Mercenary of Lastia - BtLH - Ch 31 (Patreon)

Chapter 31

The anticipated battle never arrived.

Instead, they camped earlier than the previous days, well before evening set in. Instead of marching quickly, the regulars and entire cohort went to work building a fortified camp. That went much faster than Lys thought possible.

But there were a lot of them, and digging a ditch and setting up a primitive stake wall wasn’t hard with so many working together.

It seemed like they were getting a rest day.

Later in the evening, privates came by from the rearguard and showed each one of them how to care for and maintain their weapons in an abbreviated fashion.

It was odd, after receiving instruction from the Sergeants as a group, to get personalized attention. But Lys expected that this was probably the fastest way to teach many people how to do it right the first time.

The man who came to Lys, Orin, and Garrett, Lys recognized as Hilk and she greeted him. “Hilk, right? Good to see you again.”

Hilk nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You too, Lys. Let’s get you set up with your weapons.”

He showed them what to do, demonstrating how to clean and oil the blade of the sword, how to check the spear for any cracks or splinters, and how to ensure the shield was secure on their arm. As he worked, he provided each of them with a small container of oil and a whetstone.

“Don’t lose these,” Hilk warned, his tone serious. “Our supplies are already low as it is.”

Orin glanced up from his sword, his brow furrowed. “What’s going on, Hilk? Why the sudden urgency with the weapons?”

“We’ll probably be finding out soon,” Hilk said.

Lys leaned in, lowering her voice. “Is it a secret? What’s happening?”

Hilk shrugged, his expression neutral. “Not really, but you’ll learn that you aren’t supposed to yap about things or start rumors. It’s bad for everyone.”

Lys frowned, frustration bubbling up inside her. “But we’ve been kept in the dark completely! There are tons of rumors going around, anyway.”

Hilk grunted, nodding in acknowledgment. “It’s probably because something like this doesn’t really ever happen much.”

Garrett’s eyes narrowed, his tone sharp. “Whatever happens? We don’t know anything!”

Hilk sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. “The Irongians are marching in force toward Swiftmorest. We’re moving to block them.”

Lys’s eyes widened, surprise and worry washing over her. She had heard stories of the Irongians’ military might, and the thought of facing them in battle sent a chill down her spine.

Orin’s voice broke through her thoughts, his words laced with a mix of excitement and apprehension. “There’s going to be a battle?”

Hilk’s expression turned serious as he met their gazes. “It looks like it, but you shouldn’t worry too much. You’ll probably stick with the camp as guards. I don’t think the lieutenant would send raw recruits into a battle.”

Garrett’s brows furrowed, a hint of disappointment in his voice. “So we guard the village and camp while you go out again?”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Hilk confirmed with a nod. “Plus extra labor, if needed.”

Orin groaned, his shoulders slumping. “I joined to become a fighter and earn loot, not dig latrines.”

Hilk shook his head. “Digging is as much a part of being a soldier as is fighting.”

Lys remained silent, her thoughts drifting. She’d be happy just finishing their training and getting her first pay. What she’d spend it on, she wasn’t sure, but by Bunzard, she’d find something.

Hilk glanced over his shoulder, his tone apologetic. “I have to head back to my unit. Keep your heads down and ears open.”

“Thanks for the instruction,” Lys said, offering a grateful smile.

With a nod, Hilk turned and headed off, his figure soon disappearing among the tents.

The absence of crackling fires left an eerie stillness in the air as the sun plunged. Lysandra busied herself with her bedroll, her mind still going over the day’s discussions. She glanced up, noticing the others slowly gravitating towards each other, forming rough circles to sit and talk.

Orin and Garrett approached her, their faces alight with excitement. “Come on, Lys,” Orin urged, tugging at her sleeve. “We’ve got to tell the others what Hilk said.”

Lys hesitated, really, she just wanted to go to sleep already. But Garrett’s insistent gaze and Orin’s enthusiasm wore down her resistance. With a sigh, she allowed them to lead her towards the group.

As they settled into the circle, Orin leaned forward, his voice low and conspiratorial. “Hilk told us we might end up in battle.”

A ripple of murmurs passed through the group, a mix of excitement and apprehension. Lys felt the weight of Plainfield’s gaze on her, his eyes narrowed and calculating.

“I hope the sergeants don’t hold us back. I think we are ready,” Plainfield said, his words cutting through the chatter like a knife.

Lys’s stomach twisted, the implication of his words hanging heavy in the air. She met his gaze, her own eyes narrowing in defiance. “We need more training before anything like that. A lot of us could get hurt.”

Plainfield started to respond, but Garrett cleared his throat. “We probably won’t be in the battle,” he said, his tone reassuring. “We’re just recruits. They’ll probably stick us with guarding the camp.”

Lys nodded, latching onto Garrett’s words like a lifeline.

But even as the conversation shifted, Lys could feel Plainfield’s gaze boring into her. What the fuck was his problem?

As the chatter died down, she slipped away from the group and made her way to her tent. Exhaustion quickly took hold, and she drifted off, the sounds of the camp fading into a distant hum.

Morning came all too soon, the harsh blare of a horn jolting her from her slumber. She scrambled to her feet, hastily packing her belongings as the camp sprang to life.

They marched, the rhythm of their footsteps pounding in Lys’s ears. The sun climbed higher in the sky, rays beating down on them as relentlessly as always. Sweat trickled down her back, her uniform clinging to her skin.

