Nitesco ambled through the newly-struck camp, seeking out the other three members of ANGQ among the loud bustle of their celebrating men and the widespread carousing that now reduced the great men of the Rowj League to a drunken horde. After narrowly dodging a flying beer mug, the young commander ducked into Gwydion's tent, where Austin was hunched over an untidy pile of papers and Gwydion was carefully examining Quixotic's blade.

"So, why aren't you all joining the festivities?" Nitesco asked.

Austin briefly turned his head to acknowledge his co-commander's presence before returning his focus to the papers.

"I'm examining intelligence reports to prepare our next move, and Gwydion is repairing the damage to the serrations on Jaeger's sword. Speaking of, have you seen Quixotic? I'd like him to be here when I give the rundown on our options."

Nitesco shrugged. "I was hoping you'd have seen-"

He was rudely interrupted when an exhausted and, for some reason, shirtless Quixotic announced his presence by kicking the tent flaps open and collapsing onto a chair in the corner, startling Nitesco. The young man stared uneasily at the strange sight, Austin pinched the bridge of his nose and pretended not to notice, and Gwydion, who was too engrossed in the repair of Jaeger's blade to care, did nothing. Austin grabbed a white tunic, conveniently located on top of a small chest, and tossed it to the scoundrel, who had a smirk imprinted on his face.

"What the hell? What just happened?" Nitesco wondered aloud as he slowly backed away from Quixotic. The drunkard donned the tunic and folded his hands in his lap triumphantly.

"I just had an impromptu meeting with Sergeant Charles Karling, for your information."

"What kind of meeting?" Gwydion butted in awkwardly.

Quixotic snickered. "I gave him a good tumble."

Gwydion and Nitesco chuckled, amused. Austin wondered why that phrase sounded so familiar. He shrugged it off and beckoned for the others to gather around his strategy table.

"Alright. The Junipera quarter is now in open rebellion against Celtic, and with the fall of Arkos and the destruction of the blockade, it should prove to be a significant drain on his resources."

His finger shifted from the northwest to the northeast corner of the map.

"Rubia is likewise a hotbed of resistance, but with the subjugation of both White Rose and Bumblebee, it's complete anarchy. Minor lords are taking advantage of the lack of a direct authority by rebelling against their suzerains and trying to take chunks out of their rivals. It's too chaotic for any support we give to matter there."

His finger went directly south, tracing a path across the mountains that housed the sheltered nation of Guns N' Roses and stopping right in the center of Villainia.

"Villainia's southern states are rebelling against Celtic, but Yukon and his generals have been campaigning there since the fall of White Rose. They can't hold out for long, and if we're going to give them support, we should supply it soon."

Austin's hand finally moved to the bottom left corner of the map: Heroa.

"Heroa is almost completely under Celtic's control. Only a few, very brave lords continue to resist, but Jokey, Celtic's assassin, has made sure that they are quickly pacified. It would be futile to try and help them."

Austin leaned back in his chair while his comrades absorbed the information. Gwydion cleared his throat, further scrutinizing the situation.

"Where do we go next?" Nitesco piped up.

"Either Rubia or southern Villainia. Though Rubia would be a greater source of resources and manpower, the situation is volatile and poses a greater risk of losing our men. Villainia is organized and ready to fight with us, but they are minor lords and can only provide us minimal, if any, support."

"If Rubia is in such a bad spot, then it would be futile to spend manpower there. We'd end up with nothing to show for it. It has to be Villainia." Quixotic said, in a rare display of maturity.

"I vote we head for Villainia." Nitesco proposed. "All in favor?" All four commanders raised their hands.

The now-clothed Quixotic in the corner nodded contemplatively. "And what of Celtic's Council? Do we have any information on them?" Austin shook his head, earning a disappointed frown from Gwydion.

"Our intelligence regarding the leaders is minimal. We know some of their names, the countries of origin, and in the case of Maker, her past profession. Other than that, our knowledge is lacking."

"We have identified their roles in the rebellion, however. Celtic is the ringleader. Vulpix, Inferno and Yukon are assigned to lead campaigns in their respective regions of the Subreddit, though I don't know why Inferno was with Vulpix during the battle. Vulpix's behavior during the battle suggests an emotional connection, and this will be investigated further."

