Taking Out The Trash
The liberation of Anthill concluded with a satisfying end. While most of the population was traumatized by the Eclipse's occupation, the arrival of the Coalition's relief supplies managed to mend the wound, albeit slowly.
For the most part, the town secured. Edward was captured and currently being processed to be moved to Loriana's dungeon for further interrogation, while the remaining cultist fanatics were either killed or scattered in the wild.
Zachary sat in his office. Reviewing the report of the damages caused by the cultists that attacked Loriana during his absence. Although Sylvanne managed to defeat and kill Idomay, the list of civilian casualties was high. Especially those who lived in the slum area.
The door creaked open, revealing Stark, still clad in his armor, though he had removed his helmet.
"Report." Zachary didn't look up from the document, his voice devoid of its usual warmth.
"The clean-up is proceeding as planned," Stark said as he stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. "We've burned the bodies of the cultists. No sign of corruption spreading to the soil. The priests are performing the last rites for the civilians now."
"Good." Zachary finally looked up. "And the prisoners?"
"They're mostly civilians," Stark admitted, leaning against the wall with a heavy sigh. "They were forced to join the Eclipse's cult or they'd be killed or starved to death."
Zachary rubbed his temples, a headache throbbing behind his eyes. "Those who didn't fight back, we treat as victims. Those who did... You know how."
Stark just nodded. The implication was clear.
"Understood. Also, the Mayor of Anthill wants to meet you. He's currently at the Water Lilies' Embrace."
"Is he?" Zachary stood up from his seat. "Tell him I'll be there in a minute."
____
The moment he stepped inside, he could see Asep playing a vihuela with a relaxing melody, his voice was a little rough but synchronized perfectly with the music.
"Jalanku hampa, dan ku sentuh dia."
"Terasa hangat, oh di dalam hati."
"Ku pegang erat dan ku halangi waktu~"
"Tak urung jua, ku lihatnya pergi..."
It seemed the man had taken the job as a musician. Naraya wasn't there, so he performed solo.
Zachary spotted Mayor Godwin immediately. He was a thin man with perpetually tired eyes, nursing a goblet of wine as if it contained the antidote to all his sorrows. He sat in the corner booth, flanked by two nervous-looking guards.
"Mayor Godwin," Zachary greeted, sliding into the seat opposite him. "I heard you wanted to see me."
Godwin jumped slightly, spilling a few drops of wine onto the table. "Lord Zachary! Apologies, I didn't see you come in." He dabbed at the spill with a cloth with a shaking hand. "Thank you for seeing me on such short notice."
"It's fine," Zachary waved a hand dismissively. "What can I do for you?"
"I just want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for saving my town." The Mayor started, his eyes held a deep, profound sadness. "When the Eclipse came, I… I tried to resist, I truly did! But they had monsters! They had magic! I had… a town watch armed with rusty spears. I… I had to escape. I'm truly ashamed of myself…"
Zachary listened. He had heard variations of this story a dozen times over so it's not gonna make him felt anything. "You survived, Mayor. That's what matters now. You're alive to help rebuild."
"Yes… yes, rebuild." Godwin let out a sigh. "... But, we have another matter. Our reserves are dwindling and thin. The road northwest of Anthill that leads to the West Crossroad… It's full of bandits. We're unable to trade with Merlesia to the west, nor to your town. If we can't secure the route, Anthill will die. If you could help us secure the road, we can join you in supporting Roake."
Zachary paused, his mind calculating. Anthill sat on a key trade route connecting the southern region to the northern plains. Securing it meant controlling the flow of goods and information. But it also meant stretching his forces thin.
"How many bandits?"
"I'm not sure... But from the report, they're just raiding our caravans but never killing anyone. They only took food, clothes, and tools. They never took any gold or luxury items."
Zachary frowned. Bandits who didn't kill? That was… unusual. Most brigands in these parts were deserters or desperate men who wouldn't hesitate to slit a throat for a copper coin.
"I can spare a small squad," Zachary said finally. "We'll scout the area and assess the threat. If they can be reasoned with, we'll talk. If not…" He let the sentence hang.
Godwin's shoulders slumped in relief. "Thank you, Lord Zachary. Thank you."
Walking back to his office, Zachary's mind was already churning. A bandit group that stole only essentials and avoided bloodshed? It sounded less like criminals and more like… refugees. Or a disciplined unit operating under strict orders.
If this is merely a bandit problem, Corgan and the other reformed bandits might be able to persuade them. After all, they're also bandits…
The next morning, Zachary met Corgan and his men at The Gilded Tankard, nursing a hangover while boasting about their exploits during the siege.
