Claro made his way to his student’s room. As he approached the door he saw a familiar face.

“Sir Valor, what are you doing in the hallway?”

Valor had been leaning against the wall with a dark look. At Claro’s question, he looked notably relieved and smiled at the older man.

“Lord Curtidor, I didn’t expect you to be back so soon! Are you here to visit Rido?”

“I am. Marchioness Fresa sent for me. I plan to leave tomorrow but thought I should stop by…” Claro glanced at the tightly shut door and cleared his throat, continuing in a lower tone. “The Marchioness says he’s sulking.”

“Indeed he is, and it’s why I am standing out here.”

“Really? Is someone else serving him then?”

“No, he has a bell he rings to let me know when I’m allowed in.”

Claro’s mouth fell open slightly. 

“Allowed? And you let him do that?”

“...yes, well…” Valor muttered, an awkward expression on his face. “He has not been very reasonable lately.”

Usually Valor would do as he liked, treating Rido more like a younger brother who needed his protection and guidance rather than a highly ranked superior. It was only in public that he acted like a true and proper Nobleman’s Valet.

He had continued with his usual behavior after making his life-oath but this had irritated the already irritable young man. Rido had thrown Valor’s oath in his face to get him to stop fussing and out of the room. Ironically, when Valor obeyed his heavy-handed order, Rido had not been happy but actually gotten more angry. 

They barely spoke two words when they saw each other now.

Claro saw how distressed the young man was and gave his shoulder a pat.

“I will do my best to talk to him.”

Valor nodded and then turned to knock three times on the door. There was no response but Valor didn’t expect one.

“Heir Fresa, Lord Curtidor is here to see you.” He announced before opening the door and motioning the retired knight inside.

Lord Curtidor shook his head slightly at Valor being so polite. Rido must be in a bad place for things to have gotten that sour...

The first thing Claro noticed was that the curtains were tightly shut leaving the room dim and there was a musty, dank smell. As if the room had not been cleaned for a long time. This was in stark contrast to how the room normally was: bright, clear, and immaculate.

Claro had been in this room many times over the last 10 years and could find where the bed was even without any light. As he walked he desperately tried to think of what he should say.

He’d agreed to come but actually didn’t know how to handle this topic.

It’s true they both lost limbs, but how and why they lost the limbs were different. Claro had barely survived his amputation and after miraculously living through it, lost everything within a year’s time. An illness swept through the land, targeting the young and old. His Master had caught it and to treat it, Claro had to sell whatever he had on hand. In the end, despite selling their prized warhorses, it was not enough and his Master died that winter. Because the illness was contagious no one would help to bury the old man, meaning Claro had to do it. 

A once glorious and honorable knight was reduced to poverty and begging for work wherever he could find it. When the Marchioness had found him, he was simply living to survive and had given up on having a future. If he got through a single day, he’d thought that was enough at the time.

Being Rido’s teacher had given him a second life. Later he was able to help the fief again in a new way and now he had been granted a Viscount title. He even found love in an unexpected place. Life had turned out surprisingly pleasant in ways he hadn’t dreamed possible when he was a whole man.

He gained so much all thanks to losing his leg.

Though his lack of a leg was still a day-to-day annoyance, he didn’t feel he lost anything of great importance when it came down to it. All the things that really mattered he had, and in abundance. Sometimes he jokingly wondered if God felt bad for him and made up for his loss of limb by swamping him with other delights. If he’d lost his other leg, would God have made him King?

But of course, he couldn’t tell the Heir to buck up, his future days would be better. If that kind of trite encouragement worked, the young man wouldn’t be sulking.

He cautiously found his way to the bed and hit his wood prosthetic leg on a chair and cursed in surprise rather than pain. His wood leg obviously couldn’t feel anything. But running into furniture in the dark was never pleasant, regardless if he could feel it.

The young man in the bed stirred at the noise.

“Master...?” A croaking voice asked in a sluggish manner. Apparently he’d been sleeping and Claro’s cursing had woken him up.

“Yes, it’s me.” Claro replied, taking hold of the offending chair and dragging it next to the bed. “I had business in the Mansion and decided to stop by and see how you were doing.”

“Obviously I’m doing fine.”

“If you’re being that sarcastic, then clearly you’re doing better than you let on.”

Rido didn’t bother to reply, causing Claro to purse his lips. For several seconds, no one spoke.

Claro wasn’t a man of eloquent words. He spoke his mind or he didn’t speak at all. Comforting someone wasn’t one of his strong points.

Not knowing where to start, he simply began talking about the most interesting thing that happened to himself recently.

“Apparently I am to be a Viscount.”

There was a long pause and he heard Rido mutter in the dark, “...you deserve it.”

“You think so?” Claro scratched his beard. “I am thinking of turning it down.”

