Mercenary of Lastia - BtLH - Ch 47 (Patreon)

Lys gritted her teeth as the stretcher jostled. The pace was hard, and that meant the group had to take turns carrying her stretcher. The summer sun beat down mercilessly, and it was humid despite being before noon.

Sweat trickled into her eyes and her pack, balanced precariously on her legs, felt like a lead weight.

As the day wore on, Tilledge pushed the group relentlessly, leading them through more than just the run after the very brief respite of lunch. Lys watched from her position. Frustration flooded while she observed the regulars’ unwavering dedication and stamina.

On the way back to camp, Tilledge approached her stretcher. “Listen up, recruit. If you pull another stunt like that, you’ll be cleaning latrines on your own for a month. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Lys replied.

Tilledge held her gaze for a moment longer before turning away, barking orders at the rest of the group. She still wasn’t allowed to get off the stretcher as the regulars dispersed into the rest of the camp to take care of their duties and to eat.

As the regulars mingled, Lys noticed most of the non-skirmishers were trading trinkets. Glittering jewelry, gleaming knives, and even pieces of plundered armor were proudly displayed. She frowned. Lark sauntered over to her.

“You know, loot like that can be worth more than our yearly pay,” he said, gesturing towards the gathered men. “Though the pickings from a field camp aren’t usually this rich.”

Lys’s frown deepened. “Like Silverpines?”

Lark shook his head. “That was bad for us. Not sure how the Irongians got so far in without being stopped.”

She winced. That just made it seem worse. “I don’t want to go around hoping we’ll sack a town just for money.”

“They razed Silverpines on purpose,” Lark explained. “It’s not normally that bad.”

That reassurance didn’t work for her and her gaze drifted back to the regulars, a knot forming in her stomach. “Some of that loot might be from Silverpines.”

Lark shrugged. “It’s part of the life. War is as hard on civilians as it is on us.”

Lys remained silent, the conflict inside of her continuing even as Lark stepped away. She decided it wasn’t her place to judge. After an hour of sitting around on the stretcher under the shade, she was finally released from her small prison.

That was a relief. People that had not known what was going on had started to stare. She made her way straight to her tent.

Sitting cross-legged on her bedroll, Lys closed her eyes. Yasir’s warning echoed in her mind. He had forbidden her from using her abilities, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t mediate. It would take the edge off.

Taking a deep breath, she focused inward.

The name ‘Sevenfold Path’ resonated in her thoughts. A hint perhaps?

What had she done differently on the cliff compared to before?

The duration and intensity of her focus and breathing?

The added emotion? Not really, she realized, recalling the sheer panic of the defense at Swiftmorest.

Maybe it was simply the way she had focused on creating an effect? What if she didn’t try to do anything with it, just let the energy exist? That always left her feeling better.

She felt the familiar sphere of warmth building in her core. Tentatively, she prodded the orb with her mind, finding small cracks and rough sections to the normally smooth sphere.

She pictured herself placing her hands against the spinning orb, gently guiding the material back into its proper form. It seemed to work, and the gentle warmth spread from her middle to her toes and fingers.

Suddenly, a distinct click resonated within her, and her eyes snapped open. Vertigo washed over her, strong enough to force her to lie back on her bedroll, her head sinking into the pillow as she stared up at the tent’s canvas.

What had she done?

Her body felt lighter, almost ethereal.

She took a breath, relieved to find that at least her breathing seemed normal.

Answers weren’t forthcoming. She felt better, though… and tired. It was still early, and she was probably forgetting to do something important, but sleep came easily.

***

The soft light of dawn barely preceded the reminder to wake up. Lys followed the others out to roll call. Despite the warning of how long it would take to recover, she felt fine—for real this time.

Morning run was announced, but as the others fell into line, Tilledge intercepted her. “Not you, recruit. You need to recuperate.”

“Sir, I’m feeling better after sleeping all night. I can go with them. If I feel winded, I can slow down and walk,” Lys offered. It was a risk, but she didn’t want to be left out.

He stared at her for what felt like forever before grunting. “All right, recruit. You can join them. But mind your pace and health. The purpose of the training is to strengthen you and keep you in shape. Trying to force yourself when you’re injured or sick will do the opposite and make you a liability to the rest of us. Do you understand?”