"Corgan," Zachary said, his voice cutting through the laughter.
The bandit leader choked on his drink and slamming the tankard down. "Boss! Didn't expect to see you here so early. Come to join the celebration?"
"Business, I'm afraid." Zachary pulled up a stool. "I need you to take a ride west. There's a group of bandits harassing the trade route near Anthill. Mayor Godwin says they're stealing food and supplies but avoiding killing."
Corgan wiped foam from his beard, his interest piqued. "No killing? That's rare. Most of the scum out there would kill their own mothers for a shiny rock."
"That's probably Bernie's group, I think." One of Corgan's men said before burping loudly. "They usually ain't gonna murder you unless you fight back."
"Bernie?" Corgan raised an eyebrow. "I thought that bastard was dead."
"Who's Bernie?" Zachary asked.
"An old timer, used to be a docker back during our day in Merlesia. He became a bandit leader after he killed a noble for raping his daughter. Good man, if a bit soft. If it's him, he's probably just trying to feed his people."
"Well, you're the only one who can talk some sense into him." Zachary said. "I want you to go there and offer them a deal. Join the Coalition. We'll feed them, shelter them, and give them a purpose. In exchange, they stop raiding the caravans and help us secure the road."
Corgan grinned, showing a mouth full of gold-colored teeth. "Diplomacy, eh? Sure. Better than getting stabbed in the gut, that's for sure. Alright, Boss. We'll head out within the hour."
____
You might be wondering why Zachary recruited unsavory people like Corgan and his men. Well, many people were also thinking the same way.
Why would they employ this scum?
Indeed, they weren't good people. They had lived at the very bottom of society. Many of them were thieves, rapists, murderers, deserters—you name it. They were the embodiment of lawlessness, the dregs of society that polite folk crossed the street to avoid. They'd robbed caravans, extorted villages, and generally made life miserable for anyone unlucky enough to cross their path in the Northeast Crossroads. The "Wood Hounds" had a reputation, and it wasn't for charity work.
So why did Zachary—and by extension, Princess Adreana—accept their help?
Desperation was one answer. Pragmatism was another. But the real catalyst was Asep.
It had happened weeks ago, when the "Bird's Call" first went out. Most bandits laughed at the idea of fighting for a kingdom that hunted them. So that's why they also thought it'd be the same for them when a man named Asep came to them and beat the shit out of them while smoking.
But, after Corgan and his men got beaten to a pulp, Asep offered them something they hadn't expected: a way out.
"Look, I don't give a shit if you rob the King blind, but think about it. If the Eclipse freaks win, there won't be any rich merchants to rob. There won't be any ale to drink. There won't be any whores to fuck. Everyone will be either dead. Is that the world you want to live in?"
That was what Asep had said.
It was a crude argument, stripped of noble ideals or patriotic duty. It was purely transactional and frankly, it appealing to their base instincts of self-preservation and greed.
"Plus, if you help us win, the Princess might just wipe your slates clean. Think about it. No more sleeping with one eye open. No more running from the Royal Army. You could walk into a tavern like a normal person and order a drink without wondering if the barmaid poisoned it. A chance to start over. Or you can stay here and wait for the squid-heads to turn you into mulch. Your call."
That night, the Wood Hounds disbanded, and the "First Volunteer Irregular Unit" was born. They weren't soldiers, not really. They swore constantly, and their discipline was questionable at best. But they knew the land, they knew how to survive, and surprisingly, they hated the Eclipse Cult with a passion that rivaled the most zealous Paladin. Because for all their crimes, even bandits had lines they wouldn't cross. Turning people into monsters wasn't just evil; it was bad for business.
Now, after all that had happened, Corgan knew why the man had warned him about the Eclipse. Roake was a shitshow, and he was glad that he was on the winning side.
Sometimes, you might wonder why people turn to banditry. Ardenia wasn't some utopia after all. It was a land scarred by wars, famine, and bad governance. When the mines dried up or the harvest failed, honest men faced a choice: starve with dignity or survive by any means necessary. He'd been a docker once, hauling crates until his back nearly broke, watching nobles feast while his children cried from hunger.
It was a difficult choice, between starving and surviving by any means. To see his children smile once again. To see his wife happy once again. As long as they were happy, he would do anything, even if he had to dive into the deepest abyss.
"Boss, we're here," one of his men reported. The forest had grown dense, the ancient oaks forming a canopy that blotted out most of the sunlight. It was prime ambush territory—the kind of place Corgan himself would have chosen back in the day.
