[Book 1] Coin of the Masses

A man with wavy, black hair and a scar that passed an eye and ran from forehead to cheek slid a Coin of the Masses on the counter towards the heavyset, thick-bearded innkeeper attending to it. Earlier, the large man introduced himself to the wavy-haired guest as a barkeep in addition to being an innkeeper. But having seen the speed at which he swiped the gold piece off the table, the guest thought he might be a wild beast that had taken the guise of man.

Then the heavily bearded man held up the piece of gold to study it. Just as he was about to say something to the scar-faced guest in front of him, a habit brought about by the nature of his jobs, his eyes widened instead—the inscription of The Ungovernable Ones was in front of him. To the uninitiated, it would seem as if the innkeeper was about to raise an objection to the payment given, perhaps because of the inconvenience of producing the silver and copper coins needed as change for such a huge amount of money. But the innkeeper's questioning gaze coupled with a gesture with his thumb towards the wall behind him, as well as the scar-faced man's nodding in response to this gesture hinted to a service known only to a few.

A third man, this time one with a slender build and friendly face, and was dressed just like the heavily bearded innkeeper behind the counter, stepped out of the door located off to one side of the counter. Then he stepped in behind the counter, accompanying the heavyset man.

"Follow me, comrade," said the heavily bearded innkeeper, coupled with an appropriate gesture. But before he could even take one step to bring the scar-faced guest elsewhere, a man, one who had indulged in one too many mugs of beer, stumbled and swayed towards them, flashing a gold coin to him and the similarly dressed man accompanying him behind the counter.

"Oi, you should bring me along with you!" shouted the drunk man as he slammed the gold coin to the heavyset innkeeper's waiting hand. The innkeeper then raised the coin to eye level as soon as he had taken it.

"What drink would you like, good sir?" asked the large man.

"Whatever he's having!"replied the drunk man as he pointed to the scar-faced guest.

"Well," the innkeeper began. "What he'll be having back there is something he had already paid four gold pieces in advance, and this is his fifth payment." The guest looked down to hide a chuckle at the lie.

The man backed away as he studied the scar-faced guest from head to foot. "Oh. You must be one of those hustling snobs who come here every now and then, disguised as one of us lowly folk."

The heavyset man intervened, throwing the gold coin to the drunk man's chest. The gold piece bounced off the man and fell to the floor with a loud ping, and when the drunk man saw that his coin was rolling away from him, he bent his body and—

The man crashed down to the wooden floor of the tavern, eliciting laughter from the patrons that have occupied every seat at every table.

"If even one such as yourself could possess a gold piece, how much more an intelligent and hardworking man such as he?" Then the large man left the counter and joined the scar-faced man in passing through the same door that the other innkeeper emerged out of.

Behind the door was a short hallway. With nobody else there at that moment save for the heavily bearded innkeeper, the scar-faced man swiped a hand from his forehead to his chin, switching his identity to that of another man's—Immanuel Maier. This action surprised the innkeeper so much that his eyes widened and his jaw dropped.

"Sorry about that. Something happened, and I have to stay hidden," Immanuel explained, which appeased the innkeeper, who merely nodded.

Just ahead of the door was a flight of stairs that led to the upper floor. To the right of the door were bathrooms for men and women to use, labeled accordingly, and left of the door was another door labeled Cleaning Essentials. The heavily bearded innkeeper opened this door to reveal an uninteresting collection of brooms, mops, and other cleaning needs stored in it. These cleaning essentials rested on racks set to the sides, and so Immanuel and the innkeeper moved in without the risk of stumbling onto anything.

The innkeeper shut the door behind him and Immanuel. Then, even as they were both shrouded in darkness, the innkeeper managed to engage the bolt, thus locking the door from the inside. Small floating orbs of white light then appeared close to the ceiling, revealing the entirety of the wooden room.

The innkeeper moved towards a broomstick, one with a long wooden handle that was much smoother compared to other long broomsticks Immanuel had seen since his childhood. The way the innkeeper pushed the broomhandle down to one side betrayed its true purpose—to activate a mechanism that opened wide a hidden door up ahead, one that was built flush with the wooden rear wall of the storage room. This door concealed another room that had a hatch on the wooden floor. Immanuel chuckled at the sight of the room and the hatch, which was illuminated by another bunch of orbs floating around it.

"Anything funny, sir?" asked the innkeeper.

"Nothing." Immanuel shook his head. "Just remembered something." The last time he came here just as he was about to join the military, he tried to remember every detail of this secret room. He struggled with understanding the mechanism that opened the secret door, which made him settle for a large slab of rock mounted on a wheeled metal frame and the fireplace.

The two men moved past the secret door. The innkeeper then pulled the hatch open and gestured for Immanuel to descend first. Unlike Immanuel's tunnel of hardened and polished earth, this tunnel, also illuminated by numerous light orbs floating close to its ceiling, was enveloped with wood planks and was wider. Immanuel thought the width of that tunnel allowed four people to walk side by side through it.

In time, both men reached a set of ornate double doors off to their left side. Opening it revealed what looked to be a tavern, the appearance of which left Immanuel wide-eyed in awe—it looked like it sold beverages that cost way more than all the gold he had on him.