Lys nodded. “Yes sir! I’m really feeling better. If that changes, I’ll stop and rest more, even if I can’t keep up with the others.”

Tilledge nodded. “Don’t fuck it up. I’ve never had to tie a recruit down before, but there could be a first time.”

As she joined the run, she moved with surprising ease. Her body just seemed to work right again. Maybe what she had done while meditating had helped?

It was easy to revel in the newfound energy and lightness. The regulars moved as a cohesive unit, and she fell into rhythm with them. It felt like she belonged.

No one was mad at her for the day before, even. Keeping track of her state through the run, she waited for any signs of strain to appear. She wasn’t going to fuck up and get them all in trouble again.

Thankfully, it didn’t happen. They all made it back to their camp area and then began to disperse on their own after Dax called the run to an end.

That was a major difference between the recruits and the regulars. While the recruits were marched from activity to activity while under the eye of a Sergeant, the regulars were dismissed after each task. Then expected to be there for the next one. In between, they’d take care of various tasks and duties.

“Hey, Dax,” Lys said, catching up to him as they walked towards the mess tent. “Why do the regulars have more freedom than the recruits?”

Dax laughed, shaking his head. “That’s normal, kid. Recruits aren’t trusted to have their heads on straight. They need constant supervision until they are used to things.”

He eyed her and winced. “Ah, right. You’re still a recruit,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s just that people don’t know what to do by default.”

“No, I understand. It really felt like my head would twist off when I first joined, and it still doesn’t feel like it’s on straight,” Lys replied with a growing grin.

“The time between activities is enough for us to take care of business or do other things,” Dax explained. “We aren’t watched as strictly, but that doesn’t mean you should spend the time idle. There are a lot of things you’d normally be personally responsible for—technically are—like tending to your gear at the armory or your bow.”

“Tilledge took my bow,” Lys said, frowning. “And I’m not sure about my armor. I think I’m the only recruit that was assigned any.”

“Ah, the sergeant probably got your weapon checked for you,” Dax said, realization dawning on his face. “You can come with me later to the armorer to have your leathers looked at. There is less supervision for regulars, but more responsibility. A lot of that you’d learn at Dragonblanc, but right now, you need to figure it out quickly.”

Lys shrugged, glancing down at her armor. “I don’t think there’s any damage. I didn’t get hurt.”

Dax fixed her with a flat stare. “You climbed up and down a cliff—there are almost certainly scuffs somewhere.”

“Is that enough to go to the armorer?” Lys asked, her brow furrowing.

“It’s procedure after any mission or major activity like that to have it checked out by an expert,” Dax explained. “It doesn’t cost anything, and it’s routine.”

“Even for personally owned armor?” Lys questioned. She had seen several men wearing their own different types of armor among the regular infantry units.

Dax nodded. “The checkoff is for our safety. You don’t want anyone to go into battle with a damaged strap and suddenly end up naked just before an enemy javelin toss.”

“Alright, I’ll go with you,” Lys replied.

After lunch, they made their way to the armory tent, where her armor and gear were checked and found to be in good condition. Instead of an easy in and out, though, the sergeants decided she needed a crash course in gear maintenance and care. That took up over half the day.

Her mind was whirling with all the new information when she got back to the skirmisher’s section, just in time for everyone to assemble.

“Alright, skirmishers!” Tilledge called out. “Archery practice, let’s go!”

He handed Lys her bow, and the group checked and strung their weapons while Lark and some others set up the targets.

Lys frowned as she looked at the required shots. They didn’t seem like much of a challenge. Maybe they were practicing for their draw weight? She really needed to improve her strength.

While the others shot, she studied their form and technique. When it was her turn, Lys stepped up to the line and drew her bow. She was shocked at how light it felt, the string barely resisting as she pulled it back.

“Is there a problem, recruit?” Tilledge asked, noticing her hesitation.

“No, sir,” Lys replied, shaking her head.

She drew the string back fully and released—the arrow flew true. It was almost too easy. As she continued to empty her quiver, Yasir’s warning not to use her ability came to mind.

That gnawed, and she almost missed a bullseye from the worry and loss of focus. She wasn’t using it at all, from what she could tell. Her shots were just as accurate as before, and they just came effortlessly.

The morning run had been easier, too. What had happened during her meditation? What was that strange click she had felt?