Mercenary of Lastia - BtLH - Ch 28 (Patreon)

Lys took a deep breath, centered her core, exploded the warmth in her middle and then lifted the log.

The weight strained her muscles, but she hoisted it onto her shoulder. Two weeks of relentless training had transformed her body, adding lean muscle to her frame. While the other recruits had bulked up more substantially, she hadn’t fallen too far behind.

Part of that was her ‘special’ ability to use her newfound breathing. Yasir hadn’t provided the personal lesson he had promised yet. When she found him and asked, he had told her to just continue experimenting on her own.

That was something she had already been doing anyway, but with that approval, she started practicing with it every night.

One of the more stunning realizations was that while it didn’t make her superhuman by any means, it allowed her to recover much, much faster.

She carried the log over to the group busy chopping the logs into firewood. Orin acknowledged her with a nod as she set it down. Garrett swung his massive woodcutter axe, smashing through the timber with each powerful strike. The familiar scene reminded Lys of her days in Thornfield, working alongside the lumberjacks.

“Pick up the pace!” Swift yelled, his voice cutting through the air.

Lys hurried back to the log pile, grabbing an axe as another group of recruits dragged freshly cut trees from deeper in the forest. She set to work debranching the trunks. Her skill at that task earned her the duty of log transport more often than not. But she didn’t mind; she had learned that what didn’t kill her only made her stronger.

As her muscles threatened to give out, Lys focused on her core breathing exercises. Each day the technique came more easily, its effects nearly instantaneous. The other recruits remained oblivious to her secret practice, too focused on their own grueling tasks to take notice.

Lys dropped her last log onto the pile, her chest heaving with exertion. She sat down on it, taking a moment to catch her breath white Orin and Garrett finished chopping the previous log.

They finished in record time and then were herded to the mess hall. The scent of stew and freshly baked bread wafted through the air, making her stomach grumble. She grabbed a wooden bowl and spoon, falling into line behind Orin and Garrett.

As they waited, a low murmur spread through the recruits. Lys strained to hear what they were saying, but the words were too muffled to make out. She turned to Orin, who had a concerned look on his face.

“Did you hear?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lys shook her head. “Hear what?”

Garrett looked at them. “The main cohort is returning this evening.”

Lys blinked, realization dawning on her. “Right, the rest of the cohort. We haven’t seen them yet, have we?”

“Nope,” Orin said. “They’ve been out doing who knows what while we’ve been stuck here training.”

From their ‘classroom’ lessons, she knew that the main body of the cohort was much larger than the administrative and training section they had been working with. The recruits, now up to five groups strong thanks to the influx of youth, or really—the desperate, from Silverpines, made up only a small portion of the overall force.

“I just hope they don’t start making us do chores for all of them,” Lys said, stretching her sore muscles.

Orin groaned, giving her a look. “Now that you’ve said that, it’s exactly what’s going to happen.”

His prediction proved accurate, at least in part. Immediately after lunch, the recruits were marched out to the open field beside the camp and tasked with pitching tents and clearing the area.

She grimaced as she hammered a tent stake into the ground, her muscles protesting the unfamiliar motion.

“No, no, no,” Sergeant Swift barked, striding over to a pair of recruits struggling with a canvas. “The ridge pole goes through the center, then you stake down the corners. Haven’t you been paying attention?”

The recruits mumbled apologies, hastily correcting their mistake. Lys focused on her own work, determined not to draw Swift’s ire.

“Listen up,” Swift called out, his voice carrying across the field. “These tents are the standard issue for the company. Each of you will be responsible for your own when we’re on the move.”

He gestured to the larger tents being erected by the more experienced soldiers. “These are for group functions - mess, bathing, storage, and the like. They’ll be spaced between your personal tents in a specific layout.”

Lys paused, wiping sweat from her brow as she surveyed the organized chaos around her. The camp was quickly multiplying in size thanks to all the additional tents.

“Hey, Lys,” Orin called out, waving her over. “Give me a hand with this, will you?”

She jogged over, grabbing a corner of the canvas and helping him pull it taut. Together, they made quick work of the remaining stakes.

“Thanks,” Orin said, flashing her a grin. “I think we’re getting the hang of this.”

Lys nodded, feeling a sense of accomplishment as she looked at the neat row of tents they had pitched.