"Regardless, the last three are the most unique. Jokey and Maker appear to be his assassin and artificer, respectively, but Maker also appears to have significant combat skill. Lastly, Greatness is in charge of the mercenary legion known as the 942nd Cavaliers. These men appear to be loyal to Celtic beyond obligation to coin, and they currently patrol the Rubian quarter making sure the lords don't join together against Celtic. Their unorthodox tactics make them a danger to potential operations there."

Austin paused. "942nd. That sounds like an awfully specific number," he mused aloud.

Nitesco turned to the blacksmith, an idea having come to mind.

"Gwydion, wasn't your father the leader of the Fallen Angels? Can you tell us anything about these Cavaliers?"

Gwydion shook his head. "No. If you asked me, I could recognize the name of any mercenary company that existed before the Third Shipping War. I haven't heard of these men."

Quixotic shook his head. "Wait, you were a member of the Fallen Angels?" He laughed. "I had no idea you were so badass!"

"I was only a blacksmith, I rarely saw combat. Regardless, name-dropping my father could help in getting information on these Cavaliers."

"What happened to the Fallen Angels, if I may ask?" Austin wondered aloud. Gwydion sighed, remembering the awful memory.

"We were charged with defending a castle in Lancaster from invaders, because their army was short on men. We defended the region to which we were assigned against Arkosian soldiers, but we were beaten back to the fortress where we coordinated our defenses. One night, when my father and those loyal to him were asleep, his lieutenant Magnus gathered some of the men and opened the portcullis and let the Arkosians in. My brothers, my father and his loyalists were all massacred."

Nitesco scratched his nose. "Then how'd you escape?"

"I was in the armory, repairing one of my brother's axes, when I heard the sounds of battle. I knew I was a goner if I stayed, so I managed to flee out a back exit before we were surrounded."

Austin interrupted. "If you don't mind me asking, do you remember how many men were in your company?"

Gwydion laughed a bit. "I still do, after all these years. We were a small fighting force, but we were strong. We numbered…" He trailed off, his face morphing from a soft smile to a grave frown.

"Nine hundred and forty-two men." He looked at Austin, whose expression was equally grave.

"Do you know what the translation of the word Magnus is, my friend?"

Gwydion reluctantly shook his head.

"Greatness."

The young blacksmith sharply exhaled, his eyes widening as a flood of memory washed over him. The other three looked at him, worried.

"After all these years…" He trailed off, the magnitude of the situation overwhelming him.

"Can it really be him?"

"My friend," Nitesco chimed in, "It's important that you don't let your emotions get the better of you. Now is not the time to be striking off on quests for revenge, and—"

Gwydion raised his hand, immediately silencing his compatriot. He raised his head and looked each of his fellow commanders in the eyes.

"I've had nineteen years to work through my grief. I'm over it. If I want Greatness dead, it is because he is a coward, a brute and a traitor, not because he killed my father. You needn't worry about me."

Austin nodded softly, though he was skeptical of Gwydion's claim. Quixotic too, was doubtful, but merely sighed and slouched in his seat.

Outside, the celebrations continued uninterrupted.

"I'm serious, I'll be fine," Gwydion insisted. "Now go. I need to finish repairing Quixotic's sword."

The other three exchanged worried glances before quietly exiting the tent, leaving their ally alone with his thoughts.

Once outside, Quixotic sighed quietly, casting a forlorn glance at the tent before turning back to Nitesco and Austin, who were equally concerned.

"God, Austin, you couldn't have left that out?"

"Better he find out here than on the battlefield. Give him a few days, he'll get over it."

"Still, you could have—"

Nitesco stepped in between them, hoping to ease the tension. "Hey. Now is not the time for this. We'll start preparing the ships the Schneekosians gave us tonight, and tomorrow we'll depart for Villainia. Sound good?"

"Yes." The pair replied in unison.

The young man nodded, satisfied.

"Good. Get to it."

The three of them dispersed, off to prepare for what was to come.

Yukon walked through the halls of the castle that Inferno had provided for them, recently returned from his conquests in the south. The foolish peasants really thought they could resist the force of change, but he knew better. They would be ground underfoot, like those rebel scum in Junipera that Vulpix and Inferno were busy dealing with.

He came to a stop in front of two small oak doors, in front of which two Night's Watch soldiers stood, on guard. The mask-laden conspirator waved them aside, and they quickly gave a small bow and hurried off. Yukon laughed, opening the doors and entering the room as they left.