"Maier? Is that really you? Or is this…" A man behind the counter, one who time was slowly creeping up on, squinted his eyes while leaning to one side to get a better view of his guests.

Immanuel waved a hand. "It's me, Chief Dylan Deepwater. I've decided to drop by."

"Come in!"Then Immanuel and the innkeeper entered.

"This place has improved so much!" Immanuel exclaimed, the smile on his face and the twinkle in his eyes a reflection of his awe at what he saw.

"Securing contracts with the Kingdom did us wonders, Maier," Dylan Deepwater said, arms spread sideways in pride of what he had achieved.

Contracts, huh? Immanuel recalled the entire group being shown the peace document signed by the king and Dylan Deepwater when the war against the seccessionist Baron Nigel Ironhelm was about to enter its second year. It signifed not the surrender of The Ungovernable Ones, but a permanent cessation of hostilities and the king immediately addressing the underground group's demands upon signing. This led to the group becoming valuable combat mentors, consultants, logisticians, and negotiators in the war up until that night Maddox betrayed him.

Noticing that Immanuel had glanced at his hair as he approached, Dylan Deepwater moved his hands and covered his hair with them. "Time has not been kind to me." Dylan chuckled.

"Well, it suits you, Chief. It matches how much this place has improved since the last time I was here." At this point, Dylan Deepwater put his right hand out in anticipation of a greeting, one that was mandatory upon entry to the territory of The Ungovernable Ones. It was also one that Immanuel had not said in a long time.

Shaking Dylan Deepwater's wrinkled right hand, Immanuel said, "My knees are stiff. They bend to no one."

Smiling, Dylan Deepwater responded, "Then stand tall with your head high." Gesturing to a tall stool, he continued, "Words of our founder, Roderick Davenport, before the royals sentenced him to hanging. Take a seat, Maier."

"I shall be on my way, Chief," said the innkeeper as he was about to step out of the underground tavern. Dylan Deepwater nodded at him, then turned his attention back to Immanuel, who was already seated in front of him.

When the innkeeper had left, Dylan Deepwater leaned forward and whispered to Immanuel, "So, I heard."

"About what, Chief?"

"Don't act like we would not know," Dylan chuckled. "We had eyes everywhere when we were at war with the Kingdom. How much more now that we are working with them?"

"I was killed. I am sure of it. But someone… or something… brought me back to life." Immanuel looked down as he recalled everything that had happened to him months back.

"You indeed were. Buried, even. Soldiers brought your body at a graveyard near Baron Ironhelm's bunker." Immanuel nodded, imagining four soldiers tossing his body into a hole six feet deep as the sky drenched the earth with hard rainfall.

"And the Baron?"

"Already dead when Maddox found him." Dylan Deepwater handed Immanuel a transparent glass partly filled with an orange liquid. Judging from the way it smelled, it was alcoholic. Strong one, in fact. "I believe it. They've done their investigations."

"Thank you," Immanuel said in response to the drink being handed to him, but he did not take even a sip of it just yet. "Maddox had it easy, huh?"

"Indeed. Oh, and did you know a woman took Ironhelm's place? Not the first time this has happened, but it's been a hundred years since the last time a woman was baron." Immanuel merely nodded and said nothing, then finally took a sip of the liquor offered to him. He thought it tasted familiar, but there was a sweet taste that blended well with it.

"Was I dug out and brought back to life? Or…" Immanuel trailed to give Dylan Deepwater an opportunity to fill him in.

"You were dug out, but no one knew who could have done it and where you went after that. We followed one lead with the military but it led nowhere and we found no sensible leads after that. They gave up. Soon after that, they had one of them mimic you, and all records of your death disappeared." Dylan Deepwater paused. Then, gesturing to his own face, he said, "I've been keeping my eyes on you since you came here… you don't look… dented in any way. How come?"

"Right? I've been thinking I was brought back through taboo magics, but it seems not likely." Immanuel set the glass back down. "Because if it were taboo magic, I would have been just a soulless, mindless, continuously decaying body somehow able to walk around."

"Indeed. You've kept your smarts, so it must be something else." There was a pause in their conversation, and Immanuel was about to indulge in the alcoholic drink he had been given when something came into Dylan Deepwater's mind, which brought Immanuel's attention back to him.

"Do you regret having left us now? You could not have gotten betrayed had you not left." At this, Immanuel, wide-eyed, took in a deep breath. "We take care of each other, as we promise ourselves," Dylan Deepwater continued.

Immanuel, still wide-eyed and tense, shrugged. "I don't know, in all honesty. But the last thing I wanted for myself when I decided to leave you was to end up working as a mentor of underhanded tactics for the Kingdom's military while they get to do all the fighting."

Dylan Deepwater raised an eyebrow. "Well, what if I told you that it was the Grand Baron who had arranged for your death? And that he did it so he could marry your wife?"

Immanuel counted four Coins of the Masses, piled them in his grip, and spread them on the counter. "I left your group because I wanted to know what it's like to live as a normal man, Chief. I've done just that, and once I'm done with this problem, I know I can try again."