Mordred glanced out at the snow falling outside and shivered. Then she closed the wooden shutters and tested it, checking to make sure none of the drifting flakes came through. "Looks all secure," she reported to the pleased innkeeper. "I think we're done with all the windows now."

  "Incredible work. I can't really thank all of you enough for your hard work!" That was addressed to the other refugee workers who let out tired cheers. "Now this building's far from being an inn just yet- but for now, it should keep you all safe and warm over the winter. Take the rest of the day off, feel free to talk with your families about moving in. I'll be thoroughly testing the insulation too, so feel free to get warm!"

  That sounded quite alluring and Mordred was definitely of mind to accept the offer. It wasn't quite the mystical coziness that Puppet Atelier had, but curling up on a chair next to a fireplace to slowly nap was an incredible sensation. Another real joy of walking around on two legs instead of being a terrifying dragon that probably couldn't fit into a house with all their majesty.

  Hm. Maybe she should ask Noel if it was possible to make a dragon-sized fireplace?

  Before she could truly relax and wind down from the work, Mordred became aware of somebody approaching her and turned to see Gunther there, glancing about. "Woah, pretty bang up job here. Think you're the first group to cross the finish, way ahead of the other teams," he complimented and gave a thumbs up. "That's pretty fantastic."

  "It's only fairly basic," Mordred repeated, waving off the praise. "And all I really did was follow instructions and help with some muscle. I'm sure you could already make a better home than me if you've done it a lot of times before."

  "Actually, no. You don't know?" he asked, slightly curious. "Most mercenaries are just fighters. Sure we can do some occasional odd jobs, but folks who signed on to work as sellswords aren't that content with just hard labor. I think the rule is only if it leads us to fighting, like building a palisade for a siege or whatnot."

  "Really? Huh." Mordred blinked and reflected on Kuch actually trying to cook in the castle kitchens, along with what the doll had mentioned. "Adventurers just do whatever they like that could help communities. That's what I got told."

  "More and more, it really feels like mercenaries are just a bad copy of them," Gunther chuckled ruefully before turning serious. "But if you're up for a fight, then you might be interested in something going on that's got the guards in a bit of an awkward spot."

  "Oh, what's going on now?"

  "Remember those two gangs of youths? The city and refugee ones? They're stirring up trouble again. I don't know which one of them started it, but both of them suddenly 'claimed' a construction site for themselves as their hangout," he explained with a roll of the eyes. "Said it was 'practice' for them establishing a base of operations in the future when they become mercenaries. I don't think they remembered how I told them that's quite the fantasy considering even the Eber Marauders hadn't even received the blessing of a noble to do so."

  She frowned. "I take it work's slowed to a crawl with them both loitering around and likely being a nuisance? Are they harassing the workers?"

  "Actually, the builders are more concerned about the youths accidentally getting caught up in a dangerous work accident than being endangered themselves. You can't really fool around at a work site after all."

  "Makes sense. Why haven't the guards stepped in then to just kick them out?"

  Gunther grimaced. "Because it'll look real bad for Hans and his folk if the encounter gets a bit nasty. Things are still pretty tense, so they want to avoid causing a stir as much as they can. Tossing either their own people or the refugees into jail isn't going to go over well then. And I'm only one person, so I can't really do it myself." His expression then morphed into a sly smirk. "Course though, I know a single person who probably could deal with them all with an arm tied around her back."

  It sounded pretty straightforward, but Mordred frowned. Something about how how she was described definitely bothered her. She realized what it was a moment later- the man was thinking again in just terms of pure strength, that martial mindset that he probably couldn't let go of so easily. In his head, just beating the other party was the end goal he defaulted to, like a battle between two mercenary bands. Exactly like how the youths were professing it.

  What would that make her then, being the one to come in and just throw them about? It wouldn't teach them anything. She scowled and crossed her arms. "I'm not beating up a bunch of young idiots to make a point."

  "Thanks for agreeing- wait, what?" Gunther caught himself, blinking. "But you're the only one who could handle something like his. And it's a fight, won't you like that? You don't even have to kill them, just...teach them a point about causing trouble," he weakly finished, maybe even realizing how bad that sounded coming out now.

