Mercenary of Lastia - BtLH - Ch 25 (Patreon)

Chapter 25

The next few days alternated long runs with relentless lumberjack work. No one had any extra energy to bother anyone else. Lys caught her breath and sat up, the evening sky a pretty orange.

Swift yelled they were dismissed, and she stretched as she stood up. She headed to her group’s tent and got her things ready. She then relaxed on her bed while the rest of the recruits all went out to use the wash tent.

When the others started to trickle back in, she headed to clean up herself.

She had taken to waiting until as late as possible to do so. Washing off involved going beyond the simple bucket and rag rinse. She especially needed to replace her sweat soaked chest wrap.

When she arrived, it was deserted, like usual. Perfect.

Lys made her way to the well, filled two buckets, and then made her way into the tent. No one was there, and she started to clean up, keeping the light low. There was a small divider in the tent to offer some privacy, but not much. The other recruits hardly used it, but she hid behind it completely.

The water was cold, but it felt refreshing against her skin. Lys unwrapped the binding around her chest, wincing as it peeled away from her skin. She dunked it in the bucket, scrubbing it with a small bar of soap until the water turned murky. Wringing out the excess water, she hung the wrap over the divider to dry.

Next, she turned her attention to her own body, using a rag to wipe away the grime and sweat that had accumulated throughout the day. The cool water sent shivers down her spine, but it was a welcome relief from the constant heat and exertion.

As she washed, Lys’s mind wandered to the other recruits in her group. Orin had become a friend, bonding over their shared struggles as the shortest members of the group. Garrett, too, had been friendly towards her, creating an amusing dynamic when the three of them were together.

She had to be careful not to let her guard down too much, though. If anyone discovered her secret, it could mean the end of her time with the White Dragons. Maintaining the illusion that she was just another recruit added more pressure and stress to the entire ordeal.

A voice startled Lys as she was finishing up. “What are you doing in there, recruit?” The gruff tone was unmistakable—Sergeant Ashton.

Lys froze, her heart pounding in her chest. She swallowed hard before answering, “Just finishing up a wash, sir.”

“It’s past lights out. You should be in your bunk already.” Ashton’s voice was stern, leaving no room for argument.

Without thinking, Lys blurted out, “I thought there should be some more time, sir.” The words hung in the air, and she immediately regretted them.

Silence stretched between them for a moment before Ashton demanded, “Are you arguing with me, recruit?”

Lys realized her mistake and stood up, grabbing her damp chest wrap and hastily covering herself. “No, sir. Should I head back now, or may I finish up, sir?” Her voice wavered slightly, but she tried to keep it steady.

Ashton grunted, and Lys could almost picture the scowl on his face. “Hurry up, then. And make sure to dowse the tent lamp when you’re done.”

“Yes, sir.” Lys let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

Her heart was still pounding as she listened to Ashton’s footsteps receding into the night. She had been so close to being caught naked, and the thought sent a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with the cool evening air.

Lys quickly finished drying off and re-wrapped her chest, wincing as the damp fabric clung to her skin. She pulled on her clothes, fingers fumbling in her haste. The last thing she needed was for someone else to come looking for her.

She would have to be even more careful in the future.

Sleep came fast thanks to her body’s exhaustion. It felt like she was opening her eyes just a few minutes after closing them. She almost felt cheated as she fell into the routine of making her cot and straightening her uniform. She had to stifle a yawn at roll call.

Her muscles ached from the previous day’s exertions, and the thought of another grueling run made her want to crawl back into her bunk. But she straightened her spine and focused her attention on the sergeants before her.

Sergeant Finn stepped up beside Swift, his presence commanding the attention of the recruits. “Today, you’ll be having your first class teaching,” he announced, his voice carrying across the assembled group. “I want you to pay special attention to it, so there won’t be a run to wear you out first.”

A few cheers erupted from the recruits, but Swift quickly silenced them with a sharp look. “Sergeant Goshen will be your instructor,” Finn continued, ignoring the outburst.

Lys perked up at the mention of a new sergeant. She had grown accustomed to the familiar faces of Swift and Finn, so someone new would be interesting.

“Don’t think you’re getting off easy,” Swift interjected, a hint of a smirk on his face. “There will be running after lunch instead. Lots of running.”

Groans rippled through the group, but no one dared to voice their complaints aloud. Lys felt a sense of dread settle in her stomach. Swift’s idea of a ‘lot’ of running was… a bit more than her own.

Finn cleared his throat, drawing the recruits’ attention back to him. “Sergeant Goshen will be going over the various roles and units within the company. Pay attention and ask questions if you have them.”

He nodded to Peder, who had been promoted to their group leader for the week. “Recruit Peder, march them out.”

Peder saluted sharply and turned to face the recruits. “Group, attention!” he barked. “Forward, march!”

