Mercenary of Lastia - BtLH - Ch 29 (Patreon)

Finn’s booming voice jolted Lys awake. She scrambled out of her cot, heart pounding as she rushed to join her fellow recruits. The air buzzed with a frantic energy as they hurried to pack up their belongings.

“Move it, you slugs!” Finn barked. “You’ve got five minutes to get your shit together! Everything you got into your pack! Your bunks are going in the wagons!”

Lys stuffed her meager possessions into her rucksack, her hands shaking with a mixture of nerves and excitement. Around her, the others were doing the same, their faces a mix of confusion and anticipation.

Instead of the usual march to muster, Finn began barking orders on how to dismantle and pack up their group tent. Lys found herself caught up in a whirlwind of activity, folding cots and mattresses, and stuffing furniture into small crates.

As the tent came down, Lys realized that the entire camp was in a state of upheaval. Tents were being packed up all across the grounds, and a sense of barely contained chaos filled the air.

“Is this a drill?” Orin whispered as they hauled their tent to a waiting cart.

Lys shook her head, her eyes wide. “I think we’re moving out.”

They joined a line in front of a wagon, where two privates stood atop it, looking down at the recruits with a mixture of amusement and impatience.

“Listen up!” Finn shouted. “You’ll each be receiving a field kit. Don’t fucking lose or damage it, or you’ll be sorry! Your personal ruck gets strapped down on top of it!”

As the line moved forward, the privates tossed down heavy backpacks, each one stuffed to the brim. Lys nearly staggered under the weight of hers, but Garrett’s hand shot out to steady her.

“Don’t fucking drop it!” Finn yelled, his eyes narrowing at Lys.

She gritted her teeth, adjusting the straps of the backpack as she moved on.

The recruits stood in formation, their backs straight and eyes forward. Lys found herself sandwiched between Orin and Garrett. It was rare for all the recruit groups to be lined up together like this, and she knew something big was about to happen.

Swift appeared at the front of the groups, his voice booming across the field. “Listen up, maggots! Today, you’ll be learning to march on the go.”

Lys glanced around, taking in the flurry of activity. The privates were packing up the tents that had just been put out the day before, and the entire camp buzzed with a sense of urgency.

“You’ll keep pace, walk in formation, the same way you’ve been practicing for weeks now, just on the road for real,” Swift barked, his eyes sweeping over the recruits. “Understood?”

A chorus of “Yes, sir!” rang out from the assembled recruits.

As they began to move out, Lys noticed a group of privates falling in ahead of them, while another brought up the rear. The road stretched out before them, and after a few minutes, realization dawned on her.

“We’re heading north,” she muttered to Orin and Garrett.

Garrett nodded. “Swiftmorest or Tradow, then.”

“Or looping around to Mythshell,” Orin added.

Garrett frowned. “Why would we go north to Mythshell? The road west is much shorter.”

Lys grunted, adjusting her pack. “‘Shorter’ still means over 150 miles.”

Orin considered this for a moment. “Yeah, they must be taking us to Swiftmorest.”

“That’s not the right direction for Dragonblanc,” Lys pointed out.

“Maybe we’re sticking with the cohort longer,” Garrett suggested.

Their conversation was cut short by Finn’s sharp voice. “Less talking, more marching! Focus on your steps, recruits!”

Lys snapped her mouth shut, her eyes fixed on the road ahead.

The road stretched wide enough for the recruits to march four abreast, and that’s exactly how they were formed. Lys watched as horses passed them in both directions, their riders carrying unknown messages to unknown destinations.

The weight of her pack seemed to grow heavier with each step, but she pushed on, determined to keep up with the others. As the morning hours waned the sun beat down on them as they marched, and sweat trickled down her back, but she refused to let it slow her down.

Swift and Finn hovered over the recruit groups like hawks, while other sergeants took turns trying to get them to march in sync. Compared to the other formations, every recruit group looked sloppy.

Lys quickly realized that marching with a heavy pack was different from their regular runs. By the time they finally broke for lunch at noon, she was exhausted.

“Eat from your packs!” Swift barked, and the recruits scrambled to obey.

As Lys dug into her rations, she listened to the chatter of the other recruits.

“How much further do you think we’ll go today?” Orin asked, his face red from exertion.

“Who knows?” Jonah shrugged. “I just hope we get there soon. My feet are killing me.”

“Stop complaining,” Garrett said, his voice low. “We’re all tired, but we have to keep going.”

Lys stayed quiet, focusing on her food and trying to ignore the ache in her shoulders.

Garrett glanced at her, a hint of concern in his eyes. “You gonna make it, Lys? Or am I going to carry both our packs?”

Lys shot him a glare. “I can handle it,” she said, her voice firm.

They marched for another few hours before Swift finally called for them to set up camp. Lys stared at the bundle that made up her small single-person tent attached to the bottom of her pack, trying to figure out how to assemble it.

First, she fumbled with the tent poles, her frustration mounting. There weren’t any instructions. The fabric seemed to twist and tangle in her hands, refusing to cooperate.

“Need some help?” Orin asked, appearing at her side.

She gritted her teeth, ready to refuse, but the prospect of spending the night without shelter made her reconsider. “Yeah, thanks,” she muttered, handing him a pole.

Together, they erected the small tent, though it still looked lopsided. Lys wiped the sweat from her brow, feeling a sense of accomplishment despite the tent’s imperfections.

“Lys, Orin, Jonah!” Finn called out. “You’re on latrine duty. Get digging!”

Lys’s stomach churned at the thought. In the camp, the latrines had been private, with sturdy walls and a sense of seclusion. Out here, she realized, there would be no such luxuries.

She grabbed a shovel and followed Orin and Jonah to the designated spot, her mind racing. How was she going to manage something as simple as going to the bathroom without revealing her secret? She had learned how to pee while standing up without soaking herself, but she still needed some privacy.

The boys had no problem looking at each other and comparing sizes, and she was very much lacking in that department.

As they dug, Jonah grumbled under his breath. “This is bullshit. Why do we have to do this?”

“Shut up and dig,” Orin grunted, his shovel biting into the earth.

Lys stayed quiet, focusing on the task at hand and trying to ignore the growing sense of unease in her gut.

When they returned to the camp, Finn was barking out more orders. “No fires tonight, recruits! And refill your water skins at the ration cart.”

Lys joined the line at the cart, her body aching with exhaustion. She filled her skin and trudged back to her tent.

Then she unrolled her bedroll and slid it into her tent. The cramped space barely allowed her to sit up, but she wiggled inside. As she settled onto the thin bedroll, a pang of longing for the camp’s cots struck her.

Those had been as comfortable as her bed back in Thornfield, even if they were narrow. This, however, felt more like sleeping on the road, wrapped in her cloak.

She shifted, trying to find a comfortable position, but the tent’s confines seemed to press in on her. The privacy was a welcome change, though.

With a sigh, she wadded up the sheet that came with the bedroll, fashioning it into a makeshift pillow to supplement the inadequate one provided. It would have to do.

As she lay on her side, the day’s exhaustion crashed over her like a wave. Her eyelids grew heavy, and sleep tugged at the edges of her consciousness. Before succumbing to its pull, she forced herself to go through her breathing exercises, the familiar routine bringing a sense of calm.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

The rhythmic flow of air filled her lungs, and with each breath, the tension in her muscles eased. The sounds of the camp faded into the background as she focused on the rise and fall of her chest.

Gradually, the exercises lulled her into a state of relaxation, and she felt herself drifting off.