Book I: Horizon of War — Part 1 of 3

The thousand-year-old Imperium is crumbling, and war looms on the horizon, bringing with it both brutalities and splendor. Caught in the midst of this chaos is Lansius, an office grunt and veteran MMO player who has been transformed into a medieval peasant. With no wealth, status, or magical abilities, and armed only with his basic knowledge of the art of war, can he endure and thrive in this realistic medieval fantasy realm? Follow Lansius as he moves from one occupation to another, striving to survive during these turbulent times.

What to expect:

- Slow burn Medieval Story, No Overpowered MC, One Love Interest

- Realistic Battles, Army building, Strategy

- Slice of life, Ruling Class, Kingdom Building

KINGDOM BUILDING - SLICE OF LIFE - STRATEGY - WAR & MILITARY

The story has garnered over 5,500 followers, 1,000+ Patrons, and hundreds of good reviews. However, it may not be for everyone. The story's "start-from-the-bottom" approach mean the MC has little control over his fate until he gains some level of authority.

Check Horizon of War Information Page for more information, or continue reading below:

The first book has returned for a limited time. I have also edited a few sections and merged some of the shorter chapters for better immersion, so please note that the chapter numbering will differ from the book version.

Since posting the whole book at once in Patreon would be too much, I’m splitting it into three parts.

The second part of Book 1 will be released soon.

I'm so busy with work... 😅

Anyway, without further ado.

Chapter 1

Orbis Alius

Water drizzled from the metal cans that Lansius carried with the help of a wooden pole. As he passed, the soil around the green vegetable patches grew darker. A strong earthy scent rose as the ground received more moisture.

Despite having done this dozens of times, he couldn’t help but think that he could’ve done it faster if he had sneakers or boots. Alas, all he got was a sad-looking medieval leather shoe with hardened soles.

"Lans, are your legs getting wobbly already?" Marc teased from the well.

Lansius chuckled and returned to the well for a refill, but suddenly lunged his wooden pole at Marc.

"Hah!" Marc parried with his pitchfork and launched a counter sweep.

Lansius blocked it, and the two engaged in a friendly spar, with Marc easily blocking and dodging Lansius' slow swings, taunting him all the while.

After a few more attempts, Lansius finally threw his arms up. "No more… hard to breathe."

Marc didn't even break a sweat; Lansius' attacks only managed to mess up his disheveled short brown hair. Having been trained to wield a polearm, a simple pitchfork posed no challenge for him. "Seems like the master soldier wannabe has poor stamina," he taunted with a smirk.

"Quiet, you," Lansius chuckled breathlessly.

Marc picked up the wooden pole, refilled the metal cans, and continued to water their family plot. Slowly but surely, he covered all their spring vegetables. Their livelihood depended on it.

Unlike the previous year, Lansius could now help with the work. However, he could only do so much before becoming sluggish and exhausted. Nonetheless, he found satisfaction in knowing that he wasn't a freeloader anymore.

"Marc, is there - no other work?" he asked in broken language as they cleaned up.

Marc grinned. "Easier work for you, bro?"

Lansius could only nod. He had yet to master the language well enough to argue.

"Still won't do the wool shop?"

Oof, anything but that...

Lansius shook his head.

Marc snickered. "You can't cook, can't do carpentry, and can't write. So either the wool shop or the tannery."

The thought of working in the tannery made Lansius' stomach churn. Tanneries used urine and manure to treat leather, and even blood, brains, and other animal waste in their process.

"Well, at least you're a freeman," Marc said to cheer him up.

"Freeman?" Lansius learned a new word and sort of guessed its meaning.

"Yeah, unlike us, you can go wherever you want and find work elsewhere."

Lansius furrowed his brows. "You - not free?"

"Well, we could be if we paid our debts. The land, the house, and the tools are provided by the Lord. But we needed money to fix things, buy clothes, or build new fences," Marc explained.

Lansius grew worried. This was the first time he'd heard about this problem.

"No worries. It's only a small sum," Marc reassured him. "But at this rate..."

Lansius followed Marc's gaze and understood the situation. They were planting on not even a quarter of the allotted land. Moreover, the yield was small, and vegetables held little value.

"Oi, don't give me that look," Marc said. "It's true that we're in debt, but we're not planning to move, so it's fine."

"You like it here?" Lansius asked, looking at the vast green meadows.

"Yep, father brought us here when we were little. It's far from the capital, but much safer from war," Marc said, recalling a fond memory of his late father.

The wind blew softly, causing their loose, off-white tunics to flutter, offering a soothing sensation. As spring neared its end, the breeze carried a distinctive fragrance and a touch of aridity.

"Marc! Lans!" a little girl called from outside the field.

"Tanya, why are you here?" Marc, the girl's brother, asked.

Tanya smiled from ear to ear and announced, "Mother bought meat from the market."

"Whoops, gotta go." Marc quickly gathered his tools and sprinted home.

"Aiyo," Lansius protested. He lacked the stamina to chase after Marc, so he took his time cleaning up. His stomach growled at the thought of the missed opportunity. Meat was a rare treat. When Mother Arryn bought some, it was usually just bones for broth, with very little actual meat.

By the time Lansius finished, the sun had turned completely orange, sitting low on the horizon. As he walked home, he spotted Tanya waiting behind the wooden fence. Her golden hair shone brightly against the backdrop of the sunset. She was the only blonde in the village, as the rest, including her brother and mother, had brown hair.

"Tanya, why didn't you go with Marc?" he asked, trying to recall his vocabulary.

"I'd rather walk home with you," she replied with a grin, revealing her missing tooth.

Lansius couldn't help but chuckle. He genuinely enjoyed Tanya's company. Of the three people he knew in this world, she was the closest to him, the one who had kept him sane during the lowest point of his life.

"Hey, let's talk about something. Hmm, have you got your memory back?" she suddenly asked.

"Eh, umm... no, I remember some things, but not much."

"Aww, I really want to hear what your home and village look like." Like other kids, Tanya was curious about the world outside Bellandia.

"Maybe after I learn to speak more."

"You're doing well. Last year, you only talked with hand signals," she said, smiling sweetly.

Unable to resist her charm any longer, Lansius stopped, knelt down, and gestured for her to climb onto his back for a piggyback ride.

"Yay!" She hopped on and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

"Uff, you - heavier," he muttered.

Tanya laughed, pressing her knees as if riding a horse. In reality, she was underweight like many other children in the village.

Lansius obeyed and started jogging. He adored the little girl.

When Lansius found himself in this unknown place the previous year, he was severely ill and nearly died. No one rushed him to a hospital or administered first aid. Not knowing the language or his location, he could only assume he had had an accident in a rural part of the world.

After recovering, he realized something unbelievable had occurred. No matter where he looked, there were no light bulbs in Bellandia—no wall clocks or even tissues. The place that resembled the medieval era was indeed from the Middle Ages.

Even worse, his entire past identity had become hazy. He could recall movie plots and books, even The Art of War he had been studying for some reason, and knew he had graduated and worked. But not a single personal name came to mind. No family faces, no memory of his hometown, or even his own name.

The only name that remained was a nickname he had used in realistic-themed online games: Lansius. He had used that name to lead countless players in online battles and felt comfortable being called by it, but he never expected to use the name in reality.

For someone raised in the modern age, the prospect of living in a medieval era seemed bleak, filled with wars, plagues, and backbreaking labor. Lansius became depressed, barely eating, and suffering from a series of fevers. There was little hope for him if not for Tanya.

The little girl cared for him and kept him engaged with her curiosity. Gradually, her words became familiar, and he began to open up, trusting her to keep him moving forward.

***

The season changed, and summer arrived in Bellandia. Even in the heartland of the Arvena highland, the sun blazed hot, though tempered by the cool mountain breeze. Farmers who had cultivated their land sought shelter in their homes during this time of the year, tending to tasks such as fixing tools and mending clothes.

The land surrounding the village ripened with yellowing crops, just a season away from harvest. Unlike crop farmers, vegetable farmers operated on shorter timetables, planting and replanting multiple times throughout the year. Consequently, Mother Arryn's family continued working during this unforgiving season.

Lansius also lent a hand on the farm today, but after two hours of hard work, he was soaked in sweat and had to stop. He leaned against the cool stone well, groaning as his body ached in the shade of its roof.

So hot... damn it... just unbelievable.

"Ha, told you," Marc exclaimed from beneath his large straw hat.

"Leave him alone and help me with this," Mother Arryn called out.

With a resigned sigh, Marc returned to work under the relentless heat of the sun.

This is so pathetic... at this rate, I'll be depending on them forever.

Lansius observed Marc and Arryn. Despite the heat, they diligently tended to the cabbage and turnip plots, weeding and replanting as needed.

This was Lansius' second year, so he thought he had what it takes to help them. However, the summer sun was nothing like the mildness of spring. The humidity, intensity, and heat easily overwhelmed him. He had tried several times, but always ended up with a nosebleed or a fever.

I need a different job. Something other than manual labor if I want to stand on my own.

"You're probably better off accompanying Tanya in the wool shop?" Arryn suggested, cleaning the hem of her brown working gown from dirt as they finished for the day.

"Maybe..." Lansius answered indifferently while tidying up the tools. His palms ached, but he wanted to help.

Lansius' stubbornness led Arryn to believe he was being too hard on himself, while Marc thought that, despite being unfit for farming, Lansius was too proud to accept a woman's job.

The wool shop, true to its name, was a place where wool was dyed and spun into yarn. Although Lansius didn't mind this kind of work, the pay was meager, and the shop primarily served as a gathering place for village housewives to chat and gossip while working. As an introvert, it would be his worst nightmare.

Arryn and Marc allowed Lansius to make his own decision. Despite their struggles, they didn't rely on his help. Though he was the same height as Marc, Lansius had softer arms and more delicate hands. He ate sparingly and was picky, especially about boiled water for drinking, but mostly took care of himself. While there were areas where he needed help, they weren't too serious.

As the sun began to set, the three fetched Tanya from the wool shop and headed home.

That night, Lansius felt a fever coming on and needed ointment for his blistered hand. Tanya applied a thin layer of salve on his injured palms and distracted him from his worries by sharing stories she'd heard at the shop.

While Lansius felt inadequate, the other family members were grateful for his efforts. He was learning the language and showing his willingness to help. Moreover, Marc was old enough to answer the Lord of Arvena's call, and small farmers like them were required to fulfill military services instead of paying taxes. When selected, men from the village would follow the Lord into battle for up to four months each year. In those times, Arryn would work alone. Lansius' presence provided Marc some peace of mind.

However, Lansius couldn't see it that way. His inability to work like the other men disheartened him. Even without a complete memory, he knew his old life was paradise in comparison. He felt that medieval farming was nothing less than cruel, and the term "backbreaking" seemed like an overstatement until he experienced it firsthand. That night, like many other nights when beset by illness, he vowed to escape the farming life.

***

The wet season arrived, and drizzle fell almost every day. Winter was still a month away, but the chill in the air was enough to penetrate one's bones.

“Gah,” Lansius panted as they endured the cold, light rain.

“A bit more, keep it up,” Marc encouraged him.

The two were carrying firewood for the village chief. Marc carried a stack of wood on each shoulder, while Lansius managed only one.

“I-is there no other job?” Lansius asked. His shoulder ached and his hips burned.

“Heh, you’re still asking about that?” Marc teased.

Lansius exhaled deeply.

Easy for him to say. I don’t want muscle-head's jobs.

Unfortunately, most jobs were manual labor. While there were some other trades, they were typically passed down from father to son and too small-scale to require additional help.

“Move it fast, lads. It’s getting wet,” urged the old man in dry, thick clothes as soon as he saw them approaching. In contrast, the two youngsters wore only two layers of coarse garments.

The two quickened their pace and hurriedly entered an old but sturdy-looking wooden shed. The place belonged to the village chief, who was wealthy enough to have a separate shed for storing firewood.

Both carefully dropped their stacks of wood on the floor and panted heavily. They had jogged to avoid getting wet but still ended up drenched.

“Took you too long,” the chief complained as he fretted about the firewood getting wet. Nothing surprising there - he was known to be rude, senile, and cheap. Marc only took the job because the chief’s wife always shared some food.

But before they could claim their reward...

“Hey, where are you two going? Stack them first, neatly,” he ordered.

Marc and Lansius groaned but turned around and stacked the firewood as requested. Unlike the small branches they used in their home, the ones they stacked were thick logs that were properly dried. These logs were smokeless and burned longer.

When the two were done, the chief scratched his head, seemingly puzzled.

“What’s the matter?” Lansius asked while rubbing his hands for warmth.

“Tsk- it’s nothing. I just forgot to count them before stacking. Now it’s hard to count.”

“The logs? Why, it’s thirty-six,” Lansius answered flatly.

The chief immediately looked at Lansius with doubt. Even Marc, who was busy cleaning his clothes from wood chips, watched with suspicion.

Hold on, why give me the look?

“I-it’s only six and six…” Lansius explained while searching his vocabulary for the exact word for multiply. He couldn’t find it and started to realize what went wrong.

"You can multiply without using a table?" Marc asked in disbelief.

"Y-yes," Lansius replied, realizing that in this era, people relied on multiplication tables for calculations. The use of numerals similar to Roman numerals made calculation even more challenging.

They can't multiply..? But of course! They have no formal education... This might be my way out. To think it's math and not something groundbreaking like making gunpowder or antibiotics.

Marc looked ecstatic, but the chief wasn't convinced. Even he, along with most merchants and several farmers, knew how to calculate without using a table. So he challenged, "Try to calculate how many legs three horses have. You can use—"

“Twelve,” Lansius blurted out without trying.

His answer startled the old man. “Eleven plus seven?”

“Eighteen.”

The old man continued to furrow his brows. “How about, if five goat each give birth to three baby goat, how many total baby goat are there?"

“Fifteen baby goat,” Lansius answered proudly.

The chief was furiously engaged in finger-counting. In this method, each finger represented up to four units, corresponding to its three joints and the fingertip. He used his thumb as a pointer to keep track. With this technique, using all eight fingers, he could easily calculate up to 32 units—sufficient to count the days of a month.

When he arrived at the same result, he became slightly frustrated. He had always prided himself on being the cleverest one in the village, but this was his limit. Now, after witnessing Lansius calculate without needing a table or fingers, he was taken aback.