Perhaps because he was shocked, Rido forgot his sulking and started to argue with him.

“What? Why?! You being a Viscount would be great for the March and County!” 

“You’re just saying that because I taught you.” He sighed. “I’m not very good with politics, you know.”

“You don’t have to be—no, it’s better if you aren’t.” Rido added bitterly, “The last one was so political it killed.”

“I don’t know anything about running a fief either.”

“It’s not like you need to know. You’re just following the Lord’s orders in the end and reporting problems.”

“I’m not confident I can even follow my Lord’s orders.”

“Nonsense! You follow Mother’s orders just fine…”

“The Marchioness only used me because she had no one else. When things settle down and she has more people to choose from, well… why would she choose me when there are better qualified men to pick from?”

“Better qualified? How can you think you’re not qualified? I just explained you are!”

Claro shook his head, “But you see, they’ll all have two legs to stand on while I only have one.”

The young man didn’t respond, but by now Claro could vaguely make out his face. Rido was looking at him with a complicated expression.

“No matter how I think about it,” Claro continued despite not getting a response. “Every other man with two legs will be better.”

Rido picked at his bed sheets, a frown forming on his face.

“It’s true I’ve got this wood leg, but it doesn’t make up for a real one. I’m still limited in what I can do. Sometimes I swear I still feel my missing leg and it hurts so much I can’t move.” He furrowed his brow at this admission. Only his lady love knew about that pain he experienced for a limb that no longer existed. “And people don’t respect a cripple, do they? They will look at them with pity or disdain. I have already experienced it as a teacher, I can’t imagine how it will be if I were a Viscount—”

“You don’t mean that!” Rido couldn’t stand it anymore and objected angrily.

“It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

“Where is it the truth!? Who looks down on you? I’ve never seen anyone dare!”

“But, surely, a man with two healthy legs will be more respectable—”

“Who cares if they have two legs?! That doesn’t somehow make them wiser or smarter or better for the fief!”

“I don’t believe you.”

He could see Rido glare at him. 

“Why?”

“Because you don’t believe that yourself.”

 The younger man was stunned silent.

“Who do you think I will be serving the longest? You or the Marchioness? It will be you.”  Claro explained evenly. “How can I serve a man who looks down on the crippled as hopeless, helpless, and worthless?”

“I… I don’t…”

“Really?” Claro glanced around skeptically. “You could have fooled me.”

In the darkness, Claro could see Rido bury his face in his pillows.

After a while, a muffled voice asked mournfully, “It’s so unfair. Must I let go?”

Claro understood what the young man was asking. He had been maimed, and cruelly so. That he was angry, bitter, and resentful wasn’t surprising. It was natural for him to feel sorry for himself, for his situation was pitiful. But he had taken the step from his situation being pitiful to himself being pitiful. And he’d excused his mistreatment of others because of how unfair his own life had turned out.

He couldn’t stay that way. Not only because it was a path of self-destruction, but also because too many people depended on him. Fresa March and Mora County could not suffer another generation of incompetence from their ruling lord.

But this was also the boy Claro had watched grow up and taught personally. He was a good boy. It pained him to see the young lad in so much pain and turmoil. 

Claro sighed. 

Sometimes if you loved a person, you had to tell them what was true rather than what they wanted to hear.

“I’m just a teacher, I’ve no right to tell the noble Heir how to live his life.” He paused. “But I won’t take the Viscount title unless you do let go. I won’t serve an unworthy Lord. I made that mistake once, I won’t do it again.”

He saw Rido visibly flinch at his remark.

“I have said what I wanted to say.” Claro stood up from his chair. “I will be here until tomorrow. Have Sir Valor fetch me if you need anything.”

He took a step towards the door.

“Wait.”

“Yes?”

Rido mumbled in embarrassment, “Could you open the curtains before you go?”

***

When Claro left the room, Valor cast him an amused stare.

“Why didn’t you tell me about something so important?”

Claro paused, confused.

“Congratulations.” Valor shook his hand and grinned. “It’s about time!”

“Oh… ah!” Thinking he was talking about gaining a title, Claro cleared his throat and felt a little proud. “Thank you.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ve got better things to be doing.” The bronze man winked. “Don’t let me hold you up.”

“Er… right…” 

Claro felt like he’d missed something but didn’t know what. 

“I think the Heir will be alright.” He said in a low voice, diverting the conversion. “If he is not more himself by the end of the night, give him until tomorrow.”

“Really? That’s good to hear—” 

There was a sound of a bell being rung from inside Rido’s room, indicating he was being summoned. Valor sighed with relief and waved goodbye to Claro without further comment. 

Claro didn’t get offended by the prompt dismissal and instead left to find his own room. He’d travelled all day without stopping and didn’t clean up before seeing the Marchioness. He was a mess and needed a washing and a change of clothes.

