Numisley and Cultrost had gone to the castle of the [Count]. They saw a young man about their age speaking to the Count, with hair the color of dark seaweed, wearing a form-fitting green and blue doublet and a sheathed cutlass on his side. A bronze tassel was tied on its hilt.

  "We're going to the neighboring barony. Through Ascogres."

  Numisley and Cultrost stood casually in front of the [Count].

  "Ah, House Kaminor. What for?" The Count raised his eyebrows.

  "We aim to buy metal to resell them here."

  "Metal, huh…" The Count stroked his chin. “You are in luck. The Kaminors are known for their steel and [Miners] within the kingdom.”

  The young man stomped the ground, the sound echoing throughout the hall.

  "Father! They are disrespecting you! They do not bow in your presence. This transgression must be addressed."

  The young man drew his cutlass. Cultrost drew his mace and the young noble recklessly charged toward Numisley. However, before the young noble knew it, he already fell on the ground from Cultrost's instinctive leg sweep.

  The young man glared at Cultrost, as he started to get up.

  "Stop. Racieros Rahmeiros Commerro."

  The Count's pressure from his Aura that spread throughout his hall made the young man reconsider his foolishness.

  "I apologize for hitting your son." Cultrost quickly bowed, much to Numisley's surprise.

  "I am at fault for my son's lack of discipline. He does not know that Libertalians like you do not bow to any crown, nor the Divine Decree." The Count apologized. "Nor he doesn't know his mistake on his charge over the territory I had given him."

  "But–"

  "Trader Numisley, can you tell us, with your most honest words, what he did wrong?"

  "Gladly," Numisley mockingly bowed. "That idiot did not leave enough troops to defend his town. We and our [Mercenaries] were forced to defend ourselves from those Goblins. Me–my brother led the counterattack to the Goblin lair, leading the militia."

  "Impressive." The Count was impressed, almost forgetting his prejudice against non-Humans.

  "I exterminated the Goblins near my territory!" Racieros protested.

  "Bringing all of your [Knights] and leaving none on your territory." His father countered. "You ought to learn to take responsibility."

  "If he's so good then, then–I challenge him to a duel!"

  Numisley raised his eyebrows. The Count massaged his temples and sighed. However, he got an inkling of Cultrost’s competency in combat using one of his Feats.

  “Numisley. May I ask…your brother to give my impudent son a beating?”

  Numisley nudged Cultrost upon hearing it from the Count.

  “Hey, he says you can beat his ass,” Numisley half-jokingly whispered to his brother.

  “Finally.” Cultrost was relieved that he has the perfect outlet for his frustrations in this continent.

  “My brother’s up,” Numisley told the Count. “No killing I assume?”

  “Yes. No grievous injuries either.” The Count added.

  The young noble drew his cutlass, the traditional weapon of Torregorn and Trislan's coastal kingdoms The blade glowed faintly, imbued with enchantment. Cultrost was confident enough to give his one-handed mace to Numisley, opting to fight instead with his fists.

  “Are you insulting me?” Racieros sneered.

  “Your father said no killing.” Cultrost put his guard up. “Although I would love to.”

  Racieros lunged, attempting to perform a technique taught to him by his tutor in swordplay. He brought down his blade with practiced, swift grace–

  Cultrost simply swerved, seeing the slow blade. His reflexes and senses are far more capable than his opponent's. He took one step forwards and punched the noble’s side. Racieros staggered, clutching his left side.

  Cultrost quickly kicked Racieros in the crotch, making him collapse, writhing in pain.

  “You dirty cheat–”

  "The duel is finished.” The Count’s voice overpowered his son’s complaints. “Racieros, being nobility doesn't make you immune to the consequences. Think wisely before you challenge someone in a duel. Clearly, they know battle better than you."

  Racieros weakly stood up as his father continued his lecture.

  "Being nobility does not make you immune to the Divine Decree, either. You cannot kill a [Trader] without justification. As nobility, you will lead the commoners by example. I will give you a chance to prove yourself. Accompany the [Traders] to Kaminor’s territory and grant them passage. I will write a letter to the head of the family and you will give it to him.”

  Numisley, Cultrost, and Racieros blankly stared at the Count. Racieros quickly stood up and knelt towards his father.

  “It will be done.”

-

  "What? We're going to babysit the shithead?"

  Cultrost almost laughed at that thought, although irked because they had to escort the noble. They were now within their headquarters, packing up for the trip to Ascogres, then to the territories owned by House Kaminor.

  “Yeah. He might be useful. He’s nobility. If he’s sensible, he might be useful someday.” Numisley leaned closer to Cultrost.

  “Palden, how long ‘till we get to this…House Kaminor?” Numisley asked Palden. Palden used his Feat to measure how long they might travel.

