Lord Prestonheim paced back and forth as he massaged the bridge of his nose, while Servus 305-M was itemizing the boons that Servus 132-X found on that hellish burrow. There were three head-size chunks of aetherium inside the torn and tattered sack that 132-X brought to the surface.

"Was this all he got?" The red-haired slave scratched his head. "Wasn't he able to grab some more? Honestly, this is underwhelming." He spat.

Lord Prestonheim glared at Servus 305-M who was mesmerized with the moving pale rippling glow of the precious stones. The Commander clenched his fist in anger for such a thoughtless remark. But he kept his temper in check.

"Aren't you finish checking on that yet?" He asked the red-haired slave who was still wide-eyed with the stones.

"Fascinating! Hahaha!" Servus 305-M clapped his hands in delight. "Imagine, there is still a big reservoir of these thing out—"

"You haven't answered the question." Lord Prestonheim interrupted him. "Are you done checking on it?" He asked again this time in a more sternly tone.

Servus 305-M glanced at the Commander only to be met with his stone-cold gaze. "I would just need you to put some exousia on this one—"

Lord Prestonheim struck the stones with a quick spell of a light bolt. The aetherium ores greedily absorbed his magic attack with ease. The magical ore's rippling patterns moved like water as the magic flowed through the stone.

"Are we done now?" Lord Prestonheim impatiently asked as he was about to exit the dimly lit tent.

The sun hid fast under the horizon and the moon began to show its lit half. The Commander was eager to go to the infirmary to check on the one whom he considered the bravest man he ever met, the unconscious and feverish Servus 132-X.

Lord Prestonheim and Servus 305-M had always butted heads with each other. Even before the latter became what he was now, the Commander couldn't always agree to the man's methods and way of thinking.

Fortunately for him, the Commander was not in the mood to indulge with him in conversation. Lord Prestonheim remained silent, refusing to answer him. He took a glance at the table and saw that there was nothing more to discuss about the aetherium ores.

They now have the ores. Lord Prestonheim wanted to halt any further expedition on the mines until they get an approval from his godson Prince Arterius. But it has been more than 2 weeks since Eferail's departure, and he was still yet to get any messages from him.

The Commander was worried about the fate of his reliable messenger. Everyday, he would let one of his men wait at the harbor to ask for any news from his messenger, but they always comeback empty-handed.

"August!" Servus 305-M tried to catch his attention, by clapping his hand and calling him by his nickname. "August, stop spacing out! It is fairly unusual and greatly disturbing of you to think about that … that slave!" He said while tapping his fingers on the table, waiting for the Commander to answer.

"305-M," he sighed as he finally answered the annoying redhead. "He is now a freeman. No. He and his comrades are now free, according to our deal."

"Oh! Then you should be happy!" Servus 305-M sarcastically answered. "You freed them now. Especially that other…guy…132-X, right?" He cracked a smile.

Lord Prestonheim's anger was palpable. He really hated the slave's insensitivity towards others but himself.

"I would rather suggest you keep quiet already, 305-M." He commanded. "The man has done a great service to the Principalia, one shouldn't mock that!" He chastised the redhead.

"Great service?!" The red-haired slave scoffed. "How about me? I've done a great service to the—"

"Your methods weren't worth any applause!" He interrupted Servus 305-M. "The Senate ought to ingrain that in you." He added.

Servus 305-M jaw dropped at the Commander's snarky reply. There was a moment of silence inside the tent, before the redhead burst into laughter.

"You can be a bastard sometimes!" Servus 305-M while trying to muffle his laughter. "But, in all seriousness, why would you even care about that slave? It's a miracle he survived this long! Even if he's a descendant of the Ardants, his body won't be able to survive after that much damage." He explained.

Lord Prestonheim gritted his teeth in both guilt and frustration. It's true, a part of him chose 132-X because of his ancestral heritage aside from his unusual wit and knowledge.

The Ardants are a nomadic tribe that mostly populate the Western Continent beyond the Endless Sea. It was believed that they crossed a massive land bridge four hundred years ago and had settled on the inhospitable Great Dunes.

This foreign race became sheep herders and merchants after their migration. They even founded a small city in the forgotten landscape of the Great Dunes. During the Grand Conquest of the Principalia, some 100 years ago, they were the only city that stood against the Principalia's might for more than 20 years before finally falling down at around the turn of the first Imperatur's reign, Justus.

The Ardants were known for a lot of things. Physically, they were lean and agile people. They had a distinct bronze skin with their eyes colored close to the shades of earthly brown to a majestic shining gold.