As he walked through the mansion, servants were casting him various kinds of stares. Some were incredulous, others were judgemental, others were amused and still others gave him a big grin. 

Considering Valor found out without hearing from him directly, Claro supposed the rest of the mansion staff must have heard about him getting the Viscount title too. He straightened up his spine and endeavoured to keep a neutral expression, what he supposed a Viscount ought to do in the face of such gossip.

About 4 years ago, the Marchioness built separate servants’ quarters. Before that they all lived in the attic or basement and only the highest ranked servants had private rooms. Otherwise, everyone lived and ate in a common room. The tables they ate on doubled as beds at night. The newest, lowest ranked servants didn’t even get a table-bed and slept on the wood floors in the halls. These areas were minimally heated and outside of food and a uniform, bedding and any other necessities came out of the servant’s wages.

The servant’s quarters, by comparison, were lush. It had the same heating as the Mansion and a dedicated dining area and male and female bathrooms. High ranked individuals had rooms that the Marchioness called “apartments”, which meant they had their own bathrooms and kitchens, while married servants had their own rooms and everyone else were two to a room. Food, bedding, uniforms, and necessities were all paid for by the Mansion.

Claro was considered high ranking and got his own “apartment”. Though, of course, everyone in the Mansion assumed that had more to do with his illicit relations with the Marchioness than his actual rank. Claro had long since grown numb to such assumptions and didn’t pay them any attention.

When he got to his apartment, he immediately noticed something was off. His door was unlocked and there was someone inside.

He took out his dagger, which he kept on him like any sensible man would do, and carefully made his way inside. Unfortunately, he couldn’t be silent or fast thanks to his wooden leg and could only depend on his skill with a blade for whoever had the guts to rob from him.

The intruder heard him coming and shot out of his bedroom, straight at him. He raised his knife, ready to stab, but stopped halfway.

“Margarita Flor, do you have a death wish!?”

Madam Flor had been his intruder and he’d almost stabbed her. She was already hugging his middle tightly by way of greeting and looked up at him with her big, hazel eyes filled with confusion.

Seeing she didn’t understand, he stroked her hair affectionately.

“I thought you were an intruder and almost stabbed you.”

Her mouth went into an “O” of surprise. She glanced at the long dagger and took a big step back. She put her hands together and made a sorry motion.

Though Madam Flor had long since learned to read and write, that didn’t much help her in her daily interactions with people. Over the years, with the encouragement of the Marchioness, she’d been perfecting a language that depended on hand signs, aptly named “sign language”. Some of these hand signals were intuitive and used by people who could speak, while others were unique. 

Two years ago, Madam Flor had written and published a sign language dictionary under a pseudonym with the financial support of Marchioness Fresa. This was done secretly and only a few people, such as Claro, knew who had written and supported the dictionary. 

The book wasn’t very popular and the Marchioness actually lost money by publishing it, as only a small number of people were mute and could afford to purchase it. But every now and then a letter would make its way into Madam Flor’s hands, explaining how her dictionary had changed someone’s life. This was enough of a reward for Madam Flor and seemed to please the Marchioness immensely.

Claro was the first person to be proficient in the sign language Madam Flor had created.

“Marg, when did you get the spare key to my apartment?” He asked. There were only two keys for an apartment, one was on him and the other held by the Marchioness. 

Using her hands, she explained: Today, from the Marchioness.

He assumed that and asked again with a raised eyebrow, “And why did she give you a key…?”

Madam Flor moved her hands, saying: Wait a moment.

She went back into his room and dragged out a travel bag, made of thick canvas material with leather handles. She set it next to another travel bag of about the same size, which he only just then noticed.

Feeling confused, he asked, “Are you going somewhere?” 

She stared at him like he was stupid.

Looking exasperated she said: Yes and so are you.

“....uhm?”

Her eyebrows scrunched together in frustration. She pulled out something from her hidden dress pocket. It had a coarse string and she put it over his head and around his neck.

He looked down and found a wood coin attached to the string via a single hole. The wood coin had a simple, crude flower carved into it. 

It was Madam Flor’s Family Crest Coin. 

He suddenly remembered what the Marchioness had said early and didn’t know whether to be thankful or feel annoyed. Things were so hectic right now, how could she have been serious about him marrying and going off to a cottage?!

Madam Flor tapped his chest, causing him to look back up at her. In her other hand was another wood coin with a string running through it. She put it in his hand and lowered her head expectantly.

This was his own Family Crest Coin, which had been given to him by his Master.

His eyes watered slightly despite himself. 

Clearing his throat he gently put the stringed coin around her neck. When he was done, she immediately straightened, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him soundly. 

Whatever complaints he’d had about the bad timing of this were immediately forgotten.

