Quixotic spent the next few weeks mulling over his moral dilemma, night after night. Through the day, he would put on a mask of false calmness and retain his wit, spewing jokes and one-liners in equal measure to suppress the ever-present sense of guilt residing deep in his gut.

At night, he would surrender the façade and lay down, blankly looking at the wall and failing to sleep. He would stare into the blackness, perhaps close his eyes, and rehearse the argument he would have with himself every night before drifting into a deep slumber.

Jaeger was guilty. He was plotting against us. That's why the attack went so badly.

If he was guilty, then why do you feel guilty? After all, Nachbar told you to trust your instincts.

Nachbar isn't always right. I have to trust myself before anyone else.

But what if Nachbar was deceiving you?

Quixotic's eyes shot open, and he breathed heavily. His imaginary debate had never taken a turn that drastic before. He had never questioned Nachbar before, he wasn't expected to or supposed to. He sat up dreamily, trying to process this new, perhaps obvious in retrospect, stream of thought.

But why would he do that? Why would he join Celtic? There's nothing for him to gain there.

How do you know that? How do you know Nachbar's motivations? Have you ever?

He ran an underground smuggling ring. Why would he sign on with a staunchly legalist king?

Quixotic's mind was abuzz with multiple explanations, each one more comforting and yet, less assuring than the last. He stood up, shambled over to the entrance of the tent and fumbled through. Behind him, he heard Gwydion stir; he had always been a light sleeper.

He gave him no heed, and leaned against a tree, hoping the crisp night air would provide a solution to his quandary. He sat on a nearby stump and let his thoughts run free.

Perhaps Celtic would turn a blind eye. Or perhaps he serves a grander purpose.

A smuggler? Grander purpose? Now you're stretching it.

Think about it. Why would Nachbar suddenly involve himself in Subreddit politics?

Quixotic pondered these thoughts for a short while, before he had an unexpectedly vivid flashback to the night the capital was attacked.

I gave him the map of Bumblebee defenses.

Yes, that's right! Why would he have needed that?

The spy desperately searched his mind for an explanation.

He runs a smuggling ring. He needed a map of defenses to know where to get the goods into the city.

No, no! He needed them so Celtic would know where to attack!

Why would Celtic, who is armed with cannons and siege weapons, need a map of the defenses?

His doubt suddenly diminished, and the voice of his conscience suddenly sputtered and became markedly softer.

So he would know which area was weakest!

His conscience fought back, but vainly. It knew the battle was lost.

No. Nachbar was performing his regular operations. Celtic attacked, not at the weakest area, but at the most heavily defended. It makes no sense.

Then why is Nachbar suddenly involving himself in these matters?

Celtic would not tolerate his smuggling ring. He uses his scouts to undermine Celtic so his business will be safe.

The voice dimmed and fell silent. Quixotic breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that his self-imposed guilt would be somewhat, albeit not totally, diminished. He laughed quietly, victoriously, and made his way back to the tent. A rustling inside alerted him; Gwydion poked his head out and stared quizzically at the agent.

"What the hell are you doing up at this hour?"

Quixotic shrugged. "I was getting a bit of fresh air." Gwydion looked at him strangely again.

"Couldn't sleep."

Gwydion nodded tiredly and returned to the tent, beckoning for Quixotic to follow. He did so gladly, laying down, sandwiched between the two blankets he called a bed, and fell asleep.

The cold winter winds of Schneekos whipped soft bits of frost and slush, fallen the night before, against Nitesco's unprotected cheeks. He pulled out a skillfully knitted scarf, made out of the fabric of a tent which had been rendered unusable by a heavy tree branch, and wrapped it around his jaw. Behind him, his mentor and co-commander Austin followed, hands folded behind his back in a sophisticated way that belied his discomfort in the brisk weather and his jealousy of Nitesco's well-crafted scarf.

Nitesco pushed the flap of his partner's tent open, expecting Quixotic and Gwydion to still be in the grips of sleep. Instead, Gwydion was kneeling over a strange mechanism, and Quixotic was reclining on his side, watching as Gwydion's hands artfully tapped and clicked, pushed and prodded, performing a strange dance of ingenuity and innovation. At last, he raised the curious-looking creation in the air with the love and adoration that a parent might have holding his child.