Aside from their physical attributes, they were also known for their magical prowess. Their runic seals and protection magic were the best of the known world has ever seen. They could use their sturdy bodies to seal vast amounts of aether or exousia and create pseudo-spirits for their bidding. They also have the uncanny ability of having bodies that could withstand magic and physical attacks more than what an average human can handle.

It was for that same reason that the slave collars were created. Because they can store too much copious amounts of energy inside of them, they were known to lash out when being imprisoned. Often times, this led to the deaths of the Principalia knights and allies guarding them. The collars were placed to halt their abilities from activating as they can gather energy quickly from their surroundings, and thus halt their other physical attributes in the process.

"August!" Servus 305-M snapped his fingers while whistling at the Commander. "You're spaced out again! Come on, August! You can do better than this!" The slave clicked his tongue.

Lord Prestonheim took another glance at the redhead slave who was jotting down his findings on a piece of parchment. He shook his head the moment his eyes met with 305-M. The slave picked up 132-X's sword that was laid on the table and wrote down notes about it as well.

Seeing how deeply irrelevant the entire thing was, unlike the aetherium ores. Lord Prestonheim finally decided to storm out of his tent and went into the infirmary. On the background he could hear Servus 305-M called him out, exaggerating something about 132-X's gladius, but he never paid attention to the redhead.

He walked out of his tent into the pale moonlight of the half-lit moon and into the infirmary where 132-X rested.

Along the way, the young knights greeted him with reverence. It was something he both loved and hated about the Principalia. On one hand, the reverence would give anyone leverage be it on giving orders and the loyalty they give, they give with their life. On the other hand, the same reverence had been abused by the Senate and other officials to stage coups and other horrendous acts of violence towards the citizens of the Principalia.

He couldn't help but laugh inside. He laughed at the irony, that despite his constant lukewarm opinion on this matter, he himself had been a subject to obeying the Imperatur and the Senate's decision. This was the irony he had to live with. He massaged the bridge of his nose as he stifled a laugh—a laughter ofhypocrisy on his part.

After reaching the infirmary, the first thing that caught his eyes were Servus 132-X comrades. Lord Prestonheim approached the unsuspecting slaves that were sitting at the far end of the infirmary. He noticed how the dwarf sat silently by the side of 132-X's bed. The dwarf stared blankly at his unconscious friend, flipping the wet towel placed on his forehead.

The elf was also there. She was taking care of the beastman's wounds. She as well was too focused to notice him as she slowly and meticulously wrapped the wounds that the poor beastman suffered earlier. Lord Prestonheim noticed how she skillfully worked her fingers by the collar to apply healing salve on the burned part of his neck.

As he walked closer towards them, the dwarf finally noticed his presence and stood up to meet him.

"A fair good Ifnen, M'Lord!" The dwarf bowed to greet him while the elf also made a subtly bow of her own.

Lord Prestonheim greeted back with a bow and a weak, tired smile.

"What led yah 'ere, M'Lord?" The dwarf asked and followed him as he continued to walk towards 132-X's bed.

"How's Servus 132-X?" He asked without any hesitation.

The dwarf looked at the Commander, then back to 132-X, "I hope, I could say the bettar." He sighed. "We could only but pray to the merciful Lady Oyue."

The dwarf approached 132-X. He took the towel from his forehead, dipped it in a bucket full of water and squeezed it before putting it back on his feverish friend.

Lord Prestonheim observed the slave's laborious breathing, as he struggled for his life. The Commander looked at all the brave slave's injuries, the scratches on his face, a small part of his right ear missing, the huge chunk of muscle missing from his arm, and the bandage wrapped all over his body indicating the extent of hell he went through for his goal of freedom.

The Commander, approached the dying slave and touched his wrist. His pulse was weak, and he was feverish. Lord Prestonheim knew what was about to come next. He knew that, at this time, 132-X's demise was inevitable whether they like it or not.

He gently placed his hand over 132-X's slave collar. This move surprised his comrades.

"W-what are ya doin', M'Lord?" The dwarf immediately grabbed the Commander's hand away from his friend's collar.

"I'm keeping my word," he answered. "If he can't live a free man, at the very least he dies a free one!"

Lord Prestonheim silently chanted while holding the collar by his thumb and forefinger. He let some of his exousia flow over the collar, rewriting the runic scripts embedded on it. When he was finally done, he snapped his fingers, and the collar came off.

He glanced at the dwarf who was amazed with a wide-open jaw. "I keep my promises, Servus 023-D. Now, come here and let me take that off." He pointed at the dwarf's collar.