With a worried look, Corco spied out of the window, down onto the streets in front of the Fastgrade Merchant Company. Across from his position, the prince found the small crowd which had been standing there for days on end, right on the corner of the street, as they observed anyone who entered or left the place. At this point they didn't even try to hide anymore. While Corco was focused on them, another man walked past as he ate an apple. Just as he crossed the entrance of the Fastgrade merchants, he threw the half-eaten fruit over his shoulder, into the front yard. At least he had the decency to not aim for one of the windows. A good man.

“So this is supposed to replace our old contract?”

With a sigh, the crown prince turned around to the source of the voice, only to find Dedrick sitting in front of the desk in Corco's study, leaned over a piece of writing.

“That's right,” the prince answered casually.

“We're not servants to anyone. We won't become your own private army, so you best forget about this new deal of yours.”

Upon Dedrick's rejection, Corco frowned, before he left the window and walked over to take a seat in his chair opposite the mercenary. It seemed like persuasion might take a while.

“You won't be my private army. It says so right in the contract. Once I am ready to leave for the Medala Empire in two years, you and your men will accompany me. You will stay under my command for five years, help me stabilize my rule and train up my own private troops. After that, you get to go back home with riches and honors. It's the same agreement we had before, except it's more long-term. Where's the problem?”

“If we're just hired for a while, then why does it say here that we're supposed to be your 'warriors'?” Dedrick pointed at one of the items on the agreement, crumpling the paper in the process. Annoyed, Corco snatched the contract from under Dedrick's finger and tried to smooth out the fresh wrinkles.

“No other way around it. Within the Medala Empire, the other nobles would never allow the existence of an independent mercenary army, especially not one filled with foreigners. If you want to fight for me, I will have to elevate you and your people into the warrior class, at least for the duration of your stay.”

"Wait,” the mercenary raised his hand, wide-eyed at the revelation. “Are you saying there are no mercenaries over there? No militia? No conscripts? None?"

Although Dedrick wasn't strictly speaking correct, there was no reason to bother with too many details for now.

"Not every place is Arcavia, you know? Our customs are our own."

"Yeah, sure, but you're saying that in your country, I'd need a special status first to die for you. How does that make any sense?"

Corco put away the contract to launch into a proper explanation. He had really hoped to save this explanation for later, but the prince hadn't expected Dedrick to actually give the contract a proper reading.

"The warriors do more than simply 'die'. In Medala, there is a much stricter class system than here. Technically, you would become part of the walla. They're warriors; or at least they should be. That gives them great authority, since war itself is revered in my home country. Every warrior is directly subordinate to one of the noble families, so they take on their names. Which gives you, my uncouth friend, the great name of Dedrick di Pluritac. Congratulations."

Corco looked up at the rough mercenary with a faked smile. In reply, Dedrick pretended to spit on the expensive carpet. For a few seconds, the men stared at each other, before the prince said "anyways," and continued as if nothing had happened.

"Unlike the commoner castes, a warrior is allowed to enter the inner parts of Medalan towns and cities. He can also bear arms openly, which might be important if you want to do the protective work I spend all that money on."

Corco couldn't hold back his little jab. Dedrick's men were expensive after all, and with this new contract, their price would only increase further.

"Warriors might also receive training in cultivation techniques, though most families are tight with their secrets. The one I've been teaching your men is a simple technique for soldiers, straight from the imperial family. You can consider it a down payment on the contract,” Corco continued.

“Technically, warriors are one of the two noble castes of Medala, which means you get to cut down peasants or anyone else below you with little justification. If it's a merchant or a craftsman you don't need to justify anything, actually."

"Sounds like my kind of deal," Dedrick grinned.

"...Forget about the last part. Seriously. And keep your men in check as well. We're civilized after all, whatever that means. I won't have my reputation smeared because one of your men lost a dice roll. Oh, and just so you know, there's... a few downsides to being a warrior too," Corco said as his smile transformed into a grin.

"Like what?" Dedrick sat back in his chair, vigilant towards the prince's next words.

