Long, twisting banners of deep red draped the city's main square, their fabric snapping in a restless breeze. It looked as though someone had hastily attempted to stage a grand festival, wooden stalls half-built, a spit-roasted boar sizzling near the center of the plaza. Clusters of dancers in mismatched costumes hovered at the edges, while a few bedraggled musicians tuned instruments they seemed unsure how to play. At the far end of the square stood a tall, broad-shouldered figure in a finely embroidered cloak, arms folded and chin raised in command.
Roy first caught a glimpse of these preparations the moment he stepped ashore in a small dinghy, flanked by four hulking Presidroids—Washington, Lincoln, Teddy, and Truman. Their silent, metallic footsteps caused the city guards to fall back in anxious deference. The guards held spears with trembling knuckles, plainly aware they were outmatched.
It was barely midday, yet the sun felt stiflingly hot. Roy tugged at the collar of his plain black jacket—better than pajamas, but hardly regal attire. The heat, combined with the barbed stares of the bystanders, made him itch to retreat to the battleship. Still, he'd come this far.
An official-looking man in ill-fitting silks hurried forward, bowing clumsily.
"W-We welcome you, honored visitor," the man said. "Please, follow me to meet our lord."
Roy nodded, offering only a polite grunt. He walked across uneven cobblestones toward the city's main square. The sizzle of the roasting boar hung in the air. Rich, greasy smoke made Roy's stomach churn. The clang of a blacksmith's hammer in the distance clashed with shrill flute music. Despite the carnival-like trappings, Roy felt tension roiling under every forced smile.
As they entered the wide square, the official stopped and gestured grandly. "My lord, allow me to present the one who slew our coastal menace," he announced in a breathless squeak.
The tall figure waiting by the dais stepped forward. His cloak was the color of dried blood, and gold thread embroidered a crest near his heart. He had a firm jaw, hawkish nose, and eyes that shone with canny intelligence.
"Ah," the man said, inclining his head. "Welcome. I've awaited your arrival with great anticipation." He pressed a hand to his chest in a half-bow. "I am Egvald, baron of these lands. You must be Roy."
Roy gave an awkward nod. "Yeah. Captain Gunn," he mumbled, glancing at the wide dais where a boar roasted on a spit. Dancers fidgeted close by, wearing expressions that ranged from forced cheer to outright fear.
Egvald waved an arm, indicating the bizarre festival around them. "A hurried celebration, yes, but the best I could muster on short notice. We are not used to such… sensational heroes dropping by."
Between them, a younger man hovered at Egvald's right elbow. His posture spoke of tension, and deep lines etched his brow. Egvald turned slightly, gesturing at him with a faint smile.
"My brother, Elrin," the baron said. "He helps manage affairs in my absence."
Elrin dipped his head in a subdued greeting but said nothing. Roy caught a flash of regret in his eyes, an apology half-formed but swallowed back.
"I appreciate the, uh, efforts," Roy replied. The smell of charred boar fat almost made him gag. The entire display felt overblown, as though Egvald expected to dazzle him with sheer pomp.
Behind Egvald, two more figures stood, a middle-aged man in battered leathers who might have been a guard captain, and an older man who wore the faint lines of worry. Roy noticed the older man leaning on a staff, hair in a tight knot, face set in careful neutrality. Perhaps an advisor, or a retired soldier. The older man's gaze flicked from Roy to the slaves carrying crates near the half-finished walls, and his features crimped in visible regret.
Egvald took a step forward. "Please indulge yourself. We've prepared a feast! Fresh boar, local brews, and… entertainment."
He clapped twice, prompting the dancers to shuffle into a disjointed performance. A handful of watchers in the crowd, likely townsfolk, tried to clap along, though their applause sounded muted and anxious.
Roy's lips thinned. Everything in this place felt staged, from the gaudy banners to the dancing. An uneasy pang tightened in his chest. While scanning the edges of the square, he spotted a group of ragged workers hauling bricks. Were these slaves? They wore battered iron collars, many sporting bruises on their arms, bare legs, or cheeks. Some flinched whenever an overseer barked a command.
Roy swallowed. "What… exactly are they building?" he ventured, glancing at a partially erected wall.
Egvald followed Roy's gaze. "We're expanding our fortifications," the baron said smoothly. "A city must remain strong, no?" His tone was casual, but Roy couldn't miss the cruel satisfaction.
