Mercenary of Lastia - BtLH - Ch 27 (Patreon)

Finn’s voice boomed across the training grounds. “Several of you put on your enlistment that you were archers. Now’s your chance to prove it. Hawk, Plainfield, Trekhill, to the front!”

Lys swallowed as she fell out of formation and approached.

Swift pointed out the three targets at varying distances. “Thirty meters, fifty meters, and seventy meters. Each target has a center, middle, and outer ring. Center is worth 10 points, middle 5, and outer 1. The fifty-meter target is worth double, and the seventy-meter triple. Each recruit gets twelve shots.”

Hawk raised his hand, and Finn turned to him. “What is it, recruit?”

“I’m good with the crossbow, not a war bow, Sergeant,” Hawk said, his voice wavering slightly.

Finn’s eyes narrowed. “And what are you going to do if you have a war bow and not a crossbow?”

Hawk swallowed. “I’ll shoot my best, Sergeant.”

“Get up there!” Finn yelled.

Hawk moved to the firing line, all eyes on him. Lys watched intently as he aimed for the middle target, his first shot hitting the twenty-point ring. His remaining shots were decent, earning him a score of 85 points.

“Run and pull your arrows, Hawk!” Finn ordered. As Hawk jogged to retrieve his arrows, Swift called Plainfield to the line.

Lys observed Plainfield closely as he nocked his first arrow.

He took a deep breath, drew the string back to his ear, and released. The arrow found its mark in the center of the thirty-meter target. His next two shots landed in the middle and outer rings of the fifty-meter target.

His confidence seemed to grow as he moved to the seventy-meter target. His first shot just missed the center, landing in the middle ring. The next two arrows found their mark, each earning him 30 points in the center ring.

His next shots fell randomly, none of them missing. If he had a strategy for which target he was aiming at, she couldn’t tell.

As Plainfield finished his last shot, Swift called out his score. “130 points for Plainfield!”

Lys felt a prickle of nervousness as she watched Plainfield retrieve his arrows. She knew she would be called up next, and the pressure to perform well weighed on her. The bow felt heavy in her hands, and she wondered if her years of practice would be enough to impress the sergeants and her fellow recruits.

When he returned, he gave her a ‘see if you can beat that’ look without anyone noticing.

Lys’ grip tightened on her bow. She’d do more than her best.

She stepped up to the line, her heart pounding in her chest. She tugged on the bowstring, feeling the immense resistance. It was much too heavy for her to fully draw. She glanced at Swift, who watched her with an unimpressed expression.

“Sergeant, may I use a lighter bow?” Lys asked, her voice steady despite her nerves.

Swift’s eyes narrowed. “No, recruit. You’ll use the bow you are given.”

Lys nodded, her mind racing as she surveyed the targets. The 70-meter target was out of the question, and even the middle target seemed questionable with her limited draw strength. She knew that hitting the center of the close target every time would only earn her 120 points, not enough to win against Woodrow’s score.

She closed her eyes, focusing on her father’s breathing exercise. The warmth from her earlier meditation filled her body, a sense of rightness settling over her. She felt on the verge of realizing something great.

“Anytime now, recruit,” Finn called out, his voice impatient.

Lys opened her eyes, drew the bow as far as she could, and angled it upward to compensate for her weak shot. In a smooth motion, she released the arrow, watching it arc high into the air.

“Trekhill! If you can’t draw the bow, at least aim for—” Swift’s reprimand was cut short as the arrow thudded into the bullseye of the middle target.

Lys closed her eyes once more, repeating the process. Her arm, weaker now, struggled to muster the same strength. She angled the bow higher and released. The arrow landed in the bullseye, cracking the first arrow as it stuck.

Silence descended upon the training grounds.

Lys’s next five shots hit the close target’s bullseye, each arrow thudding into the straw with a satisfying sound. Her arm burned with the effort, the muscles screaming for relief. She swapped her drawing and holding hands, the unfamiliar grip feeling awkward and clumsy.

She still hit the target. She’d practiced enough firing from odd positions that it didn’t matter.

“140 points for Trekhill,” Finn called out. There was no emotion in his voice as he stared at her.

Swift nodded, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Well, looks like the twig can shoot.”

The other recruits murmured their approval. Plainfield looked at her with shock. A small smile tugged at her lips. She’d done it!

Finn waved the rest of the recruits forward. “Alright, you lot, let’s keep it going.”

As the others took their turns, Lys rubbed her aching arm, the fatigue setting in. She watched their shots, noting their form and accuracy. Some showed promise, while others struggled to even hit the close target.

Swift approached her, his eyes appraising. “You’ll have to get stronger if you want to be an archer in the company. A light bow isn’t nearly as useful as a war bow.”

Lys met his gaze, her voice steady. “Yes, sir.”

As Swift walked away, Lys’s mind raced with doubts.

Could she build the strength needed to draw a war bow? The weight of the bow she had used was clearly beyond her limits. If she trained harder, though… she thought it might be possible.

The recruits that had finished their firing were set to jogging around the ground. It was a relentless pace, but eventually everyone had a turn with the targets and they got sent to eat.

The sun beat down on them along the way, the early summer heat oppressive and unrelenting. Lys wiped the sweat from her brow, her uniform clinging to her skin. Glancing at the other recruits, their faces were red and glistening with perspiration too.

She lined up for dinner chow, her stomach grumbling after the training session. The aroma of stew and freshly baked bread wafted through the air, making her mouth water. As she grabbed her tray and utensils, Orin and Garrett fell in line behind her.