Lys fell into step with the others as they marched towards a large tent set up for the lesson. As they filed inside, she noticed the rows of seats arranged before a small table at the front.

A man she assumed to be Sergeant Goshen stood behind the table, his dark olive complexion and black hair distinguishing him from everyone else in the company she had met.

“Welcome, recruits,” Goshen greeted them with a firm voice. “I am Sergeant Yasir Goshen, and I will be your instructor for today’s lesson.”

Lys settled into her seat.

Goshen began, “The White Dragons mercenary company comprises six cohorts. You all belong to the first cohort. Each cohort can operate independently, but in larger campaigns, we work together as one force.”

He looked at Peder. “How do you think the cohorts can operate independently?”

Peder stammered, trying to find his words. “Uh, um, each cohort... has its own... um...”

Goshen nodded encouragingly, then continued, “Each cohort has its own chain of command. Each cohort is commanded by a lieutenant, supported by an array of ‘staff’ sergeants. Then it is divided into multiple groups, each with their own sergeant. Group leaders then command squads in these groups full of regulars. This structure allows each cohort to function autonomously under its leadership.”

He paused to let the information sink in, then moved on. “Each cohort is divided into specialized groups. We have light and heavy infantry, crossbowmen, archers, and mounted scouts. But that’s not all.”

Sergeant Goshen then turned his gaze to Lys. “What else makes up the White Dragons, recruit?”

Lys blinked, trying to think quickly. “The camp followers, sir?” she said, unsure.

The room erupted in laughter. Stormwell shouted, “Stop thinking with your dick, Lys!”

Heat rushed to her cheeks as she felt the sting of embarrassment.

Goshen raised his hand to quiet them down. “Actually, Lys is correct. Camp followers are essential, providing support like cooking, medical aid, and logistics. Never underestimate their importance.”

“We have blacksmiths and leatherworkers who maintain our gear, ensuring that our weapons and armor are always in top condition. You’ve all met Sergeant Ashton, our quartermaster. Carters transport and guard our supplies, making sure we have the provisions we need to sustain ourselves on long campaigns,” Goshen said.

He mentioned several other essential roles, such as cooks, who kept the soldiers well-fed; healers who tended to the wounded; and even messangers, who would ride horses to keep seperated elements of the cohort informed, or to send word to other cohorts.

“Each one of you will find your place within the White Dragons,” Yasir declared, his eyes sweeping over the room. “Whether as a soldier on the front lines or as a vital member of our support staff, we will find a place for you.”

Lys raised her hand, and Yasir acknowledged her with a nod. “Yes, recruit?”

“Sir, do we get to pick what we do?” she asked, her voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in her stomach.

Yasir’s lips twitched into a slight smile. “Partly. You can request assignments, but that doesn’t guarantee them. The company has needs, and they need to be met. Your superiors will weigh your wants and aptitude and balance them against the needs of the Company.”

He paced in front of the recruits, his hands clasped behind his back. “All of you will do at least one year as a recruit. A few of you that are exceptional might be tracked to another assignment if you show the capability. The rest will serve in the infantry for part or all of your term.”

Yasir paused, letting his words sink in before continuing. “After your mandatory five years, if you choose to re-enlist, you’ll be given the opportunity to have much more say in that choice. Once you’ve been in for at least ten years, you become eligible for promotion to sergeant.”

He surveyed the room, his gaze settling on each recruit in turn. “Are there any questions?”

Lys’s hand shot up again, and Yasir nodded to her. “How big is the company, sir?”

“There are a thousand fighting members in a cohort and five hundred support, give or take several hundred depending on their current role. Then there are two thousand permanent members present in Dragonblanc.”

Lys’s brow furrowed as she quickly did the math in her head. “So, that means there are eleven thousand of us?”

Yasir grunted, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “It seems we have a recruit that can count. Are you going for administrator, Recruit?”

A light chuckle rippled through the room, and Lys felt her cheeks warm. She hadn’t meant to draw attention to herself, but her curiosity had gotten the better of her.

“Yes, that’s about right,” Yasir confirmed, his tone turning serious once more. “The White Dragons rely on each of you to contribute to our success.”

The lesson continued for over an hour. Goshen paused and surveyed the room. “Any last questions before we wrap up?”

Lys hesitated, but then raised her hand once more. “Sir, can you go over again how we can receive a specialized role?”

Goshen nodded. “To recap: Advancement comes through proving your skills and dedication. Perform well during your training, show initiative, and your superiors will notice. Specialized roles are awarded based on merit and need.”

He looked out at all of them, his gaze shifting to each recruit as he spoke. “Remember, it’s not just about individual prowess. It’s about how well you can function as part of a team. The White Dragons value cohesion above all. Trust in your comrades and perform your duties to the best of your ability.”

With that, he dismissed the group. As the recruits began to file out, Lys felt a sense of determination settle over her. She was more than ready to prove herself.

The only question was, what kind of role did she want?