"Young man, have you regained your memory? Are you perhaps an apprentice to a merchant?" The old man's tone was less rude than usual.

Lansius shivered, not from the cold, but from the realization that this could be his ticket out.

***

Chapter 2

Bellandia

After a brief but freezing winter, another spring arrived in the Arvena highlands. The snow melted, and the scenery changed dramatically. Meadows turned colorful with purple and yellow wildflowers while the wind carried whiffs of floral scent as the land returned to life once again.

Like most villagers, the Arryn family spent their first week cleaning their yard and maintaining their thatched roof. Afterward, the village welcomed the new spring with a week-long festival. Only after the soil was soft enough did they return to farming.

Last year, Lansius had unexpectedly assisted with the village's annual report, a job typically reserved for the village chief, scribe, or officials. However, his hopes for rapid advancement were quickly dashed. In a rural farming community, there were seldom job that required such skills.

Despite the setbacks, some had begun to see Lansius in a different light. They took him for a foreign merchant’s apprentice who had been robbed and lost in the woods, which explained his odd clothes and inability to speak the common tongue.

Since Lansius lost his memory, the rumor went unchallenged. Even the village chief wrote as much in his reports. The officials heard of a foreign straggler’s appearance, but with nobles occupied by their own conflicts, they treated it as an unimportant detail. He was a nobody, with nothing worth noting. However, his improved standing in the village had already earned him a few quiet enemies. In a place as small as Bellandia, envy needed little encouragement, and whispers passed quickly from one mouth to another.

Unaware of the whispers beginning to gather around them, the Arryn family followed their routine as usual. With the warmth of spring, Lansius was finally strong enough to help more in the fields, and together they planted more than usual. It was hard work, but the season gave them reason to hope.

Once the planting was done, Marc began coaxing Lansius into taking daily walks before sundown. They would circle the village plaza, where the young gathered beneath the watchful eyes of their elders. Though still awkward in company, Lansius forced himself into small talk and slowly grew more comfortable with the common tongue.

In this world, the common tongue was rough-hewn and direct. Words were utilitarian tools, not elegant and well-articulated. Conversation was a matter of conveying necessity, not crafting poetry. The more polite and formal the conversation, the stiffer it became.

On one such evening, the two wandered without aim and ended up at the butcher’s shop. As poor as ever, they had no business buying anything, but they still stepped inside to hear the latest gossip and perhaps trade a bit of help in exchange for a few slices of meat.

As they entered, a pair of slightly older villagers near the counter fell quiet. Marc and Lansius both noticed. It had been happening more often of late. In a village like Bellandia, where little ever happened, Lansius had become a convenient subject.

The butcher, Connor, a tall, muscular retired city man with a graying mustache, greeted them warmly. “Come in, lads. You two need anything?”

“Actually, we were wondering if you needed a hand today?” Marc asked.

“I have all the help I need,” the Connor replied.

Marc let out a small breath but kept his tone light. “Ah, well. Anything interesting happening, then?”

The pair, one of whom Marc knew as the owner of a nearby fruit orchard, snorted. Meanwhile, his friend nodded toward Lansius and said, “Well, him.”

“Besides my brother,” Marc said, brushing the remark aside.

Lansius said nothing. He had grown used to the looks and the half-spoken remarks. Whatever they thought of him, it changed nothing for now.

Before the moment could grow any more awkward, Connor turned his gaze to Lansius and asked, “Lad, I heard you can do calculations?”

Lansius’ eyes widened, and so did the others inside.

“You jest?” the fruit grower asked Connor, wanting to be sure.

Connor simply shrugged. “It wouldn’t hurt to ask.”

“I wouldn’t even trust him to count the fruit in my basket, let alone coins,” the fruit grower’s friend grumbled.

“Oi, he helped the Chief with taxes,” Marc protested.

“It’s fine,” Lansius said, grabbing Marc’s arm.

The two men stared at Connor, but faced with the towering butcher, they soon left in displeasure.

“Come back another time,” Connor said, somehow still sounding friendly.

Not wanting to waste the opportunity, Lansius said, “Yes, I can calculate. Do you need any help?”

As he wiped his hands clean with a cloth, Connor explained, “Next week, I’m going to deliver a new batch of meat jerky to the city. I’m thinking of buying some supplies. The problem is, I don’t know whether my savings will suffice.”

Lansius nodded. It should not be too difficult. “May I have something to write with?”

Connor gave him a waxed tablet and a wooden stylus. “Would this suffice?”

“Gratitude. This will do,” he said, his words fluent and formal, like those of a tradesman. “Now, name the items you wish to purchase, along with their prices and quantities.”

Connor informed him about the goods.

Lansius tallied them and compared the sum against the savings. “You’re still forty copper short.”

“About three silvers short, eh?” Connor approximated while rubbing his chin.

Sensing an opportunity, Marc grinned and hyped it up. “Wow, you sure can count fast. Not even the chief can calculate that much.”

Lansius could only smile sheepishly, but Connor nodding his head. “Indeed, lad, you’re pretty good with this.”

Marc found an opening. “Surely such assistance begets some reward?”

“But of course,” Connor said happily.

The two went home with three iron coins and a sausage. The treat was a pleasant surprise for Tanya and Arryn. Before eating, the boys smelled their cut multiple times to savor it. The meat was juicy, unlike the dry salted meat they had on festivals.

Marc was especially pleased. Before they fell asleep, he asked, “You know why they were talking about you this time?”

Unbothered and with a full belly, Lansius yawned. “Spare me the gossip. I’m too sleepy to think.”

“You’re getting known, you know.” There was a hint of pride in his tone.

Lansius blinked in the dark. “What does that even mean?”

“The two fruit growers at the butcher shop.”

“Yes?”

“They’re envious of you.”

Lansius found it strange and rather unsettling.

Marc continued, “You calculate better than some peddler. Even Connor approved of your skill. You’ll go far in life. That’s why they’re afraid of you.”

Lansius furrowed his brows and turned to Marc. “Hold on. Afraid?”

“Yeah. Those two are afraid you’ll take the Chief’s niece. She’s a beautiful one, and her family has fertile land. Or even the miller’s widowed daughter. She’s still young, and not that far from you in age.”

Lansius chuckled as he massaged his forehead. To think he had already earned envy and resentment over a marriage rivalry he knew nothing about was too much.

The night passed in peace, and morning came again to greet Bellandia.

After his help to Connor the day before, one small favor began to lead to another. In the following weeks, the number of people asking for help, though random and inconsistent, steadily grew. Lansius was pleased, but he knew he could not count on it for a living.

When spring was nearly at an end, Connor returned from his trip. To the quiet disappointment of those who had doubted Lansius, he happily reported that Lansius’ calculations had saved him from taking out loans. Now he even wanted Lansius to teach his eldest child calculation.

Lansius, ever in a hurry to escape from farming life, immediately agreed. With mother Arryn’s blessing, he took two students under his wing. At first, he thought that this was doomed to fail, but he soon realized that he was dealing with teenagers, not kids. They were well-behaved and curious, so the teaching went smoothly.

For his effort, he earned six iron coins or half a copper daily. A copper was the price of a full meal with ale, so Lansius’ rate was abysmal. Earning half a meal per day was not a living wage, but he was content.

The road to financial independence is never easy.

Afterward, things began to take a better turn. During the summer, Lansius gained two more students, the village chief’s son and the baker’s child. With them, his income improved enough for him to earn a copper a day. Summer passed in relative ease, but when autumn arrived, the tutoring came to an abrupt halt as the entire village turned its attention to the harvest.

Harvest was the biggest occasion of the year, and other celebrations, such as marriages and feasts, were often arranged around it. Only after the festivities ended did life begin to slow again, as people turned their thoughts toward the coming winter.

Lansius was ready to call it a good year. For the first time, he had a steady source of income. But then, on a clear but windy day, the village routine was broken.

Without warning, hundreds of armed men came retreating into Bellandia. Only then did the villagers learn that Arvena was at war. Young Lord Arte led a column of men that included wounded fighters and refugees. They made camp outside Bellandia and waited for reinforcements. Marc and the other villagers were soon called for training.

The sudden turn of events left Lansius deeply worried. He had no experience with war or fighting. Though he kept it to himself, the uncertainty sickened him. In his mind, the situation could worsen at any moment.

***

Days passed in more or less the same routine. The only difference was that Lansius frequently spent his free time with other men from the village. During one such gathering, the topic of magic was raised. Some believed that the lord might employ a mage or a saint candidate as a healer.

Intrigued, Lansius found himself increasingly drawn to the subject. Magic was something he had always yearned to witness. Thus, he followed the crowds to the newly established camp nearby to listen and learn about the world beyond his village.

However, rather than learning about magic, Lansius found himself becoming an object of curiosity. The men at the camp were intrigued by his foreign features. No one had seen dark hair like his before. While they were familiar with various shades of blonde and lighter brown, his near black hair was a novelty. Even men who hailed from distant lands, such as the Mercantile Kingdom in the Far East or the Navalnia Empire, hadn't encountered someone with such distinct hair color.

Lansius came to realize his distinctiveness. Then, abruptly, a voice rang out. “You with the dark hair, the young lord wants to see you,” someone declared in a commanding tone.

Lansius looked around and saw that everyone’s gaze had turned toward him as an imposing man in a fresh white tunic approached. The man motioned for Lansius to follow him.

The crowd’s eyes dutifully followed as Lansius and the knight headed toward a particularly large tree.

Lansius saw young lord Arte sitting regally on a small wooden chair, surrounded by burly men, presumably his knights.

Gulping, Lansius stammered, “My lord.” The words felt foreign. He had never addressed a lord before.

“No need to be so tense,” Arte responded. “I just heard a story of a foreigner who was robbed, lost his memory, and couldn’t even speak the language.”

“Indeed, that is my story,” Lansius confirmed, relieved that he found the right words.

“Do you remember anything about your home?”

Lansius shook his head. “I can’t remember.”

“Ah,” the young lord mumbled, then changed his tone. “Tell me, what do you do in this village?”

“I teach children to calculate,” Lansius managed, feeling the constraints of his limited vocabulary.

The young lord laughed upon hearing this, appearing pleased about something.

“If you can count, why not calculate the number of our troops or something? Entertain us, will you?” said one of the burly men.

“That’s a good idea. Can you do it?” the young lord agreed.

Lansius hesitated for a moment. However, his interaction with the young lord validated what others had said about him. The young lord seemed genuine. Thus, he answered, “I believe I can.”

“Excellent,” Arte replied, clearly excited.

The knight who had approached Lansius earlier now signaled to some men. “Assemble the men who can walk. No armor, no weapons. And make no unnecessary commotion.”

Slowly, the camp came to life with calls and shouts as everyone who was able sprang into action, readying themselves for formation. The knights watched from the sidelines, clearly considering themselves above the call. For them, this was merely entertainment.

“My lord, the men are ready,” the knight reported to Arte.

The young lord stood and inquired, “Well, can you calculate the number of men in their current formation?”

Nodding, Lansius realized that his actions had led hundreds of men to assemble, many of whom were wounded. The pressure was immense, and the villagers watched intently.

Observing the formation, he noted that the men were arranged in five deep ranks. The first and subsequent ranks consisted of equal numbers, only the last was missing a few men.

The front consisted of 22 men and 5 ranks deep. So, 110. But they are missing three to complete the formation.

“My lord, it’s 107,” Lansius answered. Clearly, Arte had fully expected him to count manually or to use a stylus and multiplication table.

“Oui, that was quick. Are you certain?” Arte asked a fierce glint in his young eyes, perhaps a byproduct of this violent era.

“More or less, my lord,” Lansius confirmed.

Fascinated, Arte ordered, “Send in the squires.”

Three teenagers hurriedly began to count the men manually, each starting from a different point. They divided the formation into thirds and ran while counting. It was evident that they were accustomed to this method.

After a short wait, the squires returned and announced, “My lord, it’s 107.”

Lansius was inwardly pleased. The count matched his own calculation exactly.

The knights looked pleased, as did the young lord who dispersed the formation. The 107 men also appeared amused by the recent events. Many eyes turned toward Lansius, a level of attention he was unaccustomed to.

Arte returned to his seat and asked, “What is your name, man?”

“It’s Lansius, my lord,” he responded, surprised that Arte would even ask. The social chasm between them was so wide that it would normally be unthinkable for Arte to need to remember the name of a lowly subject like him.

"Lansius, you're an interesting man. How about joining my retinue?" Arte's offer drew chuckles from his knights.

At this, Lansius was dumbfounded, struggling to process the unexpected offer.

***

Two weeks had passed since the arrival of the armed column. The trees had shed their orange leaves, and the cold air from the western Targe mountains had descended upon the Arvena highlands, signaling the approaching winter.

Despite the usual calm during this time, the town and villages near Bellandia saw an influx of armed men arriving from distant towns and cities. The majority didn't stay and continued their march eastward. Most traveled light, as supplies were plentiful and easy to come by so soon after the harvest.

The situation reached its peak when Lord Maurice of Arvena, Arte's father, arrived in Bellandia with his personal column.

Today was the second day after the Lord's arrival. Despite all the military activities and the rising prices, the Arryn's household continued their life as usual, except for the addition of a mother and daughter who were war refugees. Arryn gladly sheltered them in her house.

The guests helped with the chores and offered some coins for food. With the farm empty for winter, Arryn, Tanya, and the guests went to the wool shop. Meanwhile, the boys were busy fixing things like roofs, window covers, and fences.

Despite his training, Marc was only out at noon for a few hours. Interestingly, Marc wasn't the only one brushing up on military matters. Last week, Lansius had encountered a rather memorable scene involving himself, the troops, and the young lord.

While Lansius didn't think much of this encounter, others insisted that he had impressed the young Lord, who had asked him to join. However, Lansius felt that the young Lord was only joking, as he was neither a fighter nor a competent scribe.

As the sun was rising and today was laundry day, Marc and Lansius busily scrubbed and beat their clothes with a wooden bat before rinsing them.

Suddenly, a woman’s voice rang out from outside, “Lansius. I’m looking for Lansius.”

Marc and Lansius stared at each other. Lansius cleaned his hand from the white ash they used as a detergent, but Marc headed straight to the front.

“Wow, a woman, not from Bellandia, too. I never thought this could happen to you,” Marc commented sarcastically.