"Keep your eyes peeled, lads," Corgan muttered, resting a hand on the hilt of his sword. "Bernie ain't the type to shoot first, but his boys might be jumpy."
They rode deeper into the woods, the silence heavy and oppressive. There were no birds singing, no rustle of small animals in the undergrowth. Just the stillness of a forest holding its breath.
Suddenly, a whistle cut through the air.
"Hold!" A voice barked from the trees.
Corgan raised a hand, signaling his column to stop. He looked up, spotting the glint of arrowheads among the branches.
"Well, well, is that how you greet an old friend, Bernie?"
Corgan shouted, his voice echoing through the clearing.
A moment of hesitation, then a rustling sound. A figure emerged from behind a massive oak, flanked by two archers with bows drawn. Bernie looked older than Corgan remembered—his hair was completely grey now, and his face was etched with deep lines of worry. But his eyes were the same: hard, wary, but not cruel.
"Corgan?" Bernie squinted, lowering his crossbow slightly. "The hell are ya doin' in my turf? Ain't you holdin' the northeast?"
"Nah. That is in the past, old man! We're huntin' cultists now."
Hearing that, Bernie's eyes hardened. He pointed his crossbow directly at him now. "There's no cultists 'ere! Leave!"
"Hah? What the hell are ya talkin' about?" Corgan frowned, confused with the sudden reaction. "I'm here to talk to you and your men."
"Leave!" Bernie shouted. "They're just people exploited by the Eclipse bastards! They're no cultists!"
Oh... So he's protecting them, eh?
Corgan raised his hands, palms open, showing he wasn't reaching for a weapon. "Easy, Bernie. Easy. I ain't here to hurt nobody. Just wanna talk. From one captain to another."
Bernie stared at him for a long moment, weighing the truth in his words. Finally, he spat on the ground and lowered his weapon. "Talk, then. But make it quick. My boys got itchy fingers."
Corgan dismounted of his mountbeast, signaling his men to stay back as he walked toward Bernie, then stopping a few paces away. "Heard you been hitting the caravans near Anthill."
"We take what we need," Bernie said defensively. "Food. Medicine. Clothes. We don't touch the gold. We ain't thieves."
"You're robbin' people on the King's road. That makes you thieves in the eyes of the law, mate," Corgan pointed out, though his tone wasn't really accusatory. "But I get it. Winter's comin'. Belly needs fillin'."
"If that's all you gotta say, you can piss off," Bernie grunted.
"I'm here with an offer," Corgan continued, ignoring the insult. "From Lord Zachary of Loriana. Ever heard of him?"
"The mercenary boss? Heard he's fightin' a war." Bernie scoffed.
"Winning a war, to be exact. We just kicked the Eclipse out of Roake and Anthill. But we need to secure this road. And instead of sendin' knights to wipe you out, Zachary sent me."
Bernie narrowed his eyes. "To do what? Kill us?"
"To offer you a job, old man! Join us, Bernie. Join the Coalition. Zachary's offering food, shelter, and amnesty. Full pardon for past crimes if you help us keep the road safe. You and your people won't have to hide in the woods anymore. You can live like decent folk again."
Bernie went silent as he processing the words. Amnesty. A chance to stop running. It sounded too good to be true.
"And what's the catch?" he asked suspiciously. "There's always a catch."
"The catch is you gotta stop raiding," Corgan said bluntly. "And you gotta help us fight the Eclipse if they come back. But let's be real, Bernie. If those cult freaks take over, do you think they'll leave you alone? They'll turn you into monsters or fertilizer. This is your chance to fight back. For your daughter's sake."
At the mention of his daughter, Bernie flinched. The pain was still there, raw and deep. He looked at the ragged men behind him, then back at Corgan.
"You really think... we can go back?" Bernie whispered, his voice cracking slightly. "After everything we done?"
"I'm here, ain't I?" Corgan said with a spread arms. "Look at me. I was a bigger piece of shit than you ever were. Now I'm ridin' with knights and princesses. If I can do it, so can you."
Bernie looked down at his worn boots, then up at the canopy above. The wind rustled the leaves, whispering of change. Finally, he let out a long, ragged breath.
"Alright," he said. "Boys, lower your weapons, we're gonna hear what he has to say."
______
Bernie led Corgan deeper into the encampment, past the sentries and into a hidden depression in the earth that shielded by the dense canopy. What Corgan saw there wiped the confident grin off his face.
It wasn't a bandit camp. It was a refugee slum hidden in the woods.