***

Rido bathed that day and finally allowed Valor and some other servants to properly clean his room. He ate a full meal in his room and didn’t sleep in the following morning. He got dressed in clothing fit for the public and combed his hair, tying it at the nap of his neck as was fashionable for young men. After looking like a civilized human being again, he went to eat breakfast with his Mother.

His Mother was there, as was Valor, Tie, and— to his surprise—Montana Marron. Fijo was still off running around the March, acting as his Mother’s personal messenger. He’d known Heir Serio had come with help some weeks ago, but the young man had only stayed for two weeks to make sure things were stabilized before going back to his fief. He’d vaguely heard Montana had been with Serio, but he’d not cared enough to pay attention to any further information concerning her. 

He hadn’t expected her to still be in the mansion and to participate in what he’d always viewed as strictly “family time”. A strong sense of irritation mixed with shame rose in his heart at the sight of her sitting next to his Mother, acting as if she belonged there. He instinctively hid his stumped arm, as if hiding it would somehow hide his feelings of estrangement.

Montana had been participating in these cozy meal times since almost immediately after arriving and had long since forgotten she was a guest. When Rido walked in, she was delighted for a split second and then immediately alarmed. Her crush was giving her a very unpleasant glare and she didn’t know why.

“I see you decided to show up.” Felicia’s harsh words didn’t match the pleasantly surprised expression she was sporting. She waved at him in excited impatience, “Don’t just stand there like a fool, sit down.”

Rido didn’t move, eyeing Montana like he might stab her.

He said pointedly, “She is in my seat.”

Felicia froze, as did everyone else, and for a moment no one moved.

“Uh, I’ll just sit over there then…” Tie volunteered, trying to break the awkward atmosphere. It didn’t matter to her where she sat, after all.

“No, sit.” Felicia grabbed Tie’s arm, preventing her from moving, and glared at her son. “Is that how you speak to a Guest of Fresa Mansion?”

“Since when did guests eat with us here?”

“Since they are a lovely Young Lady that keeps me company while a certain someone has holed themselves up in their room for only God knows how long.”

Mother and son glared at each other, each stubbornly refusing to give in to the other.

Montana didn’t realize she’d taken Rido’s place at the table. When she understood what she’d done to upset him, she blushed.

“I… I can move…” She offered in a timid voice.

Felicia grabbed Montana and now found herself holding each girl on either side of her.

“Don’t. Move. Either of you.” She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. It wasn’t good to fight with Rido on the first day he’d left his room in forever. But she wouldn’t tolerate his rudeness either. 

Though she couldn’t do anything about the words coming out of her mouth, she could use her face and body language to diffuse the situation. She stood up from the table and walked over to her son.

He lowered his gaze, unwilling to meet her eyes. He knew his actions weren’t appropriate but for some reason he couldn’t stop himself. Secretly he was afraid she’d be even more disappointed with him and scold him in front of everyone.

Felicia looked up at her rebellious boy and could only think how he’d grown like a weed these last few years. It seemed like just yesterday she could lift him up and carry him, now he was a head taller than her. His trying to avoid looking her in the eye didn’t quite work because of their height difference and she found that amusing. This line of thinking further diffused her annoyance at his behavior.

She sighed and embraced him, patting him on the back a few times for extra measure. He was stiff at first, but loosened up near the end. Finally she let him go, took his hand and guided him to the seat directly across from her. Once he sat down, she took the empty plate in front of him and filled it with breakfast foods she knew he liked. She gave it to him, kissed him on the top of his head, and sat back down in her original seat.

Rido, for his part, was old enough to feel embarrassed by her actions but not so mature he could stop himself from looking pleased. He heartlessly didn’t care about how mean his behavior had been to Montana and didn’t bother to look at her. Instead he began eating unsteadily with his left hand.

Felicia pursed her lips but didn’t complain. Her words might make things worse and it was enough he’d come down to eat with them at this point. She’d give him some slack for now.

***

Doctor Pastilla had been checking in on the young man once a week. Two weeks ago he’d determined Rido’s arm had healed properly and a wood prosthetic could be made. He measured Rido for a basic prosthetic arm and it had arrived a week before Lord Curtidor had stopped by.

This wood arm was a simple one. It was hollow on the inside to reduce its weight and had very basic finger joints that had to be manually moved. It was designed to wear a glove over and act as a visual replacement for the arm. Functionally, it couldn’t hold anything. Better prosthetics were available, but Felicia had ordered the one that could be made quickly first.  

Rido had ignored it. Partially out of denial, he didn’t want to admit he’d need such a thing, but also because it was uncomfortable to wear. He’d gone to breakfast without it on because he hadn’t realized Montana was still in the mansion.