Lansius splashed water on Marc for his stupid comment.

“Bah!” Marc reacted by trying to smack Lansius’ back as he went past him, but missed. He ended up shaking his head while returning to his laundry.

The woman leaned against the short wooden fence, her hands resting lightly on the rough wood. Unlike most of the women in the village, her hair was cut short.

“I’m Lansius,” he said as he approached.

“I can tell from the hair,” she quipped.

Lansius unconsciously frowned. Unlike other people’s brown hair, his was almost charcoal dark. He disliked it as it made him stand out.

The woman missed the subtle change. “Are you really a foreigner?”

"I think so. Even now, I'm struggling to talk." He wasn't being modest; despite two years and daily chats in the village plaza, he was only slightly better than basic.

“I understand you enough.” She straightened her posture and revealed a weathered black gambeson. An exquisite-looking belt decorated her waist and a well-worn scabbard hung neatly on one side.

“I’m Stefi, a Squire. They sent me to help you on the journey ahead.” She gave a little bow at the end.

Lansius blinked several times to process what he just heard.

Ehhh... a squire? Accompany me? A girl...!?

Nervously, Lansius guessed why she was here. He concluded that the young lord's offer was real. However, nobody had informed him about this arrangement.

“May I call you master Lansius?” she asked indifferently.

“Eh, no, I’m not someone important. Just Lans is enough," he clarified.

Stefi stared at him briefly. Lansius noticed that there was something about her gaze. It was so abnormally powerful and penetrating.

Not wanting to start on the wrong foot, Lansius decided to explain his stance. “Listen, before anything else, you should know that I haven’t made my decision yet.”

She looked surprised. An invitation from a noble was a formality. It was hardly refused, either due to its prestige and opportunity, or fear of punishment. “Are you by any chance afraid of the upcoming battle?”

“That is one concern, yes,” he admitted. Life for him was already hard without sanitation and antibiotics. Adding war into the mix would be suicidal.

Stefi offered a stiff smile and explained, “Be at peace. At most, you’re probably going to work as a scribe.”

“But I never travel out and I can’t even write that well.”

Lansius' confession broke the ice and made the squire chuckle. “That’s why I’m here. And Lans, put more trust in your ability. I was there, you know, when you counted the troops.”

“Ah…” he muttered.

“The troops had barely assumed formation. The squires just started their counts when you finished counting. How did you do that?” Stefi asked with great interest.

“It’s just multiplication,” he said, but he knew that mental math was uncommon in this era.

“But you didn’t even use a multiplication table. That’s amazing, you know?”

The way Stefi said it made Lansius rather proud. However, he still had doubts. “I’m just a farmer turned teacher. I only want to live in peace.”

“Ahh, so you’re that kind of man,” she said, gazing out across the landscape.

“I’m not sure I follow,” Lansius replied.

“Humble. Many people get a speck of skill and become pompous and haughty.”

Lansius couldn’t help but snort softly at her kind words.

“Is that your house?” She gestured at the small hovel.

“Yup,” he remarked without any intention of hiding that he lived in poverty.

“Looks cozy and well taken care of, aside from the rotted thatched roof and wood panels," Stefi observed.

"Indeed, it needs a bit of repair," Lansius admitted.

Stefi nodded sympathetically. "Must be costly..."

"Yep." Lansius knew where the conversation was headed and braced himself for her sales pitch.

"So why don't you accept the offer? Being a lord’s retainer brings wealth and status. What’s not to like?”

Lansius was hesitant and asked sheepishly, "Do you know about the pay?"

“For non-combatants on a campaign, it’s usually half silver a day.”

Half silver was six copper; it was six times his income. Lansius started to see the benefit.

“I don’t know about teachers’ pay, but I think it’s hard to pay for a better house,” Stefi teased.

Lansius unconsciously nodded in agreement.

Stefi noticed the subtle change. “I heard you guys aren’t related, but... don’t you want to help them out? I imagine working the land is hard on the body.”

Lansius exhaled deeply. Mother Arryn’s back was getting worse while blue dyes wrecked Tanya’s fingers. The family had taken care of him, a complete stranger. It was only natural for him to help them back.

“How about if I return tomorrow morning for your answer?” She knew not to push too hard.

“Yeah, that’s probably for the best.”

“I hope you say yes, otherwise I’m stuck with half-pay,” Stefi commented without sounding bitter.

“Eh, why?”

“Well, because I don’t have a duty right now,” she answered flatly.

“But you’re a squire?”

“A masterless one. My knight master, unfortunately, died on a hunt. Maybe I’ll tell you about her when we have the time.”

“I’m sorry to hear that… but why won’t other knights employ you?”

She giggled. “Because I’m a female and most all other knights are males. If I fuck around and become pregnant, then they’ll be the one who gets the blame.”

“T-that’s awful…” He felt embarrassed by the frank answer.

She laughed. “It’s just a lame joke. But yeah, at any rate, you would be stuck with me. But don’t worry. I’m more reliable than my looks.”

Lansius snorted softly at Stefi’s self-promotion. "Is it common for women to become squires or knights?"

Stefi furrowed her brows momentarily. "Oh, I guess you didn't know since you're not from here. It's rare. Probably my master and I were the only ones, so I usually work with the servants. Why, do you wish to change for another squire?"

"No, not at all," he said, shaking his head. "I'm just curious."

Sensing a change in his mood, she asked, "So, how about it? Are you coming?"

He mulled about it. “Are you sure about no fighting?”

“Of course! We’re only defending against a small incursion. We’ll be mostly at the rear, far from any battle.”

Lansius was getting swayed. He looked around to settle his mind and spotted Marc hanging clothes.

“He too, would get an exemption,” she whispered.

Lansius’ eyes widened. He looked her dead in the eye and asked, “Are you sure?”

“It’s common knowledge that the Lord can only levy one from a family.”

He knew that most men in the village had already answered the call. While a lord couldn't legally force the same man to answer the call multiple times, they could impose a quota on the village or settlement. As a result, many volunteered multiple times on behalf of their sons or other male relatives. Youngsters and first-timers like Marc, who had no protection from their parents or uncles, were sure to get selected.

Lansius finally found his courage. “When will we depart?”

Stefi replied brightly. “Tomorrow after sunrise.”

“So soon?” he asked while trying to steel his resolve.

“Winter is coming in a month or two, so we’re running out of time,” she remarked. “Don’t worry, I’ll prep you up and show you the basics.”

Lansius remained doubtful. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being treated as an exotic pet with a talent for numbers. If that were the case, assigning him a squire made sense. Not as an assistant, but more like a handler.

Despite his pessimism, he still wanted to repay the family’s kindness. A scribe in the back lines had better chances than a man in the front. As he reached out with his right hand, he was already thinking of what he would say to Arryn, Marc, and especially Tanya.

Stefi took his hand, and the two clasped hands to seal the deal. “I swear to protect you from harm until we reach our destination.”

“I put my life in your care,” Lansius said, taking a leap of faith.

Autumn of Elven Calendar 4422 was drawing to a close.

***

Chapter 3

Ceresia

On his last night in Bellandia, Lansius told his family about his decision to join young Lord Arte as his retinue. His family was mostly ecstatic. However, Mother Arryn felt the need to warn him, "Remember, we’re just village folk, and you still have a lot to learn about interacting with nobles."

“It’s not that scary, Mother. Besides, expectations are low for country folks like us,” Marc reassured. He then added, “Based on your abilities, you’ll probably work in the supply camp. The worst that could happen is joining a scouting party to count enemy soldiers, but that’s unlikely since you’d need to know how to ride a horse.”

Lansius nodded, hoping Marc’s assessment was accurate.

“You know what Connor told me?” Marc asked.

“The butcher? No, why?”

“Don’t overthink it. Learn as you go if you have to. Opportunities are rare,” Marc said, smirking proudly as he reiterated Connor’s advice when Marc was selected for training.

Mother Arryn crossed her arms and muttered, “Well, the worst that can happen is they’ll send you home.”

Marc laughed and patted Lansius’ shoulder. “I’ll lend you my rucksack and shoulder bag. Now, let’s prepare things for the journey.”

Lansius didn’t tell them that accepting the offer would spare Marc from being levied.

...

Early in the morning after breakfast, horses around the camp were saddled. Men refilled their waterskins, and clothes and other gear were packed. Everyone, including a number of camp followers, was ready to march. Mules and horse carts laden with supplies were also lined up.

Meanwhile, inside Arryn’s household.

“Wear this for the winter,” she instructed as she unloaded items from a wooden chest.

“Gratitude.” Lansius examined the woolen coat and found it to be in good condition despite its age.

“Lans, take this for good luck,” said Marc.

Lansius looked at a small iron medallion resembling a coin with intricate patterns. “Where did you get this?”

“It belonged to Father.”

Lansius furrowed his brows. “Are you sure you want to give me this?”

“Yep,” Marc said, pulling out his own medallion. “I have a better one, see?”

Lansius nodded slowly, still turning the medallion in his hand.

“Have you packed your mittens and thick gloves?” Arryn interjected.

“Yes, I’ve packed those already.”

“Extra foot wraps for the road?” she inquired.

“Already gave him two,” Marc answered.

She nodded. “That should suffice.”

Lansius’ rucksack was now filled. Next was the shoulder bag, which he packed with packages of dried meat, hard biscuits, a small sack of flour, some raisins, and carrots.

“Here’s the waterskin. It’s old but still sturdy and not leaky,” Marc said as he handed over what was essentially his own gear to Lansius.

“Gratitude, Marc. Let me pay you for this.”

“No need, you’ve already shared enough. I can buy another one later when I need it,” said Marc.

After they finished packing, Tanya came in and hugged him. “I was about to make you a hood, Lans, but it’s not finished yet. I’m sorry I can’t give you anything.” Her voice was tinged with regret.

Lifting her, he reassured her, “Don’t worry about it. Take care of Mother and Marc for me. I’ll come home when I can.”

“Hush, you’re going to work as a retinue,” Arryn corrected him. “Obey your master and don’t ask to come home too soon; wait until you’ve done something worthy. Don’t worry about us.”

Smiling at her wise advice, Lansius felt grateful. Given the hurried nature of his departure, he had little time to dwell on his emotions. His farewell might have been more emotional and potentially awkward if he had more time.

After saying his goodbyes and sharing warm hugs with everyone, Lansius, with a heavy heart, stepped out the door. His family waved as Lansius shouldered his rucksack and began to walk toward the camp.

The sun was still far on the east and the wind was cool, Bellandia looked amazing around time like this.

As Lansius had expected, a woman in black gambeson waited not far from his house. Stefi approached Lansius and asked, “All set?”

Lansius tapped at his shoulder bag. “Hopefully, it’s enough.”

“I’ll share if you’re missing something,” Stefi reassured him. She then led him to a section of the camp where her horse was kept. It was already saddled and ready to go; a young servant stood by, waiting.

“Gratitude. Here’s a coin.”

Upon being paid, the servant darted into the crowd that was preparing to leave, apparently in search of his own master.

“What do you think of Horsie?” Stefi asked.

“She looks gentle, but I don’t know anything about horses,” he admitted.

Stefi chuckled. “Come on, take the reins, and let’s go.”

Lansius wasn’t sure. “I’ve never held horse reins before.”

“Don’t worry, she’s docile. Time to get acquainted,” Stefi said, smiling.

He gazed at her questioningly. “You’re going to train me to ride?”

“There’s no reason not to. Just don’t pull too hard. Guide her gently.”

Lansius did as he was told, and they finally hit the road. It was bustling with a column of people, knights, horse carts, pack mules, and even donkeys, all marching eastward toward their final destination: Riverstead City.

***

The State of the War, Elven Calendar 4422

In an era marked by rising tensions and escalating raids, Viscount Karius, the formidable Lord of Inglesia, committed the ultimate act of aggression. He crossed the Great River and launched a large-scale attack on the jewel of the Arvena province - the city of Riverstead.

Despite Lord Maurice of Arvena’s attempts to fortify the city, even sending his own son to bolster its defenses, the city of Riverstead fell prey to Karius’ surprise assault.

The High Lords viewed this as an overt act of hostility and aimed to censure the Lord of Inglesia. However, the Imperium’s archaic bureaucracy, slow and unresponsive, sought to label the incident as a minor border squabble among its vassal lords.

This attempt was a bid to preserve a semblance of peace within a realm already besieged by wars, particularly the Western front’s ongoing struggle against nomadic incursions.

Unwilling to wait for the slow response of the Imperium, Lord Maurice mustered his forces, marching them to Ceresia on the eve of winter.

***

One month after leaving Bellandia.

Lansius was suddenly awoken by a chilling gust of wind, causing his body to stiffen and his face to ache from the cold. Blinking, he found himself curled up around a faintly glowing campfire inside an old barn. Despite the fire's warmth, he could see his breath turning into vapor.

“It’s still not dawn,” Stefi whispered beside him.

Lansius nodded and pulled his rough woolen blanket tighter around himself. The wind outside howled and shook the barn, making it feel even colder. Despite the thick rags and hay mats on the ground, the cold still seeped through.

Only the crackling fire and the friendly faces of his comrades brought any relief. Gradually, Lansius began to drift back to sleep.

Lansius and the Arvena troops had been marching to retake Riverstead for almost a month when they encountered sudden, drastic changes in the weather. No one wanted to be caught in a blizzard, so they scrambled to find winter quarters.

Lansius' group had found refuge in an abandoned barn in Ceresia village, where they had been trapped for over a month. Yet winter was still in full force, with frequent snowfall and blizzards.

Today was another cloudy day, with weak sunlight filtering through the gaps in the wood panels. The early risers were already up and about, preparing breakfast. Nobility and city dwellers didn't typically eat so early in the morning, but on a campaign, it was a necessity. Morning was one of the few times they could cook without much interruption.

Lansius's stomach growled, and he knew the wine and water he drank each night would upset his digestion. Nevertheless, he needed a sip or two to warm up. Just as he was about to sigh, Stefi appeared with a bowl of stew she had received from the cook.

“You’re awake?” she asked, offering him the bowl.

“Gratitude,” he said, taking the bowl and sipping the warm, savory broth.

Smells burnt just as usual, but the warmth hits the spot.

Lansius took another spoonful, while Stefi gobbled down a thick, round bread. They swapped the bowl for the bread and continued eating.