He closed the doors as the room's two occupants, Greatness and Maker, looked up from a casual game of cards to see who had disturbed them. As Yukon walked over to the table and took a seat, Maker grinned and set her cards down on the table, revealing four jacks and an eight.

Greatness huffed and placed his cards face down on the table, pushing a small stack of coins to Maker, whose smug grin threatened to split her face in two. The mercenary leader flipped his hair out of his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

"You know, if I hadn't been winning in the first half of the game, I'd accuse you of cheating."

"It's all luck, and yours seems to have run out, my good sir." Maker laughed, pocketing the coins and turning her attention to Yukon.

"Hello, Edward. What brings you here?"

Yukon scoffed. "Only my wife calls me that, Octavia." Maker furrowed her brow, and he chuckled lightheartedly. "Speaking of spouses, how's yours?"

"He's stationed somewhere in South Heroa. When we see each other again, we'll trade war stories."

The Emberaldian ran his hands through his hair, which was due for a wash. Yukon finally reached behind the dark green hood of his tunic and unbuckled the wolf skull, setting it on the table. "Why do you wear such an uncomfortable thing? I can only imagine how suffocating it must be," Maker said.

"Oh, it is. But the people of Emberald are deeply religious, and one of the great prophecies says that a man with the face and the name of a wolf will bring them to prosperity, so I must oblige. Once this war is over, I'll slowly introduce them to the truth."

He turned to Greatness, who had been lost in thought; an unusual occurrence for him.

"Greatness, you seem distracted. What's on your mind?"

He snapped out of his daze, turning to face Yukon before his eyes glazed over and he returned to a reverie. "So, a while back, during the battle of Renora, I met this guy, right?"

His two companions nodded.

"He seemed familiar. I encountered him once before, at Bumblebee, though I didn't get a good look at him then. It was bothering me until this morning, when I finally realized who he was."

"And who was that?" Maker inquired.

"He is the son of the former leader of the Fallen Angels legion." Maker and Yukon cocked their heads in interest. The high priest leaned forward.

"Intriguing. How did you find this out?"

"When I woke up this morning, I went down to the armory to fetch my blade. I got to thinking about the old times. The kid I mentioned was the greatest blacksmith I've ever met, even though he was only about sixteen or seventeen when it happened. I started reminiscing about that, and then it clicked." He smiled. "It's been bugging me all month. I'm glad I finally figured it out."

"Well, good for you," Yukon said. "But what are you going to do about it? Will you hunt him down or something?"

The mercenary shook his head. "No, I don't think so. It's been nearly twenty years, why would this all of a sudden be a problem?"

"A fair point."

"Well, that's done." Maker stood and clapped her hands together. "Do you guys want to come down to my lab? I've been working on this new toxin and I think you guys will really—"

A sudden knocking at the door interrupted Maker and startled Greatness. Yukon muttered an expletive under his breath and grabbed the skull, hastily buckling it to his head before turning to face the door.

"Come in."

One of Celtic's servants pushed the door open. He cleared his throat.

"General Vulpix and King Inferno have returned from their conquests in Arkos. He requests your presence in the throne room to hear the debriefing." He turned around and walked out quickly. The three of them collectively sighed.

"Maybe another time, Maker." Greatness remarked as they set off to the throne room.

When they got there, Celtic was white with fury. Far from his usual calm, he seemed a hair's breadth from strangling both Inferno and Vulpix.

"YOU MEAN TO SAY YOU LOST THE BLOCKADE?" He bellowed, shaking the entire throne room. Vulpix seemed to shrink further into his uniform.

"Sir, the attack was underway long before we arrived. There was nothing we could have-"

"THEN WHO IS RESPONSIBLE?"

"Admiral Al-Jahan, sir." Shippo spoke up, his voice somewhat muffled by his armor.

Celtic beckoned for a frightened servant to come forward. He produced a quill, ink and a scrap of parchment from the cabinet next to his throne, and hastily wrote a short message on it. When finished, he handed it back to the page, who hurriedly exited the room.

"Al-Jahan will be executed for incompetence. You are lucky to be part of my Council, otherwise I would have you beaten and hung, or worse, leave you at the mercy of those three over there." He jabbed a finger at the somewhat uncomfortable trio waiting in the corner of the room, and they reflexively shrank back a little. Celtic gave them no heed.