"And the workers?" Roy asked.
"Mine," Egvald answered, a dismissive wave of the hand. "They're lesser scum, my property, acquired through rightful means. Is that a problem?"
Roy felt Lincoln shift at his flank, as if the Presidroid sensed the hostility. Heat crawled up Roy's neck. He forced himself not to retort. He had no illusions about his capacity for devastation, but he'd never turned it on humans, especially not entire garrisons. His own moral uncertainty pinned him in place.
After an awkward silence, Egvald's smile widened. "Now then, let's not dwell on unpleasantries. Come, meet the rest of my family."
He made a grand gesture. A young woman emerged from behind a cluster of nervous dancers. Her hair was styled in elaborate coils, her dress a swirl of bright silks that bared more skin than Roy expected in a medieval world. She walked with practiced poise, eyes sparking with predatory curiosity the moment she caught sight of Roy.
"My daughter, Celyse," Egvald announced, half-laughing with paternal pride. "She stands ready to find a worthy spouse—someone with ambition, you see."
Celyse curtsied, a graceful movement that ended with a sly half-smile. "Pleased to meet you," she purred. Before she could approach, Teddy stepped in with a forbidding stance, halting her in place. Roy felt an immediate wave of relief—he wasn't ready to handle a flirtatious noblewoman right now.
He coughed. "Um, hello," he said.
Celyse licked her lips. "Father said you're quite the warrior, able to slaythe monstrous eel before breakfast. Fascinating."
The baron chuckled, then snapped his fingers. Another young woman was shoved forward—her eyes rimmed red, as though she'd been crying. She wore a simpler gown, but a trembling hand clutched at its collar, and she cast desperate, pleading looks at a boy about her age off to one side. Roy guessed that must be her sweetheart or betrothed.
"And if Celyse doesn't catch your fancy," Egvald said smoothly, "there's also my niece, Nereya. A different style, if you will."
Nereya's lips parted as if she wanted to speak, but a glare from Egvald silenced her. Roy felt a spike of rage. This entire show was horrifying, like a slave auction disguised as hospitality.
Elrin, the baron's brother, cleared his throat quietly. He cast Roy an apologetic look but stayed silent. Roy's fists balled at his sides, even as he tried to remain outwardly polite.
"I—I appreciate the… generosity," Roy managed, voice shaking a bit. He had to glance away to avoid retching at the sight of the pig roasting behind them. "But I'm not… looking for a spouse."
Celyse giggled behind her hand, an act Roy guessed was meant to be charming. "Oh, but you've only just arrived," she teased. "You might change your mind once you see what we have to offer."
She took a step closer, but Lincoln edged in, unyielding. Roy breathed a silent thanks for his Presidroids' unwavering vigilance. "I'm sorry," he murmured, "it's not something I can… accept."
Egvald's smile never wavered. "You won't indulge in a wedding banquet, then? Perhaps you'd prefer simpler entertainment? Some of these lovely dancers are at your disposal. For a night, or two, whatever pleases you." He gave a dismissive wave toward the quivering line of performers.
A surge of anger nearly choked Roy. So that was how Egvald viewed people—commodities. He pressed his lips shut, stifling the urge to shout. Shouting might accomplish little, and he wasn't prepared for a brawl yet. "No, that's not necessary," he finally said, tone clipped.
For a heartbeat, Egvald's eyes flickered with something cold. Then he shrugged. "If you insist," he said evenly. "But do consider staying the night. I'd be honored to host you. My estate is quite comfortable."
Roy swallowed hard, stepping back. "Thanks, but I have quarters on my…my vessel. I'll return there now. Perhaps tomorrow we can speak more," he said, aiming for neutral courtesy.
Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel, striding swiftly away. The four Presidroids parted the stunned crowd, their metal frames reflecting dull sunlight. He caught glimpses of forced smiles melting into relief or confusion as he left. The baron's face was unreadable, but Celyse all but pouted, and Nereya looked one blink away from tears.
That night, aboard the battleship, Roy paced the length of the bridge. The overhead lights gave off a mild mechanical hum that seemed to underscore his nerves. He paused by a console, then continued pacing, like a caged animal uncertain which corner to lash out at.
