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On their down time, Baldr and Brianna continued their sparring practice. While Brianna is fast and agile and Baldr is large and slow, Brianna unintentionally would be annoyed by Baldr's resilience and durability. As much as she preferred to be far away from the enemy, after the West-lands, Baldr encouraged her to improve her close quarters combat.

"Remember, use your speed to keep me on my toes." Baldr advised.

"I fecking know, just hold still." Brianna blurted.

Baldr couldn't help but smile at his wife, "If I made it too easy, you won't learn a thing." he mocked.

Brianna knew he was taunting him to make a mistake, worse part, it worked.

Brianna attempted to strike directly only to shift her body at the last second to sucker punch Baldr. He saw it coming and blocked it, quickly throwing Brianna off balance and than quickly restraining her in place. And add to insult, Baldr kissed Biranna on her head.

"That was a cheap shot." Biranna said, but not as harsh as she wanted.

Baldr eventually let go, with Brianna feeling her arms again. "Good try there, but too obvious."

"If we were in bed, I would be on top." Brianna said. The words was enough to make Baldr's face turn red, allowing her to dash and knee him in the stomach. "Flawless victory!" Brianna mocked.

Baldr coughed for a while before he could stand straight. "alright alright, fair enough."

Brianna kissed Baldr on the lips, knowing it would be enough for him to forgive her. "this was fun, but I gotta go out." she said.

"Lieutenant sending you out again." Baldr stated.

"Yeah, but I promise i'll be back, no later than an hour tops." Brianna Promised.

Edward Jackowski, son of Nelek Jackowski, a man who lived in the shadow of his father until he earned his rank in the Rangers Union through effort, loss, and blood. He looked like a hardened warrior, with his brown ranger jacket standing out, as he also wore his ranger hat with the rank of general shining at the front. Standing across from him is whom he considered his rival, for the two have battled within these mountains many times before when the Bloodaxes and Rangers fought for the control of the Bloody Mountains.

 Jacob Oberon, Warchief of the Bloodaxe Confederacy, his legacy as great as Nelek, the uniter of a hundred tribes that all serve him and the Bloodaxe Tribe. He wore the cowl of the first chieftain he slain when he was a boy, a white and blue cowl made of feathers rested on his large and muscular shoulders. His body was half covered in padded leather that protected his chest, and a tunic that was wrapped around his waist that held small trinkets, obviously trophies from his victories from warriors he deemed as worthy fighters.

Edward knew all too well long ago in this exact field, Oberon made a pact, that he will defeat Edward by any means, and when he was brash and young, accepted this pact, foolishly believing he himself was invincible. Time, loss, and a few good whacks from his father made him realise his error. But even so, he was a man of his word and he would not refuse the duel that Jacob requested from him a week ago to meet here in this valley.

 Jacob thought back to his time when he thought in his prime he couldn’t be defeated, and yet the Rangers, and Edward showed him he is not the god the tribes of the Confederacy made him out to be. In his moments of honesty, Jacob loved it, he felt Edward is one of the few people on his terraformed moon that could truly understand him. He smiled at Edward, causing the old ranger to grimace at what the Warchief had planned.

 “Jacob, I don’t know how you did it, but here I am.” Edward said, trying to sound stoic.

 “And you made sure none of your kin are here.”  Jacob said.

 Edward nodded. “I’m sure you know me by now I would keep my promise.” Jacob smiled again. “Indeed I do. And I am glad after all this time, we can meet like this. Since you have kept your end, none of my people, not even my children are here. We are alone.”

 The air, once there was a steady and calm breeze, turned silent and still. Edward never believed in the story of Jacob Oberon being a god, but he can sense that the Warchief does have some kind of power. Fortunately, Edward had the same.

 Both men of warriors stared at one another, time itself stood silent in the valley of mountains, they remained staring until Jacob made the first move. He reached for a pouch attached to his kilt and took out a stone coin, he than slowly approached Edward.

 Edward tried to think what the Warchief was planning. Was he making a wager? Was the stone coin in his hand some kind of token, and omen? Edward did not know, but what Jacob said next almost caused Edward’s mind to crack.

 “This coin is our symbol of our greatest duel.” Jacob then placed the coin flatly in the centre of his hand. “Call it. Heads or tales.”

 Jacob, for the longest time, pondered what he could do to get the win he desired from Edward. He could challenge the Ranger to a fight, but he did not want to risk breaking relations with the Rangers Union. He certainly did not want to start a war with the Union, fearing they could likely destoruy his armies or worse, encourage rebellions from the Simonist lords that he annexed. No, he had to find one fight where no lives are risked, no one has advantage over the other, and above all be fair. It was watching his two children, Sanura and Otto, playing heads and tails with the same stone coin in his hand that inspired him the idea.