Stefi didn’t bat an eye when they shared the bowl and spoon; partly because she was raised as a squire, but mainly because of practicality.

Most men carried a wooden plate and spoon, but washing them repeatedly in ice-cold water was a daunting task. One trick was to use a heated rock from the fireplace and dunk it in a bucket to warm the water, but even then, nobody wanted to do it repeatedly. Thus, sharing utensils was a common practice. However...

Don’t think about it-

But this is the same bowl and spoon...

For better or worse, Lansius hadn't been close to a woman his own age in two years. But now, he and Stefi were practically inseparable. They marched, ate, and slept beside each other every day.

Stefi, despite being younger, was experienced and had taught Lansius the basics of survival during their journey, including what to wear, what to eat, and how to prepare a tent. As they traveled, they inadvertently shared some intimate moments.

Lansius still remembered two days of steady drizzle that had left their clothes too damp to wear, forcing them to sleep half-naked in the tent. Another time, what began as a simple wash in the stream had ended in an awkward little accident.

Stefi seemed mostly oblivious to the intimacy of such moments, but Lansius was not. Least of all after the kiss she had given him on impulse, not out of passion, but because of that same mishap in the stream, a memory he did his best not to dwell on.

Apart from a few innocent slip-ups, Lansius had, in Stefi’s eyes, conducted himself exceptionally well and earned her respect. Her late mentor had once warned her about men’s lecherous tendencies, yet Lansius had proven an exception. What had begun for Stefi as the menial task of babysitting a scribe had gradually turned into a pleasant experience.

Their camaraderie led others to tease them as a couple, which wasn't surprising given their closeness. Anyone who knew saw them as socially compatible and of the right age to marry.

As for themselves, despite her brash demeanor, Lansius admired her honesty and resourcefulness. Meanwhile, Stefi respected Lansius' educated background and his status as part of the young Lord's retinue.

A pat on Lansius’ shoulder brought him back to the present. “Time for some sparring,” Stefi said.

“Right,” Lansius responded as he followed her with a borrowed sword. The owner allowed anyone to use it for training, but it was old and dull. As Lansius unsheathed it, he felt surprised that it was so light, unlike what he had imagined.

“Show me your middle guard,” Stefi instructed, preparing her own stance.

Lansius gripped the handle and pointed his sword at shoulder height, remembering where to place his thumb and not to death grip the handle.

“Alright, parry mid, low, and high. En-garde!” With a swift motion, Stefi thrust her sword toward Lansius’ torso. It came like a blur, but Lansius parried it sideways. Stefi continued with a low slash. Lansius took a step back and defended his limb with a block.

Stefi wasn’t done and directed her sword upward. Lansius knew the routine, but instinct made him to dodge backward. He felt it was more natural. However, she followed up with a swing that stopped inches from Lansius’ neck.

“You need to parry it,” she warned him before pulling out her sword.

“My bad,” he exclaimed. “But it feels natural.”

Stefi didn’t bother with his rant. “Again.”

They resumed their stance. Repetition built muscle memory, and gradually there was less hesitation in Lansius’ moves.

Stefi had worked tirelessly to teach him the correct way. At first, he had been clumsy and had some misconceptions about swordsmanship, but now he was starting to get the basics right.

The two weren't the only ones practicing. Breakfast had ended, and more people were exercising. Many young first-timers practiced with their spears, but Stefi felt that more spear training would be useless for Lansius. Since there were no words about Lansius' appointment, Stefi, as a squire, fell back on things she knew best, which was sword training. She thought that teaching him some sword combat would be useful.

Around midday, the barn turned into a chaotic work group. Some people searched for cracks in the walls to patch up, while others tended to the horses and mules. A few went outside, braving against ankle deep snow to relieve themselves in the adjacent hut.

When the sun was at its highest, everyone paused to bask in its warmth. Unfortunately, lunch wasn’t very appetizing. The bread from this morning was blackened and soggy.

Lansius sat with his back against the wall, trying to munch the tasteless bread. A slice of ham, cheese, or pickles would have been a welcome addition, but those were reserved for the nobles.

“Still having trouble with the bread?” Stefi asked.

He groaned, “It’s mushy and tastes horrible.”

She chuckled. “Just be grateful it’s still white. When things get hard, they use cheap grains, the ones they used to feed the mules.”

In shock, he asked, “How does that thing taste?”

“Horsebread? They’re gross, smell and taste like dirt.”

Lansius’ terrified face made Stefi giggle.

“Finish your bread and do some riding while there’s still light,” she said and rose up.

Lansius followed and spent an hour riding slowly around the tight enclosure. Far from riding on his own, Stefi was the one pulling the horse’s reins on foot. She taught him how to sit correctly on the saddle and what not to do when riding.

Despite just sitting on the saddle, it was tiring for someone who wasn’t accustomed to the rocking motion. It wasn’t as easy as he had imagined, and the horse’s smell was giving him a hard time. “Are you sure the saddle is alright?”

“Well, maybe it could have better paddings, but...” she shook her head.

Lansius understood the reason. Maintaining her gear alone was costly; boots needed new soles, coats needed mending, and horses needed fodder, to name a few. It was lucky that her old master used good bridles that still worked despite years of usage.

“Well, don’t mind my ramblings. I’m already grateful that you are teaching me how to ride.”

She chuckled. “Give thanks to Horsie. She’s the one who carried you around.”

The horse neighed as if she understood.

Soon, the sun began to set in the west. The temperature dropped and people begrudgingly donned coats and blankets. Despite daily exercise or handling animals, they rarely bathed, only doing so when absolutely necessary.

Lansius too adopted this practice to some degree, finding the hassle of bathing not worth the effort. When he did wash up, he used a bucket of warm water, a clean cloth, and firewood ash as soap.

Cleanliness was appreciated but difficult to achieve, thus it was common to find cases of rashes and other skin disorders. Clothing was the only thing preventing an outbreak of body odor and putrid smells, as the many layers of fabric kept the unpleasant odors inside.

As someone with a sensitive nose, Lansius avoided unpleasant smells when possible, but his introversion made him reluctant to say anything about his group. Eventually, Stefi noticed and moved together to a group that stank less.

The new group eventually found out about Lansius’ hair. Despite his attempt to always cover it up with a hood or traveling cloak, he couldn’t hide them forever. Unlike what he had feared, nobody behaved differently. The men were interested in his foreign background, but largely unconcerned. Only then did Lansius feel truly welcomed.

The cold season seemed endless, and people passed the time with chatting, playing dice, and preparing meals. When the sun went down, the barn grew quiet except for the bubbling of the cauldron and the crackling of the fire.

Despite the monotonous routine, people did their best to entertain themselves with music, storytelling, or gossip. As a foreigner, Lansius often found himself at the center of attention, but he was cautious about revealing his origin, and only offered vague answers about his birthplace.

The monotony continued for three weeks. During this period, some of the younger soldiers improved their weapon handling skills or picked up soft skills like reading and cooking. Lansius, however, made little progress beyond the basics in his sword training.

He instead focused on learning cursive writing with a wax stylus. A balding lieutenant with an arm tattoo, believing in Lansius' potential, offered to tutor him without charge, thinking that Lansius had potential and would go places.

One day, four men arrived and gathered the captain and lieutenant from Lansius’ shelter. Rumors of an impending attack spread like wildfire. Indeed, the weather had calmed down, and the snow was only ankle-deep.

When the captains and lieutenants returned, they confirmed the rumors. “Pack your gear. We’re going out tomorrow at dawn."

The shelter sprang to life as preparations for the journey began. Like Stefi, several of the group hailed from Riverstead. Driven out in the previous season, they were eager to return home.

“It finally happened,” Stefi said to Lansius, who could only nod with a sense of uneasiness.

***

The next day dawned in Ceresia, with a drop in temperature and a fierce wind. The barn doors, which were usually closed, stood wide open, and lanterns and torches illuminated the inside. Dozens of men dressed in their winter gear were ready for departure.

Similar scenes were taking place in neighboring towns and villages. After being cooped up in their shelters for over a month, the Arvena troops were finally returning to march.

As Squire and Scribe apprentice, the young Lord assigned Stefi and Lansius to stay behind and take charge of the supplies. It wasn’t surprising. They needed someone to guard the supplies and record them.

“Hope they win,” Stefi murmured as the army received their order to march out. “Otherwise, we’ll have to defend this place with only remnants and leftovers.”

“How big is the opponent’s army?” Lansius asked.

“Interested in war, are you?” Stefi quipped.

“Not much, just trying new vocabulary,” he avoided the question, fearing that Stefi might use it as an excuse to train him harder.

“Well… hard to know. But ours should be bigger. I say two-thousand versus a few hundred?” Stefi shrugged.

Lansius found it hard to believe but he had some suspicion when he saw how many marched with him. He realized he had been mistaken in his assumption about the scale of the world he found himself in. Although he had initially believed it to be similar to medieval times, he now saw that it was more akin to an Imperial Roman, one that had thrived into the medieval era.

So, not just a Lord, but more like a Roman governor with cohorts to commands.

“Ah, so it’s likely we’ll win,” he muttered, more to himself.

Stefi shook her head. “Nothing is certain in a war. Securing the river crossing won’t be easy.”

Lansius had heard that the river between Ceresia and Riverstead was wide and had strong currents. There was only one narrow bridge which was often damaged by flood. The forces who occupied Riverstead surely understood this bridge’s importance and put efforts to defend it.

Looks like it's going to be a messy battle... Unless... if the river is frozen.

He considered the possibility that if the river was frozen, the Arvenians could split their forces, cross the river, and attempt a pincer attack. However, he realized that he knew nothing about the Lord of Arvena's personality and whether he would gamble on such a risky maneuver.

"Stefi," he called as he approached and whispered, "Is the Lord of Arvena, bold?"

Stefi furrowed her brows and met his gaze. "Lans, we're campaigning in the middle of winter. If that's not bold, then I don't know what is."

Lansius felt foolish for asking. "Oh, right, of course."

Stefi crossed her arms in a relaxed way. "What's on your mind?"

"Oh, I'm just thinking, if the river is frozen, then-"

"Then it's going to be easy win at the crossing?" Stefi guessed.

Lansius nodded. "Yeah, something like that."

"Well, you're onto something. If it's frozen then it's only a matter of sending our strongest detachment to cross and attack their camp. However," Stefi continued, "it's not that simple. The river is wide, and it rarely freezes entirely. Have you ever walked on thin ice before?"

Lansius shook his head.

"Well, you never want to cross it in armor, and definitely not with a group of armored men," Stefi cautioned.

"I see, so it's possible-"

"But dangerous," Stefi completed the sentence. "Lastly, if that's the plan then they'll need to move quickly."

"Why's that?" Lansius asked.

"The coldest time was several weeks ago. By now, the river may already be thawing," Stefi said with a sigh.

Lansius now realized that time was running out. With the weather unpredictable and the bridge likely fortified, the Arvenians needed to act fast. The fate of their campaign depended solely on their speed.

***

Chapter 4

Tall Clouds

Two weeks had elapsed since the Arvenian troops had set out. Lansius sighed from boredom, for what felt like the hundredth time. He had taken Stefi’s advice to clean and maintain his equipment; his spare cloth was neatly rolled in his bag, the wooden bowl was scrubbed spotless, and he had even aired out the woolen coats and blankets until they were fluffy again. Still, he found himself with time on his hands.

I really could use a book . . . I wonder how everyone is doing in Bellandia. I hope Tanya isn’t overworking herself. It pains me to see her nails and fingers stained blue. And Mother Arryn, too.

He exhaled yet another sigh.

I wish I were with them . . .

The relentless weather weighed most on his spirits. However, it hadn’t always been this way. Upon the soldiers’ departure two weeks prior, the weather had cleared, allowing Lansius to roam Ceresia without hindrance. It was then that they received uplifting news: the Arvena forces had triumphantly crossed the frozen river, secured the bridge, and opened up the road to Riverstead.

Regrettably, just as the Arvenians should have been advancing toward Riverstead to set up their siege against the occupier force, the weather took a sudden turn for the worse. A relentless snowstorm besieged the region, with no end in sight.

“It’s snowing again,” one of two elderly men dressed in worn gambesons muttered.

His companion stood up, looking concerned. They went to the barn door and secured it tightly.

“I’m worried about our people,” the second man whispered.

“They’ll be fine. Riverstead is a four-day journey from here,” his friend said, attempting to comfort him.

“But what about their supplies? They must be running low.”

“Their provisions should suffice. There’s no need to entertain such an ill-conceived thought.”

Lansius couldn’t help but feel a twinge of unease.

We’ve captured the bridge, but maintaining a siege and taking a city is a different matter. Especially in a winter like this.

Lansius, Stefi, the two old men, and two boys were in charge of a cartload of grains, small barrels of ale, cheese, and salted meat. They made up one of the many supply posts around Ceresia.

It wasn’t much, but due to winter, moving them all to a dedicated spot was a logistical nightmare. Thus, instead of a well-guarded camp, the supplies were scattered with minimal personnel to guard them.

The main body of the army marched with as many supplies as they could manage. What Lansius and the other groups were guarding were leftovers that were too cumbersome to transport in the snowy conditions.

Linking them with the main army was a group of men and mules who would come regularly for supplies. But the last visit—and the last news—had been ten days ago, before the weather worsened.

Keeping two thousand men from freezing with just medieval technology is almost unthinkable. Men need more than just food, tents, and blankets to survive the winter. Without a fire, nobody will survive at night. And firewood is cumbersome and not easy to get.

His experience in Bellandia had taught him that firewood must be dried through the summer. A properly dried wood would make good heat with almost no smoke. Meanwhile, recently cut logs had too much moisture and produced less heat with lots of smoke.

With the path likely blocked by heavy snow, Lansius could only imagine the hardship facing the men on the front line. The nobles could furnish themselves with charcoal heaters, but the common folk could only rely on the snowy woodlands for fallen logs and dead branches. Meanwhile, the stacks of firewood in Ceresia lay unused.

No use worrying about it.

Lansius resigned himself to the boredom and unease. He could try to strike up another conversation, but they had already exhausted their topics. Even Lansius, with his keen interest in the history of the Imperium, had grown weary of the old men’s tales. He would have given anything for a visit from a wandering minstrel. Or even the internet and a few films.

