A sea of torches, braziers and bonfires spread out over the no-man’s land between the Band's fortifications and what was once the rift containment. Soldiers uncountable in the dim lighting laughed, joked, sang and reveled with riotous delight while great bubbling pots, racks of skewers and and massive skins of vinegary posca dispensed joy, each in their own way.

  Ethan took a sip of wine from his chalice. A much finer wine as befit a Baroness, but one that came with strings. He’d rather drink the posca!

  And had, earlier when they’d raised mugs and skins high, then poured out a libation to the fallen. But that was then. And now was something else entirely.

  “Can I not convince you?” The sweet voice, sweeter even then this excellent wine, somehow soured both.

  “No Lady Adelheid. My fief calls and I must answer.”

  “And about the harvests?” She led off leadingly, blushing slightly at the crassness and somehow managing to make him feel guilty on her behalf.

  He held in a sigh. “I’d not dirty your Ladyships hands with such matters. Let the stewards work out the details. I’ve let them know to deal fairly-” An understatement in some ways, complete nonsense in others. They were to get the best price possible, but she was going to screw them on the umbral meat and no mistake. Much of the stored wood would be sold off as well if she offered even remotely decent prices. Else they’d sell it off in the hamlets or trade villages as they went. With selling and eating, they wouldn’t stay slow long. A week at three-quarters speed wasn’t something he was looking forward to, but neither would it kill them.

  The carapace though. That he wouldn’t budge on. A good price or none at all. And only for the lowest tier of it.

  She sighed softly. Looking out at the camp for a time with him. Then at last. “Is it really too much to ask? I’m dangling by a thread, will you not lend a hand?”

  He shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably. “I don’t begrudge you doing what you must, lady. But neither am I willing to play the fool to make it so. You –“ He stopped and shrugged again. There was no point going over what could have been. She could have asked. She could have laid out the problems and requested instead of schemed.

  But that ship had sailed. And he couldn’t really say it would have made a difference. Sympathy was all well and good, but he had responsibilities to his men. And the two were at cross purposes here.

  He took another gulp of her excellent wine and considered. They’d cleared the rift at no additional expense to her. He’d lost men doing it. And if they’d come away with far more in rewards then any had expected, why that was the gods’ gifts to the valiant. He shouldn’t feel guilty about any of this. He’d helped her enough.

  So why did he still feel it?

  “It could have been so much more.” She half-whispered. Her voice a wistful promise on the wind. And a promise he even believed. It could have been and somewhere inside, he really wondered what that would have been like. Bliss for a certainty.

  But at the expense of being led about by the … he pushed the thought aside. It could have been. But would never be.

  He sighed. “The God’s grace go with you, Lady and may the Lady of Luck provide a path.” He raised his chalice to her, drank it and with a fist to chest salute, walked out from the tent. Moving forward to pass through the revelers, patting men on the back here, sharing a quick story there. Sharing the cheap, but somehow more appreciated, swill that they were drinking as he passed from fire to fire.

  The night passed in a bit of a blur after that. Duty and joy in equal portions but with a side of wistful guilt that never really went away.

  As the night drew to a close, he didn’t sleep. Pondering the decisions before him, and more the changes that were coming to the band. Some foreseeable. Many not.

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  How much would they have to bend to fit their new lives? All men had to bend and flex before the winds of fate. Or break. But where did flexible end and spineless begin?

  The pre-dawn glimmer found him on his knees before his ancestors in the Standards Shrine. He was not alone in this, either. A contingent of wholly sober guards stood armed and armored about the edges, while a good 50 men were kneeling behind him. Then the first rays of dawn touched them and offered renewal.

  “Status.” They spoke together.

  ___

  (Bold indicates an Increase)

  That was … unexpected. He’d accumulated a great deal of experience from the final push, but by his count, he was still months or a few large battles away from a level up. Now why… his eyes danced through the shown sheets.

  Oh.

  He felt like slapping himself. Class focus. It was everything when it came to leveling speed. The more closely your actions matched those focuses, the more experience you would get from them. Half again the experience per. But Baronet’s class focus also overlapped.

  Enough for triple? No, quadruple this time.

  Fuck.

  No wonder nobles could out-level everyone else!

  He considered the sheet for a time longer, then, with a full bow to the standard, let it close.

  He had far too much to do today to linger. But for all of that, he was smiling wildly as he walked back to the command tent.

  ____