Mercenary of Lastia - BtLH - Ch 22 (Patreon)

Hilk led Lys through the camp, weaving between tents and groups of mercenaries.

He pointed to a large tent with smoke billowing from the back. “That’s the mess hall. The Cohort’s divided into groups, and each one takes their meal in turn. You don’t have to worry about it. You’ll eat with the rest of your recruit group.”

Lys nodded, her stomach growling at the thought of a hot meal.

They approached an open area where mercenaries were gathered, some sharpening weapons, others engaged in conversation.

“This is the mustering ground. Your group will be called here each morning.” Hilk’s voice took on a serious tone. “Everyone’s expected to be here on time, no exceptions. The group leader assignment rotates weekly, so you might end up getting it before we leave Silverpines.”

Lys swallowed. Her lead a group? She kept her concerns to herself.

As they walked, a tent with a red circle caught Lys’s attention. Hilk noticed her gaze. “That’s the medical tent. If you get hurt or sick, that’s where you go.”

Through the open flaps, Lys spotted injured civilians being tended to by older mercenaries. Her heart clenched at the sight of their pain.

Hilk gestured to a nondescript tent. “That’s the lieutenant’s tent. Don’t mess with it.”

Lys furrowed her brow. She wasn’t sure how she’d remember it—the tent looked like all the others. “I thought the officer would have a nicer tent, at least.”

Hilk fixed her with a look. “That would be the same as painting a target on his back.”

“Oh.” Lys felt her cheeks heat, realizing her mistake.

They continued their tour, Hilk pointing out various locations. There was even an archery range, which was mostly just a field with a few wooden targets. Lys’s fingers itched to hold a bow, eager to prove her skills.

Hilk paused, turning to face Lys. “Now, listen up. The White Dragon Company’s got a hierarchy, and you need to know who your superiors are and how to address them properly.”

Lys nodded, her attention focused on Hilk’s words.

“At the top, you’ve got the Captain. Below him are the Lieutenants, each in charge of a Cohort.” Hilk counted off on his fingers. “Then there are the Sergeants. Each Cohort has staff Sergeants who take care of certain things—Sergeant Ashton is the quartermaster, he takes care of our belongings and equipment. Sergeant Finn is a trainer and recruiter and in charge of all the recruit groups. There is only one group right now, but that will increase until there are at least five and you are split off to return to the company’s headquarters for training.”

“Got it,” Lys said, committing the ranks to memory.

“Next are the regular sergeants. Each one has his own group. Then, regulars like me, come next. We can be Group and squad leaders, underneath a Sergeant.” Hilk pointed at Lys. “And finally, at the bottom, there’s you. Recruits.”

Lys raised an eyebrow. “So, what’s my job, then?”

“Your job is to listen to anyone above you and not worry about anything more than that for now.” Hilk’s tone was firm. “To you, the Sergeants are god. Don’t even think about bothering the Lieutenant.”

A thought occurred to Lys. “What about the Captain?”

Hilk nearly doubled over laughing. “That’s a good one!” He wiped a tear from his eye. “If the Captain notices you, try to be the smallest bug you can imagine.”

Lys nodded. Thankfully, being respectful came naturally to her, even if the rigid hierarchy seemed excessive. Maybe it had a reason, though.

“Remember, kid,” Hilk said, his expression serious. “This isn’t a game. You’re part of a military company now.”

Lys took a deep breath, the weight of her new reality settling on her shoulders. She knew she had a lot to learn.

Hilk led Lys over to a large double tent. “This is the recruit bunks. Holds twenty. You’re number thirteen. Once the tent’s full, that’s your group. It’ll be separate from the other recruit groups. Swift is your Sergeant.”

Lys ducked into the tent, her eyes adjusting to the dimmer light. Rows of simple cots lined the walls, each with a small trunk at its foot. The space was tidy and empty.

“You’ll be assigned a bunk,” Hilk continued, gesturing to the cots. “You’re expected to keep your area clean and tidy, and respect quiet hours. No fighting, no stealing, and no leaving the camp without permission from a Sergeant.”

She nodded, trying to take in all the information. The thought of being in such close quarters with strangers pricked her anxiety.

“You’ll always be expected to move with your group. You’ll be together almost all the time.” Hilk’s words confirmed her fears.

“No privacy?” Lys asked, her voice tight.

Hilk let out a short laugh. “No. You’ll be woken up together, train together the entire time. It’s all part of building unit cohesion.”

Lys swallowed hard. “How long does it take to get promoted from recruit?”

“Your group will probably spend a few months with the cohort before you are sent back to Dragonblanc for your full training,” Hilk replied. “Until then, you’ll follow along with the camp group. This is the 1st Cohort, and we’re supposed to provide security along the eastern frontier.”

“Why don’t we get full training here?” Lys asked.

“We have dedicated trainers in the company’s headquarters. Everyone gets standardized training that everyone has to go through. Out with the cohorts, recruits are collected and evaluated, and you get physical training and basic skills to make sure you’re ready for the real thing.”

