A strange atmosphere hung over the back of the manor the morning after I decided to put the bandits to work.
The bandits, their ropes removed, stood in a forced line with their hands held out in front of them. They weren't entirely free. Raisa’s mercenaries were stationed every few paces, and archers watched from the roof. If any of them tried to run, they might have made it a few yards, but they wouldn't have survived the next ten steps. Raisa had positioned her people with lethal precision.
I watched the scene from near the manor’s rear entrance.
"What happens if they run?" I asked.
"I’ll shoot them in the legs," Raisa answered without taking her eyes off the prisoners. "I'll aim for spots that won't kill them. If I let one die, you’ll just complain that the medical costs were a waste of money, right, Boss?"
"I'm glad you understand."
"I wish I didn't."
Raisa was smiling, but her eyes remained cold and professional. Perhaps the bandits sensed the danger, for not a single man broke formation. These men, who had been threatening villagers with blades only yesterday, now stood in silence with mud-caked faces. They had braced themselves for death, only to be offered food and a place to sleep; their minds clearly hadn't caught up to the reality of their situation.
Clarice stepped forward, ledger in hand. While she was usually unfazed even when dealing with high-ranking nobles, her gaze was particularly sharp as she faced the criminals.
"State your name, origin, and age," she commanded. "Tell me what tools you can use, whether you can read, and if you have any injuries. If you lie, I’ll hand you over to Raisa for disciplining."
The bandits exchanged uneasy glances.
The first to speak was the young man who had prostrated himself the day before. He looked to be a few years older than me. His cheeks were hollow from hunger, but his eyes still held a flicker of life.
"Gash... is my name. I’m from Karen Village, at the foot of the southern mountains. I’m twenty-two. I can't read, but I’m decent with a bow. Also, I know the paths. I know the escape routes, the streams, and the game trails around here."
"Useful skills for a bandit," Clarice remarked flatly.
Gash’s shoulders slumped. "I’m sorry... but I can be useful. I can act as a guide. I won't lie to you."
"And if you do?" Raisa chimed in from the side.
Gash turned pale and immediately bowed his head. "I’ll get shot in the leg."
"So you do understand."
"I... I’d prefer not to be, though."
A faint ripple of nervous laughter almost broke out from the line of bandits, but it vanished instantly under Raisa’s gaze. Despite the tension, Gash let out a small breath. If he still had the capacity for humor, he was still functional. A completely broken man is useless; they tend to collapse before they can finish a day's work, and that would be a drain on my resources.
Clarice noted his details in the ledger.
"Gash. Candidate for guide. Archery skills to be verified. Illiterate. Any injuries?"
"My right arm hurts a bit. I scraped it when I was being tied up yesterday."
"Show it to Mylene. It’ll be a nuisance if it gets infected while you’re working."
Gash gave her a look of pure confusion. "...You’re actually going to treat it?"
"Vain stated he would cover medical expenses for injuries sustained on the job, did he not?"
"But... I’m just a bandit."
"Don't make me repeat myself. Even for a bandit, it’s a problem if you collapse while working. That is the only reason we are treating you."
Clarice’s tone was icy. Yet, as Gash listened, he bit his lip. It wasn't an expression of anger, but one of someone struggling to maintain his composure.
◇
Before the morning's assignments were finalized, Mylene had a large cauldron brought out.
It was filled with porridge—simple wheat boiled thin with a pinch of salt. For the manor staff, it would have been considered far too meager, but the bandits’ eyes were glued to the pot. Every time steam rose into the air, the sound of men swallowing could be heard from the line.
"One bowl each. Don't spill it. Return the bowls when you're done. Once you’ve eaten, get straight to work," I announced.
Gash froze as he received his portion. "...Lord Vain."
"What is it?"
"Is this... for this morning?"
"It is morning, isn't it?"
"Will there be... lunch as well?"
"I told you yesterday. You get three meals a day."
"And dinner too?"
"You're being repetitive. I dislike wasting time on redundant explanations."
Holding the bowl with both hands, Gash bowed deeply. The porridge swayed, and he hurriedly steadied himself to avoid losing a drop.
"I’m sorry. I just... I couldn't believe it. In the mountains, we were lucky to eat once a day. On bad days, we had nothing but water. Even when we stole wheat, the leaders took everything first. We only got the scraps."
Raisa spoke up, her voice low and dangerous. "You were one of Boldo’s men, then?"
Gash flinched at the name. "No one could stand up to him. After my village was destroyed, he found me in the mountains. He said he’d kill me if I tried to run... But I know that doesn't change what I did. I know I don't deserve forgiveness."
"I haven't forgiven you," I said simply.
Gash nodded immediately. "I know. I understand. But if I can earn a meal by working... then I’ll work. I swear it."
"You'll work exactly enough to cover the cost of your upkeep."
"Yes. I’ll work for my keep."