He longed to learn more about the Ancients, the elves, half-elves, and dwarves. The old men, like most people, knew something of the world’s origins, but their understanding was limited compared to what a wandering minstrel might know. The trouble, however, was getting a minstrel to sing of what you actually wanted to hear.

The dull stretch lasted until the orange glow of the setting sun seeped through the cracks in the wooden walls. Seeing this, the two elderly men enlisted the boys’ help with a few chores.

The boys were not particularly useful, but the men appreciated their company. The youngsters were about the same age as their grandchildren, and their lively chatter helped distract everyone from thoughts of war.

Finished with the chores, one of the old men then sat down and pulled out a wide, worn leather case. Lansius had never noticed he carried such a thing. Its shape caught his attention at once. The man opened it carefully, exposing a thick wooden stock fitted with iron and a heavy bow stave fixed across the front.

Sitting upright at once, Lansius found himself staring at the weapon. Only then did he realize the old man was a crossbowman. The crossbow was unstrung, but it looked sturdy, its wooden stock worn smooth with use.

The man noticed. “Don’t stare like that.”

“Apologies,” Lansius said, shifting his gaze away.

A moment passed and the man snorted. “That’s it?”

Lansius turned back to him, unsure. “Y-yes?”

“No second try, no asking proper, no trying to win me over. Just one refusal, and that’s the end of it?” the old man said, amused rather than mocking.

Lansius felt embarrassed by his lack of insistence. “I, I just did not want to bother you.”

The man let out a dry laugh that ended in a cough. Still, he said, “You’re an odd one. People here press when they want something, because when you’ve got nothing, all you’ve got is persistence. My brother would not have let me join the mercenaries if I had not insisted. My father would not have let me leave Nicopola if I had not pressed him for it. My wife...” He stopped and grumbled. “Eh, that’s none of your business.”

Lansius stifled a grin. The old man’s story was a welcome break from the boredom.

“Here,” he said, offering his unstrung crossbow. Lansius quickly stepped closer and took it with care.

“Why are you interested in it? You’re not a child anymore," the old man asked.

“I’m interested in how it works.” Lansius examined the odd-looking lever, which was pressed against the stock rather than pulled like a trigger. He studied the weapon closely, tested its balance in his hands, and even raised it once toward the wall, trying to picture how it would be aimed in battle.

Noticing his fascination, the old man warned, “If you think I’ll let you try it, the answer is no.”

“Of course,” Lansius replied, knowing it was both a weapon and the man’s livelihood.

“And it’s probably better for you,” the man muttered.

Noticing Lansius’ gaze on him, he explained, “The weapon is powerful. It can punch through ringmail with ease. However, it is also dangerous for its wielder.”

His aged eyes met Lansius’. “If you bring down a noble and they capture you, they’ll chop off your hand, and more. No trial. Many times, they just round up every crossbowman and cut them at the wrist.”

He coughed again before turning gloomy. “And now I’m old and frail, so far from home. I’m going to die in this campaign or the next.”

His friend chuckled as he stirred the cauldron with a ladle. “You’re not going to die. We’ll retire after Riverstead.”

Gathering his courage, Lansius asked, “Could you teach me to use this?”

The crossbowman snorted. “Did my warning fall on deaf ears?” But seeing the determination in Lansius’ eyes, he explained, “The cord is too thick and troublesome, and I’m too lazy to deal with it.”

“Perhaps you can at least show me how?”

The old man laughed. “It might injure you or ruin the cord. Better not. You’re what, a clerk? Act like one.”

Lansius could not help but chuckle.

Meanwhile, the pottage bubbled away in the cauldron as the food preparations came to an end. To fill the time before supper, the other old man chopped wood while the crossbowman taught the boys a few winter crafts.

In contrast, Stefi continued to snooze peacefully, as if she did not have a worry in the world. After sword training, a lunch break, and a bit of horse riding, she was indulging in a well-earned nap. To be fair, she had been eager for another round of training, but Lansius had declined, as his hands had developed painful blisters and calluses.

Stefi shifted in her sleep and faced Lansius’s direction, and he caught himself staring at her.

She does have a cute side. Without the fierce eyes, she looks innocent, even fragile.

She had told Lansius that it was rare for women to take up arms. Many called her a shield-maiden, a term that harked back to an older era when men and women fought side by side in battles. Nowadays, as peace and civilization had advanced, it had become uncommon. While some women did become huntresses or knights, they were considered outliers, and their numbers gradually diminished.

His stomach suddenly cramped up, stirring him from his thoughts. He rubbed his stomach, to no avail. It was getting worse, but he didn’t know why. Perhaps his habit of drinking wine, even when diluted with plenty of water, was causing discomfort in his unaccustomed stomach.

The barn was suddenly filled with the sound of a creaking door. Lansius only managed a brief glance in its direction before Stefi sprang awake from her slumber.

Sword?!

Metallic flashes propelled Lansius into action. As Stefi rushed to the door with sword in hand, Lansius grabbed his sparring spear and ran after her. The two old men also scrambled for their spears, but it was all for naught.

“Hello, boys,” greeted a familiar bearded face as he opened up the barn door.

“Thomas!” shouted the old man behind Lansius.

“Please spare me the blade,” Thomas said jokingly.

Stefi smirked and sheathed her sword. Lansius, too, recognized the man and lowered his guard.

Thomas was old enough to sport a full gray beard, but a protruding axe that hung on his belt proved he was still in his prime. Along with four other men, their horses, cart, and mules, they went inside to warm themselves.

Everybody asked about the frontline, but the newcomers just looked at each other with big grins and bright faces.

“Ah, damn it, just say it. We won,” Thomas said in the most anticlimactic way.

Everybody couldn’t believe what they heard.

“Did you—” Lansius tried to ask.

“We won!” somebody cut in, and the rest followed. A wave of emotion erupted as they realized that the war was over. Youngsters and old men alike jumped in joy and danced happily in celebration.

Spring of 4423 had yet to arrive when the Arvena troops successfully took back Riverstead City after a short siege.

***

It had been ten days since Thomas arrived in Ceresia, and they were now marching toward Riverstead. The trees were bare, their branches whitened by a layer of frost, and the road was still covered in ice. Despite the conditions, Stefi, Lansius, and the Ceresia supply group were in high spirits, as today marked the final leg of their journey.

Stefi rode her horse, while the coachman and the boys journeyed on the horse-drawn supply cart. Lansius, Thomas, and the others walked beside the mules laden with goods. By midday, they reached the outskirts of the city where they found a cobblestone road, significantly easing their travel.

Lansius was captivated by the grand city. The imposing towers and bridges of Riverstead were an impressive sight even from a distance. As they drew nearer, the view became even more remarkable, with rows of tall buildings with white plastered walls, their colorful roof tiles visible through the snow.

“Hehe, you like it here?” Stefi teased as they crossed the stone bridge leading into the city.

“This is awesome,” Lansius admitted as they entered.

“Wait till you see the market when it returns to normal. They have everything.”

Though currently sparse due to the war, the vividly colored shops and stalls caught Lansius’s attention. He marveled at the city’s advanced appearance compared to Bellandia.

“Come, let’s report before dark,” Stefi urged.

They said their farewells to Thomas and the rest of the supply group. Since they served the same lord and were stationed in the same town, they knew they would likely cross paths often.

Stefi and Lansius left their horse at the city stable and went in search of the captain. After asking several people, they finally found him supervising reconstruction efforts. Despite being well over fifty, he still possessed an imposing figure. He wore a thick woolen tunic in a rich yellow hue, layered over a padded gambeson for warmth.

Spotting Stefi, the captain gestured for her to approach.

“No mule is lost or injured, sir,” Stefi reported.

What the—that’s not how to report?!

The captain appeared annoyed, confirming Lansius’s suspicions. “The goods, are they safe?”

Unable to answer, Stefi nudged Lansius, who pulled a parchment from his bag and presented it. “The supplies from the village of Ceresia are present and accounted for, sir.”

The captain glanced at the parchment but dismissed it. “Keep it for the seneschal’s men.” Then, addressing Stefi, he said, “Make sure the animals are fed and rested. We’re going to need them soon.”

“Another battle, sir?” she inquired.

The captain snorted. “The northern bastard still refuses a truce or surrender. The lord is hunting the remnants as we speak.”

“I see,” she murmured.

“Will that be all?” the old man questioned.

Seemingly uneasy, she asked, “Mm, sir, any chance of payments?”

The captain shook his head. “You’ll have to take it up with the marshal or his deputy. And they’re both away.”

She sighed. “Sir, what about him?”

Her question perplexed the captain. “What about him? A new scribe?”

Stefi gave him a smug look. “We’re not sure yet, but the young lord personally recruited him.”

Her statement surprised the captain, who took a closer look at Lansius.

“I’m Lansius, from Bellandia village, sir.”

“Well, Lansius of Bellandia, what makes the young lord want you in his retinue?”

“I’m not sure—”

“Don’t be modest,” Stefi interrupted. “He can calculate real fast.”

Lansius noticed the captain eyeing his darker hair peeking out from his hood, but the captain didn’t mention it. “Did the young lord say anything more specific?”

Both shook their heads in unison.

The man sighed as he considered the situation. “Oi, fetch me the scribe,” he instructed his squire.

After waiting, an even older man appeared, wearing a long blue tunic and brown robe. The captain dictated a brief letter and handed it to Lansius.

“Give this letter to the municipal office tomorrow morning. That’ll be all.” He dismissed the duo.

Lansius bowed his head, but Stefi had another question.

“Mm, sir, what about me?”

“Let me guess, as I predicted, you convinced no one to take you as their squire?”

She shook her head and feigned sadness.

“Oh, begone.” He scolded her. “Just stick with this Lansius fellow.”

“Eh, really, I can do that?”

The captain didn’t elaborate and waved his hand to send them away.

The two walked away from the reconstruction site and headed into the main street.

“Well, I guess we’re stuck together,” Stefi said lightly.

“So glad that we’re both employed,” Lansius remarked.

She chuckled. “Come, let’s head home before dark. I reckon there’s a lot to be done.”

That made him stop in his track. “Home? You have a house?”

“Of course. I lived here, you dummy. Well, it was my master’s, but nobody threw me out when she passed, so . . .” she explained, carefree.

“Doesn’t the city have a . . .” He tried to find the word barracks, but he couldn’t find it in his vocabulary.

Stefi tilted her head.

Lansius seemed to realize that the word might not exist. “What’s the building where soldiers sleep?”

“Guardhouse? That’s reserved for guardsmen, and it’s cramped.”

“What about the other men-at-arms?”

“Oh, you mean billets. Yeah, the lord could ask the townsfolk to provide housing for his men, but I guess right now, Riverstead doesn’t need one.”

Most of the city was empty. Its people had evacuated when the war started last year. Some refugees had returned, but many would wait until spring or summer when the road was firm and passable.

The two walked down the cobbled path toward a lifeless, narrow alley. Not one in ten buildings had lights in their windows or smoke coming out from their chimney. They passed a tavern that was crowded with soldiers and city folks. The heavenly smell of grilled meat reached them. Stefi sniffed the air.

“Want to give it a go?” Lansius asked.

“We can’t,” she exclaimed and walked away.

He followed up and asked, “Is the place expensive?”

“Two copper, but we need to be frugal. Otherwise, we’ll go broke.”

Both of them sighed. Nobody expected the opponent to refuse a truce after defeat and keep up fighting. With the lord and most of his troops continuing the mop-up, nobody in Riverstead could pay them.

“Isn’t Lord Arte in Riverstead?” he asked with hope.

“Lans, never ask money directly from the nobles. They’ll get irritated. The ones who pay are either the seneschal or the chamberlain. Neither of them took part in the campaign, only their assistants attached to the lord or the marshal.”

“I see . . .” Lansius took her advice to heart.

They left the tavern behind as the sky darkened from gold to red. A cold wind swept through the deserted alleyway, and with empty pockets, Lansius and Stefi walked on toward whatever waited next. For Lansius, Riverstead would be his first proving ground in this world.

***

Chapter 5

Riverstead

The growing darkness and looming snowbanks on either side of the road didn’t hinder Stefi from finding her home. Lansius followed Stefi as she headed down a row of similarly sized buildings. As they stepped up to the door, they saw that the lock had been smashed open.

Lansius nervously turned to Stefi, waiting for her response. Stefi drew her sword, gave a confident nod to Lansius, and cautiously pushed the door inward.

The creaking of the frozen hinges heralded their entry, but no challenge came from inside. Stefi went in, and Lansius followed, drawing his knife.

The house wasn’t large and was only modestly furnished, so they could easily see that nobody was inside. They checked the kitchen and the wet area but found nothing. Stefi dropped her bag and motioned upstairs. She ran up the flight of stairs and disappeared from view.

Lansius heard a door being flung open and then another. But then, there was only silence. Slowly, the knife in his hand felt insignificant. He stopped hesitating and went for the stairs, but the sounds of footsteps stopped him.

Stefi appeared from upstairs with an unlit candle. “All clear,” she said with a faint smile.

“Anything lost?” he asked while sheathing his knife. It took two tries, as his hand was unusually tense.

“I’ll worry about it later when I have time,” she responded.

There were clear signs of looting or burglary inside, but there was nothing they could do about it. As darkness fell, Stefi placed a candle on the wooden table and began unwrapping a small pouch that contained a flint, a metal object, and small pieces of wood from the previous night’s fire. She grabbed the flint and struck it against the iron, directing the sparks onto the pieces of wood. After several attempts, an ember glowed red, and she carefully used it to light the candle.

Lansius found a wooden plank lying on the floor, lifted it, and placed it into the corresponding iron bracket to secure the door.

“Come, let’s head upstairs,” she called, holding the lit candle in her hand.

The narrow wooden stairs creaked almost with every step. Upstairs, they were greeted by two doors.

“That’s my late master’s room,” Stefi said, nodding to one of the doors. “You’d better not enter.”

“I see. So where do you sleep?”

“My bed is beside hers,” Stefi said vaguely as she led him toward the other door.

Lansius followed her inside to see a tidy study. “Umm, so where will I sleep?”

“Here.” She lightly stomped on the wooden floor.

“At least it won’t be cold,” he responded, fully expecting to sleep on the floor.

“No, I haven’t pulled out the bed,” she clarified.

