"Good news! I was just told we'll be moving out in two days! Five days earlier than expected!"
Francis listened and watched as murmurs came from the line of seventeen youths. He couldn’t forget that two had already run away, and one more would today if everything happened as he remembered.
So… I can’t die… can I? Or I guess I can die and I’ll come back? To the same time and place? And with Fast Learner, does that mean I can learn any skill?
Everyone stood at attention, ready for whatever Phillip would toss at them, yet Francis couldn’t help but already sense what was coming. His mind was racing with the possibilities and what he knew would happen.
"As such, we will be leaving today!” Phillip announced. “The town of Macenburg is three hours away. You’ll run there and get measured for your armor! Don't expect some custom-engraved piece of work. You'll get the basic leather, designed to keep the enemy from gutting you with their breath, nothing more!"
Francis barely held back a snort as he watched Phillip move and act as he remembered. Just like before, his trainer glared at them individually as he moved down the line.
"You'll be put up in a tent upon reaching Macenburg, fed real food, and allowed to rest. I suggest you make do with that. Or… perhaps you can enjoy something else."
This time, he saw the pouch the old man had swapped from his left to his right hand, knowing it would happen.
"In here is five silver. Each of you will receive a pouch upon reaching town. Spend it on some drink, buy something nice, possibly find a woman willing to spend some time with your ugly faces, but know that when the bell sounds in two days, any of you who are not ready to leave will find yourselves on the list."
"Let me remind you of what the last one on that list endured," Phillip stated, his misshapen teeth making his smirk look even worse. "Any of you want to have each of their fingers and toes cut off, set on a stump for the birds to pick while you're tied up and forced to watch them fight over them? Perhaps you might even lose your manhood."
Phillip tossed his head back and started to laugh, cackling for a moment as he walked back down the line.
"Who are we kidding? None of you has a manhood worth the early bird getting up for. Now then!"
With a clap of his hands, everyone shifted into the perfect position, standing tall, chests out, feet together, and eyes facing ahead.
"Let's make this fun. The last one to Macenburg only gets three silver! The first gets two more! Now, let’s move."
Francis stood still, watching as everyone took off running.
Francis watched and waited, seeing Malcomb jog slower, glancing at those around him. Then, the oldest boy tripped Henry instead, leaving the teen on the ground.
Moving forward, he helped his fallen friend and accepted the thanks as Henry took off after the pack.
"Content with being last?" Phillip asked.
Francis turned and saw Phillip standing there, arms crossed, looking him up and down.
"No, just giving them a chance to get ahead. I'll be first anyway."
His trainer started laughing just as hard as he had a minute ago.
"Oh, I doubt that, boy."
"Willing to bet? If I win, I get ten silver. If I lose, you can keep the silver I would have gotten."
The bastard of a trainer cocked his head as he moved to stand before Francis. "You must have suffered a head injury to believe you can win."
"I'd bet more, but I don't have it to bet."
"Tell ya what," Phillip replied, poking his finger into Francis's chest. "You win, I'll give you fifteen. You lose... well, let's just say you'll have to do whatever I say, and if you don't, I'll gut you."
The smirk turned almost downright evil-looking, but Francis just shrugged.
"Sounds like a bet. I guess I'd better get started."
Francis took off running and looked over his shoulder at the older man, who was grinning from ear to ear, making that scar look extra wicked.
"Take the forest! Let's see if it helps!" the older man shouted.
Focusing on the trees ahead, Francis felt terrific. His body and stats were utterly different, and based on how things looked, he was about to be fifteen silver richer.
***
"I made a bet, and I'll honor it," growled Phillip a few hours later. "How you managed to win by that much, I don't know, but we'll see how much all this helps you when we reach the front line."
With that, their trainer turned and strode off.
Michael stood in awe beside his brother, watching their leader move away and into town. Just as Phillip vanished from sight, Francis felt a shove from behind.
"Time to pay the don’t get my ass beat tax!" Malcomb exclaimed. "If you don't give me any lip, I'll let you keep two silver for being such a good boy."
Sighing, Francis shook his head.
There’s no way he can win now… I mean… my stats are way better than I could imagine.
He’s still probably tired, but I feel phenomenal.
"If you try to take my coins,” Francis replied. “It’s not going to go the way you think. Now, go away, asshole."
Francis saw that everyone in his vision stood there with their mouths open, watching the older, taller teen get in the younger, smaller one's face.