"Success!" Gwydion shouted. His voice carried a mix of the pride a scientist feels after completing a research project years in the making, and the excitement of a child who received exactly what they wanted for Yurimas.

Austin cocked his head, confused, while Nitesco, startled by Gwydion's sudden shouting, jumped up in surprise before catching his breath.

"What's going on?" asked the young man, deeply intrigued.

Gwydion grinned like a maniac. "I've created a weapon fitting of the prestige of our nation. This is a device that will strike fear into the hearts of our enemies. Behold!" With both hands, he held his creation in front of him. While it was an unfamiliar sight at the time, future generations would easily be able to recognize the device.

"Is that what I think it is?" asked Austin.

Gwydion nodded with an unhealthy amount of excitement.

"But I thought the funding for that project was cut years ago!"

"Well, that's probably why it took me so long to finish," said Gwydion. "But at long last, it's done. My friends, I've finally created…" he paused for dramatic effect.

"…a hand cannon."

Nitesco gasped. Austin got a wide grin of his own. Quixotic looked at the others with confusion. He asked the obvious question.

"What's a hand cannon?"

Nitesco answered, still staring at the device. "It's an idea researchers and inventors in Guns and Roses began throwing around a decade ago. A gunpowder-based weapon that could be carried around by one person and that could fire small lethal projectiles. Cannons can destroy walls. A hand cannon could destroy a person. But I had no idea that a hand cannon project had received funding from the government."

"It did for a time," said Austin. "But the higher-ups quickly lost patience and decided to invest the state's money elsewhere when those working on the research failed to produce results. For the record, Gwydion," he added, "I was in favor of continuing support for the project."

"Wait," Nitesco interjected, cutting off the positively giddy blacksmith. "You were part of the Guns N' Roses government?"

Austin waved him off gently. "A story for another time. I'm curious as to how Gwydion acquired the schematics for it."

"After Jaeger died, I went through his belongings." Nitesco gave Gwydion a disgusted look before he raised a hand to explain himself.

"I wanted to see if he had anything that could help us plan our battles. What I found was even better: the original schematics for the hand cannon! I was so excited!" He paused for a second.

"I never really questioned how they got there, though." Gwydion furrowed his brow contemplatively as Austin stifled a cough and looked around the room innocently.

"It was slow going, but now, at long last, it's done. It's done!" Gwydion was struggling to hold back tears.

"So how powerful is it?" asked Quixotic. He licked his lips, looking at the gun now with a sort of hunger—what might be described as an appetite for power.

Gwydion could hardly prevent pride from entering his voice. "By my estimates, this baby should take anywhere between ten to twenty seconds to load, and should be lethal at a range of thirty meters. Ten, through thicker armor. Therefore, it's an excellent weapon for taking down a single opponent at a safe distance. There are downsides, though. The hand cannon requires specially crafted ammunition and is made of some rare materials, both of which take significant time and skill to forge."

"So," said Austin, "We can't mass produce these for all of the soldiers in our army."

"In fact," said Gwydion, "This is the only one I'll be able to make for the foreseeable future, given our various shortages in supply. For now, this achievement won't have a very large impact."

Quixotic put on a facial expression which he'd found through experience was very effective for begging. "Gwydion, I understand this weapon is a brilliant achievement. I would be honored if you would allow me to be the first to fire—"

"NO, SHE'S MINE!" Gwydion exclaimed, shocking the rest of the group. "I mean," he cleared his throat. "It's mine. I crafted it, I will be the first to use it. Besides, its durability is limited; I may only be able to fire it a few times before it breaks. But don't worry, I'll be sure to put it to good use while it still works." Gwydion looked at the hand cannon wistfully, as though he was saddened by the weapon's fate to ultimately be broken.

"Well, I'm happy for you," said Nitesco. "I think you've just done something amazing. You should be proud!"

"Just be careful with that thing," Austin warned. "I don't want the hand cannon's first kill to be friendly fire."

Gwydion nodded. "Don't worry. I'm always careful. Anyway, that's all I have to show you. You all can go back about your business now."