"Well, you're already cared for by the grace of your master, so why would you need property? Walla can own no land and run no business, which might limit your options a bit. You also get to fight and die in all those glorious Medalan wars, while your master, that's me, stays out of the slaughter to engage in more elegant and refined duels.”

Corco spat out the last few words as his smile ran away from his face. He wasn't a big fan of some of his home's practices, now less than ever. "Oh, and while they are technically warriors, and though it might sound impolite, a lot of lords will just call their warriors 'servants'. Because that's what they are, really. Since no one else is allowed into the inner cities or the lords' mansions, warriors have to take over every job the lords won't do themselves. Guards, shop keepers, manservants, musicians, courtesans. From the lowest water carrier to the lord's personal advisor, they get to do almost everything. Aren't you glad?"

"What, you want my guys to clean your palace? Best be careful or you'll wake up with an empty treasury and an army on the run,” Dedrick barked.

"No need to worry, I won't have you do actual work. I doubt you or your men are capable of anything beyond wanton slaughter."

Although any other man would have objected to Corco's dismissive words, the mercenary seemed almost proud and didn't challenge the matter further.

“Okay boss, but if they're nobles, can you just make us warriors like that? No need to check with anyone?”

At last, Corco's smile returned once again, pride in his voice.

“I am the crown prince of Medala after all. I can name as many warriors as I please, so long as I can pay their salaries... which is exactly the point of our little agreement here.”

With a wave of the paper in his hand, Corco turned the conversation back to their contract. However, Dedrick's frown wouldn't leave his face, despite the prince's confident announcement.

“That's all well and good, but in the end this all sounds like castles in the sky. If we follow you to that country of yours, there's no proof we'll get any kind of reward for our work. I mean, no offense, but you...” Although the mercenary stopped short in his words, Corco knew what he wanted to imply.

“I was exiled,” the exile completed the sentence. Years ago, his status had weighed him down like an anchor, but now, he didn't mind his former shame any more. Soon enough, he would leave this godless continent behind and return home to claim his place, to show everyone who had looked down on him just how wrong they had been to underestimate the emperor's true heir. “While I may be an exile, I'm still the nominal crown prince. Medala isn't like Arcavia, where we split our countries into a million tiny pieces every time someone dies. Over in Medala, the eldest son almost always inherits the entirety of his father's estate. That goes doubly for the imperial family. Not once in the almost three centuries of the Pluritac dynasty was the throne not inherited by the eldest son of the house.

“Once the crown prince turns thirty at the latest, it is customary for him to be involved in the day to day politics of the palace, to prepare him for his future role as ruler. In two years, once our new agreement comes into effect, I will be twenty-nine, ready to go home and demand my birth right. With enough force to be heard, no one will deny me. Plus, while the northerners might not like me, I will have plenty of support from the southern lords. Even if I came back a pauper, I would still have a fighting chance, so long as my father supports me. However, if you increase your troops to five thousand like our new contract states, and I keep amassing wealth and ships over the next two years, there will be nothing my enemies can do once I return home.”

Self-satisfied, Corco leaned back in his chair. Since he had received his miraculous memories, he had set his goals and spent five years working towards them without rest. Rather than rush things and fail at the final hurdle, he didn't mind waiting another two years until he was ready. Within that time, the prince could finish writing the last of his books, collect all the best artisans of the continent and stockpile key resources. Once he had taken power, Corco would use them to kick-start the greatest revolution in human history. However, even with all of his employer's explanations, Dedrick still didn't seem convinced.

“What?” the prince asked the still-frowning mercenary. “Don't worry, you're not gonna get short-changed even after I succeed. It's called the Silver Throne for a reason. Once I'm emperor, the amount of money specified in the contract will be chump change to me. On the other hand, I'll have to consider my reputation once I'm back home, so short-changing you and your guys would be the last thing on my mind. On top of that, even if we were to fail, you've seen how well my company operates. Even if, against all odds, we fail to win the crown and have to sail back to Arcavia, I already have more than enough money to fulfill my part of the bargain. You'll just have to live without the prestige of being a Medalan warrior then.”