He would occasionally see her glance at his arm and it’d make him both embarrassed and angry. Getting her pity was intolerable! With her around, he didn’t dare neglect wearing it. From that day forward, he would always put it on before leaving his room in the morning and only take it off before bed.

With Rido out of his room, he realized a lot had changed. The Mansion servants had been reshuffled. Some faces he’d known for many years were gone. When he asked the servants where they’d gone, he was indifferently told they didn’t know. He knew from their response those that left were servants in Barrera’s pockets and the other servants were glad to be rid of them. 

The remaining mansion servant’s had a certain pep in their step. There was an undertow of relief and joy in everyone’s expressions. It seemed they were all happy Barrera was dead.

As for the Marchioness, she had always worked a set number of hours five days a week, but now she worked from sunup to sun down. She took over Barrera’s old office and only stopped to eat and sleep. Whether it was going over fief accounts or responding to some information she’d received recently, her desk was covered in stacks of papers.

Seeing his Mother working so hard, he began to feel guilty. The guilt deepened when he realized that Montana wasn’t in the Mansion being a pest. She had made herself genuinely useful. 

She and Tie were the right and left hand “men” of his Mother, helping her organize paperwork, get messages to the right people, intercepting messages and making sure the most important were prioritized, and sometimes just making sure the Marchioness was taking time to eat and drink. 

Between the two girls, there was no room for Rido. He found himself superfluous. 

He wandered around the Mansion, feeling useless.

***

Doctor Pastilla visited again. This time he brought a Limb Artisan. 

Over the last 10 years, prosthetics improved by leaps and bounds. They had gotten so complex that specialized training was needed to make them, creating a whole new profession.

Limb Artisans made functional replacement limbs for everything from a single finger to a whole leg. They made arms that had moving joints that could hold cups or even hold swords. More importantly, they strived to make limbs that either looked exactly like the originals or could be treated like a work of art, allowing them to be shown off in public.

Of course, Limb Artisans were a very new and very small trade. Not many people had limbs removed or lost, and of those that lost a limb, even fewer could afford to hire a Limb Artisan. Luckily Limb Artisans were able to price flexibly, catering to even the poorest client. 

The reason they could do so was because they were supported by Blackfire Company rather than directly through sales. Blackfire Company told them they were being supported for “research purposes”, and as long as they were honing their craft and had plenty of clients, they would continue to get a flat sum of money. If they grew lazy or lost too many clients, they’d lose their funding. 

The Limb Artisans didn’t really understand what Blackfire Company meant by “research” but since it was in their favor, didn’t bother inquiring further. If someone wanted to throw money at them to do what they loved, who were they to argue? They could obsess over their craft, serve the wounded, and support a family at the same time. It was a win-win situation for everyone except, seemingly, Blackfire Company.

Limb Artisans weren’t the only new professions supported in this manner by Blackfire Company. Of course, not all lost money. Some did very well for themselves or at least broke even. Outsiders really did not understand why Blackfire Company supported both the profitable and the leeches, but they couldn’t deny the Company was the best in the nation and probably the entire region. Perhaps being so successful meant that they could afford to be eccentric…

Speaking of eccentric moves, Blackfire Company was moving. Generally speaking, a business stayed where it started. For a Company as big and successful as Blackfire to move was shocking. They had originally been located in a small village in eastern Marron County. Over the last few years, the village’s population had exploded and business was booming, almost entirely thanks to Blackfire Company having their headquarters there.

Naturally no one wanted them to leave. The locals feared they’d lose all the wealth they’d built up when the Company left. The Blackfire Company assured them it was only the Board of Directors and all it’s upper management that would be leaving, while manufacturing portions of their business would remain in the village. Only then did the locals feel they could breathe again. 

The village would still suffer a loss, but having the manufacturing was a major life line for them. The bulk of their money came from those who built and shipped out goods, with the biggest spenders being the “cherry on top”.

Perhaps all of this could have been explained away, except for where the Company was moving: to Fresa March. That fief was considered the worst place to live in the country and had just recently suffered through violent rebellion. It was said the March lost the bulk of its lower and lesser nobles through public executions and even now the bloodbath was continuing among the knight orders.

If all this was not bad enough, Blackfire Company decided to make River Port it’s new home. River Port was where the worst of the fighting had taken place in Fresa March and even before that had been a very sketchy place, where morally dubious business dealings were done. Supposedly not a single noble survived the “cleansing” in that city and it was still in a state of violent unrest.

Blackfire Company ignored all the harsh criticism and moved to River Port. 

And very quietly, without anyone of power taking note, other small professionals and craftsmen also began moving to River Port around the same time. More often than not, these types didn’t say where they were moving to, only vaguely explaining to neighbors and family “a Patron had offered me a large sum of money, but I need to move to get it”. And then they would leave before anyone could question them further.

