Thirty seven years old, a veteran MMO player, and an early adopter of full dive games, that was him. In ALfheim he'd been a swordsman and self styled soldier of fortune, good with a sword and competent with a crossbow, with a little bit of illusion and fire magic thrown in for balance. Now, he was Morgiana's unofficial second in command, doing whatever his boss needed of him in the day to day running of Kurotaka. That turned out to be a lot with the odd collection of responsible adults, high school kids, and college students that had come through in the transition.

"Excellent," Morgiana purred, "Just remember to keep that last one to yourselves if you walk off this base." She gave a small wink. "We're trying to keep the details a secret. Now then, on to our job."

Walking over to the objects delivered by the earth mages, she placed a hand lightly on a dull black iron surface. Each was around two meters in length, tapering to a blunt tip at one end and a boxlike tail at the other. "Our contractor for this job is the Kingdom of Tristain. We're being hired on to help conduct a surprise attack on the Port City of York, located in Northern Albion. This place is pretty big by local standards, around twenty thousand people, and well defended too." Morgiana gave them all a serious look, she wanted them to understand that this was dangerous. Well no shit, Drake thought.

"The main target of this attack are the warships in dock, but they won't be alone." Morgiana shook her head. "York is fortified with a full garrison, mages, and lots of Dragon Knights." The serious look faded a little, replaced by a grin. "But we aren't going in alone either." The grin on their Leader's face widened as she began to count off. "A full raid team of Salamanders lead by General Eugene, and a dozen Tristanian Griffin Knights hand picked and lead by some legendary badass Knight Captain they're bringing out of retirement."

There were mutters of approval among the gathered Spriggans. They'd all worked with the Salamanders before, first back in ALfheim, and more recently on mob patrols. One thing could be said for Eugene and his soldiers, they were almost as disciplined as the genuine article. Drake figured that was what you got when you strained out all the people who couldn't handle it and then put the rest in a learn or die situation.

Morgiana continued. "This is a simple smash and dash kids. We're not getting paid for any heroics and I don't want anyone taking any unnecessary risks. But I'm not going to lie, this is going to be real dangerous no matter how careful we are. So anyone who wants out, feel free to get lost now, I'll personally kick the ass of anyone who tries to tease you for it."

There were a lot of heads looking around, but not a single black garbed figure budged an inch. For some of them it was an obligation, despite reveling in their title as 'black sheep', 'crows', or 'You Greedy Bastards!', most of the members of Kurotaka were basically good people. When the chips were put down, a lot of them had found out that they had the strength to protect others. Some just didn't want to disappoint 'Big Sis'.

Drake didn't really fall into either of those camps, nominally he wanted to get paid and keep on living, if he was being remotely honest with himself, he also wanted to see his friends get paid and keep on living too. Which meant he was roped in with the rest of these lunatics, and the chief lunatic who was currently congratulating them all on their courage.

"Now then." Morgiana went on. "On to specifics, here's what we're going to do . . ."

When their Guild Leader finished explaining, Drake could understand why she'd agreed to this job. It was daring, ambitious, and probably a little ill conceived. But it was also about as low risk as they could make it. Their whole part of the mission hinged on doing massive damage very rapidly and then bolting in the confusion. Minimum time, minimum exposure. Once they'd done their part, it would be up to Tristain's air fleet to do the rest. He eyed the metal cylinders behind Morgiana once again. He just hoped the local alchemists knew what they were doing.

Leaning cross armed against a stack of the cylinders, she asked, "So, any questions?"

A young man hefting a spear near the back of the crowd raised his hand. He was one of two newbies to the guild, an official member of Kurotaka who had joined in after the transition. Drake felt a little bad but he couldn't actually remember the kids name at the moment, what he'd do to have his HUD back.

"Yes, Name-kun?" Morgiana pointed to the boy.

"You kept saying we're getting paid . . . are we getting paid?" He looked around questioningly.

"As a matter of fact." Morgiana whistled to a couple of the earth mages still hanging around near the back of the crowd. One stepped forward, hefting a small iron lock box. Setting it firmly before Morgiana, the Spriggan Lord opened the lid and gave an approving nod at the neatly stacked silver coins. "It might not seem like much, but seeing as gold and silver are a lot rarer here than they ever were in ALfheim, our pay for this mission will be equivalent to that received by mages serving in the Royal Army Cavalry. The deals the usual, half up front and half when we get back."