Makeshift tents patched with moss and stolen canvas were huddled together. Dozens of people made this place their home. Men, women, and even children, they sat around the fires, their faces gaunt and eyes haunted. But what caught Corgan's attention were the robes. Many of them still wore the tattered, stained remnants of Eclipse initiate garbs, though most had tried to tear off the insignias or cover them with rags.
"They ain't my boys, Corgan," Bernie said with a low voice, heavy with exhaustion. "Most of 'em ain't fighters. They're runaways."
Corgan scanned the crowd. He saw a young woman clutching a bundle of cloth that looked like a swaddled infant, rocking back and forth. He saw a man with half his face burned, likely from a magical punishment, staring blankly into the fire.
"Cult defectors?" Corgan asked, his tone losing its jovial edge.
"They're victim. Farmers, laborers, dockers like us. The Eclipse came to their villages, promised 'em food, salvation, a new world. Said they'd bring justice to the nobles who starved 'em." He sighed. "Lies. All of it. These folk... they realized too late what they'd signed up for. When they saw the monsters, the Thralls, the sacrifices... they ran."
Bernie stopped near a large communal pot where a thin gruel was boiling. "They came to me 'cause they got nowhere else. If they go back to the towns, the guards will hang 'em for wearin' those robes. If the Eclipse finds 'em, they'll be flayed alive as traitors. They're stuck between the executioner and the devil."
He turned to Corgan with pleading eyes. "That's why we raid the caravans. Not for gold. We need bandages. We need grain. We need milk for the babes. I got fifty mouths to feed here, Corgan, and winter is breathin' down our necks."
Corgan looked at the huddled masses. He saw the fear in their eyes as they looked at him—a stranger, a potential threat. He realized why Bernie's "bandits" never killed. They were trying to hold onto the last scrap of humanity they had left after seeing hell up close.
"Justice..." Bernie let out a bitter laugh with his raspy voice. "They thought they were joinin' a revolution. Instead, they just helped burn down their own brothers' homes. The guilt... it's eatin' 'em alive faster than the hunger."
Corgan scratched his beard, the weight of the situation settling on his shoulders. This wasn't just a recruitment pitch anymore. If he walked away, these people were dead.
"Zachary ain't gonna hang 'em," Corgan said quietly.
"Can you promise that?" Bernie challenged. "He's a noble's dog now, ain't he? Or close enough. Nobles don't care about intent. They see the robe, they see the enemy."
"He ain't like that. And the Princess... she's different. I know, sounds like horseshit, but I've seen her fight alongside scum like us." Corgan stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Bernie. We got a healer in Loriana. A real one. And we got food. Actual bread, not this... mud soup. Or even if you don't like nobles, Adeline will take care of 'em. She's the one who took care of the refugees."
"Adeline? Gustav's little girl?"
"Apparently her old man died during the riot. She's taking care of them. A good lass."
Bernie looking back and forth at the camp. He could heard a child coughed with a dry hackling sound that rattled in the quiet clearing.
"If I bring 'em in," Bernie said, his voice trembling slightly. "If they get hurt... if this is a trap..."
"Then you can cut my throat personally if you want. I'll ride with you. Unarmed. If the guards try anything, I'm the first one they take down. Deal?"
Bernie studied Corgan's face, trying to search for a deceit and lie that usually accompanying scum like them. After a long silence, he nodded slowly.
"Very well. We have a deal."
_________
Bernie had agreed to the terms, which meant he would now lead his men—well, not men, but refugees, to Loriana. It was a tense journey, two days of marching through the dense forests and along the old mining roads, constantly looking over their shoulders for both Eclipse patrols and Royal Army deserters. The caravan was a pitiful sight; a jagged line of weary souls, some limping, others carried on makeshift stretchers, flanked by Corgan's rough-and-tumble crew and Bernie's anxious "bandits."
When the high stone walls of Loriana finally broke through the tree line, a collective shudder went through the group. For so long, walls meant exclusion, judgment, and death. To walk towards them willingly felt like walking into the jaws of a beast.
Bernie rode at the front alongside Corgan, his knuckles white as he gripped the reins of his tired nag. He saw the banners of the Castalia Company snapping in the wind—the blue water lily on a silver field, but his eyes were fixed on the figures waiting by the iron-reinforced gates.
There was a small entourage. A few guards in polished armor, a towering woman with a greatsword slung casually over her shoulder—that had to be Sylvanne, the 'War Goddess' Corgan wouldn't shut up about and two figures at the center.