Taking the hint, the group left one by one. Quixotic was the last to exit. He didn't turn all the way to look, but as left he was sure he saw out of the corner of his eye Gwydion giving the hand cannon a passionate kiss.

Ignoring the questionable display, Quixotic followed the other two to a small ledge overseeing the camp, which was currently alive with (sluggish) activity as the soldiers drearily went about their morning routines.

"Can I have your attention?" Nitesco raised his voice, loud enough for everybody to hear over the ever-fiercening winds blistering their exposed skin.

"The other officers and I have been having discussions about where we should go from here. Admittedly, the situation looks dire."

"You think?" A dry voice cried out from the back, prompting a few weary chuckles before they faded back into the wind. Nitesco sighed and continued with his speech as if nothing had happened.

"Right now, we are on the border of Greek Fire and Pyrruby. These nations, along with some others in the Juniperan Quarter of the Subreddit, are actively resisting Celtic's regime. These men are brave and valiant, and they are not alone. Rubians, Heroans, Villainians, all are resisting this vile insurrection. But they are isolated pockets of resistance, discouraged by Celtic's string of victories, and without us, will inevitably surrender or be violently crushed."

Austin noticed a movement on a small, rocky hill overlooking the encampment. He turned his attention towards it; upon closer inspection, it proved to be the silhouette of a man. The veteran watched as it carefully moved from out behind a rock to a small patch of shrubs, trying to gain a better vantage point. He walked away from the other two, who seemed not to notice.

"We cannot allow these brave crusaders to die fruitlessly. We must take the fight to Celtic, put him on the defensive, and unite these shattered states into a single body of resistance. But there is one obstacle that stands in our way: the blockade."

Austin stalked around the tents, making his way out of the camp and slowly creeping up the hill. The man became clearer now, his silhouette became clearly defined. He wore the colors of Arkos and seemed to be enthralled by Nitesco's speech. A bit too enthralled, as he failed to notice that he too, was being watched.

"All four of the major waterways are routinely patrolled by Arkosian ships: The Confirmed River to the north, the Sunken to the east, the Crack to the south, and the Heretical Inlet to the west. Celtic's navy is preventing us from sending each other aid, but there is a solution."

"They converge at the Spreadsheet Confluence, which just so happens to be right by the largest Arkos military camp in their nation. If we attack there, we can cripple their operations, break the blockade, and galvanize the rest of the Subreddit."

Austin slithered through the slush-topped trees and the brown, barren bushes, making his way towards the watcher. As he got closer, he scrutinized the man. He was more of a boy, actually, couldn't be more than seventeen or eighteen years. His hair was a dirty blond, mangled mop, tendrils freely stretching out from his head like the roots of a tree. He had a few scars on his cheek; he had already seen action. Down below, Nitesco's voice rose almost to a scream, loud enough Austin could hear as if he were right next to him.

"I need a few of you for messengers. You will travel to the surrounding nations, spread the message, enlist their help. When our league is strong enough, we will strike at Celtic, and unite against him! We will defeat him, and his vile insurrection, I know we will! Who's with me?"

The men raised their fists enthusiastically, cheering loudly, as if they had already won the battle. The boy, content with what he had heard, turned around to flee the scene. Unfortunately for him, Austin had crept up behind him. They locked eyes.

"Hey there, kid. How's it going?" The veteran gave a wry smirk.

The boy's hand flew to his sword. Too late.

The last thing he saw was an old man's fist.

Quixotic was stretched out on a straw mat in the commander's tent, watching Nitesco as he wrote the letters that were to be sent out, and Gwydion as he continued to tirelessly tinker with his hand cannon. He cracked his neck and stood up.

Austin, the old codger, pulled a tent flap open and poked his head through, grinning so fiercely Quixotic wondered if his mind had finally succumbed to dementia.

"I have a surprise for you…" He said, in a strangely singsong fashion.

"What now?" Nitesco, slightly annoyed, looked up from his portable desk, more of a bench, really, and glared at his mentor. The old man frowned and shoved the Arkosian agent into the tent, stifling a snicker as he landed painfully on the floor.

"I found him spying on your speech, up on the hill over there. He was listening to your plans. He's only a child, I doubt he's got any real information on him. What do we do with him?"