He answered with such earnestness that it made me feel slightly uncomfortable. This man was taking my words at face value. I am no saint, and I have no interest in "saving" him. I had simply calculated that a living laborer was more profitable than a corpse.
The moment Gash took his first bite of the porridge, he closed his eyes.
"...It’s warm," he whispered.
He said nothing else and began to eat in silence. The bandit next to him, and the one after that, all cradled their bowls with the same reverent intensity. No one fought. No one tried to steal from another. They ate as if they believed the world would end if they dropped their bowls.
Mylene took a small, sharp breath at the sight. "Master, if this isn't enough, I can prepare another pot."
"Don't increase the portions yet. I don't need them getting so full they can't move."
"Understood. In that case, I will make the lunch portions a bit more substantial."
"I believe I told you not to increase the amount on your own."
"If they collapse from exhaustion, you will be the one inconvenienced, Master," Mylene replied firmly.
She was certainly getting bolder. Still, I had put her in charge of the larder. As long as she stayed within a reasonable budget, I had to trust her judgment.
◇
After breakfast, Raisa divided the bandits into three details: those who knew the terrain, those with combat experience, and those with no specialized skills. Gash was placed in the scouting group. Raisa used a branch to sketch lines in the dirt, having him identify the Southern Highway, local streams, charcoal-burning huts, and hidden trails.
"There’s a stream here, right?" Raisa asked.
"Yes. But you can't cross it after a heavy rain. There’s a fallen tree further up that stays dry, though."
"How many bandits know about that spot?"
"Only Boldo and his inner circle. I only saw it because I was forced to carry their loot back that way."
"Good. Your job today is to guide us along that path. Lie to me, and you lose a leg. Get us lost, and you lose your dinner. Guide us well, and you’ll get a full lunch."
Gash nodded with a look of intense focus. "I understand. I’ll guide you properly."
"Good lad. You look much better than you did yesterday."
Gash gave a pained smile. "Back then, if I didn't look miserable, I got beaten."
"I’ll still beat you if you slack off," Raisa warned.
"...But I’ll still get fed."
Raisa fell silent for a moment, then let out a short laugh. "I suppose you're right. This is a strange household. You might get a thrashing, but you'll always get your dinner."
While they spoke, I had Clarice finalize the paperwork for the additional contract: reconnaissance of the Southern Highway, tracking the remaining bandits, and the training and disciplining of the captives. I included clauses for punishments and rewards for exceptional service. The more I wrote, the more tedious the administration became, but failing to codify these rules now would only lead to chaos later.
"Vain, are you absolutely sure about this?" Clarice asked, reviewing the final draft.
"I am. Letting them go is a loss. Killing them is a waste. The only logical choice is to put them to work."
"We’ll need to explain this to the villagers. We can't have them thinking you’ve gone soft on criminals."
"Tell them the truth. They haven't been forgiven; they’ve been sentenced to hard labor. They will remain in service until the roads and fences are repaired and their debt to society—and my larder—is paid."
Clarice considered this, then added a few notes to her ledger. "That might work. 'Penal servitude under the supervision of the Black Claw Mercenaries. Prohibited from contact with civilians. Daily performance reviews. Immediate execution for escape, theft, or violence.'"
"Perfect."
"Honestly, you come up with the most exhausting schemes."
"I do it to reduce future trouble."
"It seems to me like you're just piling it on right now."
"Only at the start," I insisted.
I truly hoped that was the case.
Across the courtyard, Gash set off under Raisa’s lead. He wasn't entirely unfettered; a short lead was attached to his waist, held by a mercenary. Yet, he no longer looked like the man waiting for the executioner’s blade. He was starting to look like a man with a purpose.
I frowned slightly as I watched them leave.
Something felt off. I was supposed to be using these bandits as cheap, disposable labor. I'd feed them, they’d fix the roads, and I’d pick out the useful ones. That was it. And yet, their gratitude was unsettlingly intense. It was as if I hadn't just spared their lives, but given them something far more significant.
Raisa turned back and called out to me.
"Boss! We’ll be back by noon after checking the stream. If we can secure that path, we can trap the rest of them before they even think about running."
"Be back in time for lunch. I won't have food going to waste."
"Yeah, yeah. You really never change, do you?"
Beside her, Gash bowed deeply toward me. "I will return, Lord Vain! I promise I'll be back by lunchtime!"
This is why it feels so burdensome, I thought, though I kept the sentiment to myself.
A former bandit was now eager to guide a scouting party simply to keep his appointment with a bowl of porridge. I didn't understand the emotional weight they were attaching to it, but as long as they were productive, it didn't matter. If they were useful, I’d keep them. If not, I’d discard them. It was a simple business arrangement.
At the time, I hadn't realized the consequences of my actions.
I hadn't realized that by merely feeding them, recording their names, and assigning them tasks, I was inadvertently providing a sense of belonging to those who had none.
To me, it was just a calculation that a living laborer was more profitable than a corpse.