As they moved on to the next task, clearing the perimeter of the field of rocks and debris, Lys couldn’t help but wonder what the returning cohort would be like. Would they be battle-hardened veterans, scarred and grizzled from their time on the front lines? Or would they be more like the recruits, young and eager to prove themselves?

The answer, as the various groups arrived later in the afternoon, was both.

A mix of younger and older privates and sergeants created a sea of faces Lys had never seen before.

They weren’t idle and the horde of hundreds of regulars went to work transforming the fields the recruits had cleared earlier, digging and shoveling mounds of dirt and creating a dirt wall with a ditch around it in what felt like was an impossibly short time. Then they lined it with stakes.

The recruits were ordered to watch and learn. It was a lesson alright—the only reason she could think of that the Sergeants kept them from helping was that they would slow things down.

Lys was attentive and watched how they worked together at the manual labor.

They all seemed to know each other, and the recruits, despite their number, were suddenly no longer the largest group in the camp. And their seniors were eager to rustle their feathers.

When Lys’s group was released for the evening, a group of three privates approached them. One of them turned to Garrett. “Hey, you. Carry my pack to my tent.”

Garrett hesitated for a moment before responding, “Yes, sir.”

The other private burst out laughing. “Edgar, he called you ‘sir’!”

The privates chuckled among themselves, and then the third one chimed in, “You don’t have to listen to Edgar, big guy. He’s not a sergeant.”

Garrett, Orin, and Lys exchanged confused glances. The laughing private smirked at them. “Gods, they’re like baby chicks who don’t know anything.”

The third private turned to his laughing companion. “You still don’t know anything, either.”

The two privates started wrestling playfully, their laughter echoing across the camp. Garrett shifted uncomfortably. “I need to get ready for lights out.”

Edgar grinned at him. “Sure thing, big guy. I look forward to seeing what you can do with those massive arms.”

As the privates walked away, still joking and shoving each other, Lys couldn’t help but wonder what the heck was going on. She glanced at Orin and Garrett, who seemed just as perplexed as she was.

The next morning was weapons practice.

Swift marched them out to the field where a large group of men were already sparring away, swords and shields bashing at each other. It was much more than the simple training motions that the recruits had been taught so far. Lys realized they were the full soldiers, not other recruits.

“Listen up!” Swift barked. “Today, you’ll be sparring for the first time. You’ll be partnering up with a more experienced member of the cohort for it.”

The privates all seemed to stop at once, turning toward them from whatever they were doing.

“Pick a partner!” Swift yelled.

The recruits were a bit confused, but the privates weren’t. They walked out and started selecting whoever they wanted. Edgar picked Garrett.

A man walked up to Lys. “You’re with me.”

She recognized him from the night earlier and followed. “I’m Morris,” he said.

“Lys,” she replied.

“You good at anything?” Morris asked.

“The bow, mostly,” Lys said.

Morris nodded. “We’ll be going with sword and shield first.” He led them over to the armaments wagon.

They grabbed their weapons, and Lys hefted the shield. It was lighter than the first time... or rather, she had gotten stronger.

“You ever sparred before?” Morris asked.

Lys shook her head. “We haven’t.”

“Give it your best, then,” Morris said, taking a stance opposite her.

Lys mirrored his position, the shield feeling more natural in her grip than it had just a few weeks ago. She took a deep breath, centering herself like she did when practicing archery.

Morris lunged forward, his sword coming down in a controlled arc. Lys brought her shield up, catching the blow with a solid thunk. The impact reverberated through her arm, but she held steady.

“Good,” Morris said, stepping back. “Again.”

They traded blows, Morris calling out adjustments to her form as they went. She fell into a rhythm, and the movements became more fluid with each repetition.

Around them, the other pairs were engaged in similar dances. The clang of metal on metal filled the air, punctuated by grunts of exertion and the occasional yelp of pain.

Lys’s arms were burning by the time Morris called a halt. She lowered her shield, panting.

“Not bad for a first time,” Morris said, wiping sweat from his brow. “You’ve got potential.”

Lys felt a flush of pride at the praise. She glanced around, spotting Orin and Garrett still locked in combat with their partners.

“Take a break,” Morris said, gesturing to a water barrel at the edge of the field. “We’ll go again in a few minutes.”

Lys nodded, making her way over to the barrel. She dipped a cup into the cool water, relishing the feeling of it sliding down her throat.

As she watched the others spar, Lys couldn’t help but feel a sense of belonging. For the first time since leaving Thornfield, she felt like she was doing good.