“We would be similar to employees, tending to mounts and supplies. The most attractive part about this, is the option to back out, as long as we don’t do anything illegal.”

By this point, the entire ex-village has moved to the camp’s Family Area. Marcheline herself just hauled a much lighter bag (only for appearance’s sake— most her stuff are in the spatial storage), and told Linda she’s joining her friends.

“Do you think it wise,” their Chief, Bodil, squints at the provisions and requirements for being a Military Household, (Marcheline has a sinking suspicion that her eyesight is going bad) “to be so involved with soldiers, maybe even knights?”

There’s only the Chief, Vice Chief, and their Secretary in the small tent. The rest are getting settled down and helping with various chores.

Tristan pauses on his note-taking, but he doesn’t sharpen the quill or dip it in ink. He looks down, listening to Marcheline’s reply.

They were all found under the rice cellar, herded there by a fourteen-year-old Bodil. After two or three days, they were filthy, freezing, and scared. A couple of soldiers found them, told them that the horde of monsters were dead, and brought them out.

In that ransacked village, it was jarring to see the council room without the Elders. In the Elders’ place are soldiers, but they didn’t look like they just got out from a fight, which was strange. The ones that brought them out also took out some wine barrels from the cellar, proudly showing off their loot.

To the background sound of boisterous merrymaking, they were told that all the adults were dead.

Their leader, a knight, gave instructions on putting together a mass grave. In the next breath, he was telling these children to wash up so him and his soldiers could enjoy some entertainment.

“The brats here ain’t bad! I’ll play with this one first,” he yanks a small girl, “Let’s see what’s under those rags.”

To the sound of cheers, little Eve digs her heels to the ground, not understanding but still unwilling. It takes three heartbeats for the older children, those who could understand the soldiers’ intentions, to get over their shock and scramble to stop the knight.

It was just a small commotion, as none of them were a match to trained men. Out of the thirty or so soldiers, most of them just ignored the children’s pleas and enjoyed the lively atmosphere.

All of a sudden however, everyone but the crying children fell silent. The soldiers are all looking at the entrance, at the girl with pink hair and dirty white robes. She doesn’t say anything, but the place suddenly became tense.

“What is the meaning of this?”, behind the pink-haired girl, came a deathly cold voice of a woman. Her soft yet terrifying tones seemed to petrify everything it touches. The knight goes pale.

Bodil closes her eyes from the memory. If it weren’t for them…

“It… kills me to do the army any favors.” Marcheline looks down as she snarls at the same memory, “But we have more protections here in the Capital, compared to the outskirts. I’ve been asking around, and the military is apparently rehabilitating it’s image.”

Taking a deep breath, “There is no escape from men like those. But while we’re weak, we can only work around them. The ones stationed in the Capital are particularly careful with sexual assault allegations, as female recruits from the nobility have become more and more common. What with the strange ‘blessing’ of the Festival.”

It leaves a bad taste in her mouth to say that first part. “Which brings me to another topic. We have room to gain power, while we’re here.”

Marcheline gives them a rundown of skills and bloodlines, the party system and casting conditions, and how the Festival would allow access to magic. “We’ll have to wait and see if any of us have more useful skills, anything we could put to use immediately.”

“And we’ll play it by ear, huh.” Bodil contemplates, “If we get any useful skills by next month, we’ll have means to further protect ourselves. If.”

She flicks her gaze to Marcheline, “What are the chances of dormant bloodlines activating?”

“About one in five.”

“We have two days before they’ll show us the land options, then more than two weeks before this ‘Festival’.” Bodil recounts as the sound of quill on paper continues.

“That’s about it?”

“Mhm. So,” the Chief recounts, “the Kingdom has exploitative taxes but the market is still doing fine, their knights and soldiers are currently well-leashed, what about the Church?”

“Cooperative, as far as I can tell. I need more time to dig deeper. From what I could observe, there are enough safety nets in place.”

Bodil grins, “If our neighbors turn out to be scum, we could always put some traps in place.”

They both look expectantly towards Marcheline.