 Edward stood in silence. After everything the two experienced in their duels during the Bloody Mountains War, both of them enduring hardships and becoming better men, this was the pact duel the Warchief wanted?

 “Are you serious?” Edward was able to say. “This is how you want to settle it?”

 “Indeed it is. You’re right, this coin is just used for a fun little child’s game. And that’s the beauty of it, a pure innocent game, not on power, not on intelligence. Pure luck. This will settle the pact once and for all.” Jacob proclaimed.

 Edward tried to find a reason for rejecting this game, but then he realised the Warchief was far more cunning than he usually acted, that was something Edward saw long ago, and to his surprise, he was still the same young warrior back then. The two fighters certainly had their own unique skills, but in the end whoever would win will depend on outside forces, just like luck.

 Edward thought it over, then he nodded in accepting the choice of duel. “How should we do this, best two out of three?”

 “My thoughts exactly.” Jacob answered. He then showed the two symbols on the coin to Edward. One symbol shaped like an ‘O’, which Jacob called ‘heads’. He then showed the other symbol an ‘X’, telling his rival it is ‘tails’.

 “I will let you choose the side.” Jacob said.

 “Then I will choose. Tails.” Edward said.

 As Edward made his choice, Jacob placed the coin in the palm of his hand, then threw the coin up as high as he could. Both of the warriors kept their eyes on the stone coin from the sky and eventually its impact into the ground. Edward and Jacob kneel down to look at the symbol on the coin facing up. ‘O’.

 Jacob bellowed, “The mistress of luck favoured me for now.”

 Edward kept his face neutral, but inside, he was annoyed at losing the first round. “Alright, well. I guess it’s your turn to choose.”

“Well since you said tails before, perhaps I should take head. Although. If I know the Mistress of Luck, I will take tails then.” Jacob said. He then threw the coin in the air once again, though he threw it too far high this time, if it weren’t for the clear sunny sky above the two warriors, neither of them would have been able to notice the shiny surface of the stone coin. Eventually, the coin plummeted from the sky, and landed between the two men.

 ‘O’

 “Now we’re even.” Edward said, not hiding his smugness.

 Jacob wanted to frown for losing, he over guessed the coin flip. But, it was a fair defeat for this round. Now the final coin toss will decide the winner and complete the pact between the two old warriors for good.

 “I hope you will be prepared for the consequences of our pact.” Jacob reminded.

 “I am prepared Warchief, I hope you are as well .” Edward remarked. Edward waited for Jacob to pick up the coin and place it flat on his open hand once again. “This time, I will say tails.”

 “Seems we both want to get some tail, don’t we.” Jaccob said. He and Edward suddenly began to laugh at the joke, the tension and the pact duel being forgotten between the two men for a moment, sharing a dirty joke.

 Eventually, both of them calmed down and made sure they were both ready for the coin toss. Jacob threw the coin up once again, this time controlling his strength. The coin spun countless times in the air, while the two warriors kept their eyes locked on the stone coin until it hit the ground.

 Both of them nodded at one another and moved towards the coin, they both looked down at the same time to make sure neither of them mistaken the symbol. ‘X’

 Jacob sighed, he then laughed then gave a hard slap on the Ranger general’s old back. “Edward Jackowski, son of Nelek Jackowski. You are truly the greatest warrior I have ever fought, and with my final act of our pact, I will admit my defeat.” Jacob stood straight with a serious expression on his face, he then unsheathed a dagger that was resting in a scabbard on the front of his vest and with a quick thirst stabbed the knife through his right hand.

 Edward’s feeling of enjoyment went away quickly from seeing the act. He knew from long ago that the hand Jacob just stabbed was the hand of the warrior, for the bloodaxes, to wound your own warrior hand is to admit you have surrendered to your foe.

 “May you tell of your deeds to your people of your victory, as I have failed myself and my people.” Jacob said in a serious tone, the joyful old warrior was suddenly gone, much to the disappointment for both Jacob and Edward.

 Edward stood in silence, what he said next, he was truly shocked. “I cannot accept your surrender. For I have surrendered as well.” He said.

Jacob was confused by the Ranger’s words, but his confusion shifted to shock when he saw the ranger pull out a pistol from his belt then shot his left hand.

 “Kurwa, jebany skurwysyn!” Edward shouted as he clutched his wounded and bleeding left hand.

 After both of them calmed down from the shock of wounding themselves, they tended to their wounds, and wrapped their wounded hands.