  "Sure, sometimes when I was being a little hellion, my mother sometimes had to knock me over the head. But she also made sure I learned and understood why I couldn't act that way. Beating somebody up and then just leaving, that's not right," she declared and squared her jaw. "No, I've got a better idea. We're doing this the adventurer way, alright? I'll even check in with Kuch for some guidance on the matter."

  The mercenary frowned, then sighed. There was a faint tinge of regret in it. "Yeah, I forget, they are just kids at the end of the day, at least compared to me. Giving them a knock and then washing your hands of it right after probably doesn't really do anything, aside from giving them an unfair lesson on the world. Ah, what the hell, I'll go along with your adventurer madness again."

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  Might was right. That was the only rule that mattered after the downfall of Viszal, and the truth of the world that many soldiers-turned-bandits had come to realize when the notions of order had been overturned. It was also what many villages had also come to learn, their homes now suddenly playing host to these rude, rowdy, and remorseless guests who either ate or took everything these commoners owned.

  It hadn't been enough though, considering they needed a sizable amount of coin to likely get away far from the region to try and start a new life. So they had taken to robbing travelers and merchants, managing to get a few before imperial soldiers bearing the insignia of the Third Legion started patrolling the path, protecting the routes. Pickings had gotten very lean after that, the byroads having far less individuals to prey upon with the ongoing chaos making many wary of travel beyond their settlement.

  Still, there had been the occasional fool. And then there was this kit of cloth.

  "Bottom's up, they said! A drink for you, said the maid!"

  She didn't really act like one with how she staggered along the road, belching out a drunkard's between swigs of a wineskin she clasped in one hand. Her tail flicked back and forth, setting the beat for the next line.

  "Cheers to the good times! Listen to those chimes!"

  Ordinarily, the bandits wouldn't hesitate to pounce on such obviously an easy target. But they, being former of soldiers of Viszal, instead stared at her, drawn swords dipping to the ground. They recognized the woman sallying along the road to the village without a single care in the world, alone and blind-stinking drunk. It was a far cry from when they had watched her depart, solemn and serious, with an armed guard to escort her to the coven to take her vows.

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  Because her half-brother wanted to make sure she had been definitely cast out of the family like the bastard sister she was.

  The bandits quickly retreated and reported to their leader, the former unit captain who was flabbergasted. They soon swiftly recovered and ordered all their subordinates stand at the ready, just in case. The village people overheard the given word and whispers soon spread, overcoming the oppressive atmosphere enough that heads peeked from behind doors and windows. They looked on in awe, fear, and hope at the first visitor they'd had ever since their little settlement was taken over strolled in.

  Whispers broke out when one of them who had visited the city of Viszal confirmed she was indeed whom the bandits had thought it to be. They watched worriedly when the bandits stepped forward to confront her, not yet drawing weapons, but keeping a wary distance all the same. She seemed to recognize she was being surrounded and frowned, though for a completely unrelated reason.

  The woman shook her wineskin and not a single drop came out. "Out already?" she commented, her words coming out less slurred than one might think of such inebriation. "Urgh. Ran out of ale, ran out of family, ran out of luck...Truly, all things, good or wicked, run out in time."

  "Lady Lilita. You're back," tersely began bandit leader. "Do you recognize me?"

  "Um." She squinted and pitched forward, snapping her fingers in an absent way. "Ummm. Oh, I know- you poured me some wine back then!" She beamed and stretched out her empty container. "Come on then, give me some more!"

  "N-no. I was one of your brother's escorts to the church," they corrected, exchanging bemused looks with their soldiers. "I...hadn't even been aware you drank. Everybody thought you were a pious one like your brother, above such worldly desires-"

  She suddenly exploded into a peel of laughter that put the gathered bandit-soldiers on edge, especially with how mirthful it seemed to be. "Only the divines are above such desires, in the end," Lilita eventually settled on telling between giggles. "My...family, they just hide it better. Don't think the chaplains ever caught onto whoever kept drinking all the alter offerings."

  A mix of respect and disgust warred on many faces present. Yet the captain apparently had to refute her claim. "Your brother, he was pure and pious until the very end. And your sire-"

  "Took advantage of a serving wench who gave birth to me," she flatly said with an empty smile and ear flick. "And Eifer sent me to a monastery to 'make the picture a bit better.' Cuz there's no room for a bastard in the frame, you see? The art commission is per person too, so why not save a few coins there?"