River Port was truly a mess when Blackfire Company arrived. Besides the fighting between the Marchioness and Barrera people, there’d been riots and fires. The port had, at some point, been burnt to the ground (or perhaps more aptly put: sunk into the water), cutting off the major source of income for the city. People fled the city or fought over scraps while slowly starving. If Blackfire Company had been a normal company, they’d have turned around and gone back to the safety of Marron County.

But they weren’t normal.

Somehow they’d known exactly what was going on in that city, despite never having done any business with it and supposedly having no contacts at all there. They’d hired mercenaries in advance and those mercenaries spread out in the city like a storm. They were rough and brutal and demanded absolute obedience. 

Though plenty of people objected to their methods, there was no one to report them to. All the nobility had vanished, and with them had gone what little law and order the city had. Some reached out to the Marchioness, only to get ignored. Being ignored was the same as the mercenaries being granted permission to do whatever they liked.

Felicia knew perfectly well what was going on in River Port and had a very good reason for ignoring them: she was why those mercenaries had been hired. Lacking people and time, she had turned to the Blackfire Company to get the job done for her.

She needed River Port back up and running as soon as possible. It was a major source of income for the fief and without it more people would be left starving to death and her taxes would plummet. Currently the fief finances were an absolute disaster and she had no idea how much money she truly had and how much had been cooked by Barrera’s men. She needed money to move forward and until all that was sorted out she didn’t dare spend money on anything big, such as the sinking ship called River Port.

But Blackfire Company could do what she couldn’t do. Years of investment and innovation had finally paid off. The Company was rich and stable, with a stellar reputation. They could do just about anything they wanted and no one would get in their way.  

The mercenaries they hired were indeed vicious, but only by necessity. The city was broken, crime was running rampant even before the fighting started, and the living conditions were horrendous. In a place where morality was optional to begin with, no one thought stepping on the heads of their neighbors to survive was evil. The people who remained in the city were quite often much more cruel than the mercenaries could have ever dreamt of being.

Within two weeks of arriving, Blackfire Company had stabilized the city. They not only brought in jobs required for the Company to function, but hired people to get the city up and running again. Within a month, they had got repairs started on the ruined port. The criminal element that had survived from Barrera’s time was either “taken care of” or suppressed to the point that they didn’t dare make any moves. Honest workers and craftsmen began to appear in the city as the crime disappeared and, within almost two months time, the city was buzzing with life again.

The Limb Artisan who saw Rido was one of the many who’d gone to live in River Port at the behest of their “Patron”, which was really the Blackfire Company, and in turn Felicia. The young man wouldn’t know until years later that he was extremely lucky to meet this particular Limb Artisan. He was a pioneer in his field and designed some of the most innovative and practical artificial limbs in the world.

All Rido knew was that this Limb Artisan was far too excited about seeing a severed limb and talked incessantly about how to make new ones. Rido was willing to socialize but some part of him still rejected his injury. He put up with it because he didn’t have a choice. Seeing the Limb Artisan happily talking about his injury put him in a sour mood for a whole week.

And then he got his new artificial limb.

Unlike the hollow wood prosthetic, this one was a mix of metal and wood, with a flexible thumb and fingers. He could hold cups filled with water steadily, hold horse reigns easily, and even hold a sword! The shape was a mirror image of his remaining arm, with some artistic license taken at the joints. It was a beautiful black color and could be covered with a glove or left naked without any problem. It felt heavier than the original wood prosthetic, and obviously heavier than a flesh and bone arm, but it was the first time since losing his arm he felt…… normal.

***

Rido appeared in the office one day, sitting down across from his Mother in a lazy fashion. Lately he’d gotten in the habit of exercising by riding his horse or practicing left-handed swordsmanship. When he wasn’t doing that, he was practicing writing with his left hand and using his new arm. 

He would also sometimes come to the office, such as now, and read through the paperwork his Mother had finished. This was so he could familiarize himself with what was happening in the fief. 

By coincidence that day she was alone, with both Tie and Montana away. He glanced around, satisfied both girls were truly gone before he started talking.

“How much longer do you plan to allow her to stay?”

“Hm? Who?”

“Montana Marron.”

Felicia stopped what she was doing and looked up at him, eyebrows raised.

“You can’t still possibly hold a grudge against her?”

Rido narrowed his eyes, annoyed she’d brought up that embarrassing breakfast meal from weeks ago.

“Of course not. But she’s been here for months. Surely her parents want her back?”

This time Felicia put her quill down and gave him her undivided attention.

“I already talked to the Countess about it. She can stay for as long as I’m willing to have her.”

“And why are you willing?” He then muttered darkly, “It’s not like I don’t have two good feet and can write just as well as her…”

Felicia rolled her eyes at his petty jealousy.

