The Eternal Archive would never be free of the Empire. More to the point, he would never be free. That was the thought running through George's head as he trekked south. Laurel, Martin, and now him. They all kept getting sucked into the machine that was Laskar, dodging at the last minute to avoid being torn to shreds beneath the advancing gears.

Despite that, he couldn't quite regret his choice to volunteer for the mission. Once he had made the decision, things moved quickly. The army was in no position to turn down experienced cultivators, and they jumped at the idea of having anyone with insider information, no matter how out of date.

A thin branch whipped across his cheek, from where Reina was dutifully brushing through the forest in front of him. Their squad included Reynard and another two members of the Meristan Cultivator Corps, allegedly with some experience infiltrating hostile targets. It was simple. Their goal was a larger town, a trade hub for the region. They were to get in, and do whatever they could to disrupt the Core.

Simple did not mean easy. All it would take was one of them slipping up, or a particularly strong cultivator on the Laskarian side to notice their intrusion and raise the alarm. Then they needed to make it to an extraction point without being caught or bringing a horde of enemies onto the airship. No one in the group had any illusions to the fact they were walking along a knife's edge to get this done.

But no one had better ideas either.

Another five teams were doing the same thing elsewhere around the Empire, breaking any footholds they could find, all the while avoiding enemies on the same level as Martin or Laurel.

George took a deep breath, letting the citrusy scent of partin trees soak into his lungs. They stopped for a break in a small glade, the break in the trees letting the stronger southern sun warm their already damp skin. It had been years since he had been home, and he had no idea if there would be another chance to appreciate it. Not every part of his homeland was poison.Some of it was beautiful.

He had tried hard for the first few days to avoid thinking about what his actions would do to those beautiful things. No part of this plan involved nobly overthrowing the oppressors. Their targets were civilian population centers, those explicitly without strong magical wardens. The purpose was to slow down the spread of the Laskarian Core network, but that didn't make it better. Most of the people who would be impacted were just regular folks, trying to make it through another day.

Denial hadn't worked. Instead, George pivoted to a more realistic approach. What he was doing would hurt people. His reasons were good, and he believed it was necessary. That was what he meditated on during the break.

It took another two days to reach their target, the trip morphing from cross-country slinking to a casual walk down the road. But it also meant they were in George's least favorite phase.

He would have to talk to people. The others spoke a passing Laskarian, at least for the basics, but he was the native, which meant it was up to him to get them in and keep anyone from discovering the deception.

"Three rooms please."

"Oh? What brings you to Nodston?"

"Looking for work. Our last job restructured so we decided it was time for a change. Brought my siblings and their spouses along."

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"You poor thing. You know, I heard they have some openings at the lumber mill. You tell them Doris sent you when you go down there."

He smiled as convincingly as he was able, keeping the wince inside. His grandmother would have done the exact same thing for a stranger. "We'll do that. Thank you."

Before he felt the expression on his face crack to pieces, he had already ushered everyone else upstairs.

*********

"We have to sell it," Reina was saying. "George, you and Reynard head to the lumber mill, but take the scenic route. Sascha and I will do a little job hunting on our own. Same thing with you Charles. Everyone see if you can figure out where the Core pedestal is, or anything else that's going on with the town."

It was the plan they had been reviewing for weeks but George didn't begrudge Reina the repetition. He had never led any missions of his own, and he had no aspirations to that kind of responsibility.

Downstairs they enjoyed a hearty breakfast, courtesy of Doris, before heading out to find the lumber mill. Not that it was difficult. Lumber mill was a bit of a misnomer. More like 'giant lumber production compound'. It felt like a town in and of itself, with dozens of buildings and hundreds of people running about. The clanking and buzzing of debarkers and saws filled the air, making it hard to think, let alone investigate.

After a few false starts, they found the main administration building and applied for jobs. The woman working the desk asked exactly two questions: how old were they and when could they start.

Lumberwork was grueling. For a week, George hauled himself out of bed each morning, well before sunrise. He and Reynard would eat whatever they could get their hands on, and then trudge to the mill in order to start work for the day. Short breaks were hardly enough to recover from the backbreaking labor. Cultivator strength and stamina were the only reasons neither of them collapsed.

Then, in the evenings, they wandered. Under the guise of trying out a new pub or getting their feet under them in a new town. By the end of the week, every muscle in his body hated him and he was fighting back a throbbing headache, but he was confident they had found their target.

"It's in the trade depot," he said to the assembled soldiers. They were being as careful as possible, but he still felt that talking out loud about their mission was asking for a powerful cultivator to overhear.

"But why would they put it there?" Sascha asked. "It's not defended. There are people in and out all day."

"I don't know. But we've looked everywhere else, and it's the place with the deepest mana anchors."

"Maybe whoever set it up didn't have a choice. Or they didn't realize they had control over where things turned up."

"It doesn't matter." Reina cut off the conversation. "Do we have a better idea?" When no one spoke up she continued. "We have a week left to be out of town. That means it's time to take some action. Tomorrow, one of us needs to have a reason to slip inside."

"Could we pretend we need to buy something?" Reynard asked.

Reina bit her lip before responding. "No, I don't think so. Too memorable for a merchant. But maybe we can work on the other end. Sascha has been pulling day labor work. Can you get anything as a porter?"

"Yes. They all just sit around and grab any work tossed at them. I will make sure I win the tussle tomorrow."

"Okay. Tomorrow then."

***********

George was useless while he waited. That no one got hurt from his distraction was a miracle in itself. He should have found a way to go instead of Sascha. He was stronger, he was better at the language.

It was too late now. Forcing his breathing into a meditation pattern calmed him down enough to finish the day, but it was a near thing.

"Here." A young woman pressed an envelope into his hands and was off again before George could react.

He opened it and saw his week's pay sitting inside. That caused him to pull up for a moment. They were undercover, of course they would be paid as normal for the labor.

"New guy!" A veteran of the mill, George's shift leader, ambled up before he could make a convincing escape. "Drinks after your first week! It's tradition."

"Oh, um, I wasn't planning…." He trailed off as the other man shook his head.

"You're coming."

What else could he do but follow?

Later that night he and Reynard stumbled into the room they were sharing, finding everyone else already gathered. George didn't stop but marched directly to the water pitcher and chugged half, before handing the rest over for his friend. Lumber workers were built different. That was the only explanation for how they could work and drink like cultivators, day in and day out.

He collapsed on the bed with a grunt, which the others took as signal enough to continue.

"Sascha confirmed. It's time to figure out the final details. George?"

Well that sobered him up better than the water. "Okay. When do we think the best time would be?"

As they delved into details, everything crystalized. There would be no turning back afterwards. Then he thought about a smoking corpse on the steps of his own sect, and any doubts floated away in the wind.

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