"Be glad I do not have Jokey exact punishment on you. Speaking of…" He looked around.

"Where is he? Maker, go find Jokey. Vulpix, Inferno, Samurai, you're dismissed. Yukon, Greatness, a word. We must devise a new strategy against these infernal rebels." Maker departed, eager to leave Celtic's presence, while Greatness and Yukon gave a light bow and followed their liege to the council chamber.

Maker traversed the halls of the castle, trying to remember the path to Jokey's room. After some confusion, she finally found his door and knocked on it. When she heard no response, she pushed the door open.

Jokey was sitting in the corner of the room, staring intently at a single candle on his bedside table, the only source of light in the room. With it, she could see soft pink trails down his face; he had been crying.

When he saw her, he wiped his eyes and looked at her, unsuccessfully feigning calmness. He smiled halfheartedly.

"Maker. What brings you around?"

She sighed and sat down next to him on the bed. He avoided her gaze.

"You know, for all your gifts and talents, you are a horrible liar." He laughed a bit, and the gravelly sound of his voice echoing off the walls. His false smile faded, and he sighed.

"I was just thinking. About my mother and her last words to me." Maker said nothing, but he knew she wanted him to go on.

"She hated me. From the moment I was born, she hated me. She hated having to care for something that wasn't herself. Everything she did, she did for only her."

"But I still loved her, deep down. How could I not? She was my mother. But I killed her. I let her fall into that pit. I watched her burn and crackle sizzle and scream, and I liked it."

He turned to his friend, who looked at Jokey inquiringly.

"Is this all I can do? Is destruction all I'm capable of? I tortured animals as a child. I accidentally killed my father as a teenager. Now, as a grown man, all I do is bring death and suffering."

He sighed, choking back tears. Maker merely placed her hand on his back. He turned and stared mournfully into her eyes.

"Jokey, Celtic told me that when he met you, you were wandering about in the middle of the Renoran winter, nearly delirious and missing an arm. You shambled into your camp and collapsed. And so he took you in as a brother."

"You talked and you talked about all these different things, about ideas and thoughts and new philosophies. And then you started recovering. You built yourself a prosthetic with only one hand. You crafted your swords and your helmet with a bit of steel and the leather from a dead deer."

"I did." He scoffed. "Is there a point to this?"

"The point is, Jokey, you could have never done those things without that accident. Without the loss of your family and your home. You did great things, but first you had to be torn down. You had to be destroyed."

"You are much like this great Subreddit of ours. You have so much potential, but to access that, you have to be destroyed and worn down to the foundations. Then, and only then, can you be made anew."

"Which do you choose, Jokey von Zockey? Will you remake yourself, or will you continue with the error of your old ways?" He nodded along, letting her words sink in. After a bit, he smiled.

"You're right, Maker. Thank you." He sniffled. "You're a good friend. Now come on, we'd best report to Celtic."

They walked down the winding corridors of the deceptively large castle before arriving in the throne room, where a calmer Celtic was addressing the high priest and the mercenary. He noticed their entrance and walked over to them, leaving his advisors behind.

"Jokey, where were you? I haven't seen you for some time."

"Unimportant. I have had a revelation." He walked into the middle of the room and turned to face all present.

"You see, Maker has pointed out to me that for change to occur, we must first destroy the old way things were done. We derive our power from the leader, the king. They derive their power from the people."

Greatness and Yukon exchanged looks, not quite understanding where he was coming from, but liking where he was going.

"If this pathetic league of theirs doesn't have popular support, they will falter and crumble beneath their own weight. And the people won't join them if they see them as the enemy." He turned and pointed at Greatness.

"Your men have no qualms attacking civilian targets, yes?"

He shrugged. "It doesn't sit well with them, but they'll do it."

"Fantastic. Tell your men to disguise themselves as these insurgents, then raid some small settlements. Word will spread, and if they don't collapse inwards, then they will be weakened enough that a single blow will end this before it has a chance to progress."

Yukon laughed. "A clever plan. I like it."

Celtic clapped his hands together. "Then we are all in accord. Come, we'll recover from our losses yet!" He went into his personal cabinet and retrieved a bottle of wine.

The Council drank and prepared the downfall of their enemies.