“You stupid boy, that’s not why she’s here.” 

“Then why is she here?”

“It’s… er…” Her expression became a little awkward as she glanced at him. “It’s for you two to get to know each other better.”

Rido froze in surprise. She didn’t need to explain further for him to get the drift.

He came back to himself after the initial shock and sputtered angrily, “You chose now of all times to worry about that?!”

“It’s very important!”

“I’m not even 18 yet!”

“But you will be soon enough!”

Unable to control his temper, he yelled, “Could you just worry about me for once instead of the fief?!”

“What? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t act dumb, I know you just want to make an alliance with Marron Family!”

She frowned, “Of course I do! They’re a good family—”

“And it just happens that Count is head of the Loyalists, which you’ve been pandering to for years now.”

Felicia looked at him in surprise. They’d never talked about political factions directly, much less how that would influence who he married. More accurately, she tried not to make that connection too obvious. She wanted him to experience something akin to a normal love and married life, without always having to account for politics and the fief…

“How did you know that?”

“I’ve lost an arm, not my eyes and ears.”

She was silent for a moment before coughing awkwardly.

“Alright, it’s true I am hoping for it.” She glared at him. “But how dare you act like that means I’m negligent! Who do you think I’m doing this for in the end?”

Rido waved his hands into the open air dramatically, a sarcastic smile on his face. 

“The greater good, obviously!”

“...”

“It’s always been that way. You always think about justice and the glory of the family and fief, and I’m just a tool to get you the honor you so desperately crave.”

Felicia’s hands shook slightly, enraged. 

‘DARS, I’m serious this time, I’m gonna beat the ever livin’ snot out of this punk.’

[All calculations indicate you would lose if you tried, even if he had only one hand to stop you.] DARS lowered himself, hopping on her shoulder sympathetically. [You will have to endure.]

‘I’m enduring! I’ve been enduring! I’ve been nothing but patient and understanding since he lost his arm, but look how he’s behaving! This jerk! I sacrificed and sacrificed and he dares to accuse me of—’

[He is not in a good place, emotionally. It’s clouding his judgement. It’s going to take time before he’s stable—]

‘You don’t have to remind me! But why do I have to be the one he takes out all his anger and frustration on!?’

[Isn’t it usually the ones people feel closest to they tend to be the most honest with and, therefore, hurtful towards?] 

She mentally pouted at the unfairness of it all. ‘Being a Mom sucks! Teenagers suck! The next timeline, I absolutely don’t want to be anyone’s parent, you got that?!’

[I will do my best to fulfill your request.]

Being able to vent at DARS helped Felicia control her temper. Taking a deep steadying breath, she looked her son in the eyes. 

“Do you really think I do this for myself?” She asked, her voice and posture calm.

Rido immediately felt uncomfortable by her change of attitude. If she’d continued to be upset, he would—though subconsciously—feel justified in his own rude behavior. But when she switched gears like this, he lost his moral momentum and became disoriented. 

She continued, “Do you remember telling me no one would want you? No noblewoman would give her daughter to you? Yet here is the Young Lady, interested in you despite your crippling and terrible attitude towards her. The Countess has allowed her to stay, meaning she has given her consent towards a future union. If I waited for you to sort yourself out, do you think anyone would want you? And if by some miracle you could find a woman, do you think she’d be even half as earnest and sincere as Montana is towards you? Tell me, Heir Fresa, do you think you can do better than me in this? Are you willing to bet your future on your own skills?”

His expression fluctuated from shame and anger at her observation.

Felicia rubbed her temples as she spoke, “What’s more, what glory and honor have I gained? You are too young to remember, but I used to get invitations to parties and balls within high society all the time. I was popular within nobility. By siding with the Marrons, I was shunned by my peers. The social ties I got from my side of the family cut me off. No one has wanted me, but I persisted anyway. I lost my glory and honor by doing what I did.” She sighed, feeling weary. “Stupid fool, who do you think I did all that for? Dare say it was for myself again and I shall dust off my whip, I promise you.”

Rido’s temper dissipated the more she talked, his head hanging further down the longer she went. At her final words, he could only think to reply, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.”

Felicia narrowed her eyes at him.

‘Look at him DARS, he’s this big but he looks like a puppy who got scolded, heheheheh.’

[Weren’t you ready to beat him?]

‘Oh come on, I wasn’t serious! I mean, didn’t I raise him? Even if he’s being a buttface, he knows when he’s in the wrong and apologizes.’ She mentally puffed her chest up, proud. ‘Did I raise him right or what?’

[Does that mean you’re alright with being a parent in the next timeline?]

‘No way! This and that are two different things!’ She tapped her desk in front of her and said to the young man, “It’s good you understand. But if the Young Lady bothers you so, I can send her away.”