Serenity's avatar flickered into view on a side monitor. "Your vitals are elevated," she noted softly. "Is something troubling you?"
Roy groaned, pressing a palm to his forehead. "You see how that baron is? Slavery right out in the open. He offers me wives, cousins, dancers, like trade goods. It's messed up."
A quiet beep sounded as Serenity scanned for any nearby threats. "It's indeed disturbing. Yet challenging him could lead to major conflict. You recall we haven't tested the battleship or Presidroids in an urban engagement."
Roy nodded bleakly. "I know. I can't just blow everything up the moment I see injustice. But I can't stand seeing… those folks with iron collars, all bruised. This is the first time I've confronted something like that."
He paused, crossing to the large window. Dim lights from the city twinkled on the shoreline, less than a mile away. "He's going to do another big show tomorrow, I can sense it. He wants me for something. Probably to use me against his enemies. But if I do nothing, I'm complicit."
Serenity's voice remained neutral. "If you choose non-violence, you might attempt to reason with him or propose compensation for freeing the slaves. However, success is uncertain. Alternatively, you can maintain outward courtesy while investigating your options. Strategy is key, Captain."
Roy sighed. "Yeah, strategy. Right. Because I definitely have a plan." Sarcasm laced his words. In truth, he was terrified at the prospect of confronting a whole city guard, not because they were a threat, but because doing so may instigate the entire region's ruling class into responding with force. Was it even right for him to forcibly impose his modern morality here? But letting them suffer gnawed at his conscience.
Eventually, he slumped onto a metal stool near the console. The faint hum of the warship's systems filled the silence. He tried to watch a snippet of an old comedy on his phone, but the laughter felt hollow. The memory of those slaves overshadowed every joke.
The next day Roy found himself back in the city, bracing for round two of Egvald's forced merriment. This time, the entire square was draped in even more vibrant cloth banners. Smoke rose from multiple roasting pits, not just one. There were more dancers, more "festive" noise. Yet the watchers seemed more on edge, as if they sensed an unspoken standoff between Roy and the city's ruler.
The stares felt more intense than the day before. From the moment Roy stepped off his dinghy, he felt an almost palpable tension among the townspeople. Gazes flicked from him to his four ever-present bodyguards,Washington, Lincoln, Teddy, and Truman, each with metal faces locked in stoic readiness. Even so, Roy tried to keep his own expression calm.
He hadn't gone two steps into the town when the baron strode up, a small retinue fanning out behind him. Lifting one hand in a flourish, Egvald offered a tight smile. "Captain Gunn, you grace us with your presence again. But this time, perhaps we talk business?"
Roy took a breath. The smell of salt and fish guts from the shoreline seemed almost nostalgic compared to the suffocating incense and roasted meat he'd encountered previously. "I'd rather walk around first," he said, hoping to stall. "Take in the city, see its people, then, if it's all right, we can talk."
Egvald's posture hinted at annoyance, but he schooled it into a polite nod. "Very well," he agreed. He beckoned with two fingers, and a slender young woman stepped forward. "My daughter here can guide you. She knows every nook and cranny—and will make sure you see the best parts."
As if on cue, Celyse fluttered her eyelashes at Roy. She wore a flowing gown in pastel blues, exposing one shoulder in a way that felt deliberately provocative. With a honeyed smile, she said, "I'm at your service."
Roy forced a polite nod. He was hardly keen on the idea of strolling around with a noblewoman who'd practically been offered as his bride, but it beat following Egvald himself. "Thank you," he managed, glancing at Washington and Lincoln. "Lead on, then."
Celyse attempted to hook an arm through Roy's, but Washington was quick to deflect her hand gently while stepping between them, subtly discouraging any closer contact. Nevertheless, Celyse guided him up a winding path from the docks into the main thoroughfare of the town, chatting with practiced cheer as though she were a seasoned hostess.
Wherever they walked, the people made themselves scarce. Shopkeepers ducked behind counters, children scurried into alleyways, and those who couldn't flee simply bowed their heads with anxious haste. One older fisherman even dropped his crate in a panic, sending fish flopping onto the cobblestones. Celyse only let out a soft laugh, amused at how everyone cowered.
"Must be your golems," she teased Roy, stepping daintily over the stray fish. "They are quite… imposing." She cast a sidelong glance at Teddy, who kept apace with the group, scanning the surroundings for threats.
