The man arrived at the old building early in the day. Having been enlisted to Ylisse's military, but not proven himself overly useful (He'd picked up the nickname 'Useless' more than once), he'd been shipped off to the old tower that had been the headquarters of the Shepherds almost a century ago.

The place was a dump. No surprise, given what the man had heard. The leader of the Shepherds at that time, a former Exalt whose name the man couldn't remember, was well known for having all the grace of a bull in a china shop. That's why the swordsman had been deployed there. 

There had been some rumors of reformation of the Shepherds, and the unit the man was from was all too willing to unload him on some other saps. He didn't mind. The fact was, the man was an outsider and an amnesiac. He'd held no particular loyalties to the unit, so being shipped off didn't hurt him. Still, he drew his aged weapon. First thing he needed to do was a bit of cleanup, and the overgrown vines were a perfect thing for him to practice his sword arm against.

As he cut away, frustration arose. He could feel himself on the crux of a breakthrough. He knew that, whoever he was before his memories escaped him, he'd been a capable swordsman. His superiors had commented as such, just from his build. He knew that he should be able to effortlessly guide his blade, but there was something in the way. 

It was five hours later by the time he'd decided to take a break. Vines around the building were all cleared, and the first floor had been tidied, with some bricks relaid. He decided to sit outside next to the front door and take a breather. Construction was tired work. "So," he said to himself. "Just what is so special about the Shepherds that they'd want to put this much work into such a beat up tower?"