  “About a week. If I’m going. You sure that I ain’t coming, son?” Palden asked.

  “I need you to handle logistics. You’re the only one who has any idea about running a company.”

  “True.” Palden looked at the few [Mercenaries] who are currently setting up shop in the headquarters.

  “I’ll give you authority to hire new people.”

  A carriage painted green and blue had stopped in front of their company’s headquarters, pulled by a single horse. Four [Knights] wearing gambeson and helmets instead of the popular full plate in stories rode in lean horses. On their belts, they have sabers and a wand or a hand crossbow. The carriage’s doors opened wide, and a dark-green-haired young man hopped out of the carriage. He stood before them, sighing deeply.

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  “I apologize for my misconduct in the heat of the moment yesterday. I look forward to working with you.”

  The Gildin brothers blinked at each other in disbelief, bewildered at the sudden apology from a spoiled brat in their eyes. The heir of the Commerros was genuine in his shame.

  “It’s alright.” Numisley finally spoke up. “However, I will set some…rules.”

  “Rules?” Racieros uttered.

  “We are equals, and as such, you will treat us as such. Me, my brother, and my employees are equal to you, and you are neither superior or inferior to us.”

  “But, the Divine Decree states that us nobility is meant to lead the commoners–”

  “What in the paymaster’s tits is the Divine Decree?” Numisley interrupted, scratching his head.

  “The Divine Decree is the codex of laws that all must follow to keep order and civilization in the Six Lands.” Racieros glared at him.

  “Ah, your religion. I believe in the Eight Divines and my homeland’s various city gods, so it doesn’t apply to me.”

  “You will follow my orders–”

  “I and my company are not your subjects. Associates at best. You’re only our key to the lands of the Kaminor.”

  “And your navigator. I only know the best routes and the towns in Kaminor. Since I went there multiple times. Without me, you are lost. Without me, you will not get past the Kaminor House.”

  “I got the Signo Dato.”

  “That will not get you in any noble house. It is only a slip to travel anywhere in the kingdom only for trading purposes, assuming that a noble vouches for it. After all, I will be the one asking for lodging in the Kaminor’s castles.”

  Numisley thought that he has a point. Staying in a castle, getting close to the Kaminor nobles, is better for them than staying in a random inn.

  “How about let’s agree to not piss each other off.” Cultrost interrupted, cutting the stalemate between the lordling and [Trader]. “The noble guy can order us around if the order is not stupid, and we can do our thing.”

  “Sure.” Numisley agreed with his brother.

  “Agreed.” Racieros warily backed down. “You will accompany me to the city of Semsellan.”

  “We have business at Ascogres.”

  “Alright. Father told me–I also have business there. We go.”

  The caravan of Gildin Trading and the scion of Commerro left the city of Ovespuerte. The carriage was beset by admiring eyes and the venerating bows of the city’s crowds, rendering Numisley’s cart of preserved fish invisible to them. Cultrost was awed and shivered at the fanatic praises directed toward the carriage before they went outside the gates; realizing another fundamental difference and similarity between his homeland and here. Graten watched the peering eyes among the crowd as his two men under his command: Arimith, the Dwarven [Carpenter] and [Mercenary], and Weriens, a [Butcher] and [Mercenary], sat vigilant on the cart. Numisley elected to leave Palden and the rest

   Traveling through the flat grasslands beyond the city, where few trees dot the countryside. The passing wagons stopped for a moment to bow to the carriage bearing the symbol of a noble house. Night soon came after the first day of travel. They were camping beside the road. The Count’s son gave orders to his [Knights]. At no time, they had erected a large tent, the size of a house. Only for him, as he didn’t let his [Knights] inside his private tent. Cultrost came back with Graten and his two subordinates, carrying a hanging deer carcass and firewood.

  Numisley sat on a stone, resting. He would help his brother and the others if it weren’t for his birth defect. He stared at Racieros striding towards the campfire that they are preparing.

  “Ah, this is our dinner.” Racieros regarded the fresh deer carcass. “I wish my father let me bring our [Chef]. Do any of your people have some cooking-Feat?”

  “I believe my guy here can cook for you.” Graten slapped the Dullahan, Weriens, a reticent man in armor who had been with Numisley’s company since the start.

  Cultrost only knew him as one of Graten’s [Mercenaries], whom he heard that among Graten’s [Mercenaries], he had the best cooking. Numisley earmarked him as one of Graten’s [Mercenaries] that had used both inside and outside of combat after he asked about the Dullahan’s Roles back in their homeland.

  “Erm…yeah.” Weriens blurted. “I’ll get to it then.”