“Hey, Trekhill, great shooting out there today,” Orin said, clapping her on the shoulder. “You really showed us up.”

Garrett nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I’ve never seen anyone shoot like that before. Where’d you learn?”

Lys shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Just practice, I guess. My father taught me when I was young.”

As they moved through the line, Lys noticed the serving staff piling extra portions onto her plate. She glanced at Orin and Garrett’s trays and confirmed it was just her.

“Why are they giving me so much?” Lys asked, confusion evident in her voice.

Orin chuckled. “Probably because Sergeant Swift wants you to bulk up. You’re pretty scrawny compared to the rest of us. Even I’m bigger than you, and I was sure I’d be the smallest.”

Lys felt a flush of embarrassment at the comment, but knew Orin was right. She needed to gain mass if she wanted to keep up with the others.

As they sat down at a table, Lys dug into her stew, savoring the hearty flavors. Orin and Garrett chatted animatedly about the day’s training, but Lys remained quiet, lost in her own thoughts.

After they finished their meals and were released to their barracks for the evening, Lys was surprised to see Sergeant Yasir enter the tent. The other recruits fell silent.

Yasir’s gaze settled on Lys, his expression unreadable. “Trekhill, come with me.”

Lys stood up, her heart pounding in her chest. She had no idea why Yasir wanted to see her, but she knew better than to ask questions. She followed him out of the tent and into the cool night air.

Yasir led her to another tent, holding the flap open for her to enter. Inside, a single lantern cast a warm glow over a small table and two chairs. Yasir motioned for her to sit, taking the seat opposite her.

“I saw you today, Trekhill,” Yasir said, his voice low and serious. “I know your secret.”

Lys swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “Sir?”

Yasir leaned forward, his eyes boring into hers. “You’re on the Sevenfold Path. Who taught you the first step?”

Lys blinked, confusion washing over her. “I... I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.”

Yasir’s eyes narrowed, his gaze piercing through Lys. “Don’t bullshit with me, recruit. I saw you before you began to shoot and while you were shooting. Anyone with a spark would have noticed from miles away.”

Lys shook her head weakly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Just a mental exercise, sir.”

“Are you a spy?” Yasir demanded, his voice low and menacing.

Lys blinked, her eyes wide with surprise. She shook her head vehemently. “No, sir. I grew up in Thornfield. This is my first time out of my village.”

Yasir leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. “Who initiated you then, recruit?”

Lys swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “My father taught me when I was little, sir. When he first showed me how to use a bow.”

“Who was your father?” Yasir asked, his tone still skeptical.

“He was a trader, sir. He routed between Silverpines, Thornfield, and Heartlehelm.” Lys paused, her eyes dropping to the table. “He died five—six years ago.”

Yasir stared at her, his expression unreadable. The silence stretched between them, the only sound the flickering of the lantern. Lys shifted in her seat, her heart pounding in her chest. She had no idea what Yasir was thinking.

“Sir, I don’t know anything about this Sevenfold Path you’re talking about. I just did what my father taught me. It helps me focus, to clear my mind before I shoot.” Lys met Yasir’s gaze, her eyes pleading. “I’m not a spy, sir. I just want to serve in the company, to make a better life for myself.”

Yasir leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. He studied Lys for a long moment, his eyes searching her face for any sign of deceit.

Finally, he nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I believe you, Trekhill.”

Lys nodded, relief flooding through her. She had been worried that Yasir would forbid her from using the techniques her father had taught her.

“In fact,” Yasir continued, his brow furrowing, “you will be receiving additional lessons when there is time.” He held up a finger in warning. “Do not tell any of the other recruits, and if a Sergeant questions you on it, refer them to me.”

Lys blinked, a question forming in her mind. “If it is an advantage, then why not teach the breathing exercises to the entire company?”

Yasir frowned, his expression growing serious. “It isn’t taught to everyone because it can be dangerous. Learning to breathe wrong on the Path means being crippled or even death, and it is only taught by masters at Dragonblanc to those who show affinity for it. Not everyone does.” He paused, his eyes appraising her. “Since you’re still alive, we don’t have to worry as much about that.”

As much? Lys swallowed, the gravity of Yasir’s words sinking in. She had no idea that the breathing exercises could be dangerous.

Yasir leaned forward, his voice low and intense. “Let me make one thing clear. If I find out you’re lying to me, if you’re here for any other reason than to serve the company… there are worse things than a life sentence in the prince’s mines. Understood?”

Lys nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. “Yes, sir. I understand.”

She didn’t, but she was still reeling from the scrutinization.

Yasir stood up, motioning for Lys to do the same. “Get back to your barracks. You’ve got a long day ahead of you tomorrow. I will be discussing your training with Sergeant Finn and Swift.”

Lys rose from her chair, her legs feeling shaky. “Sir, should I… stop using the breathing exercises?”

Yasir shook his head. “What you are doing is fine for now. In fact, it’s good practice. We will mostly be going over theory and the foundations you skipped. Once you reach Dragonblanc a Pathmaster will guide you further.”

She started to ask what a Pathmaster was but caught herself. It was probably part of those foundations he was going to teach her…

“Thank you, sir,” Lys said, before turning and heading back to her group’s tent.

As she stepped out into the cool night air, she took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves.

What had she stumbled into? And… what more could the simple, meditative breathing exercises do for her?