“Oh . . .” he remarked shyly.

That made her giggle. “Lans, you’re my charge. I won’t let you suffer.”

The room was dusty and damp, so they did what they could with a broom and cleaning rags. Stefi found a dry rushlight on the cabinet and lit it up. Afterward, she went inside her room and dragged a bed out.

“You sure you can do it alone?” Lansius asked in between the screeching noises.

But with only a few tries, she managed to get the oaken bed frame out.

Out of curiosity, Lansius tried to move it.

Oof, this is heavy . . .

The bed refused to budge.

She chuckled. “Better do it together.”

The two moved the bed into the study without an issue. Afterward, they returned downstairs only to realize that all the firewood was gone.

Lansius wanted to give it another look, but Stefi said, “Wait here.” She lifted the wood plank on the door and headed outside. He followed and spotted her just as she entered an empty-looking neighbor’s house.

Did she just barge into her neighbor’s house?

He glanced around nervously, feeling like an amateurish thief’s accomplice. Fortunately, Stefi returned quickly with two sizeable objects in each hand. She handed one to Lansius as she walked by, and the two hurriedly returned to their place.

“What are we going to do with these chairs?” Lansius asked her as they barred the door once more.

“They belonged to the jerk. He used to piss from his window at night, right onto my fence,” she explained, lifting the chair and heading into the kitchen.

“What?” Lansius couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.

“After my master passed away,” she began, “this neighbor kept bothering me . . . One time, he even waggled his privates when I walked home.”

Lansius was taken aback. “You let that go unpunished?”

She sighed. “I can’t do anything. If I cause an incident, I might lose the house.”

“How come?”

“It’s a long story, Lans,” she said, clearly not intending to elaborate.

After a brief pause, Lansius asked, “So, do you have a mallet?”

His question made her smile. Stefi didn’t have a mallet, but she did have a small, rusty axe. Despite its bluntness, they quickly turned the chairs into firewood. Now, the wood burned brightly.

Stefi put the clean snow she had gathered into the cauldron and let it boil. Meanwhile, Lansius removed his coat and watched as Stefi arranged what they had left on the table.

“Lans, there’s only gruel until I can get something from the market tomorrow.”

“Let me pay for the food.”

“Better save your coins. You might need better clothes,” she said, pouring the grains into the cauldron.

“Ah . . . you think so?” He realized that all his clothes were shabby.

“You need to look the part, like the captain’s scribe earlier. Let’s visit some second-hand shops tomorrow.”

The image of a long blue tunic came to Lansius’s mind. “But don’t I need to report in the morning?”

“Ah, it’s fine. You can show up later. It’s not like the captain would send a runner to inform them about you.”

Lansius nodded. He knew he wasn’t important enough to warrant that kind of treatment. Without things to worry about, he started to unwind. The comfort of the home felt luxurious after a prolonged stay in barns and tents.

He looked around and couldn’t help but compare this place to his home in Bellandia. Almost every feature in this house looked better. Even in a lower-class area, the house had a sturdy construction and a separate living space. This way, the soot and stench from the kitchen area stayed below.

The cauldron made noises as it boiled. Stefi diligently stirred and added her last chunk of cheese, followed by a portion of salted meat from a waxed linen wrap. “It’s almost ready.”

Lansius picked up a bowl from his bag while Stefi grabbed one from the cupboard. The meal was a humble one, but the mood was uplifting. They had been sleeping rough for months, so the prospect of spending the night on proper beds was overwhelming.

As they ate, a curiosity dawned on Lansius. “Stefi, is it all right in the city for unmarried men and women to spend the night in a house together?”

“Of course not. If they’re caught, they’ll be forced to marry . . .” Her voice trailed off as she slowly realized what it was all about. “Oh, shit. We’ve been together for so long that I forgot about that.”

Lansius exhaled deeply. Although they were technically still on a campaign, they were now stationed inside a city, which meant they could get in trouble with the parish laws. He had only recently learned about the restrictive and unreasonable rules that governed medieval society, such as the sumptuary laws that dictated what clothing, colors, fur, and jewelry were permissible based on a person’s social status.

Worse still were the laws imposed on unmarried couples. If a man and woman were found alone together without a chaperone, the parish would levy a fine. If they were caught touching, the fine would be even heftier. If they spent a significant amount of time together, it could be deemed as adultery, a criminal act with its own punishment. In addition, the fines had to be paid when the woman got married, which served as a form of public shaming.

I knew it. Something felt off with just the two of us.

“J-just keep this a secret,” she whispered. “Nobody needs to know, and no one will be the wiser.”

He nodded. It wasn’t like he could find another place to stay with the sun already setting. “I’ll find somewhere else to stay tomorrow. It’s getting late. We should get some rest.”

Stefi took a deep breath and sipped her drink. “I’ll help you out. There must be something I can sell around this house.”

“Sell?” Lansius furrowed his brow. “No, I think I have enough to pay for rent.”

“But you also need a new tunic for work,” she reminded him.

Lansius smiled, appreciating her good intentions. “We’ll figure something out tomorrow. Oh, go ahead and clean your room. I’ll make sure the fire goes out.”

“Right, I still need to do that. Good night then, Lans.” She took her cup and went upstairs.

Lansius, left alone with his thoughts, couldn’t help but imagine what would happen if they were caught and forced to marry. Although he couldn’t remember his exact age, he felt that he was older than twenty. Meanwhile, based on her story, Stefi was nearing twenty as well. Both were considered old enough to marry.

But would that work out? Hah, probably not . . .

The smoldering of the fireplace interrupted his daydream. He approached the fireplace and knelt to light the candle from an ember. Afterward, he went upstairs to the study. Once inside, he realized he had the entire room to himself.

The newfound privacy relieved him like no other, but fatigue from days of walking and camping crept in quickly. He forced himself to arrange his bag and coat. Afterward, he blew out the wax candle, slipped into the bed, and pulled the blanket up.

Today had been full of new experiences for him. He had finally reached Riverstead and now looked forward to a new job. The feeling that he might just pull this off and help his family financially put his mind at ease.

The only thing nagging him was that he must find another place to stay the next day, and that might ruin him financially. The temptation to seek shelter in one of the vacant homes loomed large, but the risk of accusations of looting or theft was too great to ignore.

Oh, I’ll worry about that tomorrow!

Leaving aside his worries, Lansius finally found peace and drifted into sleep.

...

Lansius awoke to the sight of an unfamiliar ceiling, gradually recalling that he was sleeping in Stefi’s house. As the events of the previous night flooded back into his mind, he took a deep breath, pushed his blanket aside, and rose to his feet.

The room was dark and cold, but a sliver of weak orange light streamed in through a slit in the window. Picking up his bag without bothering to change his clothes, Lansius quietly left his room. The house was silent, and Stefi’s door remained closed. He carefully descended the nearly pitch-black staircase, feeling his way down and listening to the creaking of the wooden steps beneath his weight.

Reaching the bottom without a mishap, Lansius headed to the kitchen. There, he noticed more light seeping through the cracks of the door and front window. He approached the fireplace, where he had hung his old, worn shoes and socks. The lingering heat from the fireplace overnight had dried them out, freeing them from the previous day’s mud.

Grateful for dry footwear, he pulled out a chair and sat down to put on his socks. While the wealthy could afford longer socks or hose, Lansius made do with short ones. The cheap wool was itchy, but it was better than the discomfort of rubbing against hard soles.

After putting on his socks and shoes, he thought to start a fire. Noticing that Stefi had left the fire-starting kit on the table, Lansius picked up one of the charred pieces of wood from the previous day and began to strike the stone and metal together to produce sparks.

Despite a couple of unsuccessful attempts, he persisted, considering this a valuable opportunity to practice his fire-making skills.

***

Stefi

The owner of the house yawned as she descended the stairs, an off-white mantle draped over her head and shoulders. Her face was pale from the cold, her eyes unfocused, and even her lips lacked their usual pinkness. Strangely, a good night’s sleep seemed to have left her even drowsier.

She did not even notice the crackling fire at first and was caught off guard by the warmth and light from the fireplace.

“Morning,” Lansius greeted her.

“Lans, you made a fire?” she asked, surprise in her voice.

“Well, you taught me properly. Turns out it’s not that hard when it’s dry,” Lansius replied, rather proud of himself.

Stefi chuckled, wanting to commend him but feeling too shy to do so. She approached the fireplace and knelt, basking in its warmth. Gradually, her pale face regained some of its healthy color.

Lansius offered Stefi a cup. Without needing to ask, she took it and drank slowly, aware that drinking too fast could provoke a cough since her throat was dry. After months stranded in winter, it had become routine to drink watered wine to keep warm. Soon, more redness returned to her face, especially her lips and cheeks.

“How’s the weather?” she asked.

“Windy, with a bit of snow,” he answered lightly.

She took another sip. “Have you had breakfast?”

“Not yet. I was thinking of waiting for you first.”

She nodded, rose slowly, and approached the cupboard to find her small bag of grain and cheese. “How’s your stomach?”

“Ready for some gruel,” Lansius joked, as it was the only thing they had at the moment.

Stefi snorted and turned apologetic. “I’ll cook stew tonight. I should be able to get something from the field kitchen.”

“I’m not sure it’s necessary,” Lansius said in a serious tone.

Stefi looked at him, puzzled, and Lansius explained, “I’m going to rent a place tonight. Somewhere close, if possible.”

“Ah,” she muttered, clearly understanding his reasoning.

Her face turned a bit sad. Lansius, ever perceptive, noticed and asked, “You’re good with that, right?”

“What? Oh, sure. I’m just thinking that I’m going to eat alone again,” Stefi admitted, revealing more than she wanted.

Now, Lansius glanced to the side, seeming perplexed before suddenly asking, “Is it possible that you want me to stay?”

Stefi furrowed her brows. “Well, I enjoy your company, but alas, you cannot. Someone will see and start a ruckus.”

“They’d do that, even after a siege?” he asked, plainly doubtful.

She shrugged and said, “After a war like this, people are bored and eager for something to talk about.”

Yesterday, they had seen several houses lit, proof that many had remained throughout the siege. Riverstead was populous enough, and many of its residents were affluent craftsmen and tradesmen. A siege alone would not drive them all away.

“Better not risk it then. I don’t want the situation to become like Bellandia.” He let out a deep breath. Noticing Stefi’s questioning gaze, he explained, “That was how it started there too. People spread all kinds of rumors about me.”

Hearing that he understood, Stefi seemed more at ease and mused, “My knight master would’ve liked you.”

“Isolte, was it?” Lansius tried to recall her late master’s name. “Why do you think she’d like me?”

Stefi’s face softened, and she stifled a laugh as she remembered Isolte’s eccentricity. “She was always unpredictable. A contradiction, even.” Finishing her drink, she set the wooden cup down on the table. “On one hand, she often joked about me marrying a rich man's son. On the other, she warned me not to, because men were not to be trusted.”

Lansius snorted. “That’s a bit confusing.”

“Indeed,” she said. Then, prompted by the mix of wine and an empty stomach, she asked, “Then how about you, Lans? Are you to be trusted?”

Their eyes met.

He was about to answer, but she rose abruptly, startling him. “Better not answer that,” she said, as if thinking aloud. “And it’s not like I could afford it . . .”

“What do you mean?” Lansius asked.

“Even if I wanted to, the only thing I have is Horsie, and I don’t intend to give her as a dowry.”

The thought of Horsie as a dowry amused Lansius, and he burst into laughter.

“What’s so funny?” she asked, giving him a sharp look.

“No, it’s just . . . Horsie as a dowry,” he said between laughs, unable to come up with a better explanation.

She misunderstood his reaction and stared at him with annoyance, making him flinch.

Not wanting her to think poorly of him, Lansius quickly explained, “I mean, in my . . . homeland, it’s the men who pay the dowry!”

His explanation caught Stefi off guard. Her annoyance gave way to curiosity. “How much is this dowry?”

That question made Lansius pause for a moment before muttering, “Mm, probably more than three years of pay.”

Stefi’s eyes widened as she tried to picture the sum and realized it must be enormous. Educated men were paid far more than common footmen or lowly squires like herself.

“How about it, suddenly interested?” Lansius joked, if only to ease the awkwardness between them.

Stefi snorted, and the two laughed it off, both aware that they were still unsure of each other. Even so, the moment left its mark.

To a masterless squire like Stefi, an educated man who would even pay the dowry was no small thing. Yet past experience left her wary of taking advantage of someone as innocent as Lansius.

Rather than continue down that line of talk, Stefi drew a deep breath and said, “All this talk about marriage so early in the morning. Maybe we’re still too drunk. How about a morning training session to clear our heads?”

He had not expected that. “We don’t have sparring swords, and yours isn’t dull.”

Stefi grinned mischievously and said, “Sooner or later, you’ll need to practice against a real sword. Today is as good a day as any.”

“Remember, we need to stop by the shop and buy some clothes,” Lansius said, trying to change the subject.

Stefi kept her gaze on him, still weighing what they could use for sparring.

Lansius quickly added, “Maybe buy some breakfast too? I’ll treat.”

She blinked, and her eyes softened a little. “Mm . . . bribery, huh? I doubt you have the money, but I know just the place.”

“All right, let’s go then. I’m hungry,” Lansius said, a hint of urgency in his voice.

Stefi could tell what he was doing, but decided to let him off the hook. “Let me change my clothes first,” she replied.

Lansius relaxed at once, clearly relieved.

***

Lansius

For over three thousand years, Riverstead had been a silent witness to the rise and fall of numerous kingdoms and all three Imperiums. This ancient city, having been resurrected multiple times from the ruins, was strategically nestled among three rivers that flowed toward the Great River.

Despite the rivers’ presence, the surrounding land wasn’t blessed with fertility, but rather with mineral wealth that had been mined since ancient times. As a result, generations of craftsmen had made their livelihoods here.

With access to the Great River, Riverstead maintained direct trade links with the Far East kingdoms and also served as a crucial trade hub for the northern provinces of the Imperium. Through the city, goods, particularly from the industrious province of Midlandia, flowed northward and eastward.

The city streets were paved with gray cobblestones, and the vastness of Riverstead was apparent, boasting hundreds, if not thousands, of buildings, including several multi-story structures. Lansius found it fascinating that some of the buildings bore architectural resemblances to ancient Greek or Roman styles.

