Paragon of Destruction

The familiar sights caused Arran some pause.

He’d known there was more to the Imperium than just a powerful army, but knowing it was different from seeing it with his own eyes.

Of course, even this was only barely a glimpse. Half a dozen villages and a small town represented an utterly insignificant part of the Imperium. But it was enough for Arran to understand that the Darian Imperium would resemble the Empire, where the vast majority of the population consisted of commoners.

Arran did not dwell on the comparison. In the end, what mattered was that he was an enemy of the Imperium. And that wouldn’t change — not with Arran being a mage.

And so, he focused his efforts on gathering what information he could.

This proved no easy task. Most of the soldiers refused to talk to any of the borderlanders, and those few who did said nothing of interest. Although none said so outright, it was clear that they had been ordered not to mix with the men and women they guarded.

Perhaps the captain would have been at liberty to say more, but Arran did not dare risk approaching the man. Too much curiosity would certainly be conspicuous, and he had already drawn more attention than he would have liked.

Yet three days into the journey, he was presented with an unexpected opportunity — one that came in the form of a wide-eyed young soldier.

As they were setting up camp for the night, the young man approached Arran hesitantly, and asked, "Did you really speak to the Archon?"

"I did," Arran replied. He noticed the reverence in the soldier’s eyes at the mention of the Archon, and with a thought, he added, "He gave me some valuable advice about my future in the Imperium."

At this, the young man’s eyes went wide with surprise — as well as a hint of awe. "What did he tell you?"

"He said he believed my future path might lie in the priesthood," Arran said. "After I earn my citizenship, of course."

The soldier gave him a joyous smile in response. "To receive such advice from an Archon is a great honor," he said. "In truth, I long hoped to become a priest myself. But my family..." He sighed. "They insisted I chose a different path."

Arran gave the young man an understanding look. "Our duties and desires are often at odds with each other," he said. "But there are many ways to serve the gods. Remember, the heavens smile on those who spurn the easy path."

He copied the Archon’s words as best he could, adding in some empty platitudes to feign profoundness. And to his relief, the attempt appeared to be successful, as the young soldier nodded eagerly.

"I see why the Archon thought you suited for the priesthood," the soldier said, his expression thoughtful as he pondered Arran’s words. "And you’re right — even as a soldier, I can still serve the gods. Thank you for reminding me of that."

"Of course," Arran replied. Then, in an intentionally hesitant voice, he continued, "But could I perhaps ask you a question? About what I must do to earn my citizenship?"

The young man gave him an uncomfortable look. "We’re not really supposed to talk about that," he said in an awkward voice.

"No need to worry," Arran said. "All I want to know is how best to prepare myself, so that I waste no time in following the Archon’s advice. I am not looking for an easy path — just an honorable one."

The soldier narrowed his eyes, then gave a small nod. "There isn’t much to tell," he began. "Outsiders have to earn their citizenship through labor. Some choose to work on the farms, some in the mines, and others as servants."

Arran suppressed a grimace. "That sounds like a fair system," he said, concealing his frustration. "How long does it usually take to fulfill one’s duties?"

"It depends," the young man replied. "But the easier the work is, the longer it takes. Servants often have to spend over a decade earning their place."

"The Archon told me that there is honor in toil and labor," Arran said. "What’s the most difficult path?"

"You want a difficult path?" The soldier looked at Arran in astonishment, but a moment later, his expression turned to one of respect. "Working in the mines is both difficult and dangerous. You can earn your citizenship in just a couple of years there, but many who go there never return. Even for Body Refiners, the mines are filled with peril."

Arran had no desire for either difficulty or danger. But he wanted as quick a path as he could find, and he had little doubt that he could handle whatever dangers awaited the miners.

"Thank you for your help," he said. "I will take the Archon’s advice to heart, and choose the difficult path."

The young soldier gave him a respectful nod, then lightly touched his hand to his forehead. "May your path be a blessed one."

Arran repeated the gesture. "The same to you."

