The woods smelled better than camp had. Between ten unwashed men, damp wool, old leather, and days of marching, that wasn’t saying much.
Aside from the impromptu bath I’d stolen in a stream a few mornings ago, I was probably the cleanest among us—which only meant I smelled less bad than everyone else.
Our ten-man squad was part of a hundred-man century marching toward the front. I glanced through the thick canopy, trying to judge the time from what little I could see of the sun. We’d been on the road since early morning—at least, what the army considered early.
I shifted my grip on the spear I’d been issued, lifting the butt clear of a low branch before it could snag. The now-familiar weight of the shortsword and baldric rested against my hip. The quartermaster hadn’t been pleased when he’d been forced to punch two extra holes in the baldric just to make it fit.
“When do you think they’ll call it?” I asked Tim, the man beside me.
He was taller than I was, though lean enough that I figured a stiff breeze might carry him off.
“Maybe another hour,” he said. “I heard the sergeant say we’re getting close. They might try to make the king’s camp before nightfall.”
I grunted. The marching and drills weren’t particularly difficult. They were just tedious.
We trudged on, and I let my thoughts drift home. I wondered if Anna had remembered to feed Daisy.
She never did unless I reminded her.
“How far do you think we’ve come?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Pretty far. I’ve never really traveled, so I’m not sure, but I’d guess we’ve covered a few lea—”
A sharp buzz cut through the air above my head.
The man fell where he stood.
For a heartbeat I didn't understand what I'd seen. Then he hit the ground with an arrow buried to the ragged fletching in his throat.
A horn blared from the woods, its harsh, buzzing note echoing through the trees.
Men all around me crumpled as arrows hissed from the undergrowth.
"Form ranks, you whoresons!" a sergeant roared.
I glanced toward the horn calls. The brush shook. Leaves quivered. Something was moving through the undergrowth.
For the briefest instant, my mind latched onto the wrong thing.
Those are nice mushrooms.
The absurd thought vanished as I spun, bringing my spear down from my shoulder into the guard we'd practiced what seemed like a thousand times.
I prayed the training would be enough.
The others had all unlocked the Common Spear skill.
I hadn't, of course.
That's when I heard it.
Branches and the undergrowth cracked.
Then the attackers burst from the brush.
Their sickly green-brown skin flashed between the trees as dozens of squat figures charged toward us, yellow teeth bared and crude weapons raised.
It was a good thing I'd spent the last week marching beside unwashed soldiers.
The creatures only smelled slightly worse than we did.
I braced for the charge.
The one rushing toward me carried nothing more than a crude wooden club.
I should have waited for the rest of my squad to form up.
But with every stride it took, I was giving away the one advantage I had.
Reach.
I stepped forward and drove the spear at its chest.
Whether I'd surprised it or it simply hadn't expected me to attack first, I never knew.
The point struck its upper arm instead.
It shrieked.
The impact jarred my hands, but I grunted through it and twisted the shaft the way we'd practiced hundreds of times. The creature stumbled, its own momentum carrying it to the ground.
Before it could recover, I lunged again.
This time the spearhead punched through its throat in a spray of blood.
As I recovered from the thrust, another creature charged.
Reacting more than thinking, I swept the butt of my spear into its leg just as we'd been taught. The blow caught its knee, knocking it off balance.
We're lucky, I thought.
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The monsters weren't wearing armor.
If they had been, I wasn't sure any of us would still be standing.
It stumbled into another monster, spoiling its companion's lunge. The pair went down in a tangle of limbs.
I stepped in and drove my spear into the nearer one's back.
It screamed.
I ripped the spear free and turned just in time to meet the next charge.
More of the creatures poured from the woods, shrieking as they came.
One larger than the rest barreled straight toward me. I almost dismissed the weapon in its hand as another crude club.
I was wrong.
The other creature I'd knocked down was still struggling to its feet. I stepped in and slammed the butt of my spear into the side of its head. The creature collapsed again this time it didn't try to rise.
Then I turned my full attention to the larger monster charging toward me.
It roared, bringing the club around in a savage swing.
I shifted to parry.
Then I realized my mistake.
It wasn't attacking me.
It was attacking my weapon.
The club smashed into the shaft just beneath the spearhead. The ash wood snapped with a sharp crack, and suddenly I was holding half a spear.
I jabbed the splintered stump toward its face, more to keep it back than because I thought it would work.
The creature recoiled, snarling.
I gave ground, searching frantically.
Tim's spear.
It had to have fallen when he'd died.
If I could reach it before the brute reached me, I might still have a chance.
My thoughts were nearly drowned out by the yelling and screams. I jumped aside, and my hand struck the familiar hilt of the shortsword Old Man McCallam had given me months before.