 “I do appreciate the gesture, Edward. But you still won in the end. I have surrendered to you.”

 Edward smiled. “As far as you, I, and the mountains know. The true winner of our epic battle will never be own. Better this way, it will make our battle sound far more cooler.”

 Jacob chuckled at the idea, respecting the unorthodox but interesting outcome in the end. “I guess there is no shame to keep the secret of our fight from the world. It was an honour to be your rival and friend after all these years.”

 “Same to you, Jacob. Look after yourself and your people.”

 “Same to you.”

Left, right, left, right, the only two words bouncing in Harold’s mind. He tried to keep his mind focused as he felt the repetition was dulling his senses, something he knew could get him killed, even if this town is in the middle of the Rangers Union. Nonetheless, boredom was taking over as he constantly looked down at his watch. He saw he only had two hours left until school was over. Harold promised he would meet Kalvin. He felt guilty for being late a few times; it didn’t seem fair to the kid. The area that surrounds them is a vast valley of flatlands, a place so dull in excitement, Harold swears he knows what every strain of grass looks like from the repeating patrols around the village.

“How much longer, Sergeant?” said a voice behind Harold, less of a question, more an attempt to start a conversation.

“How about you look up, Jack,” Harold told the private.

Jack did as he was told and looked around the large ranger. He and the rest of the squad broke from their daydreaming and were relieved to see they were almost done with the patrol. Harold was thankful too; he swore that if they patrolled an hour longer in the dry heat, his grey-brown beard would catch fire. Fire, that word triggered an old memory in him, a town set ablaze, people screaming and dying in the dozens, murdered by the soldiers of the Simon Empire, and all he could have done was sit and watch. 

Sweat covered his face, not from the heat, and he felt himself breathing faster than he should, he knew his squad noticed, but they remained quiet until Jack spoke.

“Bad heat got ya, huh? Me too.” Jack said. 

He makes a light nod to Harold. Harold nods back, glad to see Jack saw and acted quickly to ensure the other inexperienced rangers, ‘greenshirts’ as they are called, wouldn’t assume their Sergeant had a minor panic attack.

The rangers entered the town and didn't pay much attention to their surroundings. To them the village entrance is the same, the front entrance protected by the same village guards, the space towards the ranger garrison with the farmers selling their products in every space between the entrance and the Ranger Garrison. 

Harold ignores the merchants trying to get his attention, mostly cause he doesn’t need more food, though his eye did look over when a merchant’s booth had a sign saying ‘Cold beer’.

Harold and his patrol finally backed at the garrison, a small but well fortified base guarded by rangers, who nod in noticing Harold's patrol return. As the Patrol enter through the gate, he ordered his patrol to rest. They quickly relaxed and went outside to sit under the shade and rest, while Harold had to write up his report for the garrison commander. He looked at his watch, determined to finish his report as soon as possible to avoid being late again. Harold wrote like a madman, his handwriting more scribble than sentence, but it didn’t matter. He knew the commander never read the details unless something happened, and that was usually when a patrol came back shouting about bandit attacks or gunfire, often both. 

Harold entered the commander’s office with his written report in hand. “Captain,” Harold said with a salute.

The captain remained seated at his desk as he saluted back. “At ease, Hess.”

Harold followed the order and presented his written report. As he suspected, the captain read the basics and ignored the rest. He opened a drawer, and from Harold’s perspective, the report was sucked into a black hole, never to be seen again.

Harold made his salute and prepared to leave until the captain spoke.

“I want to ask you something,” the captain said.

Harold sighed silently. No doubt the young captain had another tedious question for him. He turned around with a blank face. “Yes, sir?”

The captain leaned forward from his chair, resting his arms on the desk. “How are my rangers? Any issues that need my attention?”

Harold answered the only way he knew how. “No, sir. The rangers under your command have no complaints.”

That was an obvious lie. He couldn’t go half a day without half a dozen rangers complaining about their captain even more when the man was nearby. But Harold knew from long experience that anyone who voiced complaints to an officer would either be given a rubbish task or, worse, transferred. Harold didn’t want that. He knew he’d be the one to draw the short straw. Officers loved to shoot the messenger, and Harold had no interest in being shot, literally or metaphorically.

The captain leaned back, looking satisfied. “Very well. Dismissed, Sergeant,” he ordered.

Harold moved with haste out of the officers’ quarters and into the break room. He checked his watch again, glad the captain hadn’t eaten up too much time, but annoyed nonetheless. Harold grabbed a sandwich from the table and found a seat. Not long after, a corporal sat next to him, Blake, as Harold recalled his name. A young ranger from New Teno, inexperienced but with promise.

