wagon filled to the brim with coal and accidentally bumped into a Demonfolk laborer.

“Watch where you’re steppin’, lass!” he exclaimed.

“Sorry!”

The Healer had to balance alongside the edge of the sidewalk to avoid the crowd. As for the Hero, he didn’t seem to care at all that he was going against the flow of the street. He was capable of pushing through any crowd, but that wasn’t something he even needed to do. Ronn’s presence alone was enough of a reason for most of the residents here to give a wide berth.

“There’s a lot of Demonfolk around here,” Junil said. She glanced left, then right, only to see more of the dark-horned Demonfolk. “Was it really a good idea to take in so many?”

“The labor is vital for reconstruction,” Ronn replied. “Indentured servitude is a particularly generous price for serving in the Demon Lord’s armies. We may have, at some point, fought against the very same Demonfolk you are brushing alongside at this very moment. Enemies months ago, but today we are friends.”

Junil finally caught up with Ronn, to tag along within the bubble that he created from all the Demonfolk that avoided getting within two arms' length of him.

“Saying they’re ‘friends’ is pushing it a little, just look at how they’re keeping their distance.”

“Perhaps the word ‘acquaintance’ would suit as a better word?”

“I already have a word in mind, but I think my life may be in jeopardy if I were to say it out loud right here, right now.”

Junil eyed some Demonfolk that were outside the factories on their breaks. A few glanced over her way, but most that were paying the duo attention seemed to be a little unhappy at the presence of the Hero.

The two finally stopped by one of the fronts of the various factory buildings. The few things that distinguished them from one another were the large logos emblazoned across placards and signs on the fronts — typically, there to denote the company that owned those buildings.

The building they stood in front of had an emblem of a golden crossbow hanging from a metal pole.

“It couldn’t be made more obvious that Salkin owns this place,” Junil said. “Tacky little gold-plated crossbow sign.”

Once the two stepped in, the Demonfolk secretary at the front desk was the first person that came to their attention. It was an older Demonfolk woman, as evident by her horns.

“Oh, by the gods. Don’t tell me…” Junil sighed.

“You know of his tendencies, especially when he is inebriated-.”

“But even Demonfolk? Surely not.”

The two spoke in whispers, as if trying to prevent the woman sitting up front from hearing what they had to say. If she took notice of their whispering, she did not say.

“What may I help you with?” she asked. Her eyes flickered up. “Hero and Healer?”

“Would you happen to know if Sir Salkin happens to be present?” Ronn asked. “It is of utmost importance.”

The Demonfolk secretary looked up at both of them. Her eyes flickered from Ronn to Junil, though her glances over to Ronn were considerably shorter compared to her looks at the Healer.

“Yes, he’s currently here. Do you want me to call him up front?”

“Please do.”

The Demonfolk woman grabbed at something beneath her desk and held it up, revealing it to be a bell. She then jingled it loudly.

“Salkin! Mister Salkin, you’ve got some rather important visitors!”

The ringing reverberated through the hallway as the secretary rang for the man. She gave it two more rings, before stopping.

“You’ll have to wait for a moment,” the Demonfolk woman said. “It seems he may be preoccupied at the moment.”

Junil sighed.

“Preoccupied. As in, he’s probably drunk,” the Healer said.

“Or rather, he may be busy at the moment,” Ronn replied.

“Are you kidding me? Him, working? Don’t make me laugh,” the Healer scoffed.

Now that Junil got a good look at the Demonfolk secretary, she couldn’t help but be curious at her appearance. She seemed to be one of the older Demonfolk; her hair, which was a dull violet color, was graying at the ends, accompanied by the beginnings of wrinkles on her face. Her hair was done up in a braid, as expected of such a secretary. The glasses also accentuated the look.

The secretary’s horns were particularly interesting. They were dark gray, like all the horns of the Demonfolk. The shape was most similar to the head of a pickaxe, except with both pointed blades blunted. In fact, both were curved in such a way that they hugged the side of the Demonfolk woman’s head tightly.

