"It's too early for this shit."

Reed wearily dropped down the uneven step into the tense atmosphere of an impending brawl. It was six in the morning, and he hadn’t gotten breakfast yet. However, three Eastern Barracks knights stood in his training yard, interrupting morning practice.

Normally, three against fifteen would have been an easy win, but politics in Mythiric meant that Reed’s men weren’t allowed to defend themselves from the three they faced.

He had been Barracks Captain for three years, and things like this happened occasionally, but usually not so early in the morning. Sirs Hershel and Cross were the usual culprits, but Sir Esther Blanch was a new addition to the bullying.

"Running in circles was all I saw you doing," Hershel retorted to Vice-Captain Patrick Davis, jabbing a finger up at the taller man's face. The short, chubby ringleader of harassment was the third son of a marquess and had the definition of a Napoleon Complex. Mythiric didn't have chihuahuas, but Hershel had the personality of one, coming after anyone bigger with incessant yapping like he could do anything other than tear up your ankle. His attitude was, unfortunately, justified. He was the Knight Commander’s favorite henchman.

Patrick was doing his best to keep a neutral expression. He'd never been good at handling the high nobles, so refusing to engage was his best option.

Blanch looked irritated. Cross was smirking.

Well, if Reed learned anything from growing up in the South, it was that you could catch more flies with honey than vinegar. "If I'd known you were coming, I'd have had a whole breakfast whipped up," Reed drawled, keeping his hands at his sides. Anything could be construed as a threat by the morons in the Eastern Barracks. Their egos were so easily bruised that glancing aside could be grounds for a beating.

Hershel rounded on Reed, instantly forgetting Patrick. "We came to see what kind of joke you consider morning training."

Reed took Patrick's spot. He flicked his hand at his men, sending them back to warmup laps without a word. "I'm sure this is boring for you. Maybe y'all should get to your own training then?"

"You dare question me?" Hershel demanded.

"Sir Hershel," Sir Esther Blanch objected, "I said I wanted to watch, not interrupt."

"Shut up, woman," Hershel snapped at her.

Blanch scowled more. Folding her arms, she turned on her heel and left.

Hershel looked back and scoffed. "Women shouldn't be knights anyway."

You're just mad that she's taller than you, Reed thought as he kept his expression straight.

Hershel turned a sneer on Reed. "Neither should foreigners." He jabbed Reed's chest but didn't have the strength to move him. Reed wasn't a brick house by any means. Hershel simply wasn't that strong. Reed had never seen him lift anything heavier than the cane he used to beat servants. Irritated with Reed's lack of response, Hershel turned to look back at Cross.

This interaction had clearly gone beyond just Cross and Hershel showing up for a quick jab at the Western Barracks knights. They were determined to disrupt the whole schedule.

Cross scoffed, "So this is it? I do far more in my morning routine. I can run faster and harder than any of these so-called knights. I'd be able to beat any of them in a fight."

Reed wanted to laugh so hard. Admittedly, Cross took training more seriously than ninety percent of the Eastern Barracks knights, but he was still soft. He stopped running whenever he got a little sweaty, and he never pushed himself to improve his sword forms. Instead, Reed asked, "Was that all you were here for? Or did you wanna have breakfast with us? It is rather early. I'm sure your delicate constitutions ain't used to skipping meals. You must be famished."

Perhaps inviting them to do more than they were prepared for would make them leave.

As expected, they pulled disgusted expressions.

"I insist. Ain't it proper for me to invite you in for tea, at least? If you'll give me a minute.

“Tell Frank to scrape the pan before he uses it,” Sir Avery called.

A delightful look of horror settled on Cross' face.

"Maybe tell him to wash the plates, too?" Avery asked as he jogged past.

"What? With soap?" Timmons rejoined, clearly sarcastic, but that subtle art was lost on Cross and Hershel.