Gwydion set his masterpiece down and inspected the soldier further. Fear was written all across the boy's countenance, and he was holding back tears, but just barely. He shifted into a kneeling position and spoke.

"My name's Luke, and I work for Celtic. That's all you'll get out of me." He tried to sound defiant, but instead came off as a timid tiger. Quixotic groaned and sat up.

"Fantastic. Now we know his name." He cleared his throat, looking the child up and down, watching him vainly try to squirm out of the inescapable knots Austin had crafted for him.

Suddenly, he lunged for Jaeger's sword, which was sitting on the ground next to Nitesco's intricately made scarf, and brought it up to the boy's neck, making him shriek in terror.

"TELL US ALL YOU KNOW OR I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD, I WILL GUT YOU!" Quixotic howled at the boy, who suddenly shrank significantly. Gwydion stood up, hands outstretched, in an effort to calm his comrade down.

"Quixotic, my God! Calm down!" He made a move to push him back, but Austin blocked him.

"Hold on. He might have the right idea." Gwydion looked at him with disgust, while Luke began weeping.

"Please, please, don't kill me! I know nothing!"

"BULLSHIT!" The agent dug the sword into the underside of the frightened recruit's chin, drawing blood. Luke screamed, and Nitesco stood up.

"Quixotic! That's enough!" They both stayed motionless before Quixotic backed away reluctantly.

"You might want to speak quickly, son," Austin said, "before my compatriot starts removing your digits." Quixotic brandished the blade threateningly, and Austin laid a hand on Luke's shoulder.

"Austin, what the hell? We're not torturers!" The veteran turned and glowered at him.

"That's what you think."

The scout straightened his posture, ready to talk.

"I'll talk! I'll talk!" He took a few deep breaths. "Please don't hurt me."

Nitesco kneeled in front of the boy, placing a hand on his shoulder. "How does Celtic know where we are?" He spoke softly, yet sternly.

The scout sniffled. "He doesn't. I was bringing a message from a small encampment nearby to Jaunrrha Citadel when I saw your camp. I decided to take a closer look, when the old man rendered me unconscious."

"What was the message?"

"I don't know. The envelope was sealed, I was told not to open it." Nitesco sighed. "Is that all you know?" Luke nodded emphatically. The leader beckoned for his friends to come closer to him, huddling together.

"What do we do with him?"

Quixotic shrugged. "Kill him." He said it loud enough that Luke turned his head to look at him.

Gwydion spoke up. "No. My father told me not to kill anybody that didn't need to die. He's just a child!"

"Well we can't let him go, can we?"

"We could bring him along. As a prisoner, I mean."

Austin interjected. "I have a better idea."

Suddenly and without warning, he leaned over, grabbed Jaeger's sword, and stabbed Luke in the shin, provoking a scream.

"There we go, problem solved."

"Austin!" Gwydion cried. "What the fuck?!"

The grizzled old man shrugged. "Well, he can't run to his superiors, but he isn't dead either." He set the sword down. "Isn't compromise grand?"

Nitesco grabbed a spare piece of gauze sitting on his chair and made a hasty tourniquet, before turning and glaring at his mentor.

"I suppose I'll tell the men to take down camp." He grabbed the letters off his desk before leaving the tent, leaving the four in an awkward silence.

"What should I do with him?" Quixotic asked.

"Tie him to the big oak next to your tent, and take his knapsack too. If he's got the skills to survive, he'll get the knots undone before the cold gets to him." He laughed darkly. "Or the wolves."

Quixotic dragged a now unconscious Luke outside, grabbing a fistful of rope as he did so. When the brawler was gone, the blacksmith gave the old man a hard shove.

"What the fuck? His odds of survival weren't great to begin with! That wasn't necessary."

Austin gritted his teeth. "He's our enemy, Gwydion. This is war. But since you're such a good Samaritan, why don't you go and tell Quixotic to let him go? I won't stop you."

He hesitated, drawing another dark chuckle from the veteran. "That's what I thought."

Austin quit the tent, leaving Gwydion alone. Silently, he mulled over the events that had just occurred before picking up his masterpiece, clipping it to his belt, and following Austin out into the snow.

That afternoon, the Rowj League dispatched their messengers and marched for their first, and final battle.