A chorus of appreciative whistles rose from the Spriggans, even Drake was impressed. "Unless there are any other questions, we need to head on out. The Leprechauns and Gnomes have got their smiths setting up shop and we need to get fitted out for the mission. You can't imagine how much I had to twist Rute's arm to get the gear dyed and paint in our colors." Knowing her, she'd probably enjoyed the arm twisting. "Gotta get up bright and early tomorrow to get in our practice with these." She patted one of the cylinders affectionately. "Don't worry, we'll be practicing with ones filled with sand."

"Now that you mention it." Drake raised his right hand. "We've got to get right over the docked ships without being noticed for this to work. Mind telling us how we're going to do that?"

Morgiana smiled mysteriously. "From the sound of it, that's being taken care of right about . . . now."

* * *

"Five hundred and and not a coin more you old pirate!" The man across the table cursed under his breath as he put ink to paper, signing his mark and sliding the receipt back to the man who was the target of his contempt.

"Aye, a pleasure doing business with you as always, Mister Tockler." Captain Duran Thorn tipped his hat to the head of the local trade guild. He watched Tockler go with a feeling of bemusement. The old merchant complained about being bled dry, but Thorn would bet his firstborn's sorry head that he was pleased with the deal. Tockler wouldn't have given in so lightly otherwise given his guild's position.

Captain Thorn returned his attention to the receipt as he finally felt free to take a sip of his beer now that negotiations were finished. In the end he'd turned a profit on this one, though the margins had been threadbare, much as he hated to admit it. It was a sobering thought, despite the alcohol. There was no money in revenge, and he couldn't feed his family or pay his crew on bitterness and hatred.

Which was a shame for that poor lad back in Albion. Prince Wales Tudor was rich in both. It was really a waste, the Prince was a deft hand with the sails, and about as decent as a Royal could be, not that Thorn had much use for that lot at the best of times. Even so, with his talents the boy could have left Albion, fled and made a new life for himself in Germania, lived richly and well to the end of his days. Why did other men insist on dying for needless wars and causes?

But honor and integrity were things that Royals and Churchmen valued more than gold, Churchmen like his own brother, killed by Cromwell's heretic hunters for having the decency to tell the Founder's Truth to a room full of Whale Dragons. "Here's to you brother, may your soul rest in peace, closer to the light of our blessed Founder then I'll ever be." He whispered, drinking down the contents of the flagon and calling for another. He'd never been an overly devout man, he doubted his brother would approve of his method of observance.

He nursed the contents of his next drink, sipping a little more lazily as he looked about the tavern. After leaving Emily among the strange company of the Faeries and departing from Tristain, the Sabrina had returned to her original course, arriving in the city of Hohenheim located on the Germanian side of the border with Tristain. The trading city was as lively as ever, straddling one of the major roadways through the mountains of Northern Tristain and located close to an airship port atop the peak of a nearby mountain.

This was as close to a home as the Sabrina had, it was where she'd been born, constructed by the best ship builders in Germania, and where most of her crew hailed from. They were in between contracts now, and likely would be for the next few days while he put something together. There was work to be done in the mean time. The fire wards had been redone back in Albion, but now the ballasting engine enchantments needed alignment, a simple job, but he didn't want the damned petty mages in the guild to think his purse was quite so fat when he went to talk about it.

Of course, Sophie would never let him hear the end of it, she'd accuse him that the Sabrina was the other woman in his life and press again to let William take over as Captain. He just didn't know, the boy had a good head on his shoulders, it was the other one he was worried about. The elder Thorn had given his son an earful after watching him try to charm a few of the Faerie lasses who'd boarded them on their approach to the island city of Freelia. Of course, they really had been beauties, he'd give his son that, even with the tails and ears, lithe and graceful, and they had a way of dress that seemed designed to accentuate the fact lest you forget it.

But a merchant needed to be able to put those things aside, a trader couldn't get soft headed over women. This was something that the elder Thorn knew all too well. It still got the better of him too often. Maybe in a few more years, maybe if he settled down a little, William would grow out of it. He looked down into the already half empty flagon.