  The Dullahan smoothly skinned the carcass with his knife, with the assistance of Graten and Arimith holding the corpse upright. The [Butcher]-[Mercenary] neatly divested the limbs from its body, then portions of its body. The fire was instantly lit, with him tapping the dry wood with a Feat that produce a spark from his fingertip. He conjured clay containers of salt, pepper, and oil that he always has on his person and placed the chunks of meat on the spit that Cultrost had prepared. The now-cooked venison was distributed among the people of the campfire. Numisley nodded in approval at the simple yet effective dish, however, he stared at the Racieros, who now waits at his personal tent to eat. The [Knights] grab a large chunk of the venison, delivering the wooden plate for him to eat.

  Numisley promptly ignored him and went back to the gathering around the fire.

  “Nice cooking as always, tin-head.” Arimith the Dwarf complimented the Dullahan, whose disembodied head on a ragged pillow was being fed by his body.

  “He’s a better cook than a [Mercenary].” Cultrost joked.

  “His Feats from his [Butcher] Role’s synergize with his combat Feats,” Arimith added. “Imagine how he butchers enemies as he did with the deer.”

  “What’s up with that guy?” Graten pointed to the lordling in his tent, guarded by four of his [Knights].

  “My brother beat him in a duel. He’s the guy that’s supposed to manage Ascogres.” Numisley joked.

  “Oh, so that’s the guy who let his town exposed like a Satyr’s ass.” Graten replied. The simile from their homeland made them chuckle.

  Racieros Commerro felt a tinge of loneliness as he saw the foreigners around the campfire laughing and conversing with each other. It had reminded him of his companions. However, the recent schism between the nobility of the kingdom had driven them apart. He had disappointed his father as well, and he knew that as his less-pure son among his pure-blooded sisters and brothers, he will not inherit the position as the head of the family. He had agreed to come with them because he was assigned to keep an eye on them and his father wanted him to learn to take responsibility during the mission as a liason between his companions and the Kaminor House. He silently finished the meal, letting the [Knights] take his plate to clean it. Before numbly retreating back to his tent, he heard the clashing of metal. For a moment he thought that they were under attack by [Bandits], but his eyes turned to Cultrost and Graten sparring, as they always do during their downtime. He had dove deep into the traditional art of the cutlass; learning from a tutor. However, after his mistake at hounding after the Goblins, and being beaten by Cultrost, he knew that his skill was mere paltry as of now.

  “Get my sword and sheath.” Racieros turned to one of his [Knights].

  “My lord?” The [Knight] was taken aback by the sudden request.

  “I’m going to spar.”

  Cultrost was lightly sweating after sparring with Graten after they had eaten dinner. Graten never broke a sweat against the younger Cultrost.

  “Another?” Graten asked Cultrost.

  “Sure-”

  They turned to Racieros, who appeared before them, sheathed sword in hand. A [Knight] tried to intervene, but Racieros shooed him away.

   “Commoners-I mean, esteemed traveling companions. May I join your spar?”

  Cultrost raised his eyebrow. Graten stepped forwards, staring at the noble’s blade.

  “Sure, why not?” Graten shrugged.

  “Don’t cry if you get hurt.” Cultrost smirked, with a bit of a patronizing tone.

  “We were passing time anyways.” Cultrost didn’t object.

  “What’s the rule?” Racieros held his scabbard.

  “Touch-point. No Feats.” Graten positioned himself in his usual long stance with his broadsword. Racieros slowly pulled up his cutlass. The blade revealed the magic wrapped around it in the moonlight.

  “What kind of enchantment is that?” Graten asked.

  “[Haste].”

  “I see. Let’s start.”

  Racieros lunged forwards, swinging his sword in an X-pattern. The blade accelerate as he swung, but still, it lacked the power necessary to stagger Graten’s broadsword parrying each strike. Before Racieros’ blade can reach Graten, the [Sword Captain] parried his strike, causing Racieros’ to lose his grip. His saber fell to the grass.

  “I can tell that you are trying to emulate an Art or some fancy move. Like this.”

  Graten swung his sword, manifesting a silvery crescent mirage with his Sword Art under the moonlight.

  “Build up your foundations. Basic moves. Perfect them. Go into combat–well, I don't recommend it.”

  Racieros picked up his blade with newfound determination despite being humbled, sweat dripping down on his smile.

  “Another round.”

  The three [Fighters] sparred throughout the night. Racieros momentarily forgot that he was on a mission to fulfill his father’s expectations; that he was not a worthy heir of his House. He was immersed in further learning the blade, the only thing that he was enthusiastic about. Numisley observed Graten giving pointers as he sparred with Racieros and Cultrost while he wrote another entry in his journal, which was a surprise for him. He watched them going their separate ways after their practice bouts with each other. After a week of traveling, they had finally stopped over at Ascogres to deliver the barrels of fish to Çienten’s place to make a new batch of fish sauce. Another five days of travel later, they finally arrived to the borders of the Kaminor’s lands.