Roy shrugged. "They're just my protective detail," he said, not volunteering more.
Celyse led him past a row of half-built stalls—remnants of the baron's rushed festival. Discarded ribbons and confetti littered the ground. Workers here wore battered clothes and worn expressions; some had collars around their necks. Roy noticed them lowering their gazes whenever Celyse passed. She seemed to delight in their fear, a faint smirk playing on her lips.
At one point, a trembling servant girl dared to greet Celyse with a quick bow. Celyse barely acknowledged her. "Hurry with that laundry, or I'll have your wages docked," she said offhand, and the girl scurried away. Roy's stomach twisted. This was the baron's daughter in her element, someone used to casual authority, no matter how cruel.
"Tell me," Celyse said after they'd walked in silence for a few minutes, "what do you think of our town so far? My father calls it a 'hidden jewel,' though it's hardly as grand as the capital."
Roy debated how to respond. He couldn't exactly praise the place; everywhere he looked, signs of oppression abounded. "It's… bigger than I expected," he settled on, eyeing a cluster of ragged slaves carrying timber for an ongoing construction project. "There's a lot going on."
Celyse followed his line of sight. "We're expanding," she said dismissively. "Father's big on walls and towers. More territory, more trade, more taxes. Growth." Her mouth curved. "Growth is important, wouldn't you say?"
Roy forced a noncommittal grunt. Growth at the expense of enslaved labor? He held his tongue, not wanting to incite trouble just yet. Instead, he diverted the subject. "You mentioned a tavern?"
She brightened. "Yes, actually. I was hoping we could sit and talk—get to know each other better." She batted her lashes again, a habit Roy found unnerving. "After all, Father said you might become… a special friend to this city, to...us."
Roy couldn't help rolling his eyes. "We'll see," he murmured. "Lead on, then."
They arrived at a two-story structure with faded paint, a battered sign swinging in the breeze, and the word "Tavern" scrawled in chipped letters. A pair of men stood outside smoking pipes, but when they spotted Celyse, they quickly bowed, hiding their faces. Inside, the smell of spilled ale and fried onions clashed with the faint stench of unwashed bodies. A few off-duty guards lounged near the bar, sipping drinks.
Celyse chose a table off to the side, near a rickety staircase. Roy took a seat, mindful to keep the Presidroids close. One slid behind him, another placed itself between Roy and the rest of the room. The tavern's patrons watched with wide, apprehensive eyes.
With an airy sigh, Celyse signaled a wary serving girl to bring them some ale. Roy wasn't exactly keen on local alcohol, but he decided pretending to sip might be safer than turning it down and offending her. She waited until the drinks arrived, then smiled sweetly across the table.
"So," she said, leaning forward. "You truly destroyed that hideous eel in a single morning? I hear it was a threat since before my grandfather took this town over. Must have been child's play for someone like you. Then again, I suppose it's no surprise, considering the advanced weapons your 'ship' carries."
Roy shrugged, taking a pretend sip. The ale smelled bitter and undrinkable. "I had some advantages," he said, careful not to sound smug. "It… wasn't exactly child's play."
She laughed, a tinkling sound. "Oh, modest too. Good." She propped her chin in one hand, the pose deliberately flirtatious. "I like that in a potential husband."
Roy sighed, wishing he could vanish. "I'm not— Listen, I'm… not looking to marry. Honestly, I'm only married to my battleship." The last part slipped out in frustration. His cheeks warmed, realizing how nonsensical that might sound to someone from a medieval society.
Celyse blinked. "Your… battleship? Is that a word for your home?" She frowned, evidently confused by the concept.
"Something like that," Roy said, shrugging again. The conversation drifted into more mundane topics—favorite foods, Roy dodged that one, citing a picky stomach, the city's grand expansions, and even a few anecdotes about local festivals. Surprisingly, Roy found himself chuckling once or twice at her stories, though a nasty glint never left her eyes.
Serenity occasionally chimed in through Roy's earpiece with snarky remarks.
"I see you can laugh at her jokes," she said in one curt line. "Never heard you laugh at mine," came another. Roy's face flushed each time, but he kept quiet, not wanting to look like he was muttering to himself.