Junil could only wonder how she did her hair with the horns so close to her head.

“So. How has Salkin been to you?” Junil asked, trying to strike up some conversation with the Demonfolk secretary. “I hope he hasn’t been too much trouble.”

The secretary blankly stared at the Healer.

“It’s better than going without a job,” the Demonfolk woman said. “Oh, I apologize for not introducing myself. My name is Seyya—”

Seyya’s self-introduction was interrupted as a very familiar voice came from the door behind her.

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“Oi! What in the name of… you is there calling me for?”

Shortly after, a blond man stumbled out. Accompanying him was the all-too-familiar odor of alcohol. Both Healer and Hero was unfazed by this.

“Sir Salkin. I hope you have been doing well?” Ronn asked.

The blonde Arbalest was holding a bottle of wine in one hand. He scratched his head as his half-lidded eyes peered in the direction of the Hero.

“Heyo… I’ve got… Err, yeah. You need help, Ronn? Yeah, I’ve been doing… well.”

Salkin stumbled towards them, yet again. That was when Junil noticed that he was carrying his customary crossbow in his other hand. It was loaded.

“Yes, I require help. But you appear to be a bit drunk,” the Hero continued.

“And why’re you holding your crossbow like that?” Junil asked. “That seems a bit dangerous.”

“Oh, this?”

The drunk Arbalest held his crossbow up, pointing it at the ceiling.

“I ‘unno, Seyya here was yelling about… someone. Couldn’t hear her but uh, thought they might’ve been an intruder or something.”

The Demonfolk woman, who Salkin identified as Seyya, sighed. “I want to apologize on his behalf, but I take it that you two are already accustomed to this? Considering you both were his companions during the War, after all.”

“...Yes. I am very familiar with this side of him,” Junil replied. “Especially after drinking parties. Please don’t tell me this is a regular occurrence.”

“It is a very regular occurrence.”

“Oh my goodness…”

The drunk Salkin swiveled around, almost bumping into the desk as he faced Junil.

“Oh… Er, Junie. Yeah, you doing well too? Uh… the whole healing… thing? Sober me up, will you?”

“Absolutely not,” was the Healer’s immediate reply. “I refuse to use my magic for that anymore.”

“...Ehh? But you always… trish…”

“Unless,” Junil said. “You want me to treat your current condition with some leeches?”

Salkin had a moment of lucidity the moment Junil mentioned leeches.

“Huh? Oh, no leeches! Man, I remember... blood sucking, you don’t have any with you though, right? Just... just a joke?”

“I always carry them with me,” the Healer replied.

The drunken Salkin took a stumble back away from Junil. “I am is... there’s... Damned leech things.”

Salkin’s words were slurred, and it became hard to distinguish where one sentence ended and another began. He only stopped when Ronn placed an armored hand on the man’s shoulder.

“Salkin. We have come here for a request from you. Would you be willing to take up your arms and gear again, to assist us in another important task at hand?”

The Arbalest glanced up at the taller man. His face was in an odd grimace. The man’s eyebrows furrowed as he thought about what the Hero had to say.

“Oi, answer this, fella. Y’know… I’m a busy fella.”

Several seconds passed, as Junil and Ronn expected him to say more. But he didn’t.

“And?” the Hero asked.

“C’mon, Ronn, you should be knowin’ what I’m saying here! I got a business to run now! Make sure… everything in order and all that. Imagine all the stuff that coulda happen if I’m… not here, y’know?”

“You typically spend all the store’s profits on expensive liquor,” was the secretary’s answer to that.

“I should be allowed to unwind a lil! Working here is hard!”

Salkin stepped away from Ronn, to lean on a visibly annoyed Seyya. He began to pat her head, which only seemed to irritate her further. “Aren’t I right, my favorite Demonfolk secretary?”

