Two men poured across a myriad of papers. Each document a reminder of supplies, troop counts, and maps of the city. Within the inner castle of Hueryss, Fritz and Gaspard convened their secret war council.

"How many cannons can we have?" Gaspard asked.

"The gatehouse will fit at most eight. Smaller ones can be placed along the wall, but recoil is an issue to consider. We can't make them too powerful. The issue is one of opportunity cost." The captain of the guard's eyes looked up in confusion.

"Never heard the word?" Fritz asked. "Investing in more cannons means we cannot invest the resources elsewhere. Mortars would be far more effective at killing mass infantry. The explosive shells we have prototyped can detonate and kill undead in a larger area. Do you know what makes mortars especially useful?"

"No? What? Their portability?"

"That is one aspect. But it can do something the cannon's have a harder time doing. Mortars can fire over obstacles. Making them easier to reposition in case the walls are compromised. Cannons cannot as they require a straight angle of fire. With the sheer number of homes, if the walls are taken, they can only be effectively shot down streets."

"Ah.... It seems there will be less cannons." Gaspard. "That is a shame. My guardsmen love the cannons. They abhor the mortars. It seems to be a punishment to be placed on a mortar team."

"That works out for us. Gaspard, use the prestige. If they want to be on a cannon, remind them to be obedient. Threaten them to demote them to a mortar team if need be. We need them to follow orders."

"Already two steps ahead of you." The captain of the guard responded.

"How long do we have until the enemy appears?" Fritz asked. Gaspard shrugged.

"The typical route to Gris takes around two weeks of travel, but who knows. It could be today. It could be tomorrow. Thus far we've had no reports come in from surrounding villages of any undead sighting."

"So we still have time?"

"A little. Hueryss is in the far north of our territory."

"So then we redouble our efforts. Once we establish twenty mortar crews we will have our targets. Eight cannons for the guardhouse are already underway with a larger cannon for your favorite crew. Maybe another in case the gates are compromised."

"They will appreciate it. They are already discussing tactics for dragon slaying." Gaspard laughed as Fritz started to roll his eyes.

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"Gaspard, keep the training up. I will be bothering the blacksmiths to create more weapons. Silver, holy water, garlic, hells maybe even muskets. I'll give it my all. The city will be prepared. Send a runner if you run out of gunpowder. I will be exhausting myself trying to create a suitable stockpile."

"So will you be sharing this secret formula when you leave?" Gaspard asked seriously. His eyes roamed across Fritz's features studying them. Fritz smiled slyly.

"Oh.... I don't know.... Some secrets are worth keeping. All this talk of dragon-slaying with cannons has me a bit worried. I wouldn't want to let them run wild."

"Thinking of creating a monopoly?"

"Of course."

"They might just kidnap you. Drag you along on their mad quests. Force you to cough up your secrets so they can be legends." Gaspard leaned forward, resting his chin upon his gloved fist staring at Fritz. Fritz laughed, as he leaned back in his chair.

"True. True." He replied. Looking up towards the ceiling, he let his focus wane.

"It's half-joke but half-truth. They know how Ada got her sword, Fritz. They want enchanted steel too. They all do. And you're the quickest way to it." Fritz sighed as he absorbed Gaspard's words. Sitting up in his chair he crossed his arms.

"What about you? Want a sword?"

"It's crossed my mind before. Maybe it could help me beat some sense into my brother. But, no. Right now, all I want is a drink." The captain of the guards grinned deviously. "What does the grumpy one call you?"

"Cupbearer."

"Cupbearer. Such an insult for the Goddess's champion."

"Don't pretend like you forgot."

"I didn't, but I couldn't bring myself to insult her will."

"Alright, alright." Magic flashed in Fritz hand's as two tankards of dark dwarven ale materialized from nothing. Handing one the captain of the guard he waited for him to bring the dwarven ale to his lips.

"Should we make a toast?" Fritz asked.

"To Hueryss, may my beloved city stand so long as I live." Gaspard said with reverence, before his head turned backwards to drink. Fritz followed suit. His mind whirled as he went through the checklist of activity that awaited him the next day. Gaspard's mind was elsewhere as he drank the heady liquor. A burning question probed at the back of his head.

"Champion."

"Call me Fritz."

"Fritz. Why do you fight?" Gaspard asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Some of your companions have made no attempt to hide their disdain for your desire to stay and fight. The drunkard and the snake have made several comments decrying your decision to stick around. I do not mean to question the goddess, but I need to know.... Why do you want to fight? How much of the stereotypical champion are you? I can't help but ask myself such stupid questions."

Fritz paused for a moment. Doubt permeated his soul, debating whether he should open up. Staring straight at the captain of the guard, he spoke.

"I do not wish for destructive power. I want to lift up those around me. I wish to see their smiles, I cannot bear to see any more suffering. I will not leave others to languish when I can help. I will not leave the poor, unfortunate and powerless to the whims of fate.

"If I have been brought here, I believe I have been brought her for a purpose. The burning fire within me wants to matter. It wants me to make sure the idiots around me are healthy and happy, even if they annoy me.

Gaspard, I will make a difference. Kings can rule. Warriors can fight. Merchants can scheme. But I refuse to watch the aftermath of their world and stand idle to the suffering they cause."

"Bleeding hearts don't last long." Gaspard said dryly.

"Doesn't matter, because I refuse to change." Fritz said.