The King Trials 2: Beyond.

~The Champion Purebloods~

Fragments of my calm return.

But only when I feel that I'm mentally ready, do I return.

I journey back to the hub, near the entrance and as I do. One by one, I am noticed by more people, ashy faces staring at me with a strange familiarity like they know me. Frowning faces trying to decipher where from. I shirk off the gawks and focus onwards.

In due course, I spot the Herems gathered around the dusty steps of the courthouse.

The Avangard and Primus Kelan still dispersed.

I make my approach.

"They are not a terror faction. They may be violent in enforcing their anti-monarchist views, but not to this extent," a being says, seated on the steps. The Herems at the base. A squire bandaging his wounded arm. "They are the northern raiders. They gain their wealth by stealing it from others, generally from unprotected towns like ours."

"Alderman, where are your defences?" Vince asks, his sword held in front of him, the blade planted into the ground. "Why have gates not been fashioned or at least a palisade?"

He releases a bitter scoff and dismisses the squire angrily. She rises and scurries up the stone stairs.

"We lack the means. I sent an appeal to the Decuria—to the Crown, the High King himself but no. He is too occupied crushing rebellions and forsaking the people under his reign. Like all his predecessors, he only cares for power. Despite all his talk of peace."

I gingerly brush my way to the front. "The northern raiders, the weapons they used. Where did nomads obtain such technology?"

He lifts a shoulder and cradles his wounded arm to his chest. "All I know is that it only took a few shots of those things to make the entire town erupt into an inferno. My villagers, the ones who were struck, were eviscerated, gigantic holes blasted right through them. It was... horrific."

....Yet somehow. I survived.

I look up, passed Treyton's shoulder. One of the villagers stare at me intensely. I glance around to observe throngs of them amassing, creeping towards us with cautious curiosity.

The Alderman releases an aggravated sound. "Those vulgarians. The fire destroyed our entire storehouse, burning grain and all of our sowing seeds. Provisions for the frost season. Our harvest was already damaged by the Black Death, now we have nothing."

"The Black Death," Solaris repeats, astounded. My bow in his one hand, and his sword in the other. "The plague has reached as far as the outland territories?"

The Alderman nods grimly. "Yes, so even if we had the coin. We cannot even import food or barter for any. In this food crisis, that is quickly becoming a famine. No one will be willing to part with the food that they do have. Even if they have too much of it, like Nobleman Bumlot."

What an unfortunate name. But...oddly familiar.

"Who is he?" I ask.

"The richest noble in this region," the Alderman answers. Disdain clouds his eyes.

"I know him," Treyton says with mutual contempt. "He is also notorious for being the stingiest noble in the region. My Regnum hosts an annual charity soiree, and he attends. But his donations are equivalent to a peasant's wage, if not less."

"His estate is in the forest, just west of here. He has stores of food that will last him five winters, and yet I know he will not even part with a portion of it to help us."

I shake my head in disappointment. A daring idea flashes through my mine, and suddenly, I feel more hopeful. I look up, and the same villager who was staring at me is staring still. He shoots an accusing finger at me, prodding it in my direction.