“Sir, I think you’ve had too much to drink,” was her response.

“Anyway!” Salkin exclaimed. “You guys just go out and… uh, forgot what it was, but you do your thing! I’ll give you moral support. Urg…”

Salkin burped, then waved away both Ronn and Junil. It was impossible to tell what expression Ronn had behind his helmet, but the Healer could feel that he was likely not too pleased with the entire display before him.

“Very well,” Ronn said. “I wish you luck on your current ventures. Junil and I will depart on our own.”

Ronn turned around, not even waiting for Salkin to give his farewell.

“Wait! You’re gonna go to… what is it, New Frontierland, right?” Salkin exclaimed. “Uh… get me some of those import liquors! Whatever you might think I’d… like!”

Not that Salkin would’ve given much of a proper farewell in the first place.

Junil gave one last glance back at the inebriated Salkin, and the very-annoyed secretary that he was getting uncomfortably handsy with, before turning back to follow Ronn.

A minute of silence between the two passed, as Junil trailed the Hero through the streets of the industrial district, the same streets they traversed to get to the factory in the first place.

“So,” Junil said. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“If you are asking of my opinion on Sir Salkin’s current... state, Miss Junil, you must elaborate further. I do not know your opinion, even though I am aware of mine.”

Junil stared up at Ronn.

“You should know what I’m thinking of him right now, but sure. I’ll explain it to you: He’s an absolute mess. We never should’ve given him that factory.”

“My opinions are not so drastic, but if I believe what you are insinuating, yes. I believe he needs more discipline.”

“Discipline? I think he needs to sober up. And take a few classes on how to run a business properly. Maybe take his alcohol away, too.”

“I am not a business-oriented individual, so I cannot provide any proper comments on that. I was more referring to his effectiveness, or lack thereof, should he insist on accompanying us.”

“Oh. That. Well, isn’t it obvious?”

“He would hinder us more if he were to accompany us than if he were to not.”

“Exactly what I meant. I feel bad for the Demonfolk who signed up to work under him,” Junil said. “I didn’t expect for there to be so many.”

“After the War ended, plenty of the military-serving Demonfolk went to work for Sir Salken under the indentured servitude program. While this would be difficult for most to admit, there was a degree of respect that the Demonfolk armies had for our party. They likely expected Sir Salken to be similar to me.”

“He’s far from it. The only thing he’s good at is using a crossbow, and that’s only when he’s sober.”

“You ultimately cannot fault the Demonfolk for not knowing that. Most information about us was kept from even the Human populations.”

Junil shook her head. “Never thought you, of all people, would get me to pity former soldiers of the Demon Lord.”

“They are soldiers that are, ultimately, no different from you or me. The War is long over, there is little point in holding onto contempt.”

A gray pigeon flew down to the Hero. He held out his arm, allowing it to perch on his metal-plated arm.

“One of Skarrol’s pigeons,” Junil said. “What does he have to say already?”

Wordlessly, the Hero pulled the small cylindrical homing pigeon container from its leg. He pulled the cap off of it and fished out the small, finger-sized note from it, before unfolding to read it.

DEMON LORD CONTACTING SOMEONE. UNSURE WHO. DIRECTION IS GRAND ELM REGION. USED SPELLS TO CUT HIM OFF.

This was both worrying and quite an important piece of information.

“Junil, do you happen to carry a graphite pencil with you?”

“Yes, I have one. Here.”

The Healer handed the Hero the pencil. He flipped the note over and used the armor on his arm as a flat writing surface for him to write his response message.

RECEIVED. WE BOTH GO TO NEW FRONTIERLAND. KEEP US UPDATED ON DEMON LORD’S ACTIONS.

He rolled up the tiny sheet of paper and slipped it into the container that was bound around the pigeon’s leg.

“Up you go,” he said, as he waved the arm up. On cue, the pigeon cooed, before disappearing into the sky with a flutter.