Maybe he should have asked Wales one last time. He could have escaped Albion, taken on a new identity, abandoned all of this foolishness that came with the game of Blood and Royalty. Duran would have been happy to help such an able young sailor. With Wales as first mate of the Sabrina, he could have rested easy leaving William in charge, and then in a few years, the former Prince would be well on his way to captaining his own ship. And then . . . well . . . Josephine was almost that age . . .

Bah! What was he thinking?! He always became like this after closing a deal. Always wanted to be alone with his muddled thoughts and indulge in sentimentality. Whatever he might have thought of Wales, chances were slim they would ever meet again now. He took another sip of his beer as he eavesdropped on the conversation at the nearby tables, mostly talk of Albion of course. The price of wind stones, the lifeblood of any ship, remained high, and was likely to stay that way for some time. Then there were the odd snatches of whispered conversation, rumors that the marriage of Princess Henrietta to King Albrecht III was being postponed due to some blunder in negotiations.

He was just about to order a third drink when a voice met his ears. "Should you really be drinking just before business, Captain Thorn?"

Nearly choking on his beer, the Captain turned about to see a face he'd thought he'd parted company with for good. His brows rose. "Countess Windsor, might I say this is a surprise." He coughed. "This is the last place I'd thought I'd be seeing you again. Business already done in Tristain?"

The brown haired young woman smiled in greetings. "Please, Emily is quite alright, I can hardly be called a Countess when my lands are held by others. And given that Faeries are afield, I'd hardly say strange encounters are unexpected these days."

"Aye, but the stranger the encounter, the less I think it be coincidence." The old Captain said as he gestured for the girl to take a seat. "Come along then, I can't imagine you don't intend to explain. You said something about business?"

Looking at Emily, he guessed that it must have been true what they said about Nobles always landing on their feet after catastrophe. The clothing that she wore was certainly a cut above what she had possessed while playing the part of a petty mage, and judging by the rather serious looking man who had taken to standing near the door, very martial in stature and appearance, he could only guess that someone was looking out for her. Someone with a great deal of influence.

"Always a merchant I see." Emily smiled warmly. She really was a lovely girl, shame she was a bit beyond the station of someone like his fool son. Blinking a few times, Captain Thorn decided that she was right, he really shouldn't be drinking right now. "I'll try to be quick, I'm not allowed to say very much until we know if you'll accept."

"Is that so." Captain Thorn asked. Even as he was, he had the good sense to grow alert at that. "I'm sorry Emily, but my policy is never to accept a contract I don't know anything about. You'd have to offer quite a coin for that to change now."

"What about this?" Emily asked, pulling something from her purse and handing it to him.

It took the Captain of the Sabrina several moments to make sense of what he was reading by the flickering candle light. When he did, his eyes shot back up. "This is . . . "

Emily's smile stayed in place. "Someone thought that might be enough to secure your services. The same one who recommended you actually. And of course, you'll also be handsomely compensated."

Eyes falling back to the letter in his hands, he looked back to Emily and then to the man near the door who gave a small nod and lowered the brim of his hat. "Is this authentic?"

"Signed with the authority of the Crown of Tristain itself. With that, you are free to make safe harbor in Tristain as a privateer in the service of the Crown against Albion."

Captain Thorn was usually a cautious man, inclined to view a deal from every angle. It was this that had allowed him to pass information on to Prince Wales while continuing to turn a profit moving cargo for the new Lords of Albion. Little did they know that every shipment of Luxury goods he brought in for their Leaders and Officers cost them three shipments of sulfur, weapons, and other supplies intercepted by the Eagle. This deal, seemed too good to be true. It was suspicious.

"Well, Miss Emily, a thing like this would make me a very happy man." He waved to the letter of marque on the table. "But if I'm understanding you, this is to be part of my payment. Just what does the illustrious Crown of Tristain have in mind for me and the Sabrina."

Emily looked over her shoulder to the man at the door who simply nodded again. Captain Thorn notice then that the cane in his hand was pointed in their direction. A blasted mage! He cursed to himself, he'd been listening this whole time. His thoughts on the matter became irrelevant a moment later as Emily continued, face growing very serious for such a young woman.

