Paragon of Destruction

Arran faced the mercenary captain cautiously.

They had removed their shirts for the match — and the captain his hat — and without the gaudy outfit, Arran’s opponent suddenly appeared a lot more like the mercenary captain he was supposed to be.

Broad-shouldered and thick-muscled, the man’s body bore numerous battle scars, and he moved with the easy confidence of an expert fighter. Had it not been for his neatly trimmed beard and carefully coiffed hair, Arran could almost have mistaken him for an entirely different man.

But Arran was no common fighter, either. Even while concealing most of his strength, he was still more than a match for most Body Refiners. And if his skill in unarmed combat was limited, he had plenty of strength and speed to compensate for that.

For some moments, the two fighters merely circled each other, each studying the other’s movements to get an idea of what they were up against.

After all, the differences between Body Refiners were large. Where some would struggle against even a handful of commoners, others had the power to singlehandedly defeat entire armies.

The mercenary captain was the first to attack. Moving so fast it was only barely visible, he struck a series of blows at Arran’s face and body, each of the attacks carrying the power of a charging bull.

Powerful though the blows might be, against Arran, they accomplished little. The mercenary captain realized his mistake almost instantly, but it was already too late — even as the man moved to retreat, Arran’s fist smashed into his midriff, sending him staggering backward.

Yet the captain remained on his feet, and as the two fighters moved back into position, both their faces held a hint of confusion.

If the mercenary was surprised that Arran had withstood his blows so easily, Arran was equally surprised to find his opponent still standing. Although he restrained his strength, his attack had been powerful enough to easily defeat even a strong adept.

They began to circle each other once more, with some jeers sounding from the crowd that had formed around them.

"He got you good, captain!" one of the mercenaries shouted, seeming amused at seeing his captain knocked back so easily.

Captain Kalesh did not respond, silently eying Arran as they faced each other. Yet his expression wasn’t one of frustration or annoyance. Rather, it was a look of interest, with just a hint of amusement.

Again the mercenary attacked, moving even faster than before. And this time, the blows he struck were more powerful. While nowhere near strong enough to injure Arran, they easily held the force to kill commoners outright.

But again, Arran simply weathered the storm of blows, then responded with a single strike that sent the captain staggering backward.

This time, a puzzled frown crossed Arran’s face when he saw that the mercenary still remained on his feet. He’d put a decent amount of power into the punch — enough to smash through a rock wall.

And yet, his opponent was clearly uninjured.

More exchanges followed, and each time, both Arran and his opponent used a little more of their strength, but to no avail. While Arran’s power and toughness were superior to his opponent’s, he could tell that the other man was faster and more skilled in unarmed combat.

Arran understood that the mercenary was no common Body Refiner, and it wasn’t long before he began to feel some worry that he was showing too much of his power.

But then, with Arran on the verge of conceding the fight, the other man stepped back after having received another of Arran’s powerful punches.

"The fight is yours!" the mercenary captain said, wincing in pain as he clutched his chest.

Arran looked at the man with a raised eyebrow. That his opponent had thrown the fight was obvious, and the man’s theatrics did little to hide that fact.

The captain let out a deep sigh. "It’s no use," he said, casting a dejected look at the crowd of mercenaries that had formed around them. "Against the power of youth, my old body is no match. I have only my wits to protect me."

"Sounds like you’re screwed, then!" one of the mercenaries yelled in response, drawing jeers and laughs from the others.

Captain Kalesh ignored the mockery. Instead, he turned back to Arran, and said, "Let’s take a walk. I owe you some gold, and for your efforts, I’ll add something more."

"Something more?" Arran gave the man a curious look.

"Information," the mercenary said, his expression suddenly serious. "About your future in the Darian Imperium."

"Is that so," Arran replied, trying not to sound too eager. "Then I’ll join you for a walk."

He cared little for gold, but information was a different matter. That was more valuable than any treasure.

A few minutes later found them at the edge of the camp, the mercenary captain once more wearing his garish outfit and feather-topped hat.

"Come," he said. "Let’s move out of the camp for a bit, where there are fewer listening ears."

"Out of the camp?" Arran cast a wary look at the guards in the distance. "Is that allowed?"

"It’s not," the man replied flatly. "But the guards and I have an understanding. As long as they don’t bother me, my men don’t cause trouble for them."

Indeed, as Arran looked at the guards, he saw that they made a conspicuous effort not to notice the pair of Body Refiners who’d passed the camp’s boundary. For all the captain’s bluster, it seemed there was some truth to his words.

"So what is it you wanted to tell me?" Arran understood that there was more to the man than met the eye, and now, he found himself wondering what information he had.

"To start," the mercenary began, "a week from now, a big group of nobles, priests, and merchants will arrive in this camp. When they do, you will be told that you have to earn your citizenship. A year or two of working in the mines, and you’ll be a citizen."