Still, there was a strangely enjoyable air to the banter. Celyse clearly had intelligence beneath her veneer of cruelty; she recounted an incident of nearly burning down a stable in her youth and how she finagled her way out of blame. Roy found himself smiling and letting out a genuine laugh, only to hear Serenity's voice go, "Oh, I see how it is." He swallowed the noise in his throat, focusing on controlling his expression.
Celyse capitalized on that moment of shared laughter. She leaned closer, eyes half-lidded, then let her slender hand glide across the table toward Roy's. Roy sensed her intentions but froze in awkward indecision. A second later, Teddy slammed his metal hand onto the table, right between them. The wooden surface rattled, and the entire tavern went deathly silent. Half the patrons glanced over warily.
A burly, partially drunk guard slammed his mug on the bar and stood. He marched over to them, swaying slightly, face twisted in annoyance. "You dare disrespect the baron's daughter?" he growled, glaring at Teddy's featureless metal face. "Move that chunk of tin!"
Teddy didn't respond, Presidroids rarely did. The guard snorted, then smashed the mug over Teddy's head. The mug shattered, ale splattering across the table, leaving Teddy utterly unscathed. Lincoln stepped in next, gently pushing the guard away before the man could swing again.
Seething, the guard squared his shoulders, still reeking of stale booze. "Fight me like a real man!" he roared at Lincoln. Roy stood up, about to intervene, but he saw Lincoln cast a sidelong glance his way, as if asking permission.
Roy blinked. "Uh… sure," he mumbled, feeling a bit out of depth. "But go easy on him, please."
Lincoln nodded once, pivoted to face the guard. The man charged with a clumsy punch that Lincoln sidestepped easily, then he calmly tripped the guard with a sweep of his leg. The guard tumbled to the floor. Undeterred, the man leaped up again, only for Lincoln to block each swing with minimal effort, almost moving in slow motion. Twice, Lincoln hoisted the guard back to his feet, literally placing him into a proper fighting stance, then stepped back as if to say, "Try again."
The guard's face burned with humiliation. He unleashed a desperate, wild hook that connected with nothing but empty air. Lincoln retaliated with a single, gentle tap that sent the man sprawling. Panting, the guard lay there in a heap, finally giving up. Lincoln bowed slightly, arms at his side. The crowd exhaled collectively, tension dissolving in scattered murmurs.
At the table, Celyse let out a delighted clap. She seemed more intrigued than concerned. "Amazing!" she breathed. "I've never seen anything like it."
Roy pressed his lips thin. "He's… pretty good, yeah," he admitted. Then Celyse touched his arm again, a playful spark in her eye.
"I'd love to show you something, if you're still in the mood for more excitement," she said. With a tilt of her head, she pointed out the tavern's door. "My personal…negotiation room is across the road. We could talk more privately." Her implication was obvious.
Roy felt a lump in his throat. He glanced at his sidearm holstered under his jacket. "All right," he said slowly, each syllable edged with caution. "I… guess I'll go."
Celyse's grin widened.
They found themselves in a small inn across from the tavern. The place was little more than a creaking staircase leading up to a cramped hallway. Celyse guided Roy toward a door on the left, turning to give him a sultry grin just outside. The Presidroids remained in the corridor, and as Roy stepped inside, he heard Serenity's voice pipe through his earpiece: "I bet she's gonna show you her stinky medieval butt!" The AI's bitter tone made him suppress a snort.
They barely had time to close the door when Celyse let the straps of her gown slip off her shoulders, unveiling more skin than Roy ever intended to see. She gave him a deep, suggestive gaze. Roy stood there, stunned, heart skipping. Serenity's triumphant laugh in his ear nearly made him jump. "Called it! I'm a genius beyond compare."
Roy spun on his heel, words failing him, and darted out. He barked at the nearest Presidroid to crush the handle. The sturdy robot, Truman, complied with a metallic crunch that left the lock jammed. Celyse was trapped inside for the moment, screaming outraged protests through the door. Roy's cheeks flamed with embarrassment. "That was… interesting," he muttered under his breath, heading back downstairs.
He stepped outside, letting the cooler air wash over him. "Fun while it lasted, I guess," he said with a nervous chuckle, trying to shake off the awkwardness. A nearby group of onlookers gawked, and Roy quickly moved on, the Presidroids resuming their protective formation around him.