My mouth was dry as I drew the weapon.
I'd cared for it ever since. When I'd first received it, the blade had been tarnished, though thankfully not rusted. The leather scabbard had been faded and cracked, but with a little oil and a lot of work I'd brought it back to respectable condition.
Of course I'd practiced with it whenever I could. What recruit wouldn't dream of using a sword instead of a spear?
But I knew the truth.
A sword wasn't the weapon of a common foot soldier. I was lucky just to have been issued a spear—and luckier still to have received the training to use it.
The instructors had drilled the lesson into us from the first day.
Spears won battles. Swords were what you reached for after everything had already gone wrong.
So I reached for my sword.
Even as I drew the shortsword, the brute was already recovering, its weapon lifting high above its head.
I threw myself forward, bringing the blade across its chest.
I wasn't trying to kill it.
I just needed to stop that swing.
The edge bit deep, dragging through muscle as the creature roared.
Its arms jerked, and the heavy war club spun from its grasp.
I was already moving.
Stepping in before it could recover, I swept the blade back across its neck.
Its eyes widened as the edge opened its throat.
By now I could hear shouts farther up the column and behind us. The officers were organizing the survivors.
Ahead, I caught glimpses of more of the creatures weaving through the trees. Somewhere beyond them came desperate cries and the wails of wounded men.
I searched the ground one last time, hoping to spot another spear.
Nothing.
"To me!" I shouted.
I kicked the dead creature aside and started forward.
If anyone from my squad was still alive, they needed to know someone was still fighting.
And if I was going to survive, I needed them to rally to me.
***
The lieutenant found me staring at the mushrooms I'd noticed earlier.
They were good mushrooms. I wondered if Tim had liked mushrooms…
I wished I had Identify. I was almost certain they were edible.
They would've made a nice addition to that night's barley stew.
"Recruit, what happened here? And where is your spear?"
I looked up at the man speaking.
"We were attacked by those monsters," I answered, pointing toward the woods.
The corporal had already ordered us to stack the bodies we'd each killed along the side of the road.
I'd simply done as I was told.
It wasn't until I followed the officer's gaze that I realized my pile was the largest.
"And your spear?"
There was something in the man's voice I couldn't place.
"I'm sorry, sir." I stood a little straighter. Growing up in the stables had taught me that men of rank expected answers, and excuses rarely helped.
"The big one smashed the shaft." I reached into my bag and withdrew the iron spearhead I'd salvaged. "I brought back the head, sir. I thought... I thought it might be reused."
The man turned toward where I'd pointed.
His gaze settled on the largest pile of bodies.
Then he looked back at me.
The biggest of the creatures was nearly a head taller than I was.
Without another word, he walked over to the pile. He nudged several bodies aside with his boot, exposing the ones beneath, and began counting.
"One... two... three..."
He stopped at seven.
He looked up at me again.
"Seven dead."
His eyes drifted to the massive goblin lying at the bottom of the pile.
"How is it the large one didn't kill you?" He frowned. "And where is the officer who killed these?"
I swallowed.
"It wasn't an officer, sir."
Sweat trickled down my back as though we'd just finished a forced march.
"Those are mine."
The officer studied me for a long moment before looking back at the bodies.
"These were killed with a sword," he said, his voice calm but certain.
"Only the last four, sir." I held up my sword. I'd cleaned the blood from the blade before sheathing it. Old habits were hard to break.
"I got the first three with my spear before the big one broke it. I couldn't find another spear, so... I had to use my sword."
By now, the man was glaring at me.
I tried to stand a little straighter, swallowing against a mouth that had suddenly gone dry.
"What is your rank in Spear and Sword?"
I blinked.
"I... I..."
I lowered my eyes.
"I don't have those skills, sir."
His brow furrowed.
"Then what weapon skills do you possess?"
"None, sir."
For the first time, something flickered across his face.
"Show me your System Status."
My stomach dropped.
Every eye turned toward me.
"Sir..."
I couldn't.
"Explain."
The few men from my squad who weren't being treated looked up.
A request like that wasn't made lightly.
I felt every eye settle on me.
"Sir..." I swallowed. "I can't."
His expression darkened.
"Explain."
Heat crept into my face.
"I haven't unlocked the System yet, sir."
"What?" I heard the man say. I heard muttering from the rest of the squad that was still with us.
"I said I haven't unlocked the system yet, Sir." I swallowed the words small in my mouth.
"How old are you recruit?"
"I'm twelve, sir..." I said nervously.
I risked a glance up.
Whatever emotion had been on the officer's face was gone, replaced by the blank, unreadable mask of command.
I quickly looked back down, my eyes lingering on the pile of bodies I'd made.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet enough that everyone nearby had to strain to hear it.
"Fetch the captain."