While Voldemar is sorting out the equipment and skills of his new fighters, one of the guards standing on duty approaches them – a rather young man, slightly over twenty. The very same one who was the first to rush to the commotion and admired the charred skeletons. “Sir Sheriff, may I speak?” “You may. What is it?” “May I join the sergeants and the gentlemen preachers?” “Want to die? I won’t stop you. Who wants to switch places with him?” The soldiers’ expressions clearly show that absolutely everyone does. Only the sergeants maintain their fighting spirit. “Idiots. You’ll rot on my duty if you survive. Well, you – you can dismiss any of the six and take a young one with you.”