“Hey, Sarge, another eventful patrol?” Blake said jokingly.

“Oh yeah, we had to fight a Skyterror controlled by a horde of Bloodaxes,” Harold mocked.

“Geez, Sarge, that’s the fourth time you’ve said that,” Blake replied with a grin.

“Even my made-up stories have gone stale,” Harold muttered, taking another bite of his sandwich.

“Seriously, why are you here? This place makes the middle of nowhere look like a tourist spot. I mean, you were at Rat Mountain, you must have saw loads of action.”

Blake was right. Harold had seen action, he had seen death, horror, pain. His mind drifted back to that battle, the last day of the Simon Empire, when they’d thrown everything they had left at the rangers at Rat Mountain. Harold remembered the suicide charges, the flamethrowers, the bombardments. By the inferno, he swore he’d seen a Simonist soldier throw a sink at a ranger.

But those memories were like dozens of others, all except one, Ripin. Harold remembered, from the Rat Mountain trenches, watching the Simonists use that town as a hostage. His commanding officer refused to surrender, and the Simonists did what they did best — they burned the town down, killing everyone who tried to escape or beg for mercy. Harold hated how powerless he’d been to help.

He turned to look at the young corporal, his eyes nearly staring into Blake’s soul.

“I saw action, yes. I saw things that shouldn’t be seen again. Be lucky you’re still young. Enjoy your bliss,” Harold said, then returned to eating the last of his sandwich.

Blake felt a chill run through his body, but quickly shook it off.

“Well, I shouldn’t worry too much. No more Simon Empire, no more threats. Just ugly monsters and bandits to deal with,” he said, trying to sound confident.

Harold sighed, seeing his words had fallen flat. ‘The folly of youth,’ he thought. He looked at his watch again, only ten minutes left.

“I need to go. See you around, Corporal,” Harold said, finishing his sandwich.

He walked out of the garrison and saw his squad resting outside with their boots off, drinking cold cans of beer. He had no idea how or where in the inferno they kept them, but he wasn’t meant to know.

He passed by and said, “Enjoy your ginger beer.”

“We will, Sarge,” Jack said as the squad laughed and continued drinking their ‘root beers’.

Harold walked through the market. Almost every merchant tried to get his attention, but he politely dismissed them and kept moving.

“Ranger Hess!” a voice called out.

Harold looked around to see a short, round, middle-aged man waving him over. He stood at his booth surrounded by various second-hand wares.

Harold hoped this would be quick. “Everything alright, Rudy?”

Rudy smiled, seeing the large old ranger approach. “I’m alright. I’m happy to say I got what you wanted sooner than expected.”

Harold’s eyes lit up, surprised. “I thought you said it would be another week.” he said in amazement.

“I got lucky, I suppose,” Rudy said, reaching into his apron pocket and pulling out a small drive. “All the classics, as requested.”

Harold smiled, excited. “Rudy, you’re a blessing from Nelek.”

“Aw, shucks, Harold, you’ll make me blush.” Rudy said.

Harold pulled out a pouch of ranger nuggets and handed them to Rudy, pocketed the music drive, and thanked him before quickly walking away. Rudy knew why Harold was in such a rush, he just smiled after him.

Harold made it just in time to hear the school bell ringing. Children poured out from the entrance, their parents waiting to collect them. Harold exchanged light conversation with a few parents until he heard a high-pitched voice, and then something rammed into his leg like a Gorehorn kid.

“Dad!” the child cried, wrapping his arms around Harold’s leg.

Harold smiled and patted the boy’s thick black hair. “How was school today, Kalvin?”

Kalvin looked up, eyes sparkling with joy. “It was great! We learned about the First Rangers.”

“Really? Well, tell me all about them, kid,” Harold said.

He lifted Kalvin off his leg and offered his hand. Kalvin took it, and the two began walking back to the garrison, the boy excitedly sharing everything he’d learnt about the First Rangers.

As Kalvin spoke, Harold looked down at the smiling lad and his memory flashed back to Ripin. He saw himself and a squad of rangers entering the ruined town, searching every shattered building, killing every Simonist that lingered. He’d found only one survivor, a scared, injured boy hiding under rubble and burnt bodies that had shielded him from the Simonists. That same boy had stared at Harold, too frightened and exhausted to cry, too broken by what he’d seen.

His mind returned to the present, that same boy from Ripin, now his son, smiling and full of life as he talked about school. Harold smiled back, grateful to have saved someone from Ripin. Even if Kalvin wasn’t his son by blood, he was by soul.

“By the way, Kalvin, I got some new music. The classics.”

Kalvin’s eyes grew even wider. “Listen now!”