Dedrick thought for a while, before he finally asked the question which had weighed on his mind ever since he had received Corco's, no, Prince Corcopaca's offer.

“That's all well and good, but are you sure this needs to be done? I mean, you could just stay here. You've already carved out a pretty good life for yourself. You've dealt with the Duke too. Since we kicked his ass last year, he hasn't made a single peep. Why risk everything on an uncertain throne when things are going so well over here?”

At last Corco understood why Dedrick had hesitated to bring up his concern. He must have expected his employer to be angry at the unsolicited advice. However, the prince had no reason to be annoyed. In the future, he would have to learn to live with some opposition from his subordinates anyways. Thus, Corco took his time to make Dedrick understand why he was wrong.

“'Going well'? Have you looked outside recently?” the prince raised an eyebrow. “You've seen as well as me that the city has turned against us. I mean for fuck's sake, we've had to board up the windows on the lower floors because people kept throwing them in.”

“Didn't they say you saved the city though? What happened?” the mercenary asked. The reaction of the townsfolk must have been a mystery to Dedrick. It wasn't to Corco.

“People have short memories, even more so if they owe you. In time, they've forgotten just how they survived the Bornish attack three years ago. Instead, they only see our wealth, and how we buy up more and more of the city. To them, we are the foreign invaders now, no better than Borna. Not to mention those creepy Joanite Reverers who've been coming over from the east. 'Wealth is the sign of a good person,' they say.” Corco scoffed. “Doesn't that give everyone an excuse to leave morality behind for their own benefits? It's crazy. No wonder public security keeps going down.”

“Still shouldn't have attacked them in the town square like that.” Dedrick interjected. In return, Corco rose from his seat and raised his voice to match.

“I stood up for my beliefs, and I'll continue to do so in the future. I don't care if some people dislike the truth. The people of Etra need a good dose of reality damn it!”

“And now they hate you,” the mercenary concluded with his usual dry voice.

At last, the prince calmed down again. After a second of introspection, he continued in a somber tone.

“Yes, now they hate me. And it won't get any better at this point. I mean, let's face it: I'm not an Arcavist anyways, which is already close to a death sentence in this time of religious conflict. Both sides assume that I belong to the others, and both sides have a problem with me.”

A knock on the door interrupted Corco's explanation. Soon after, Brym entered the study. From a precocious brat, his ward had grown into a proper young man over the past few years, although he had retained his chubby physique somehow.

Too much sugar, the prince thought. Best leave that stuff in Arcavia.

“Big Bro,” the stocky merchant said. “It's a letter addressed to you. The seal on front looks kinda like your necklace, so I thought it was important.”

Without a word, Corco took the letter and looked at the front, at the symbol of the Triquetra, the official sign of his family. With a swift motion from a dagger on his desk, he opened the seal. The letter unfurled, the prince began to read while he finished up his previous conversation with Dedrick.

“As for Herak, I don't believe for a second that the guy will stay still. Yes, he may have lost the support of the other Bornish nobles and has taken a heavy hit to his reputation, but he's still one of the richest men in the south. That guy won't give up so fast. Expect a reaction sooner rather than later. No, I won't be any safer here if I stay around. It's best to take whatever I can and... prepare...”

When Corco first began to read the letter written in the language of his home country, he was still focused on finishing his thoughts. However, as he droned on, he began to identify the now unfamiliar script of his former home. Soon after, he also decoded the outrageous contents on the paper in his hands. Confused, the prince's words trailed off, fully focused on the writing. Dedrick, Brym, Arcavia, the prince forgot everything around him as he stared at the letter in his hands.

At last, after he had read the words three times, enough to erase any misunderstandings, he looked back up, into the worried eyes of his companions. With shaking hands, he tilted the dagger, to see his own ashen complexion within the reflection. After the blade had fallen back down with a clang, the crown prince of Medala explained himself to the men before him. His voice was dull, sapped of all emotions.

“My father is dead. I need to go home.”