Around noon, they crested a hill, and a small village came into view. Lys blinked, surprise washing over her. They must have been making better time than she’d thought.

The rest of the cohort stretched out, already setting up camp on the outskirts of the village. Tents sprouted up like mushrooms after a rain.

“We made it,” Orin said, his voice tinged with relief.

Garrett nodded, his gaze sweeping over the scene. “Looks like it.”

Swift’s voice rang out, cutting through the chatter. “Hurry up! You’ll get a hot meal after camp is set up!”

That promise spurred them on.

Moving with renewed energy, their pace quickened as they made their way down the hill. It was a good chance to see the entire cohort from the rear. It was huge, supposedly a thousand men.

Lys couldn’t help but marvel at it. There were probably more men here than living in all of Swiftmorest. Definitely more than Thornfield. There was no time to dwell on it. Surveyors were already mapping out their future camp.

The first thing to come off the wagons were shovels. Everyone was expected to dig now, including the recruits. It quickly became clear that the sergeants intended them to dig in a much more fortified camp than the previous day’s work on the road.

It still went faster than she could believe, and in a few hours, an entire walled encampment formed around their growing sea of tents. She was beginning to realize that being a soldier mean being very good at digging and building.

Maybe more than fighting?

Probably not.

The aroma of the promised stew wafted through the camp and caused her stomach to grumble. The cooks worked over giant communal pots that bubbled over makeshift fires, filled to the brim with dried meat, potatoes, and vegetables from the supply carts.

The recruits were pulled to help with the cooking for the entire camp while the regulars finished up the earthworks.

“I never thought I’d be so excited for a bowl of stew,” Orin said, his eyes wide as he stirred the pot.

Garrett chuckled, tossing a handful of chopped carrots into the mix. “Anything’s better than those dry rations we’ve been eating.”

Lys nodded in agreement. She busied herself with peeling potatoes, the repetitive task allowing her mind to wander.

As the stew simmered, the recruits gathered around the pots, their bowls ready. Cook work came with a major perk—first dibs.

The first taste was heavenly, and she savored every bite.

“I could get used to this,” Orin said, his mouth full of stew.

Lys couldn’t help but agree. The stew was a welcome change. She helped herself to a second bowl, then a third, until her belly was full.

As they cleaned up, Swift appeared, his gaze sweeping over the recruits. “Lys, Plainfield, Davian,” he called out, his voice cutting through the chatter. “Front and center.”

Lys’s heart skipped a beat as she hurried to stand before the sergeant, Plainfield and Davian at her side. Swift looked them over, his expression unreadable.

“You three are on guard duty. First watch,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’ll be relieved at midnight.”

Lys nodded, her nerves buzzing with a mix of excitement and apprehension. She glanced over at the three privates waiting nearby, their expressions neutral.

“Guard duty is always done with a buddy,” Swift continued, gesturing to the privates. “To learn the ropes, you’ll be going with someone more experienced.”

One of the privates stepped forward, his gaze settling on Lys. “I’m Egan,” he said, his voice gruff but not unkind. “Follow me.”

Lys fell into step behind him, her stomach fluttering. It was just another task, but sentry duty seemed like a lot more responsibility.

As they walked, Egan glanced over his shoulder, his brow furrowed. “You ever done this before, kid?”

Lys shook her head, her voice catching in her throat. “No, sir. This is my first time.”

Egan’s laughter caught Lys off guard, leaving her uncertain of its cause. “Well, let’s pop your cherry, eh?”

Lys winced at his choice of words.

He didn’t notice, though. “Go get your sword, spear, and shield. No pack.”

She hurried to her tent, grabbing the requested items. When she returned, Egan shook his head at her. “Put your shield on your back. You aren’t going to be carrying it all night.”

As Lys attempted to comply, she nearly dropped her spear in the process. Egan sighed, “Bunzard almighty, they really are putting us with the fresh meat.”

He stepped forward, grabbing Lys and straightening her posture. “Like this,” he instructed, hooking her shield’s shoulder strap around her and adjusting her sword belt to a different position. He then placed the spear firmly in her grasp.

“Sorry,” Lys stammered, feeling the heat of embarrassment creeping up her neck. “I’ve been practicing with the weapons, but...”

“But you never had to grab them all real fast, is it?” Egan finished her sentence, a knowing look in his eyes.

Lys nodded, relieved that he understood. “Yeah.”

“Well, you need to figure that out quick,” Egan advised, his tone serious. “This won’t be the last time you have guard duty, for sure.”

He gestured for her to follow as he began walking. “We have a section of the perimeter on the southern side,” he explained, his voice carrying over the bustling sounds of the camp. “Listen up, because you need to understand how the various watch teams work together to patrol.”

Lys focused on Egan’s words, determined to absorb every detail. As they walked, she adjusted her grip on the spear.

The southern perimeter was a boring section of the earthen wall supported by stakes. The open field contained the road they’d marched on, while the village was on the other side.

That meant it was going to be a very boring night, according to Egan. The worst thing for a sentry was to fall asleep from boredom.

Apparently, getting a chance to team up with a recruit was rare, and she realized Egan was going to talk to her the entire time about what she should and shouldn’t do.

Not because he enjoyed teaching, but just to pass the time.

It wasn’t a bad idea. So she listened.