As the young man made his way back to the other soldiers, Arran cast a troubled look at the empty road ahead. Much as he’d expected, infiltrating the Imperium would be a difficult matter.

Of course, the Knight’s ring offered him a different path — a way to skip the things that were required of other outsiders, and join the Darians’ ranks immediately.

Yet doing so would likely cost him the chance to freely explore the Imperium. And unless there was no other way, that wasn’t a price he was willing to pay.

Not yet, at least.

They resumed their journey the next morning, continuing onward through the hilly grasslands that filled the edge of the Imperium.

While Arran found the pace painfully slow, several of the children among the group still had trouble keeping up. Yet to Arran’s surprise, the otherwise gruff-faced captain did not scold them for it.

Instead, the captain gave only a brief frown, then allowed the children to ride on the carts that trailed the long column.

And that wasn’t the only thing to catch Arran’s attention. Because while the food the borderlanders were given was simple, the quality was good and the portions generous. And although most of the soldiers weren’t exactly friendly, they showed no sign of hostility either.

That the borderlanders were treated well came as a relief to Arran. He’d worried how he might react if they were mistreated or abused, but it appeared his concern had been unnecessary.

Still, as more days passed, the borderlanders grew restless, and some grumbles of discontent sounded among the group. Many of them had likely expected to have found a place to settle by now, but instead, they were traveling to some faraway destination.

After roughly a week, Arran was approached by the farmer whose son he had saved.

Ever since his talk with the Archon, the other members of the group had looked at Arran with wary eyes, still unsure of what his relationship with the Imperium was. The only exception to this was the farmer, and even he approached Arran uncertainly.

"I had a question for you, if you don’t mind," the man said, his tone cautious.

"What is it?" Arran asked.

The farmer looked at him uneasily. "The others and I, we’re wondering when we might reach our destination. Not that we’re complaining, mind you — it’s just that we’ve been on the road an awful long time already."

Arran shrugged. "I have no idea where we’re going," he said. "But there’s less than a week’s worth of supplies in the carts, so I figure that wherever we’re going, it’s bound to be close."

The farmer had more questions to ask, of course, but Arran had answers to none of those. What little he knew about their destination, he kept to himself.

Though the borderlanders would doubtless be unhappy when they learned they’d have to spend years earning their citizenship, that was something they’d discover soon enough.

They reached their destination barely half a week later, and when Arran saw it, he looked ahead in wonder. Because what lay before them was a vast tent camp, easily large enough to hold tens of thousands of people — like a city without a single building.

This was no camp like the ones he’d seen on the outskirts of Esran, however. There was none of the chaos and disorder he’d seen there. Instead, the people he saw in the distance looked clean and well-fed, and the tents seemed to be large and well-maintained.

Yet to Arran, the more interesting thing was the sheer number of people he knew the camp must house. Tens of thousands, all of them likely borderlanders who fled their homes.

Now that he knew they would all have to earn their citizenship, his thoughts returned to the war ahead. Contrary to what he had feared, the borderlands had not provided the Imperium with fresh soldiers.

Instead, they gave the Darians something just as important — the labor to supply an army.

As the column of soldiers and borderlanders approached, a group of several dozen soldiers emerged from the camp — or guards, rather, Arran saw when he got a closer look at them.

Unlike the soldiers, they were unarmored, instead wearing dark uniforms with a red symbol embroidered on the chest. At the head of the group was a tall woman whose uniform was similar to that of the other guards, except with a silver rather than a red symbol.

When she reached the soldiers, she spoke to the captain for some minutes, and Arran was unsurprised to see the man briefly point at him. Then, the woman stepped forward.

"Outsiders," she said in a loud but calm voice. "For the next few weeks, this camp will be your home. You will be escorted to your tents shortly, where you will be provided with food and clothes for those who need them."

She cast a look at the group, and when no questions came, she gave a satisfied nod. Then, she walked up to Arran.

She gave him an appraising look, then asked, "You’re a Body Refiner, correct?"

"I am," Arran replied.

"Then come with me."