"A Crown's Pardon?" One of the smuggler prisoners exclaimed, eyes widening in surprise. "You are not joking aren't you, captain?"

"No, I'm not joking. You heard it right." Captain Willem said, "Ethan, isn't it? You were a crown's enforcer before a smuggler, yes?"

"Aye, sir," Ethan replied, his face etched with a hint of wounded pride.

"You should know what a Crown's Pardon means." Captain Willem said in a rhetorical way.

"What is it, Ethan?" the teen prisoner with blonde hair asked, "what does it mean, Ethan?"

The young prisoner had never heard a crown's pardon before in his life. He was too young to be a prisoner but it seems like he was one of the smuggler prisoners group.

"It means this is a second chance for us, a clean slate to live in this empire," Ethan explained it to the young smuggler.

Ethan was a smuggler before a prisoner, who used to be an enforcer of the Crown, he further explained, "Crown's pardon is a clean slate pardon for any criminal despite whatever their crimes are. it was usually for political criminals or rebels or defeated kingdom or country enemies, but for common criminals like us, it's like a second chance.. a once in a lifetime chance. The Crown does not grant their pardon lightly for people like us."

"That's correct, and you guys will be compensated fairly." Captain Willem assured them, "This is the land of promise where all men get what they work for."

The prisoners glanced at each other skeptically, their disbelief clear on their faces. One of them, Marcus, the dark-skinned smuggler, spoke up. "How can we trust your words, captain? Promises are easily broken."

Captain Willem met his gaze, his tone resolute. "I understand your concerns, but I assure you, my word is my bond. The Regalyon Empire values honor and integrity, and we uphold our promises. I stake my reputation on this pledge. Your commitment and dedication will not go unnoticed or unrewarded."

A flicker of hope sparked within the prisoners, uncertainty slowly giving way to cautious optimism. Captain Willem then turned to Corporal Samuel Knightly, a seasoned knight known for his strategic thinking, and motioned for him to step forward.

"Corporal Knightly, please brief the group on the current harpy situation in the region," Captain Willem directed, entrusting the task to his second-in-charge comrade.

Corporal Knightly stood tall, his gaze commanding the attention of everyone present. "Thank you, Captain. The recent surge in the harpy population has brought chaos to this once-peaceful region. Normally, harpies migrate to the warmer part of this realm during this season, but a strange and prolonged storm has blocked their usual route. As a result, they have diverted to the mountain range where our village stands. The harpies, driven by their need for food and procreation, pose a grave threat to the safety of the villagers. They already attacked the village as we speak. The village officials have sent a request for the reinforcement, we are the first to respond until the main reinforcement comes."

Corporal took out a piece of a paper scroll from the messenger bag, all the prisoners and knights knew what it was, a forecast scroll from the "From the scholeres report we got. We will have a short winter this year, so don't hope too much of the snow will fall any sooner."

"How long until the winter would come?" asked a flamboyant prisoner. He seemed like one of the smugglers.

The dark-skinned knight shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flickering towards Captain Willem, silently seeking permission to respond. With a curt nod from his superior, he cleared his throat. "I cannot say with certainty. But I would urge you all to steel yourselves and expect the worst. One or two weeks, if the fates are merciful."

"Or the cruelest torture of all," the corporal added, his voice a gravelly rasp. "A winter without winter's blessed snows to blanket and renew the land."

"A winter without snow, can you imagine that?" a teen boy prisoner asked as he was looking at the flamboyant prisoner with a clean face expecting him to answer the boy's curiosity.

The flamboyant prisoner shrugged, "Never experience it, not even once."

"In this part of land? perhaps, but there always be plentiful winter snow build up to an adult's thigh in the northern part." Said Hjalmar, with a hint of missing home in his eyes. "Especially in Vjord, even the sea would freeze and make a bridge to the Wessen mainland."

"So if there is no snow in the winter, we will have to fight the harpies until the reinforcement comes?" Marcus asked again.

"Unfortunately, Yes." Corporal Knightly confirmed.

A murmur of concern rippled through the group, their eyes reflecting a mix of apprehension and determination.

Corporal Knightly continued speaking, his voice unwavering. "Our mission is threefold: to eliminate the harpy threat, safeguard the village, and wait for the arrival of the first snow. Harpies despise the winter and will seek refuge elsewhere when the snow touches the ground. We must hold the line until the reinforcement comes, protecting the people, and driving back the harpies with all our strength."

Captain Willem interjected, his voice steady and commanding. "We stand united in this mission, bound by our shared purpose. Together, we can make a difference. Let us embrace this opportunity to not only secure our freedom but also to restore peace and safety to these lands. The fate of the village and the lives of its inhabitants rest in our hands."

The group absorbed the weight of their mission, their resolve hardening as they understood the magnitude of the task before them. They were warriors with a chance at redemption, fighting for their own freedom while safeguarding the lives of others.

"Excuse me, Sir Wiremu," Maeda, one of the prisoners from the Far East with top knot hair, bowed to Captain Willem.

he said, "Some nature business, I need to take care of by the woods."

Captain Willem looked at Maeda gravely and nodded. "Yes," he said solemnly, "you may go."

Maeda spoke with a peculiar backward words-tongue, his native language of the Land of the Rising Sun flipped on its head. His words were slow and soft but unmistakable; they seemed to tumble out from behind him as he conversed, instead of exiting in front as one does when speaking in more conventional tongues.

The party watched as the samurai walked into the woods not far from where they had made camp. He was the second person to leave, everyone wondering if he would come back or follow in the footsteps of the burly prisoner and flee.

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