One was a man in a well-fitted dark armor with a white cape, exuding an air of calm authority. Zachary Valente.
The other... Bernie felt his breath hitch. She wore simple traveling clothes, trousers and a tunic, but there was no mistaking the way she held herself. The golden hair, the poise that seemed effortless yet commanded the very air around her. Princess Adreana.
"Easy, old man," Corgan said as he sensed Bernie's tension. "They ain't gonna bite. Unless you start shootin'."
"Shut it," Bernie hissed, though he kept his crossbow strictly uncocked and slung across his back.
As they approached, Zachary stepped forward, his expression unreadable but devoid of hostility. The Princess stood beside him, her gaze sweeping over the ragged column not with an assessing intensity.
"Halt!" A guard barked, but Zachary raised a hand and silencing him instantly.
"Welcome to Loriana," Zachary's voice was steady, carrying easily over the growing murmur of the refugees. He looked directly at Bernie. "You must be Captain Bernie."
Bernie stiffened at the title. "Just Bernie, m'lord. I ain't no captain. Just a man tryin' not to die."
"A sentiment we all share these days," Zachary replied. He gestured to the people behind Bernie. "Corgan tells me you've been protecting these people. Even when it meant marking yourself as an outlaw."
"Didn't have much choice," Bernie said as he dismounting the nag while kept his hands visible. "They had nowhere else to go. But I gotta ask ya straight, m'lord... Corgan promised amnesty. He promised food. Is that word good, or are we marchin' into a cell?"
Before Zachary could answer, Adreana stepped forward. The movement was small, but it drew every eye. She walked right up to Bernie, ignoring the nervous twitch of his hand toward his belt.
"The word of House Valente is iron," she said, her voice clear and resonant. "And the word of the Crown is law. You protected my subjects when the Kingdom failed them. For that, you have my gratitude, not my judgment."
She looked past him, raising her voice so the huddled masses could hear. "Listen to me! You have been deceived by false prophets and hunted by monsters. You have suffered cold and hunger. But that ends today. Within these walls, you are not outlaws. You are not cultists. You are citizens of Ardenia, and you are under my protection."
A murmur rippled through the crowd—disbelief mixed with a desperate, fragile hope.
"We have prepared the overflow barracks in the eastern district," Zachary added as he stepping up beside her. "There is hot stew, clean water, and healers waiting. Seraphine and her acolytes are ready to treat the wounded. No questions will be asked about your past allegiances today. Your slate is clean."
Bernie stared at them, his cynical heart warring with what he was seeing. Nobles didn't do this. They didn't welcome rats into their castles. But looking into Adreana's eyes, he saw something he hadn't seen in a leader since the early days of the independence war: genuine conviction.
Slowly, Bernie nodded. He turned back to his people and raising a hand. "You heard 'em! Move out! Nice and orderly! No shovin'!"
As the refugees began to shuffle through the gates, guided gently by the Castalia guards, a young woman burst from the crowd. She was disheveled, her face smudged with dirt, but her eyes were wide with recognition.
"Bernie!"
Bernie spun around, his hand instinctively going for his dagger, but then, he stopped. "Adeline?"
Adeline rushed forward, pushing past a startled guard to embrace the old bandit. He stiffened, then awkwardly patted her back.
"You old fool," she laughed, pulling back with tears in her eyes. "I heard rumors you were dead in a ditch somewhere!"
"Takes more than a ditch to kill me, lass. Heard you were playin' hero in Roake. Your old man would be... well, he'd probably yell at you for being reckless, then buy you a drink."
Adeline's smile faltered for a second at the mention of her father, Gustav, but she nodded. "He would. I'm glad you're here. We need good people. Even grumpy ones."
Zachary watched the reunion with a faint smile, then turned to Corgan, who was looking smugly satisfied with himself.
"Good work, you managed to bring them in without incident."
"Told ya, Boss! I'm a natural diplomat. Just needed the right motivation. And a shitload of luck." Corgan said with smug satisfucation.
"Don't push it," Zachary warned, before his eyes turned to the people passing through the gate.
The Eclipse's words promised them salvation, but only delivered death. It's not without cause; Ardenia's stability is fragile. It failed to give these people hope. That's why many of them swayed. Even the most ridiculous reason sounds reasonable if you're desperate enough.
That's why, if we want to win, we need to prove that we're better. My actions might be seen as naive by some. After all, letting potential spies into the city is a risky move. But, sometimes, taking a risk is better than doing nothing.
After all, we're just human. We're weak. That's why we tend to help each other.
___