Mercenary of Lastia - BtLH - Ch 30 (Patreon)

The morning sun had barely crested the horizon when Finn’s voice boomed through the camp, rousing Lys from her fitful sleep. The morning wake-up calls from the sergeants had become second nature, and it was hard to be surprised by them anymore.

She scrambled out of her tent, hastily packing her belongings and joining the other recruits in formation. Thankfully, putting the tent back together into a bundle had been easier than putting it together.

Hours passed, and the sun climbed higher in the sky, its relentless heat beating down on them. Lys’s throat felt parched, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth. Drinks from her water-skin were frequent enough that she was worried about running out before they stopped.

“We are eating on the move!” Swift barked, his voice cutting through the sound of marching feet.

Lys fumbled with her pack, pulling out a strip of dried meat. She chewed mechanically, the tough texture making her jaw ache.

“Pass the water down!” someone called from the front of the line.

A row of canteens made its way through the ranks, each recruit filling their waterskin before passing it down the line. Lys gulped down the lukewarm water, wishing for more but knowing she had to conserve it.

“Why are they pushing us so hard?” she asked, her voice strained.

“No idea,” Jonah panted, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“Must be in a hurry to get somewhere,” another recruit chimed in, his face red from exertion.

“I heard someone say it’s a forced march,” Orin added.

Suddenly, a cry of pain rang out from behind them. Lys turned to see a recruit sprawled on the ground, clutching his ankle. The formation parted around him, and two soldiers lifted him up, carrying him to a nearby wagon.

“This isn’t normal training, is it?” Orin asked, his eyes wide.

Lys shook her head, a sense of unease growing in her gut. “But who are we trying to outrun to Swiftmorest?”

The next six days passed in a blur of blistered feet and aching muscles. Lys trudged along with the other recruits, her pack feeling heavier each day. The sergeants offered no respite, driving them forward at a relentless pace.

“Finn confirmed it to Jonah earlier today, our goal is Swiftmorest after all,” Garrett said.

“What’s so important there?” Lys asked.

“Nothing that I know of, just a small village,” he replied.

Orin fell into step beside them. “But why the rush?”

“Maybe it’s in danger, like Silverpines?” Garret asked.

Lys shrugged, too exhausted to speculate. The terrain shifted gradually, the dense forests giving way to sparser hills. The valley stretched out before them, a winding path cutting through the heart of it.

“We are entering the Gap,” Garrett said, his eyes scanning the horizon. “The northern wilderness between Lastia and Irongia.”

Lys nodded, recalling the stories she’d heard of the strategic importance of the region despite its remoteness. As they marched, she tried to keep track of the distance they’d covered. By her estimation, they had traveled as far in these seven days as she had in two weeks on her own.

“We must be halfway there by now,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else.

When they finally set up camp on the seventh night, Lys could barely keep her eyes open.

She stumbled into her tent, collapsing onto the thin bedroll without a second thought. Sleep claimed her instantly, the exhaustion of the journey overwhelming any discomfort from the hard ground beneath her.

The next morning, instead of being marched, the recruits were lined up in ranks while the rest of the cohort marched on. Confusion rippled through the group, and Lys shifted from foot to foot, her feet aching. Thankfully, she hadn’t developed any blisters, unlike some of the others who had been moved to wagons set up for the injured.

“What’s going on?” Orin whispered, his brow furrowed.

Lys shook her head, her own uncertainty mirrored in the faces of those around her.

Swift appeared along with several other cohort privates and stood in front of the group. His gaze swept over the recruits, and then he shouted, “As much as I hate the idea, you’re all being given weapons—swords, spears, and shields.”

A murmur rose from the recruits, their voices tinged with a mix of excitement and apprehension.

“Why now?” Garrett asked, his voice low.

Lys leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper. “There’s only one reason to give us weapons like this—we might end up fighting.”

Orin’s eyes widened. “But that’s not supposed to happen. We’re just recruits.”

“Quiet!” Swift barked, his voice cutting through the chatter. “Stop yapping!”

The recruits fell silent, their attention snapping back to the front.

“Each line of recruits will be called up at a time to get your weapons,” Swift continued, his tone leaving no room for argument.