  "Is that why you're here?" they quietly asked. "The money being sent to keep you in the church ran out? So you're back to ransack the treasury?"

  "Oh!" She pointed straight at the captain. "Good idea! More ale for me then!"

  "Viszal is currently occupied by several foreign armies and crawling with mercenaries with bandits, so good luck with that. Though," they wondered aloud and drew their sword, an action which a few of their closer subordinates mimicked, "I think they would also reward us handsomely if we presented the head of the a claimant to the Duchy of Viszal."

  "Claimant?' Lilita sounded out before retching. "Ugh, no thanks. I'd rather drink all day and praise the Ten Lights for the spells they've given me! Haha!" She grinned widely and stretched out her arms, like wanting to reach for a hug. "Let's just make up and make merry with our lives, doing as so commanded by the divine Malkus!"

  "Kill her!"

  Her hands fell and she groaned, reaching to clutch at the rosary around her neck. Reluctantly, even as the bandits charged, she muttered a single word sourly and bitterly. "[Cure]."

  A glow enveloped her body and all signs of drunkenness faded in that single moment, her motions no longer exaggerated lagging behind. It meant she could draw her sword and slash in the same smooth motion, already bringing down one of her charging assailants, then adopt a parrying stance that nimbly blocked the incoming strikes in return for giving ground.

  It wasn't for long, as her blade danced and found the gap in the guard that brought the former soldier low. They collapsed screaming and bleeding in the snow and she sighed, hand moving to make the sign of the Reaper before delivering a mercy kill. "May Belle gently bring you to the great ocean beyond-"

  Her prayer wasn't allowed to finish before she was forced to dart back when the bandit leader themselves came swinging in. With cat-like reflexes so befitting a kit, she managed to dodge with a solemn and sorrowful expression. It only seemed to deepen when she looked and truly beheld the village before her, seeing how wretched and broken it was with fear and terror plainly radiating from the looks of the commonfolk. She needed an answer and stepped in to lock blades in the next clash, asking a single question. "Johanna says to provide compassion and mercy to the weak. To be justice and protection in its absence. Do you consider this to be compassion and mercy?"

  "If you want to spout prayers to gods who don't exist, then no I don't! Not after seeing my 'blessed' lord struck down!" they shouted, trying their best to try and overcome Lilita's guard. "If they exist, then why do they let this world bleed! Let this world suffer! Let this world die-!"

  They grunted and finally broke through the guard, forcing Lilita to slam back against a tree. There was nowhere left for her to run. Yet she seemed to not care, giving only a pitying gaze towards the former soldier of Viszal. "Indeed, why do they let us live to suffer? To know despair and pain?"

  Her hand flashed towards her necklace and ripped it clean off her neck as they reared up to make a killing blow. "So that we know the taste of true joy. [Divine Seal]," she intoned, pressing the foci directly against her opponent's forehead when they charged in to deliver the killing blow.

  The bandit's body suddenly froze, the blade barely a sliver away from cutting off the woman's head, but they couldn't move it any further. They couldn't even pull back, the muscles of their body completely locked up with some sort of paralytic energy holding them in place. It wouldn't last long, Lilita knew from experience, and she swiftly acted by smacking the hilt of her blade against her foe's head.

  They crumpled and collapsed the moment the spell ended, knocked out cold. The bandits gaped in horror and shock at the sight of their leader having fallen. Meanwhile, the exorcist sighed and pressed the hilt against her own head, muttering a quiet prayer to the divines for the strength continue on. But when she looked back up, all the remaining brigands were fleeing, apparently unwilling to face her now.

  "A shame," she mumbled with a shake of the head while sheathing her sword. "To face justice is to face forgiveness, either of the mortal or divine. Though I guess the odds were against me?"

  Then Lilita made a face and smacked her cheeks. "Ugh. I'm too sober for all this!" she sourly declared and began to drag the bandit leader back to the village. She'd like to hand them over to the inhabitants to rightfully decide their fate. Maybe she could even snag a refill of beer off them for the act before continuing onto Viszal, assuming the weather stayed clear.

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