"You cannot slander human nature; it is worse than words can paint it." - Charles Spurgeon

 

The originally white clothing was instantly dyed a bright scarlet.

 

“Calun!”

Klaes dashed over and caught him before he hit the ground. Calun let out a muffled cry as the impact caused the pain on his shoulder to flare up in agony. Every bit of movement caused another sharp wave of aching.

Through the ringing in his ears, Calun heard the sound of a body falling to the ground behind him. All around him people were talking and rushing about. Vaguely, he felt himself being carried somewhere, voices clamoring.

His brows scrunched in displeasure.

The grey skies above vanished as he was carried into one of the huts and laid down onto a wooden surface. Slowly, he raised his left arm and tried to use healing magic on himself, but only a flickering dull light appeared. It took him a while to realize that he had run out of mana.

Glancing to the side, his vision was blurry, but he could hazily make out the figures of several people outside trying to peek in. Calun let out a stifled gasp as someone suddenly applied pressure to the wound on his back. A few stars danced in his vision as an astringent odor filled the room.

A cold liquid trickled down his side as the smell grew stronger and stronger.

Feeling an overwhelming dizziness, Calun shut his eyes.

-

That person looked fine while he was wearing a coat, but it wasn’t until the stained clothes were removed that Klaes realized how skinny his brother was.

He glanced at the person on the wooden cot. Calun's face was even paler than usual due to the blood loss. Several bandages had been wrapped around his brother's shoulder after disinfecting the stab wound with alcohol.

Klaes was mildly annoyed. It was supposed to be a safe and quick expedition with little to no deaths. The Viscount had wanted him to show off his strength to Calun, but then the other party ended up getting injured. It was impossible for him to not be frustrated.

Already, he could feel Venice's mocking gaze upon their return.

How was he supposed to guess that one of the bandits would pretend to be dead only to launch a sneak attack? The culprit had already been killed, but Klaes still felt displeased.

“The bleeding has been stopped, Lord Klaes.” One of the veterans reported to him. “With the addition of healing magic, his recovery shouldn’t take too long.” 

“I see.” He stood up from the splintered wooden stool. “Station a few more guards here to patrol. And check the bodies again.”

At that moment, one of the soldiers walked in and reported. "We’ve found the person that seems to be their leader, Lord Klaes." Partially dried bloodstains marked both the person’s tunic and blade. "Your orders?"

Klaes recalled that the soldier was one of the few that were injured. He paused before speaking. “Bring him to me,” he commanded.

Before long, an older man with disheveled hair was dragged outside the cabin and forced to kneel. Several injuries and scars marred his body, the most serious a puncture wound on his back that bled profusely.

“You’re the leader?” Klaes mocked, arrogance dripping from his voice.

The person didn’t answer and instead began groveling and weeping. “M-my lord! Please spare me!”

Klaes snorted in disdain and one of the soldiers behind the man kicked him in the temple, knocking him on his side.

“Please!” The person righted themselves and prostrated against the muddy ground. “I didn’t know you were nobles!”

“Attacking a noble is a capital offense." Klaes motioned and soon, a blade slick with blood was pointed at the person’s neck. "Tell me, which hole did you crawl out from? Speak.”

“I-I’m from a village near Randell. My Lord, I swear, I didn’t know who you were!” 

“Randell?” Klaes paused. It was an adjacent Viscount’s territory that was similar to Larmes in both population and size. “Why did you come here?”

“W-we had no choice! The Lord keeps raising the taxes and conscripting those that can’t pay!”

“What does the Randell Lord need conscripts for?”

“O-one of the villages was attacked by orcs… The Lord was furious…”

Klaes stared at him quietly before waving his hand. “I see. That’s all I needed.”

The person looked up, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

Thud.

Before the man had time to react, his severed head dropped down, blood splashing onto the floor. It rolled a few steps before coming to a halt, eyes still wide open.

“We will continue as planned,” Klaes ordered, not giving the decapitated body a second glance. “My brother will not be joining us.”

“Have the soldiers split into two groups. Vice Captain Moren, you will be in charge of the second group.”

The soldier who beheaded the bandit leader saluted.

“As you command, Lord Klaes.”

-

Calun dreamed of the metal city, Chrysos. A city governed by the omniscient and immortal Administrator.

A city-state where soaring skyscrapers reached for the Heavens and infinite networks of information embraced the earth and connected the globe to the Administrator. A beautiful utopia, a sprawling metropolis decorated by the greatest works of art to ever grace the history of mankind, restored to their true splendor during the Golden Age.

The perfect union of society and technology, the pinnacle of civilization.

It was the envy of the world.

 

Calun opened his eyes to a wooden roof with several holes, sparse sunlight shining through the broken beams. He sat up on the bed, letting out a small gasp as the motion tugged at his shoulder. The feeling brought his thoughts back to reality.

The pain receded to a dull ache as he held his palm up, the dim glow of healing magic wavering before disappearing. He glanced at his shoulder and found it bandaged in a primitive fashion.

Calun got off the bed and opened the door to the hut. Up in the sky, the sun had just passed midday, the previously gloomy clouds nowhere in sight. It seemed that several hours had passed while he was unconscious.

Outside, several guards were stationed around the cabin. Upon noticing him, they saluted, showing a newfound respect in their eyes. His actions had spread amongst the soldiers, and thus all of the guards knew that the young lord was actually a mage.

A mage!

He was frail and couldn’t use a sword, so what? Even if he wasn’t as powerful as the temple priest, that single word alone was enough to gain the reverence of the common people. How many people could claim that they had been personally treated by a mage? Let alone the fact that it was a mage that was also a noble!

One of the soldiers standing by the door quickly kneeled as he reported to him. “Lord Klaes has already set out for the other mines. He stated that you should return to the campsite first to rest."

Calun glanced at the soldier and felt that he was familiar. He recalled that he was one of the soldiers that had broken a wrist earlier.

“Mn. It’s good to see that you’ve recovered.”

The soldier blinked in surprise before bowing flusteredly. “It’s thanks to you, Lord Calun.”

Calun ignored the soldier's blush and hummed in response. “Where are the captives? I’d like to see them.” By now, the leader of the bandits should have been found.

“Of course, Lord Calun. This way.”

Mangled corpses were strung about as they walked closer towards the center of the camp. In several places, the ground had grown muddy after being watered with blood. The originally green hills were dyed red.

“What is the usual-”

He paused as a body came into view. The person he had shot with a magic arrow had been affixed to a pole, decapitated head speared on top. 

“...What is the usual punishment for banditry?” He asked quietly while turning towards the rest of the captives that were huddled together.  Many were still bleeding, despair, resignation, and fear on their faces. 

“Drudgery for life, my Lord.” The soldier’s tone was uncaring while replying, as if he had seen numerous similar scenes. “They will be marched back with us. Those unable to keep up will be executed.”

“...I see.”

The soldier noticed Calun’s expression of pity.

The soldier had a sudden realization. The Viscount’s youngest son was a charitable person, organizing a soup kitchen for the poor and helping the orphanage children in return for nothing. He was someone with a kind heart, someone unsuited for the cruelties of the battlefield.

He unconsciously softened his tone. “The bandit’s supplies had more than excess grain, my Lord. Many of the surrounding villages have gone hungry because of them. It's only what they deserve.”

Calun remained silent.

His previous world was harsh, but this one even harsher, he lamented.

It was a while before he spoke again.

“Have the prisoners carry the supplies.” He ordered suddenly. “We will return to the camp first.”