"Oh, you think you're so tough? Why I'll--"
Francis didn’t hesitate as Malcomb started talking. The bully had made a mistake, taking his eyes off Francis to glance at the other trainees.
Using all the new stats he had gained, payback for all the times Malcomb had made him and some of the others suffer was funneled through his hand.
The next sound was Francis's fist in Malcomb's jaw, followed by the older teen falling to the ground.
A few gasps and curses escaped the fifteen spectators, and Francis slowly turned to look at the rest. "He asked for it, am I wrong?"
Everyone shook their heads and took a step back.
When they did, Francis bent down, took the pouch from Malcolm’s belt, and withdrew three silver coins. He tossed two of them to their last-place finisher and then one over to Henry.
"He was a dick for tripping you. Now, who wants to go get a drink?"
Everyone roared in agreement, and they moved as a pack into town, leaving the older trainee unconscious on the ground.
***
"What in the kingdoms has gotten into you?” Michael asked. “Like, first you stood up to him, and second, you dropped him in one punch! Have you been practicing or working out when I'm not around?"
"Something like that. Now, no visiting the whorehouse and no being stupid. I want to buy some armor and see what I can learn before we leave. After that, we can talk upstairs later tonight."
Francis watched as Michael studied him, his older brother chewing on his lip.
"You're different. Did something bad happen in that dream?"
"Nothing too bad... Then again, maybe it was because you went into a bordello and got a horrible case of crotch rot."
Michael started laughing, leaned back in his chair, and grabbed his groin.
"It'd have to be something god-like to take this out."
Groaning, Francis picked up his drink and finished it.
"If you don't mind, I need to visit the armorsmith."
"Whatever, but I'm drinking your other mug!" Michael replied.
Squeezing Michael's shoulder as he moved past him, Francis grinned.
"Just make sure someone carries you to the room, then."
Walking through the street, Francis’s mind felt different. Something had tried to take over his mind--the few memories he had fought to retain in his last life were gone. No matter what he did, he couldn’t remember anything other than that some had been erased.
Now it felt like he was being pushed down a path he had taken before, yet he knew it was different.
He wanted to frown, though the extra coins in his pocket and his destination made that impossible.
***
"Tom, I'd like a chain coif if possible, but I doubt I could afford it. Are you willing to give any deals?"
"Deals?” the armorsmith asked, frowning at him. “What does this place look like? A charity? No, I don't give deals, and besides, you don't have enough coins to purchase a chain one. Maybe a padded one, slightly better than what you’ll be getting from the army."
Frowning, Francis was befuddled. Last time, the man had practically offered to give him one.
That's right! I didn’t ask for a deal at all the previous time.
Francis remembered what he had done the first time he’d simply stated that he needed a helmet, and the conversation had gone from there.
"Let's look at this one, I guess,” he replied. Unsure if more knowledge would help, he took a gamble and said, “I'm just afraid that what I will face might slice my head open if the rumors of those beastkin continue to grow."
A large frown appeared as the older man studied him.
"What the hell do you know about beastkin, boy? Those aren't things most people talk about, and I somehow doubt you're picking up information like that back in your camp. In fact, if you're sharing that kind of talk at our tavern, you’ll find yourself wishing you had never opened your mouth. Now spill what you know and don't lie to me, or so help me, I'll go find that asshole you call Phillip and tell him the crap fest you're spinning."
Okay... so this has gone wrong in so many ways… How could saying one wrong thing change this conversation so much?
"Are you listening?"
"O,h sorry, I was just trying to remember exactly what I knew,” Francis lied. “Just that there is something like a puma that stands and runs like a man, but with claws, it seems far-fetched, but I mean, why else would all the kingdoms be working together?"
A grunt came as Tom crossed both his arms.
"Either the person you heard that from is someone who has been to the battle line, or they know stuff they shouldn't. If I were you, I'd keep that information to yourself; otherwise, you'll find your neck in a noose or worse. You understand?"
"Yes, sir… but why–"
"Just stop talking about it, boy! The last thing we need is for everyone in the kingdom to be worked up about it. Now, if you want, I'll sell you a padded cap for five silver. What do you say?"
"It will have to do."
***
"You're serious about those beastkin... like absolutely certain," Michael asked.
Francis nodded, knowing how he needed to steer this conversation.