"Captain Thorn, if I might ask, are you still welcome in the ports of Albion?"

* * *

Klein knew that the Salamanders had a reputation for taking the whole military bent a bit too seriously, but this was getting ridiculous. The quarter of the Training Facility that had been reserved for use by the Faeries had been transformed into a good imitation of a Roman style military encampment.

There wasn't any spare space in the camp barracks to bunk nearly four hundred Faeries, so tents had been neatly laid out and separated by purpose and unit. Guards were stationed near the equipment tents and patrolled the perimeter while the gathering Faeries of every faction were required to report in and take their places in a loose parade formation that was being assembled at the center of the training field.

It all seemed a little bit overboard to Klein, but he guessed it was probably comforting for some people. It helped to keep things organized and gave people a sense of order and control. They'd need that so as not to panic when the fighting started. Mortimer's knack for organization was part of what had sold Klein on helping him. If they'd had someone like him in Aincrad, he was willing to bet they'd have saved a few hundred more lives.

On that note, Klein spotted the familiar, broad shouldered frame of the tank oriented player Schmidt, the former commander of the Divine Dragon Alliance's defense squad, walking among the Lancers. Klein remembered seeing the man before his first boss battle, he had been panicking to scrounge together the money to upgrade his gear just a little bit more. But he'd had the guts to stick it out on the Front Line, and then the courage to jump into ALfheim when Argo had asked. Apparently he and two of his old Guildmates had wanted to pay Kirito and Asuna back for some help they'd given them.

Like Klein, the tank had been scouted by Lord Mortimer after the transition to serve as an adviser and vice squad commander, taking up a position in the main forces where his experience as a heavy combatant could be put to the most use. The two locked eyes for a moment, exchanging nods. It was good to see another front liner in the crowd and especially one who had come as far as Schmidt.

After arriving at the Champs de Mars training facility at the edge of the Capital, Klein had been surprised to find himself meeting up with his old squad once more. It seemed that they'd volunteered as a group, even Enya who was going along to provide support buffs to the front line troops.

"It would be a disgrace to the mob clearing forces if we didn't volunteer." Kindjal explained sternly as they had caught up. "Lord Mortimer stated that he needed qualified skirmishers to support the Lancer squads." The stout Salamander squad leader nodded to a group of the heavily armed and armored Melee troops and assault mages. The Lancers were powerful in combat, but they were also vulnerable if not properly support by mages and more nimble fighters. The tactics that Lord Mortimer had developed had limits in a three dimensional environment.

"Yeah, I'm with Kindjal-kun on this one! But are you sure you want to go ahead with this Enya-chan? Fighting in a real battle can be pretty scary." One of their squad's swordsmen, a slenderly built Salamander named Calcifer half teased the only girl in the group.

Enya rolled her eyes in contempt. "Please, like you know what real combat is like. Besides, if I don't go along, you idiots will all get yourselves killed charging in without any defense buffs."

Klein frowned, it didn't take a genius to see that Enya was young and also a little short tempered. It hadn't been a problem on mob clearing, but it needed to be nipped in the bud now. "Oy, Enya-chan, don't be like that. Calcifer-kun here may not have any real experience, but he's right that a real fight for your life can be pretty scary. You shouldn't go unless you're a hundred percent sure you can keep your head out there."

The girl gave him a disgusted look. "We've been doing 'real combat' for almost a month. I think I can handle myself, Sub Commander."

"But have you fought humans before?" Klein asked sharply, he knew she hadn't, not unless things had gone very wrong in the last week. They'd had a run in with a few bandits once, but the men had surrendered rather than try to fight them. Enya suddenly froze and went pale. "Remember that time with the Troll type mobs? You couldn't eat bacon for a week afterwords." The girl lifted a hand to her mouth, eyes going wide as she remembered.

"Hey, Klein! Don't go reminding her of something like that," Kindjal reprimanded, "You're going to make her throw up!"

"Better she do it now then in the middle of a fight?" Klein retorted as he watched Enya recover her nerve slowly. Yeah, she was definitely tougher than she looked, but was she tough enough?