He looked up, face bright, “Really?”

“I will. I’m not the type to force things.” He raised an eyebrow in doubt, causing her to huff in mock offense. “I’m not! I was just giving you both an opportunity! If you’re too stupid to take it, that’s your short-sightedness, not my forcing anything!”

Rido chuckled for a moment and then furrowed his eyebrows. He seemed to think of something, frowning.

He shook his head slowly, saying, “No… no, it’s better… to let her stay.”

Felicia cocked her head in surprise.

“What you said is right, I…” He shifted in his chair uneasily, “...will at least give it a chance.”

Felicia’s face brightened and, unintentionally, mimicked her son by saying, “Really?!”

Seeing her excitement, he shrugged slightly. “It’s not as though it will hurt anything to try.”

***

That night Rido stayed awake later than usual and thought hard about his future.

Rido had no real interest in Montana. He treated her, not as a sibling, but like a neighborhood friend. The clingy sort who mooched candy off him and followed him around when he wanted to be alone. She, in turn, was delighted in taking his candy and bothering him for her enjoyment. He had thought they would always be that way and had never looked at her as a potential partner. 

He was vaguely aware that she’d begun to like him as more than a friend, though he couldn’t pinpoint when and how that happened. He’d certainly never encouraged it. Nor did he really understand it.

Though he’d teased his Mother about it, it was true she never forced girls on him. Some of this was because there wasn’t an opportunity, but he was also under the impression she disliked the practice among nobility. She would sometimes mention it was better for married couples to love each other than to simply marry out of obligation. 

Under normal circumstances, her trying to set him up with Montana out of the blue would not have gone over well with him, so it was no surprise he’d taken it poorly considering the timing.

But it was true that he couldn’t do better. 

If he was just crippled, he maybe had a chance. He stood to inherit a March and, when his maternal grandfather passed, a County. If a family with a fief nearby was willing, they could combine all three to make a Duchy. This was a very tempting proposition, but only if the March and County were stable and of good repute. With the way things were now, his fiefs would be viewed as a liability. There was simply no way for a single healthy fief to carry two broken fiefs without the healthy one taking a substantial hit somewhere.

Their terrible reputation only made things worse. Nobles had little to no faith in Marchioness Fresa’s ability to turn things around and, seeing as she raised Rido, they didn’t put any stock into him either. This made them even less attractive.

The Marron Family was different.

The Countess had personally witnessed the struggles the Marchioness went through. The Count had been involved in shaping Rido’s political views and the Heir had seen first hand what had caused the Fresa fiefs to be such a disaster. What’s more, the County had been supporting the Marchioness in little ways for years.

Most importantly, Count Marron would take on two broken fiefs if it meant he could get a Ducal title on his side. He wouldn’t get it personally, but by way of marriage, and that was good enough. Marquess and Counts were higher nobles of the 2nd rank, while a Duke was a higher noble of the 1st rank. Even a disreputable Duke was still higher than a Count and carried immense weight politically and socially.

He needed that political capital if he wanted his faction, the Loyalist, to survive. And he needed his faction to make it if he and everyone who supported him wanted to live. The stakes he was playing by were high and if he lost, people would be reduced to poverty or killed. This included his own family.

Practically speaking, it would be very good for the Marron and Fresa Family to unite. 

Rido acknowledged how much the Marron Family had done for his Mother and himself, and even understood how they needed more support. 

That didn’t mean he’d planned to marry Montana.

Before he lost his arm and the fief self-destructed, he’d felt there were still other options. He could become a Duke by marrying someone else and publicly side with Count Marron. All the Count needed was a Duke’s support, there were more ways to get that than by marrying. It was also possible to marry a lesser noble and forgo the Ducal title altogether and still support the Count. That wasn’t as good but it was still better than nothing.

Now all the options he’d had were gone. He lost his arm, his fief was a wreck, and it’d be years before things were properly straightened out. If anyone wanted to unite with him before things were straightened out, it certainly wouldn’t be with good intentions. Outside of the Marrons, he didn’t know of anyone who would be willing.

There was one final thing to consider.

His Mother was usually right.

The one time he’d insisted on doing things his own way despite her objections had ended very badly for him. The thought of having another round of torture made him break out into a cold sweat. He got short-term glory but lost his arm for the rest of his life. The trade off really wasn’t worth it.

This, more than anything else, was why he decided to seriously pursue Montana.

That’s right, he wouldn’t passively “get along” with her. He would seriously court her, intending to marry at 18 and form a Duchy by the time he was 20 and could inherit his title. After all, there was no reason to be wishy-washy about it. 

He either believed his Mother was right or he didn’t. If he believed in her wisdom, it made no sense to put things off. Severe consequences awaited him by ignoring her advise and he wasn’t stupid enough to risk that happening twice.