I can't afford to mess up on this again. A single wrong thing could end up getting my brother killed before we even get to the battlegrounds.
Remembering how it had happened just a few days ago, he did his best to ensure his brother didn't freak out.
***
"So what happens if someone touches one of these feathers?" Francis asked loud enough to fill the tent they stood in.
"For the love of the kingdoms, don't do that!" exclaimed the guard from across the space. "It would cause this place to be filled with dangerous smoke that could kill us.” The guard paused and turned to look at their leader. “Surely someone warned you so you could tell your trainees, right?"
Phillip cocked his head and shook it. "No one said a word about that,” their trainer replied.
"Must have slipped their mind," the guard said. "Now then, you’ve all been in here long enough. You can leave."
It took every ounce of willpower Francis had not to push the issue and ask Phillip if he thought someone had intentionally withheld information from him. Doing so would probably end up causing more problems, and there had already been too many things happening that he hadn’t expected. Winning fifteen silver, knocking out Malcomb, not getting the helmet. And tomorrow would bring a battle he knew nothing about. All he knew was that he needed to be by his brother's side tomorrow.
***
"TO ARMS! EVERYONE TO POSITIONS!"
The call came over and over as the horn sounded, and the noise of all the troops moving was almost deafening. Yet even over the shouts and cries, the horns pierced the steady shouts.
The ground seemed to shake from the movement as lines began to form. Each section of tents moved up in order, fitting into position as they moved to marked lines on the battlefield.
"It's happening... It's really happening," Michael muttered.
"If I die," Henry said, "know I'm the one who slept with Sarah."
Francis watched as Gregory turned on his brother, mouth open and eyes wide.
"You! You're the one who slept with her?! Mother of the gods! I knew it! I didn't want to believe it but--"
"GET IN LINE AND SHUT IT!" one of the nearby officers shouted.
His outburst cut off the brother’s spat.
"Sorry, Michael, I didn't sleep with anyone," Francis said over the sound of their marching. "I could lie and say I did."
"Please, we both know it would be a lie,” Michael replied. “But if you die, I'm keeping your money."
Michael grinned, but Francis could see the tension in his brother’s jaw.
He’s trying to make it so I don't know he’s afraid… Hell, I’m scared out of my mind not knowing what is going to happen today! I mean, if I die, do I really end up back where I started last time?
Lost in his thoughts, it took Francis a moment to notice that the army of beastkins had lined up across the field. Even from so far away, they were easy to make out. The mile that separated them felt like such a short distance.
The human army had archers and spell casters way behind Francis and the other grunts. Each was worth more than common fighters like him and everyone else who had been rounded up. Arrows cost money and were hard to make. A good archer could also kill more enemies and gain skills with minimal risk.
The mages were the real investment; those, he knew, would be protected at all costs.
Francis felt his hand shaking as he held his sword in his right. His left arm was flexed tight, shield in position so everyone could raise it if needed.
All those drills Phillip put us through… remember them. It’s what helped with that… thing.
More horns sounded, and a voice suddenly reached their ears.
"Warriors! Know that I, your King, honor your bravery! Survive and be rewarded! Find wealth and a new life by proving ourselves today! Rest assured, victory is guaranteed as four masters and one grandmaster are with us today, lending their power and skill! So fight for our kingdom! Be the wolves that tear our enemies to shreds! Be the hero we need!"
A loud cheer rose across the army when the King's voice stopped, and Francis found himself struggling not to cheer as well.
Why... Why do I want to cheer? We're the ones fighting, and he is the one back there!
[ Mental Resist Check Partially Resisted ]
[ Mental Resist Skill Increased - 15 ]
Blinking, he found himself with his hands lifted.
Did the King just use a power to make us act like this? Did my stubbornness and hardheaded side allow me to fight so well against these kinds of abilities?
Two loud peals of horns echoed, and the moment everyone dreaded began.
"Warriors! Advance!" the King’s voice boomed over the battlefield.
Francis took a deep breath, preparing himself for the battle that was about to begin.
***
Fireballs, arrows, large boulders, and a slew of other magic and non-magical projectiles flew over their heads as the line of troops Francis and the rest of his squad were in picked up speed.
Spells and objects came from the other side, crashing into the ranks of the kingdom, killing warriors to Francis’ left and right. Screams came while he and his squad were still half a mile out from both sides, crashing into each other.
Still, they ran, shouting for no reason.