This morning, Lansius accompanied Stefi to the bustling market area, where they encountered open stalls teeming with people. Even in a city scarred by war, people needed to eat, and stall owners always found a way to make ends meet.

Stefi chatted with some of the stall owners who eyed Lansius and made comments about him. She either shrugged or waved them off, then returned with a wooden plate filled with various foods. One particular dish caught Lansius’s attention—a yellowish-white, layered square.

Lansius took his knife, rubbed it on his inner clothes, and tried to get a taste, but he couldn’t manage it. The food was slippery.

Seeing him struggle, Stefi used her spoon and thumb to pinch off a piece of the lasagna and fed it to Lansius. Once he tasted it, he found it to be similar to lasagna, with layers of pasta-like dough, and salt and cheese, but without tomato sauce.

Pretty good. I wonder if they have macaroni or spaghetti.

As the two ate standing in the street, the city slowly began to stir. The market was still recovering from the war, but those stalls that were open were crowded.

“Fortune favors the brave,” Stefi remarked, noticing where Lansius was looking.

Lansius nodded and commented, so casually, “Profit makes the world go round.”

“So, you’ve heard the lore about the Ancients, huh?” she asked.

“What lore?” Lansius was intrigued.

Stefi furrowed her brow. “The round world?”

“You know the world is round?” Lansius asked, surprised, seeking confirmation.

She looked at him quizzically. “It’s a children’s story. Everyone knows that the Ancients transformed into dragons and soared around the world, outpacing the sun in a race. I suppose you foreigners don’t have that tale.”

Lansius shook his head. “Marc never mentioned it, and I’ve never heard a bard sing that song.”

Stefi chuckled. “It’s a children’s story; bards don’t usually sing those. Try asking a wet nurse next time.”

“Wet nurse? What’s that?” He was certain of his vocabulary, but nothing came to mind.

Stefi just laughed it off. “Come on, we still have things to do. Finding you a new tunic is a priority.”

With that, she led him deeper into the market, where shops lined both sides of the bustling streets. As they browsed the cheaper stores, excitement stirred in Lansius. New clothes were one thing, but if fortune favored him, he might even get to peek inside a weapons or equipment shop. He could not afford any of it yet, but that did little to dull his interest.

***

Chapter 6

A Man and His Trade

Lansius and Stefi continued browsing the quiet market, where only a few persistent vendors remained after the siege. They discovered a small shop tucked between two larger, shuttered establishments. Although there was no wooden sign, an assortment of colorful clothes hung gracefully from the second-floor window.

“Ah, the old grandpa made it through!” Stefi exclaimed excitedly, pulling Lansius by the hand and pushing the door open with the other.

Upon entering, they were met with the scent of well-worn fabric and leather. A tall, sharp-looking man with a thin beard and contrasting dark clothing rose from his seat, setting aside his needle and unfinished work. “Ah, Miss Squire, it’s a pleasure to see a familiar face in Riverstead.”

“Happy I’m not running from my debts, Keith?” Stefi teased.

Keith stifled a polite laugh, turning to Lansius. “How may I help you, tradesman?” He gestured toward the wares in his shop.

“I need a tunic, affordable but with a formal appearance,” Lansius replied as formally as he could be, looking at the neatly organized racks of clothing, which included tunics, dresses, and cloaks.

“And for what purpose?” Keith inquired politely, albeit with a demeanor more akin to a soldier than a tailor.

“He’s a scribe,” Stefi chimed in.

“Ah,” Keith murmured, turning to a neatly stacked pile of garments.

“Why not this one?” Stefi suggested, pointing to an already folded piece of clothing.

Keith glanced at Lansius, and Stefi assured him, “He’s all right; he’s with me.”

Lansius quickly added, “I can keep a secret.”

Keith gave a polite smile and explained, “The folded ones are likely looted from this city or nearby area. Lord Karius’s men forced me to buy them. I’ve already bribed their officers, but they still demand more.”

Stefi looked at them, found something she liked, and inquired. “Can’t you sell them to us?”

“Let’s avoid trouble. Those garments are tailored for nobles, and someone will recognize the original owner. If word gets out, we could all face consequences,” Keith reasoned, pulling two tunics from the pile—one yellow and one blue.

Lansius immediately took a liking to the vibrant blue tunic, but he maintained a neutral expression and replied, “Don’t you have something brighter? I don’t want my employer to think I’m uneducated.”

Keith chuckled, refraining from commenting on Lansius’s accent, and returned to the stack, searching for a tunic that would suit Lansius’s needs.

Stefi approached Lansius and whispered, “I like the blue one.”

“If you’re in a fight, do you show your intention to your opponent?”

She was taken aback and understood his reasoning. “Good thinking.”

“I’m not a teacher for nothing,” Lansius quipped.

“Now, here’s a brighter one.” Keith pulled out a red tunic. Its color was faded, making it closer to a pink, but the intricate embroidery along the neckline and hem spoke of its former elegance.

Lansius had no intention of buying that one, but he put down his leather bag on the table and tried on the red tunic. The fabric felt soft and comfortable against his skin.

So, linen can be this soft?

“You can tell from the stitches that it’s quality work, not too old. You can wear it until you’re too old to work,” Keith joked, promoting the tunic.

“What’s the price for this one?” Lansius asked.

“If it were new,” Keith said, employing his merchant skills, “the material, dye, and tailoring cost would make this tunic worth at least four silver.”

Lansius softly sighed and said firmly, “Too expensive.”

“But you haven’t heard my offer,” Keith protested lightly.

Unbothered, Lansius removed the tunic and politely handed it back to Keith, saying, “If it’s around forty copper new, then I probably can’t afford it. Do you have anything else?”

“How about this Centurian blue tunic?” Keith suggested.

Lansius feigned disinterest. “How much for the yellow one, though it’s a bit too big?”

“Don’t worry about the size. I can tailor it for you.”

Lansius smiled. “I believe that may add to the cost.”

Keith chuckled. “Eleven copper for this fine yellow tunic, adjustments included.” He then showcased its features. “Feel it, fine Midlandian linen, no patched holes, no frayed stitches. It will last you a long time. You can pass it down to your son and grandson.”

“How about five copper?” Lansius countered.

“I can’t do it for less than ten.”

“Six, and I’ll pay the adjustment fee.”

“That’s too low for a piece like this.” Keith shook his head.

Lansius sighed and politely said, “Maybe some other time then.”

“You won’t find pieces like this anywhere else,” Keith cautioned.

“That’s precisely my problem. Your wares are too good. I can’t afford them,” Lansius said, feigning a touch of helplessness.

That’s most unfortunate. May I interest you in some less brightly colored tunics? I have quite a selection that would fit you well.” Keith said, his tone quickening, hinting that he was eager to make a deal.

“Like that blue one?” Lansius asked nonchalantly.

“Yes, why don’t you try the blue one.”

Lansius tried it on and found it in excellent condition, the hem clean and the fabric well kept. It was not as soft as the red one, but far better than the coarse clothes he had taken from Bellandia. “I don’t like the color,” he said, almost dismissively. “But beggars can’t be choosers.”

In truth, he had already set his eyes on it, and Stefi seemed to like it as well.

Keith’s lips curled into a smile. “I like you, and since you’re Stefi’s friend, I’ll give it to you for a good price. Seven copper.”

“Four. Even that is too much for blue dye.”

“I can’t do that,” Keith said, expertly angling the tunic toward the sunlight to bring out its deeper color.

Lansius refused to look, knowing it would give the seller the advantage. “I believe you still make a profit at four copper. What do you say? It’s early, and they say a good start brings good business.”

Keith snorted politely and said, “Since you’re a good lad. Let’s make it six, that’s—”

“Best I can do is five,” Lansius pulled his purse and began fishing for five copper.

“Six is a fair price,” Keith said, but Lansius ignored him, so he looked to Stefi, who smiled back at him.

“He’s a good tradesman, Keith,” Stefi remarked.

Lansius presented the copper coins, spreading them on his palm for Keith to see. “Five copper. We’ll both profit, and this might be the start of a good business relationship.”

Keith looked unsure, but Stefi delivered the coup de grace. “He’s the young lord’s newest retainer, you know?”

With his thumb and index finger, Lansius pinched the five coins and offered them to Keith.

Keith snorted, amused, and held out his hand. Lansius placed the five coins into his palm, and the deal was sealed.

“Well, try it on. If you need a simple adjustment, I can do it for you, free of charge,” Keith said.

The last words rang pleasantly in Lansius’ ears. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

He would need every coin he could save if he hoped to make a proper start in this city. He was not naive. A place like Riverstead demanded far more than Bellandia ever had. There would be clothes to buy, work-related tools to secure, and money spent simply to keep up appearances among people who judged a man by what he owned and how he carried himself.

In Bellandia, survival had been enough. Here, he wanted more than that. Here, he meant to rise.

***

Outside, Lansius proudly wore his new blue tunic as he stepped out of the shop, brimming with newfound confidence.

“Come here,” Stefi beckoned, wanting to admire the blue tunic with its intricate orange embroidery along the neckline and hem.

“Lans, it looks good on you. Now you look the part,” she complimented.

“Of course, it cost me five copper,” Lansius quipped. “That’s enough to buy food for a week.”

Stefi giggled and elbowed him, knowing he had gotten it at a bargain.

“Oof, what’s that for?” Lansius complained but couldn’t help chuckling as he followed her.

“Next up is the sword,” she announced.

“I’m a scribe. I don’t think I’ll need a sword for now.” After seeing the old man’s crossbow at the barn, Lansius could not help thinking that, if he ever bought a weapon, it would be one of those instead. His skill with a sword was still poor, and a crossbow seemed a far more realistic choice if he ever needed to defend himself.

Stefi paused to think for a moment. “All right, then let’s just head there,” she decided, leading him southward toward a large building at the end of the market district.

“What’s this place?” Lansius asked, looking up at the tall stone compound, its walls high and its double gates wide enough for carts.

“Hopefully, your new office,” Stefi replied.

Lansius was taken aback by the size of the municipal building. “But weren’t we planning to do this tomorrow?”

“Well, it’s nearby, and it can’t hurt to try out your new Centurian blue tunic.”

The two walked until they saw a small door just beside the double gate. A guard in brigandine lazily greeted them with a nod but didn’t ask any questions. They entered through the open door and passed several other guards who watched them with similarly little interest.

Inside, they discovered a garden and a large, paved courtyard, with the towering three-story Riverstead municipal office building overhead. The structure had once been a proper castle, but now it served as storage and a taxation office.

Lansius marveled at the well-maintained medieval garden, filled mostly with herbs and a few blossoming flowers and plants protected by a fence. A carpet of grass and tall, old trees with roots spreading into the stone wall and buildings completed the picturesque scene.

The garden was so well taken care of that Lansius commented without thinking, “This would be a great spot for a picnic.”

Stefi looked at him and asked, “What’s a piknik?”

“Mm . . . eating out in the open on the grass?”

“Like when we’re stuck outside on a campaign? Why would you want to do that again?” She rolled her eyes.

Lansius chuckled but refrained from explaining further.

They finally entered the building and observed its disheveled interior, a clear sign that it had been ransacked during the siege. The garden outside had survived, likely because it had been covered by snow all winter, but the once-orderly office, a symbol of Riverstead’s administrative prowess, now resembled a war-torn relic.

The staff had made attempts to restore order, but it was a work in progress. Partially empty wooden cabinets lined the walls and the broken chairs, tables, and desks had been gathered, possibly pooled here to be repaired. Light filtered in through the shattered windows in the back, casting a gentle glow over the sorry scene.

Two servant boys were cleaning up, while a staff member in a gray tunic eyed Lansius and Stefi with suspicion, mistaking them for a merchant and his bodyguard. “My apologies, but didn’t the guard inform you that the office is still closed?”

“We’re not here for business. The guards probably can see that,” Stefi clarified.

Lansius reached into his bag and pulled out a letter from the captain, displaying it to the staff member. “I’m part of the young lord’s retinue. The captain sent me.”

The staff member hastily wiped his hands on his sleeve before approaching Lansius. “May I see the letter?”

Lansius glanced at Stefi, who gave a nod of approval.

The staff member accepted the letter with a respectful gesture and skimmed its contents. “A new member?” His gaze flicked between the letter and Lansius, clearly taken aback. However, he decided it wasn’t his place to question. “Please wait here. I’ll inform Master Hubert.”

Before long, a tall, slender man with a slightly hunched posture from years of poring over documents and ledgers descended the stairs. His confident gait and footsteps signaled a healthy individual, despite his age.

His thinning hair, streaked with silver, was combed back with care, matching his sharp blue attire embroidered with silver. It made Lansius’s second-hand tunic seem shabby.

Lansius swallowed dryly. The man exuded an aura of eccentricity. Unlike the predatory air of the noble, this man meant business.

“Well?” Master Hubert asked his staff impatiently.

The staff member, not much older than Lansius, hastily said, “This is Master Hubert, the vice—”

“Current head clerk of Riverstead Municipal Office,” Hubert corrected. “The old fool vanished before the siege, and we’ve been unable to bribe because of him. Lord Maurice should have listened!” he rambled and continued quickly, “Now, how may I help you?”

“The letter . . .” Lansius found his voice.

“Yes, I read it. But you’re not trained in bookkeeping.”

“I have been trained, Master Hubert, just not in the Imperium standardized bookkeeping style,” Lansius countered with as much technicality as his vocabulary allowed.

Hubert glanced at Lansius and cast his judgment. “The Eastern style is not to be trusted.”

“I’m not from the Eastern Kingdom. Indeed, theirs is not as advanced,” Lansius clarified, standing tall.

Old Hubert let out a sharp sigh and extended his right arm. The staff member hurriedly placed Lansius’s letter into the master’s palm. Hubert gave it another glance and seemed to consider Stefi in her black gambeson, a color of wealth.

“I can’t ignore the captain’s wishes, so be it,” Hubert said without even facing Lansius. He then quickly added to his staff, “Don’t let him touch ink or paper. Get him into storage and see if he can help in any way.”

“Gratitude,” Lansius replied sincerely. Though he hadn’t recovered his memory from his past, he somehow knew this nasty work treatment all too well.

As Master Hubert climbed back up the stairs, Lansius was left with the same staff member who didn’t mince words. “Are you by chance a noble?”