His stroll took him deeper into the city's winding streets. He deliberately avoided the festival-laden square, wandering until he spotted a low-roofed smithy with a battered sign. A powerfully built man hammered at a glowing horseshoe on the anvil, sweat glistening on his brow. The moment Roy approached, the blacksmith raised his head. There was no cowering fear, only a cautious respect.
"Good day," Roy ventured. "Are you the local blacksmith?"
The man inclined his head. "Aye," he said, gripping the hammer. "Name's Helrin. Sorry if it's rude, but I've seen what your… iron demons can do. Best keep my voice down, yeah?"
Roy managed a small smile. "I'm not here to cause trouble. Just… curious. The baron's expansions require a lot of, uh, collars and chains, I guess?"
Helrin let out a resigned sigh. "That they do. I keep telling folks I'd rather make nails and tools, but the baron insists. So I do what I can."
With a furtive glance around, he murmured, "Look, I… soften the inside spikes on those collars whenever possible. Dull them. At least they wont bleed so much. The baron doesn't notice, he never does final checks himself. I do."
Roy felt a stir of admiration. "That's… pretty brave."
Helrin's gaze flicked to the Presidroids. "Brave or foolish, maybe. But better than nothing." He set the horseshoe aside. "If you're the one who killed that eel, you might change things around here. But be careful, he's always watching." He gestured vaguely toward the sky, referencing the baron's watchful eyes, or maybe the city's mage.
Roy nodded, a lump forming in his throat. "Thanks for the warning," he said. Then, with a faint wave, he moved on.
Further along the crooked street, he spotted a stooped older man wearing a threadbare cloak. The man seemed to be consoling a shaken young woman in tattered dancer's garb. She wept silently, pressing a bruised cheek to the old man's shoulder. Roy recognized her as one of the dancers from the previous day's forced festivities.
"Excuse me," Roy said softly, stepping closer. The old man froze but then saw Roy's face, and after a beat, he gave a weary bow. "Need something, sir?"
Roy shook his head. "I'm just… checking on things." His eyes landed on the dancer's collar, slightly reddened at the edges. "Are you okay?" he asked her.
She swallowed, tears reflecting in hollow eyes. "I was demoted to… slave," she whispered, "because I failed to smile enough. The baron… the baron doesn't let—"
Before she could finish, a sudden flash of heat made her flinch, and her collar glowed faintly red. She yelped, gripping at the metal. Roy whipped around, heart pounding.
Standing behind them was a man in dark robes, a lazy grin spreading across sharp features. "Tsk, tsk," the robed figure said. "Idle gossip, my dear?" He laid a hand on the dancer's collar, which sizzled ominously. "We wouldn't want you complaining about things above your station."
Roy's blood boiled. "Who are you?"
The robed man gave a mock bow, though his expression remained smug. "Galvyn, the city's mage. I handle certain… disciplines for the baron."
Roy refused to take the offered hand. Rage simmered in him, but he fought to keep control. "And you do that by burning people?"
Galvyn barked a laugh, pulling his hand back. "When necessary." He eyed the Presidroids, smirking. "Intriguing golems you have. I've seen none like them. Very nice craftsmanship. I'd love to examine their cores."
Roy turned on his heel, abruptly walking away, fists clenched. "No thanks," he snapped over his shoulder, not trusting himself to remain civil. Behind him, he felt Galvyn's dark stare, the mage's aura bristling with frustrated menace. Probably wanted to cast a spell then and there but dared not. The Presidroids parted the narrow street, ensuring a path.
Nearby, that same older man stood with someone else, a weary-looking female slave who had the baron's regal features, but watered down by suffering. The old man looked up as Roy approached, bowing in a more respectful greeting this time. "I'm Ysander," he said quietly. "Used to advise the baron, before… well, let's just say I regret certain choices."
His companion, the enslaved woman, gently dabbed at the bandaged forehead of a small child huddled in her lap. The child flinched when Roy's shadow fell across them, burying her face in the woman's side. A quick glance at the child's collar showed "Soggy Rat" scrawled in crudely etched letters. Roy's chest tightened.
"This is… the baron's cousin," Ysander explained, patting the woman's shoulder in sympathy. "He forced her into servitude. As for the little girl, well, she's known as Soggy Rat. That's what they call her here. A few lumps to the head from the guards." His words held quiet bitterness.
