“The Wicked Ninth Prince is marching to our borders,” Vance said.

Victor’s face was stern. Dillon looked concerned. Rose and Mary gave the impression they smelled something disgusting, while old Dean rubbed the stubble on his chin with a thoughtful expression.

“If Kismond attacks, we’ll be sent to war,” Victor asserted, the aggressive glint in his feline eyes suggesting that he was fully prepared for that eventuality.

“That is not likely,” old Dean rebutted, “King Henry won’t allow the Ninth Prince to invade.”

“Then why is he sending his armies?” Mary asked.

Dillon was the one to reply, “This happened thirty years ago. Kismond sends its armies to pressure the border, isolating Hobart from the rest of the kingdoms. Hobart has to spend more than it can afford on defense. In a few years, the kingdom goes bankrupt, and Kismond’s relative strength soars.”

“The blockade lasted a decade last time,” Vance said.

“Riots and unreasonable food prices is why we moved to Brunseborough in the first place,” old Dean said.

“I thought we moved so the Rascals could be closer to the frontier.” Dillon seemed to have a misunderstanding.

“The Rascals’ hunting did put food on the table, but we move because of the riots and food prices,” old Dean clarified.

Mary, who’s unfamiliar with politics, asked “Why would Good King Henry do that?”

“Kismond has always bullied the smaller kingdoms,” Victor replied with deep indignation, bordering on hatred. He seemed like he had a serious bone to pick with Kismond.

“We should stock salt,” Vance stated.

Dillon nodded and said, “In a couple of years we won’t be able to get anymore.”

“There’s going to be a lot of crime,” Mary said with concern for the little ones.

“We’ve been through this once before, and we will get through it again,” old Dean assured, “This time we’ll be much better prepared.”

Dillon thought for a moment about what this news meant for his family and said, “If little Damian or Theressa need extra help, it could get expensive. There will be lucrative opportunities with this.”

“Lucrative opportunities?” Little Damian was intrigued.

“The public order will go to shit.” Vance too was intrigued.

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“And there’s going to be a lot of gold being moved for military materials,” Rose added excitedly.

“That gold will find its way out here too,” Victor said.

“This probably isn’t what it sounds like,” little Damian thought.

“Dad,” Dillion addressed his father with a serious tone, “I think it’s time we start taking riskier jobs.”

Victor, Vance, and Rose each expressed their agreement.

“One or all of you could easily be killed over some of those ‘riskier your jobs’ you’ve proposed.” Old Dean was firm.

“We’re not kids anymore,” Dillon said assertively, “We can we can manage an ambush.”

“We’re usually in and out without anybody noticing,” Vance added.

“I really hope this isn’t what it sounds like,” little Damian thought.

“That may be true,” old Dean said, “but you’ll not be doing anything brash.”

“Dad.”

“Old Dean.”

“Dean.”

“Look old man,” All of the Rascals tried to speak at once but Victor took charge saying, “I appreciate what you do, but I have a kid to feed now. Either you put us on some loot or I’ll take my spear east.”

There was silence. Old Dean sized up Victor before calmly saying, “It might get cold tonight. I’ll make us a fire,” and walking out of the house to get wood. Everyone watched him leave.

“Don’t bluff with old Dean. You’ll lose.” Vance chastised his brother.

“It’s not a bluff,” Victor said.

Dillon tried to reason with him. “The pay will pick up. Dad will come around.”

Vance followed up. “You wouldn’t even make much if you sold yourself.”

Victor wasn’t backing down. “I’ve fought Kismen before. The Barron would pay pile of gold for me. My salary would easily be twice what I make now.”

“The benefits wouldn’t be as good,” Dillon reminded him.

“Victor, you’re the core. The Rascals need you,” Rose said as if she were scolding an unreasonable child.

Mary, who’d been quietly breastfeeding, spoke very slowly to her husband. “Victor, you will not sell yourself to the Barron. It is not worth the price of a father and husband. You will never speak of this again, except to tell old Dean that you’re reconsidered.” She was livid.

Victor looked like he wanted to say something to Mary. Mary looked like she wanted to kill Victor. Victor backed down before old Dean returned with wood.

Eight people watched Old Dean return, and casually build a fire in silence. This suited little Damian as he was able to clearly hear his grandfather speak his incantation when he lit it. The spell he cast sent a two-foot flame that looked like it came from a punctured aerosol can rushing out of the metal chopstick. Though the wood was only engulfed for a second, it was sufficient to light the twigs he had arranged.

Little Damian assumed his grandfather was able to do this because he was a witch, which little Damian had learned was quite common for a Dagger. His father too was blessed by the Witch when he was born, but instead of studying magic and potions like old Dean insisted, Dillon trained with sword and shield so that he may adventure the great frontier.

Little Damian respected his father's adventurous spirit, but adventuring seemed to entail an awful lot of violence, something little Damian had never been a fan of. He figured the magic and potions route was more his style. So what if he had to be a witch? Magic and potions seemed like they’d be really useful, and he probably didn’t even have to wear a weird hat.

Old Dean didn’t wear a funny hat or a wartted nose. He look normal. His large ears and nose fit his aged face nicely. Little Damian was pleased that his grandfather was still handsome, despite his senior condition. In this life, he seemed to have gotten a good start. He should be able to achieve comfortable success in this other world with his good genes and a magical education.

Only if he could stay alive long enough for those things to matter though.