As they waited for their turn, Lys’s mind raced with the implications. They were being armed, which could only mean one thing—trouble was on the horizon. She glanced at her fellow recruits, seeing the same realization dawning on their faces.

The first line of recruits stepped forward, their hands outstretched to receive their weapons. The clang of metal against metal filled the air as swords and spears were distributed.

Lys’s heart pounded in her chest, a mixture of anticipation and dread coursing through her veins. Whatever lay ahead, she knew one thing for certain—their training so far was about to be put to the test. Probably. Maybe. Really, it was the uncertainty of things that bit at her the most.

She stepped forward with her group, her heart pounding in her chest as they approached the wagon laden with weapons. The clang of metal against metal grew louder with each step, and she could see the glint of sunlight reflecting off the polished blades.

“Line up!” Swift barked, his voice cutting through the chatter of the recruits.

Lys fell into line, her hands clenched at her sides. As she waited her turn, she watched the others receive their weapons, their faces a mix of excitement and trepidation.

“Next!” Swift called, and Lys found herself at the front of the line.

A sword was thrust into her hands, the weight of it surprising her. She fumbled with the sword belt, trying to secure it around her waist.

“Hurry up, recruit!” Swift snapped, his eyes narrowing.

Lys nodded, her fingers finally fastening the buckle. Next came the shield, its wooden surface smooth against her palm. She slipped the shield strap over her shoulder, adjusting it until it rested comfortably against her pack.

“Don’t forget your spear,” the private beside Swift said, holding out the long, slender weapon.

Lys reached for it, her hand closing around the shaft. She hefted it, feeling the balance of it in her grip.

As she stepped away from the wagon, Lys could feel the weight of the weapons on her body. It wasn’t much, but it was noticeable. So much for getting used to the travel pack.

“Listen up!” Swift shouted, his voice rising above the din. “You’ll learn to care for and maintain your weapons in the evening. And don’t even think about jabbing them in the dirt or ruining them. If you do, it’ll come out of your first pay!”

A murmur of assent rippled through the group, and Lys nodded along with the others. She glanced down at the sword at her hip, the shield on her back, and the spear in her hand. They were tools of war, and she knew that she would have to learn to wield them if she hoped to survive whatever lay ahead.

As she fell back into line with her fellow recruits, Lys could feel the tension in the air.

They were positioned near the end of the cohort’s line, with a group of privates following behind, guarding the rear. The pace remained grueling, and Lys could feel the strain in her muscles as they pushed on through the day.

“What do you think is going on?” Orin asked, his voice strained from the exertion.

Garrett shook his head, his brow furrowed. “The Irongian Raiders?”

“Raiders?” Orin’s eyes widened. “Maybe they didn’t get run off like we thought?”

“It’s possible,” Garrett replied, adjusting his shield. “They wouldn’t give us weapons if they didn’t think we might need them.”

Lys listened to their exchange, her own thoughts racing. The two men who had murdered Jorg, and she had fought with the Man-eater... She nearly stumbled and her stomach flopped. The image of the man she had killed filling her vision with disturbing clarity.

“Careful.” Garrett steadied her with a hand and she resumed her pace.

“But we’re just recruits,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “We’ve barely started our training.”

Orin nodded, his face grim. “They must be desperate if they’re arming us.”

“Or they think we’re expendable,” Garrett muttered, his words hanging heavy in the air.

Lys swallowed hard, the reality of their situation sinking in.

They were being marched towards an unknown danger, armed with weapons they barely knew how to use. She glanced at the sword at her hip, the spear in her hand. She would have really preferred a bow.

“What do you think they’ll have us do?” Orin asked, his voice trembling slightly.

Garrett shrugged, his eyes fixed on the horizon. “Guard the camp, maybe. Or act as a distraction while the experienced soldiers do the real fighting.”

Lys felt a knot form in her stomach at the thought. She had joined the White Dragons to escape her past, to find a new purpose in life. But now, faced with the prospect of battle, she wondered if she had made the right choice.

As they marched on, the sun beating down on their backs, Lys tried to push the fear from her mind.

She focused on putting one foot in front of the other, on the rhythm of her breathing, on the weight of the weapons in her hands.

There was no turning back now.