Roy swallowed. He wanted to say a hundred things, apologies, offers of help, curses at the baron. The child risked a peek up at him, then squeaked in alarm and hid again, as if any stranger might be another abuser. A wave of helpless fury and guilt washed over Roy.
Ysander gave him a knowing look. "You see how it is," he said softly. "If you can do something… I only pray you choose to."
Roy exhaled, stepping back. He'd spent the whole day gleaning these ugly truths, from forced smiles to literal chains. Tension thrummed in his veins, an overwhelming desire to fix it but no clear plan how.
He nodded once, in a silent promise he didn't know how to keep. Then, feeling each step like a weight, he turned and headed for the town square, the Presidroids trailing close, their metal footsteps echoing in an uneasy rhythm.
In the center of a newly erected stage, Egvald stood, arms spread wide, exuding confidence. Elrin hovered behind him, while Celyse chatted with a group of young attendants, occasionally glancing Roy's way with predatory interest. Meanwhile, Nereya stood off to the side, head down, refusing to meet Roy's gaze.
"Ah, you came back," Egvald crowed. "I knew you couldn't resist our hospitality."
Roy forced a thin smile. "I came to talk," he said. The smell of heavy incense draped the square now, mingling with the cloying aroma of roasting meats. If possible, it was even more nauseating than the day before. "What exactly do you want from me?"
Egvald chuckled, stepping down from the stage to greet Roy eye-to-eye. "Straight to business, I see. Very well." He swept his gaze over the four Presidroids at Roy's back, lingering on their silent, imposing forms. "You have a gift for destruction," he said, voice dropping in volume. "Slaying that eel was the first demonstration. I suspect you can do far more. And so I propose an alliance."
Elrin shifted uncomfortably, and the older advisor behind him looked away. Roy stiffened. "Alliance? For what?"
"Power," Egvald replied simply. "Join me; help me crush my rivals in the Umbral Consortium. I'll climb to the rank of… well, that hardly matters to you. But rest assured, you'll profit greatly. You could do anything you like with this city—these 'lesser folk' included." He waved dismissively at a handful of ragged slaves passing by, lugging heavy loads. Among them, Roy spotted a trembling child, face bruised, still wearing the same battered iron collar.
That silent plea in her eyes—help me—cut Roy to the core. He forced an almost casual tone, despite his anger roiling beneath. "Mind if I see… more of these workers? I want to understand your system." He feigned an idle curiosity. The baron smirked, apparently seeing no threat.
"By all means," Egvald said, gesturing to an overseer, who barked at the slaves to halt. Roy walked among them, his fists clenched behind his back. The child quivered as he approached. Dried blood caked her temple. She looked maybe eight or nine, far too young to endure such harsh labor. Roy pressed his lips tight, wanting to rage or vomit or both.
Roy crouched to her eye level. "Are you… are you okay?" he asked softly.
She didn't answer, only mouthed that same plea, tears forming at the edges of her eyes. Roy's pulse roared in his ears. A guard barked a command to keep the slaves silent. Roy's fists clenched, nails biting into his palms. The baron stood behind them, crossing his arms, an almost amused expression curling his lips.
One of the child's shoulders was freshly dislocated, she must have been dragged to the town square immediately after Roy left her. Roy forced himself to stand. "She's hurt," he said, fighting to maintain calm. "Why do you let them suffer like this?"
With a casual shrug, the baron stepped closer. "If a child is your… preference," he said, voice dripping with a hideous leer, "take one for yourself. I won't judge your tastes. I can even have her cleaned up for you, if you prefer."
Roy's world went red. He felt his sidearm in hand before he'd even registered drawing it. Leveling the barrel straight at the baron's face, he snarled through clenched teeth, "Explain yourself. Right. Now."
The baron's eyes widened in shock, and all around them, the forced celebration ground to a halt as the crowd froze, breath caught in collective horror.
Egvald's mouth hung open for a second, the veneer of smugness cracking. "I—I meant no offense—just… sweetening the deal…" he stammered, caught off-guard by the lethal stare in Roy's eyes.
Roy's finger hovered over the trigger, each breath ragged. His first human confrontation—and it felt terrifyingly easy to consider pulling that trigger.