Arran nodded. "I’ve heard something along those lines."

"You have?" The mercenary briefly looked surprised, but then, he gave Arran an appreciative smile. "I suppose I should have expected that. But there is something you likely haven’t heard — that it’s a lie."

"A lie?" A frown crossed Arran’s face as he looked the mercenary in the eyes. "How so?"

The man responded by gesturing at the camp. "Right now, we’re under the care of the Imperial bureaucracy. And although the Imperium loves its rules entirely too much, it’s nothing if not fair."

A wry smile crossed his face, and he continued, "But the nobles are a different matter. And it’s them we’ll be working for to become Darians. Especially for us Body Refiners, that poses a problem."

"The nobles?" Arran furrowed his brow. "We won’t be working for the Imperium?"

Captain Kalesh shook his head. "We’ll be given the choice of which noble house to follow, but after that, they will be the ones who decide when we’ve done enough to earn our citizenship. And while they can be generous to commoners, few of them will easily give up more gifted workers."

At this, an ugly expression appeared on Arran’s face. "You mean they won’t give us our citizenship? To keep us working for them?"

"Exactly," the captain replied. "And even if you do win your freedom, they’ll bind you with oaths so tight you might as well be a slave."

The news was unwelcome, and Arran could not help but wonder whether it was true — and, if so, how the man had learned so much about the Imperium.

Supposedly, the Imperium’s secrets were well-kept, with the Ninth Valley having learned little about it despite centuries of war. Yet somehow, it seemed this mercenary captain had achieved what the Ninth Valley could not.

"How do you know all this?" Arran asked.

The mercenary gave Arran a broad grin. "Unlike you, I did not come here unprepared," he said.

His expression suggested he would reveal no more than that, and for some moments, Arran looked at the camp, several hundreds of paces from where they stood. If the mercenary was correct, then it was little more than a trap — and one he’d already entered.

He had a way out, of course, in the form of the Knight’s ring. But he couldn’t fully trust that, either. The truth was that he still knew too little about the Imperium to predict the consequences of his decisions.

With some hesitation, he turned his eyes back to the mercenary.

"If one received the favor of a Knight," he asked in a cautious tone, "would that help in gaining one’s freedom?"

Captain Kalesh smirked in response. "Only if you wish to exchange one set of chains for another. Above each Knight, you will find a Lord or Lady. And accepting a Knight’s favor will put you in debt with their master."

"So what do you have to offer?" Arran asked.

He did not believe for a moment that the mercenary captain had shared the information solely out of the goodness of his heart. Rather, he was working up to something — an offer.

"Not one for subtlety, are you?" The man looked at Arran in amusement. "Very well. I did not come here to flee the war. Rather, I came here to learn the Darians’ methods. Which I suspect is the reason you came here, as well."

"Perhaps," Arran replied. "But even if that were true, how could you help me with that?"

"I have connections," Kalesh replied. "Ones that will help me and my men earn our citizenship in months, rather than years. And once we do, we will travel to the far end of the Imperium, to win the status and wealth we need to gain the secrets we desire. Without any oaths or masters to hold us back."

The mercenary paused briefly as he gave Arran a calculating look. Then, in a sly tone, he continued, "If you wish, I would invite you to join us."

A frown crossed Arran’s face. "What do you have to gain from helping me?"

"Your strength," the man replied instantly. "Since arriving here, I’ve found only a handful of worthy recruits, and none of them were even half as strong as you. If you join the Wolfsblood Company, you will be free to leave when you wish, but until you do, your sword is mine to command."

Arran considered the offer for some moments. Then, slowly, he nodded. "I’ll accept your offer," he said. "For now."

Trusting the mercenary captain was a risk, but then, so was trying to forge his own path. And although he was reluctant to rely on the help of a stranger, he was painfully aware of just how little he knew about the Imperium.

"Wonderful!" the mercenary said, flashing Arran a bright smile. "Our company grows stronger by the day. But we should return to the camp — the guards are beginning to look worried."

With a glance at the camp, Arran saw that the captain was right. Several of the guards were now looking at them with troubled faces, seemingly unsure of how to handle the blatant disregard for their rules.

"But I almost forgot," Kaleesh suddenly said. "I still owe you your winnings!" He reached into his coat and produced a handful of gold, which he carelessly handed to Arran. "Though you should know that in the Imperium, gold is only barely more valuable than copper."

"It is?" Arran looked at the large handful of gold he’d been handed so casually. It was enough to represent a fortune in the Empire. "Then what do they use?"

"Shadowmetal," the man replied. He reached into his coat and took out a small coin, then held it up for Arran to inspect.

Arran saw that the coin was jet black and polished to a shine. And almost at once, he realized he had seen the material before.

In the underground city near Amydon, he’d found numerous coins exactly like this one.

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