Lys perked up. “I’m good with a bow.”

Hilk nodded. “A lot of people who join up from Mythshell province are. It’s a pretty important skill on the frontier.”

Lys deflated slightly, realizing her one martial talent might not set her apart as much as she’d hoped.

“Let’s go find your group,” Hilk said. They wove through the camp, approaching various sergeants. He inquired about the group’s whereabouts. Each time, they were redirected to another part of the camp.

Frustration mounted as they trudged back and forth from one end of the camp to the other. Hilk muttered to himself. “Shit, we’re getting hazed.”

Lys remained quiet and followed.

They reached the next sergeant who was already wearing a grin. “The recruits? They’re on a hillbissi.”

Hilk stood his ground. “With all due respect, Sergeant, there aren’t any hillbissi around here.

The man burst out laughing. “I guess not.” He gestured toward trees in the distance. “They’re chopping firewood,” he clarified.

“Thank you, sir,” Hilk said, not revealing any frustration. Lys fell into step beside him as they headed across the field.

“What’s a hillbissi?” she asked. “And what was so funny about it?”

Hilk shook his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “The sergeants were having us wander around on purpose. A hillbissi is a small lump of stone used in training. There obviously aren’t any here.”

“Oh.” She chewed on her lower lip. “Why did they have us going around randomly like that?”

“Probably to give us exercise,” Hilk replied, shrugging. “It’s a form of hazing. It just happens.”

They made it to the trees, the dirt path crunching beneath their boots. The familiar thud of wood being chopped grew louder.

There was a clearing not too far further, and a dozen young men, their faces glistening with sweat, moved logs from one side of the clearing to the other. Another group sawed the logs into smaller pieces, while a third chopped them into firewood with splitting axes.

A large wagon was halfway full.

Lys’s eyebrows rose in surprise. But, she supposed it was a great physical exercise.

A sergeant, his face weathered and stern, glared at Hilk as they approached. “What are you doing here, Regular?”

Hilk straightened his shoulders. “Lys here just signed up. Finished his orientation, ready to hand him off to you, sir.”

The sergeant’s eyes raked over Lys, his lip curling. “The company must be desperate. They’re accepting twigs now.”

Lys swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

“I couldn’t hear you,” the sergeant barked, his eyes boring into Lys.

“Yes, Sergeant?” Lys’s voice came out as a squeak.

“Yes, you’re a twig, recruit?”

“No, Sergeant!”

The recruits had stopped their work, their attention drawn to the exchange. The sergeant’s head snapped towards them, his voice booming across the clearing. “Did I tell you to stop? Get back at it!”

The recruits scrambled to obey.

The sergeant turned back to Lys, his eyes narrowing. “I am Sergeant Swift, and I am in charge of your group. Let’s get your evaluation started, eh?”

“Yes sir.” Lys nodded.

He gestured toward the ground. “Get on your knees and do push-ups.”

Lys dropped to the ground, her palms pressing into the dirt. Her arms began to burn with each push. Minutes ticked by, and her muscles screamed in protest, but she gritted her teeth and pushed through the pain. She didn’t complain or ask how many. That seemed like a good way to be ordered to do more.

She began to shake with the effort. Just as she felt like she was going to collapse, Sergeant Swift grunted. “Get up.”

Lys struggled to her feet, her arms trembling.

“I’m surprised you managed as many as you did, considering how puny your arms look.” The sergeant’s eyes appraised her once more. “What did you do before signing on?”

Lys met Sergeant Swift’s gaze, her heart pounding. “I carried things for my mother, and helped the lumberjacks sometimes.”

Swift raised an eyebrow. “No apprenticeship?”

She shook her head. “No, Sergeant.”

“Are you good at anything?” Swift asked, his tone skeptical.

Lys straightened her shoulders. “I know how to debranch the trees and shoot a bow.”

Swift glanced over at the other recruits, monitoring their progress. “That would have been a handy skill yesterday.” He pointed to the group chopping the smaller logs into firewood. “Go chop.”

“Yes, Sergeant.” Lys made her way to the chopping station, her hands clammy with nerves.

Three recruits were already at work, their axes rising and falling in a steady rhythm. “Hello,” Lys said, approaching the group.

The recruits paused, nodding in greeting. “Hello,” they replied in unison.

“I’m Lys,” she introduced herself, picking up an axe.

“Garrett,” the first one said, his voice even.

“Davian,” the muscular recruit grunted, wiping sweat from his brow.

“Orin,” the third added, offering a brief smile.

Lys positioned a log on the chopping block, her hands gripping the axe handle.

She brought the blade down, the wood splitting with a satisfying crack.

As she settled into the repetitive motion, the sun beat down on them. Her shirt began to cling to her with sweat.

Despite the ache in her arms she pushed through the discomfort, determined to prove herself. The other recruits’ faces were set in concentration as they worked.

It was going to be a long day. Her stomach grumbled again. Hopefully they would get fed soon.

She wondered how long they would chop.