[ Mental Resist Check Failed ]
[ Mental Resist Skill Increased - 16 ]
There it is again... The king’s voice was laced with something magical.
His own voice surprised him, but as one, they moved and Francis felt like his brother on his left and some random warrior on his right were all he needed to survive.
Each step they had taken resulted in more arrows and magical spells hurled their way.
Occasionally, a fireball or some ball of black energy bounced off an invisible wall overhead, exploding high in the sky and releasing flames or mystical power above them.
"Shields! Arrows incoming!" an officer off to his right shouted.
The volley of arrows darkened a section above Francis. He finally noticed that the cloud of carrion birds was gone. Until about an hour ago, the sky was littered with them. Now none were around, perhaps somehow sensing the carnage about to take place, they likely sought refuge elsewhere, waiting for when they could come and eat their fill again.
He lifted his shield like all the others, slowing a step and bunching up into formation as their bucklers lay upon each other.
The sounds and pressure of arrows striking rang out, like a thousand hammers striking wood and metal simultaneously.
Cries came from where arrows had made it through gaps. More cries came as the ones who fell left holes for others to be struck.
Like dominoes, when one fell, others did as well, unable to stop the barrage.
Seconds turned to eternity until the call to march came again.
"Full marching speed!" the same officer as before called out.
They had to move quickly, knowing that standing still would result in being overrun if the other side hit them without any momentum of their own.
Once again, they shouted, roaring in defiance as a volley of arrows from their side passed overhead, wanting a turn to thin out the numbers.
"Prepare to engage!"
Those unfortunate bastards on the front row are about to die.
Pressed together, Francis could see bodies flung high into the air. Some had to be tossed more than thirty feet, some cut in half--the sound of mooing soon filled Francis's ears.
The front line for the other side had been the Minotaur, their ten-foot-tall forms allowing them to plow through the army's ranks, smashing with ease.
By the time he heard shouts from those before him about the front line of monsters being gone, he had also heard someone call out that the first three lines of their troops were dead. An entire segment of men across the battlefield, crushed underfoot.
The sounds of swords and fighting, along with cries from both men and animals, filled the air, and slowly, the lines began to move again.
"Press on! Prepare for the next wave!" the officer shouted.
Unsure what was next, Francis counted himself lucky as a fireball flew above them and landed about forty yards behind them. The shockwave of the impact sent the troops behind him into his back.
"Slash and thrust! Wolf-kin and Tiger-kin!"
Loud animal cries that reminded Francis of something a puma might make could be heard, along with howls as the next line engaged.
Three more and then us...
He could see movement and sense the press of the troops behind and before him. Everywhere there was the noise of battle, Francis felt overwhelmed by the sounds of men crying out in pain and the press of bodies around him.
Multiple corpses were impaled on the large horn of a downed Minotaur as the men shifted around it. The closest corpse of one of those beasts bore large gashes over their flesh, a black liquid that had to be blood seeping from dozens of cuts.
Worse yet were the other things they stepped on.
Men... flattened as if by a wall... There were so many of them... and the body parts...
Francis watched men throw up as they stared at the carnage. Francis focused on the spot before him. It appeared only two lines remained before he and his squad friends would fight. The sound of battle was louder, and corpses of men who had their armor slashed through, chests opened up completely, necks bit off, lay next to black-spotted, furred shapes that people stabbed as they moved past, ensuring none were simply playing possum.
Then an opening appeared in his vision between the rows in front of him.
One line left!
His hand felt light. His arm was loose and prepared to strike as the group of warriors before him shouted and ran forward.
Now the fighting was chaos. Men turning and twisting, fighting anything that wasn't like them.
Everywhere were beastkin, slashing, kicking, hacking, and biting.
The armor they had been given did nothing to stop the weapons that struck or the claws that raked.
Teeth tore through leather, flesh, muscle, and bone as if they were freshly baked bread.
"Warriors of Reevotort, press the attack!"
[ Mental Resist Check Failed ]
[ Mental Resist Skill Increased - 17 ]
This voice in his head felt different. The King’s voice was just as loud, but somehow he was adapting to it. His skill was improving. It was personal. Every man in his row that was still standing surged.
Francis shouted, unable to stop himself. His voice cried out as one with all the other warriors. He felt ready to slash whatever creature got in his way.
I crave… battle! The King… His words are making me feel this.
Francis ignored the frustration he felt at being controlled.
It was time to fight.