The sky was but a bleak gray, reminiscent of the previous season. Still, the daylight lit the world in its glow, even if it was heavily filtered to a dull color. Rain pattered, but it was not enough to soak the clothes of the inmates that moved in tandem. They slowly shuffled their feet on the elongated deck bridge, the line of criminals extending from the prison barge to the harbor nearby. Strangely enough, they had no cuffs, nor chains, or even restraints. The men were prisoners no longer, freed from the ship they were exiting. Yet they moved in an orderly fashion, not daring to make a run for it. The reason behind that billowed lightly on the harbor’s edge.

Gustus stared at the black banner, its void-like canvas stained with the infamous red handprint. He would have never suspected of being freed from that damned barge, let alone sprung out by the marauders themselves. He looked at the ones in black armor, their expressions that of disgust and disapproval. Some of them even shoved the inmates forward, telling them to keep moving. The former prisoners did as ordered, but not without reprieve. Most of these men were killers and serious offenders, imprisoned for their heinous crimes. Yet none revolted, for three good reasons.

First, was that they were free from Lumen punishment, which had a reputation for being a certain death sentence thanks to their inhospitable dungeons and high rate of executions.

Second, the marauders had not killed them yet, meaning that they were of some use to the northern group of raiders.

Third, the most important reason was standing on the quarterdeck of another ship.

Deimos, Red Death, was a figure the inmates truly feared. Despite the clear grin and open posture, Gustus could feel the aura of killer instinct. It struck fear into him, making his primal instincts scream warnings. Still, he forced himself to be still, to stay calm as he shuffled his way down the deck bridge. He could see his fellow cellmate, Lars, shove the man in front of him.

Lars was a huge man, markings of black ink visible along his forearms. His brown and dirtied beard hung in braids, put together thanks to Gustus. The fellow cellmate even had past scars running down his exposed torso and arms, marking the inmate as a man who fought frequently. Violently, judging the severity of the healed wounds. Gustus himself even healed some of those wounds.

Still, Gustus did not consider himself as Lars’ friend. He hated the cell mate, as Lars had threatened Gustus from time to time and even forced the inmate to be nothing more than fighting practice. Gustus rubbed his healing bruises in remembrance, silently scowling as he looked at Lars.

“Keep to yourselves! No pushing or shoving!” A female marauder shouted out from the harbor. She wore black plate armor, signifying her place as one of the higher ups. Gustus noted the clear burn mark that scarred the area around the left eye and the cheek. It looked as if the affected skin was shades darker, her left eye even differing in color. It gave her a mean look, intimidating most of the inmates that got near. All except Lars.

The meathead scoffed at the woman. “You think I’m scared of you?” He called back, his feet touching down on the harbor. Lars stepped closer to her, prompting some marauders to step forward to stop him. The woman marauder raised her hand, stopping her comrades from getting closer.

“I said, keep to yourselves,” she repeated, her words having an edge to them.

“What if I don’t want to? I bet I can even take you on without that sword of yours. Armor and all,” Lars taunted, getting even closer to the marauder. She only stared at him, her hand moving to the sword that hung by her left. “Are you going to kill me? Use that sword of yours to cut down a defenseless man?” Lars prodded.

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‘You’re only going to get yourself killed, you idiot…’

Gustus silently chastised the oaf. The female marauder, however, did not unsheathe her sword. Instead, she looked to where Deimos stood. Gustus turned to the Red Death as well, watching as the tall man waved an uninterested hand.

The marauder sighed at that, her lips forming into a small smile. Without warning, she undid her weapon belt, dropping the sheathed blade to the harbor below. Everyone stopped. Every inmate and marauder watched in silence, their gazes fixed on Lars and the armored marauder.

“Here’s your chance. Better use it wisely,” she spoke out, her eyes set on Lars.

Gustus stared at the spectacle in surprise. Was she really so confident as to fight this bulk of a man without a weapon?

Lars only grinned as he rotated his shoulder in preparation.

“Your loss,” he chuckled. Gustus wasn’t sure if the female marauder knew what she was dealing with. While Lars was an idiot, he was still a force to be reckoned with. Gustus recalled the crime that got Lars imprisoned. The criminal had killed two men in a bar fight in Bernis, his actions catching the ire of the city guards. Even then, it was rumored that Lars had held off ten armored guards, even killing a couple in the process. He was a berserker, a veteran of the Outsider War that never truly finished his violent rampages.

Lars took a deep breath, his eyes set on the marauder before him. He swung at her, his beefy arm moving in a blur. At a moment’s notice, the marauder had already dodged the attack; her figure already rushing past the attempted punch. Gustus blinked once and saw the marauder right up close and personal with Lars. She was still as a statue, her bluish eyes staring into the berserker. Her fist had disappeared in his braided beard, right where the throat was.

Lars coughed violently, blood speckling the marauder’s pale face. He stumbled back, gritting his teeth as he wildly swung once more. Multiple strikes audibly sounded out. Next thing Gustus knew, Lars was thrown back, his body shaking as he tried to keep himself standing. The marauder only watched, her calm movements making it seem as if she was merely watching a drunkard try to get his footing.

Still, the berserker stood his ground. He coughed once more, his arm moving up to wipe the blood from his mouth and beard.

“Fucking cunt,” he audibly muttered before he came at the marauder again, this time with a tighter defense. The marauder reacted in time, her fist moving to strike at the man’s exposed face. Lars quickly raised his arms up to defend himself, but it was for naught. The marauder had thrown a mere feint. One moment later and the blurry woman had already planted her knee into Lars’ stomach. The berserker let out a groan full of rasp and pain. He dropped to the ground this time, his breathing ragged. Gustus did not make out a single movement from the so-called fight. He only watched as Lars pathetically tried to stand up again before the marauder stomped on his back with her steel boot.

“Keep to yourselves,” she repeated this time. “No shoving or pushing. Everyone moves in an orderly fashion. Understood?” Every inmate nodded in agreement, as they only needed to look at Lars to know that ‘No’ wasn’t a viable response. “Get going then,” she growled.

With that, everyone moved on. Lars was dragged off by some of the low-ranking marauders, leaving the woman to watch over the rest of the inmates. Gustus looked at Deimos, who crossed his arms at the event. Despite being so far away, Gustus couldn’t help but feel as if the Red Death was smiling.

Whether out of pride or entertainment, the inmate did not want to know.