The royal viceroy laughs at Pelbe. “Filthy beggar!”

Pelbe sighes. His red and white uniform was dusty and patched, unlike the other gunners whose uniforms shown in the sun, though they were not made of metal, and his flared barrel gun was strapped across his back. He was a little bit shorter than most of everyone there.

“The Kingdom of Pelenn is in serious trouble! And I happen to know from your own staff that you are short of gunners, and I can also hit a piece of tin with a breadth no more than a foot from 100 yards! That’s gotta be worth something!” Pelbe exclaimed.

The viceroy laughed again. “Look, you little rat. No one gets in without having royal family standing.” The gentleman spat into the young gunner’s face, forcing bouts of laughter from the gunner ranks and himself.

Something inside Pelbe snapped. “That is it!” Swiftly, he drew his gun, loaded it, and fired a shot clean through the viceroy’s head.

The gunners were too shocked to even shoot at the miscreant as he ran into the wilderness.