"I guess we could do that for them." Reed kind of wished Avery hadn’t said anything. It was a dangerous game Reed was playing. This required a very delicate balance of offending the high nobles just enough to make them leave. Going too far could result in worse consequences. The pair showing up in the first place was a warning that Reed might get a Disciplinary Action later. Antagonizing them would ensure it happened. Seriously upsetting them would mean multiple people would get the privilege of tearing up Reed’s back. He really didn’t feel like having broken ribs today.

"You don't wash your dishes?" Cross demanded.

"We keep that for special occasions,” Avery chimed in.

"Soap's far too expensive to waste on something like that,” Timmons instigated further.

“Avery,” Patrick said in a warning tone.

"What kind of filth do you live in?" Cross asked.

Reed grinned, even though he knew Cross’ outrage meant that his beating was assured. "I'm sure it'd be cleaner if we had the budget for it, but I suppose the Royal Guard's reputation can be sacrificed a little just to put some upstarts in their place. Were you coming in or not?"

Hershel scowled, backing away from Reed. He pulled a handkerchief out to wipe his hands. "No. Wouldn't want to catch fleas."

"Just don't sit on the chairs with cushions," Reed said cheerily. In for a penny, in for the pound.

Hershel's face had gone red.

"And don’t touch the walls. They haven't been scraped of mold yet for the year. It ain't been warm or dry enough to leave the windows open," Reed continued. He stepped back slightly in preparation to lead the two into the barracks. "But don't worry. We've been told it's harmless."

One of his knights coughed wetly as he passed.

"Well, not contagious at any rate," Reed amended.

A couple more Western Barracks knights fake coughed as they lapped back around.

That was all the high nobles could take from Reed and his men. Hershel stabbed a finger at Reed. "I'll have this place inspected, and you'll get disciplinary for it being filthy!"

Reed smiled at him. "Thanks for the warning." He saluted as they made a hasty retreat. Dropping his hand and smile once they were out of sight, he spat. "Bastards."

The threat of an actual inspection sobered Avery and Timmons. They’d not meant to get them all in trouble with the banter.

Turning back to the men, he waited for them to come around and fell into laps with them. Those who had done their required number dropped out to start stretches and drills. Patrick moved to run beside him.

"Sorry--" his lieutenant started.

"Ain't nothin," Reed immediately dismissed.

"But you're--"

"Ain't nothin," Reed insisted. "Just make sure the place is cleaned up. Get the night shift up to help."

This had opened a whole new set of problems. Knight Commander Kelvin would probably send Sir Salvage, who absolutely loved writing reports on infractions. He would find plenty of things wrong with the building, but the worst things would get Reed into a lot of trouble if he noticed them.

At minimum, the leak spots in the ceiling would need painted over, and everyone's dorm room cleaned. The bathroom was the major issue. They’d quit using it twelve years ago and instead used one in the western wing. It wasn’t safe to walk on the floor. No one had been in it in years because of the leak. It was probably full of mold.

He needed a strategy to keep Salvage away from the worst parts. He needed to pick who he was willing to sacrifice if things got bad. Reed couldn’t shield everyone on this one.

The building’s age was a major factor in its current dilapidated state. It was over three hundred years old and hadn't been structurally maintained in the last twenty. Reed suspected theft in the financial office since there had to be a budget to maintain the Western Barracks. However, neither he nor the previous captain had ever seen it. They were also underpaid and understaffed. The barracks were built to house sixty men, but Reed had half that, plus the one cook. All the other servants had been let go. Their repair requests were never accepted, and the pay he was given wasn't ever on time and one third of what it should have been. As Barracks Captain, his pay should have been six hundred shang a month. He only got three. Everyone else had their pay split out of what was left. Reed had to dip into his own savings every month to make sure his men got theirs.

“Avery, Timmons. You’re takin' some of the heat on this. Toss some items around your rooms and leave it that way. Then make sure the mold hasn’t snuck out of the bathroom.”