“No,” Lansius replied, knowing he would be at the bottom of the pecking order.

Before the staff member could nod, Stefi stepped forward. “He’s my master, though, and a direct retainer of young Lord Arte. I’d be careful if I were you.”

“There should be no problem between us. My name is Vince. I’m not very smart, but my family has been clerks here for generations.” He extended his hand to Lansius.

Lansius grasped Vince’s hand, saying, “Call me Lansius. I hope I can be of help.”

“Hopefully so. We need lots of hands to clear this mess,” Vince rubbed what little goatee he had. Lansius noted that the man’s hair was neat and slick, a sign that he was trying hard despite his modest introduction.

“Oi, Jan, come here.” Vince suddenly called for one of the boys.

A bright-looking boy stopped scrubbing and ran toward them. “Yes, Vince?”

“Take care of Lansius for me. Show him the empty quarters at the far end, so old Hubert doesn’t see him,” Vince added. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Lansius replied lightly, but then asked, “Empty quarter?”

“For your lodging, of course. You’re our clerk now. We can’t let new staff go in and out every day; there are too many risks involved. But don’t worry, the dormitories are quite neat. You’ll like it, unless you’re from a much higher station than me.”

“Ah,” Lansius nodded and exchanged a glance with Stefi, who nodded back, clearly pleased. They had just solved his housing problem, and he got it for free.

I have to buy something for that captain. The man’s a hero!

Watching the duo’s reaction, Vince furrowed his brow, suspicious of their relationship, but continued. “As I said before, Jan will show you the room and then escort you to the storage. That’s all, Junior.”

Lansius snorted softly. Vince introduced himself as a fool, but in the end, he asserted his seniority. “Yes, Senior Vince, I’ll comply.”

Amused, Vince patted Lansius’s right arm and headed out to the guardhouse, likely to lecture them for allowing a guest to enter without notice.

“Come, Master Lans, Squire. I’ll show you the room.” Jan happily motioned for them to follow him up the stairs.

...

Lansius and Stefi followed Jan to his new quarters on the third floor of the same building. The complex, while old and fortified with gray stones on the outside, boasted a more refined interior that was plastered and painted a pastel orange.

Despite the aging paint, the corridor remained neat and more attractive than most buildings Lansius had entered. The place was well ventilated. From the window, Lansius could observe the comings and goings at the building’s gate.

Another window offered a view of the storage room entrance, likely designed for monitoring purposes.

The three walked past the row of rooms for the officials working there, noticing that only half were occupied since many hadn’t returned to Riverstead.

“This is the place,” Jan said as they reached the furthest end, pushing the door open.

Lansius detected a damp smell, but the room was adequate and showed little evidence of looting. The walls were plastered, and since they were on the third floor, the flooring was made of timber. The room also had a glass window, which Jan promptly opened, letting in a fresh breeze and sunlight.

It’s glass . . .

This window was the first high-quality glass Lansius had seen in this world. It was lightly tinted but transparent, unlike the kind used in lanterns, which was only as transparent as parchment or fabric.

The room contained a proper raised bed with legs, a mattress without bedding, a small worktable, a chair, and a wardrobe.

“Do you like the place?” Jan asked cheekily.

“I will, after I do some cleaning,” Lansius replied lightly.

That brought a grin to Jan’s face. “I’ll help you with it.”

Stefi approached the wardrobe and discovered a selection of fine linen clothing. There was even a silk undergarment. “Is the owner not returning?” she asked.

Jan licked his lips and said, “The previous owner is unlikely to return. He’s one of the few who ran before the siege happened, along with the stolen money.”

Stefi nodded, reached into the drawer, and found several pairs of woolen socks, old and new, long and short. She picked one of the older pairs and signaled for Jan to take them.

“For me, Squire?” Jan asked uncertainly.

She nodded again. “I’m Stefi. It’s nice to meet you, Jan.”

Lansius understood her intention. She was making an ally with a simple gift. Old socks cost next to nothing. He turned to Jan and said, “If we find more things I won’t use, I’d give them to you. Would that be a problem?”

Jan quickly shook his head. “Maybe someone will ask, so don’t give them all away at once.”

Stefi chuckled, glanced at Lansius, and remarked, “He’s smart.”

Pleased with the compliment, Jan bowed his head. “Oh, don’t put your bag here yet. We should get the key first, but that has to wait until supper.”

“Well, that can wait. Let’s head down to the storage and see what my job looks like,” Lansius said with a hint of excitement. After being stranded in a barn all winter, he was ready to put his skills to use.

***

Ground Floor

At Lansius’s request, Jan led them to the ground floor, where they encountered three cavernous warehouses that made up the storage area. Each warehouse could accommodate three carts at once for loading or unloading.

After introducing themselves to the other staff, Lansius quickly surveyed his designated work area and found it a mess. His shoulders slumped as he took in the chaotic scene that resembled a crash site more than a warehouse.

Sacks of grains and flour were piled haphazardly, wooden crates were scattered everywhere, and piles of leather curled from mismanaged storage, gave off a strong odor.

Earthen jugs, likely filled with wine, were tied against the wall to an old wooden rack, while wooden or wicker baskets of various sizes held smaller jugs.

To make matters worse, dozens of wooden barrels blocked the way, making it hard to move around. Some of the unmarked barrels contained ale, while others were filled with goods like nails, fur coats, or blankets.

“The lord just won a tremendous victory at a fort near the Great River,” Jan said proudly, referring to the battle that took place while Lansius was still traveling to Riverstead.

“I can see that.” Lansius observed another unsorted pile near the warehouse gate, likely dumped after the valuables were recovered.

“This is going to take ten men and a week just to tidy things up,” Stefi commented with stiff lips.

Lansius let out a sigh. He approached the mess, trying to figure out where to start.

“The workers are at your command if you need help,” Jan informed him. “I can’t stay for long, though. I’ll be needed in the kitchen soon.”

“For lunch?” Stefi guessed. “Will we get any?”

“Of course. Where do you want to take your lunch?” Jan inquired.

“Probably here,” Lansius said, rolling up his sleeves. “I’ve got a lot of work to do today.”

“This is just like Ceresia,” Stefi muttered as Jan left the warehouse.

"Ceresia isn’t plundered and pillaged like this," Lansius lamented.

That old fart, he named me a clerk but gave me manual labor . . .

Lansius exhaled deeply. He had joined Lord Arte and traveled to Riverstead, enduring winter and war, with the expectation of working on something important. Yet this did not seem much different from stacking firewood. Still, he examined the crates one by one and sketched a crude map on a wax tablet, trying to come up with a plan.

Time passed, yet their efforts seemed to have little effect. Despite working through lunch, Lansius, Stefi, and a single unmotivated worker had only managed to rearrange some of the items. The storage area now looked even more chaotic, like a half-finished puzzle of misplaced pieces.

“This isn’t working,” Lansius muttered, sitting on a crate, his blue tunic soaked with sweat.

“We only got one worker. The rest just nod their heads when called, but leave as soon as someone else calls them back,” Stefi replied, sweat dripping from her chin.

Lansius observed the workers in the neighboring warehouse and snorted, realizing their tactics.

Whether working here or there, hard or not, the pay is probably the same...

The place was rotting in plain sight.

“Stefi,” Lansius called.

“Yeah?” she noticed the shift in his tone.

“I need your help with something—something that might solve our problem.”

Stefi looked around at the disorganized warehouse. “Show me your magic, Lans, because we won’t finish this on our own.”

Lansius gave a short nod, his thoughts already racing. “We’re not going to solve this by working harder. We need to change the game.”

***

Chapter 7

Compatriots

Lansius enjoyed his late lunch in peace, undisturbed by the shouting from the staff in the neighboring warehouse. He filled his thick bread with ham and cheese, then offered half to the lone worker who had helped him.

The man accepted it with warm enthusiasm. “Gratitude, master.”

“Eat well, my good man,” Lansius said casually.

The man was baffled by the kind treatment but ate heartily.

Lansius took out Stefi’s wineskin from his bag, poured a bit into his half-filled water cup, and offered it to the man. The worker didn’t refuse the offer, as he was just trying to make a living. “Gratitude,” he said again, gulping it down.

Lansius wasn’t trying to bribe him with food, as that would be impossibly difficult. Instead, he struck up a conversation. “So, how many years have you worked here?”

“Since the young lord was still a toddler,” the worker recalled.

“Must be more than a dozen years. How much do they pay you?”

The man chuckled and rubbed his coarse facial hair. “Too little.”

“A copper and two?” Lansius guessed.

His lips formed a small grin. “Master, if you know, why ask?”

“I don’t. I’m new here, and they won’t tell me anything. Tell me, how much does a staff member like me make?” Lansius asked, offering him two pieces of berries.

The worker took the fruit, looked at Lansius, and said, “I heard from a drunken staff member that he got four copper a day.”

About the same. Mine was six copper on campaign, probably four copper during peacetime.

“And how much for a new staff that works in the warehouse?” Lansius inquired.

“Unfortunately, a lot less,” he said apologetically.

Not if I can help it . . .

“Tell you what,” Lansius began. “I’m only here because the Captain said so. Once things return to normal, I believe I’ll be recalled to Lord Arte’s side.”

The mention of the young lord widened the man’s eyes. “You’re part of the young lord’s retinue?” He looked Lansius over again and gave a slow nod, recalling the squire in black gambeson at his side. “Then I wish you fortune, master. Your stay here may prove unpleasant.”

“Why is that?” Lansius asked, masking his eagerness.

The man looked around and whispered, “The one who runs this place is a bit odd in the head.”

Lansius snorted. “I have the same opinion.”

The two shared a laugh.

Stefi, who had been out, appeared at the warehouse entrance and walked briskly toward Lansius, damp with sweat from her work. Lansius rose and quickly offered her a jug of water, which she took and drank without hesitation.

“Did you get it?” Lansius asked.

“Keith drove a hard bargain, but your note saved the day.”

Lansius was pleased to hear that. He had sent Stefi to Keith with two pieces of high-quality clothing from the wardrobe in his chamber. Still, the tailor was never going to offer a good price so easily. Knowing that, Lansius had written a note saying he still had plenty more and would sell to someone else if the offer was not acceptable. It was a bluff, but it forced Keith into a dilemma: either give him a fairer deal or lose the chance for profit. As it turned out, that was enough to persuade him to settle on an acceptable price of three copper per piece.

“He wouldn’t give me socks as a bonus like you asked, but he gave me these.” Stefi pulled out two simple woolen caps.

Lansius was amused. “Keith was a tough nut.”

“But you cracked him good. I’ve never seen him give that much ground before," said Stefi, impressed.

Lansius gestured for Stefi to take a seat on the clean crate, and she did so, resting her legs from the return trip. Meanwhile, Lansius checked the woolen cap, finding it worn and yellowish, but clean and dry. He offered it to the lone worker.

“Monsieur, I can’t accept this,” he said, seeming half embarrassed and half fearful, perhaps because of Lansius’s earlier announcement that he was part of the young lord’s retinue.

“What’s your name?” Lansius asked.

“Wade, master.”

Lansius crouched down and placed one of the caps in Wade’s hand. “Nice to know you. I’m Lansius, but you can call me Lans.”

Wade clenched the head cap. “Well met, Master Lans.”

Lansius returned to the crate and sat as if addressing his subject. “Wade, I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier. About how things might be unpleasant for me.”

Wade nodded in understanding. Lansius continued, “I want to make my stay here as bearable as possible. Can you help with that?”

The man furrowed his brow. “But how are you going to do it?”

A faint smile touched Lansius’s lips. “Tomorrow, bring a friend,” he said, pinching another woolen cap between his fingers. “If you bring more, I can part with a few iron coins, provided they’re strong, eager, and quick.”

Wade smirked in understanding. “I know some friends. I’ll bring them tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow, then. Now, let’s wrap up and call it a day,” Lansius said cheerfully.

“But it’s barely past midday, Master Lans,” Wade said, finding it odd.

Lansius glanced at him. “Well, it’s useless with just us. I want you fresh for tomorrow.”

Wade nodded happily, grateful to have found a benevolent staff member who was understanding and not stingy with his purse.

...

The following day, after a good night’s sleep, Lansius arrived at his section of the warehouse to find five men already working. Stefi had yet to arrive, but he didn’t mind.

“Morning, master Lans,” Wade greeted him, while the rest dipped their heads slightly in respect.

“Morning, Wade. You’re working early today.”

Wade and the men shared thin smiles and quiet chuckles, pleased by Lansius’s down-to-earth manner, so unlike the other staff. “Are these men enough for you, master?”

“Only if they’re as good as you said,” Lansius replied. “I can give three iron coins per person, to be paid each evening. I’ll allow you to return to your original post, so as not to offend the senior staff, but try to return when you can; otherwise, I can only give two iron.”

The men quickly understood and exchanged sly grins among themselves. Three iron coins weren't much, but it was fair extra pay, enough to make them willing to join in.

Lansius added, “Let’s keep this a secret between us, lest the acting head clerk causes us problems.”

“There won’t be any,” Wade replied with confidence.

Lansius pulled a woolen cap from his bag and gave it to Wade. “Foreman Wade. Reward this to whomever you please.”

With that, Lansius effectively established a hierarchy and command structure. While the ones who ultimately paid for the workers was the office, by using bonuses or bribes, he made them more inclined to work for him instead of the other staff. Soon, things progressed smoothly despite the inevitable mishaps and snags that accompanied untangling such a large mess.

***

Master Hubert

In just three days, the warehouse had visibly changed. Master Hubert had heard the rumors but could not spare the time to see it for himself. He was far too occupied sorting through the city’s administrative records. The young lord needed answers on several matters, among them how much tax revenue could be expected from the region and whether the stores on hand would be enough to feed both his army and the returning populace until next year’s harvest.

Today, Vince had brought him another piece of that answer, bringing him one step closer to completing his report and securing his future position.

To Hubert, the warehouse issue seemed minor. He could not be bothered with it until Vince pointed the record out to him again.

“Yes, I read that. Did you want more praise?” Hubert scolded Vince from his cushioned seat behind a large mahogany table.

Master, a confession,” Vince said, earning a stare. “I did write that, but the calculation was the new clerk’s doing.”

Hubert’s gaze narrowed, but Vince did not back down. That prompted the eccentric old man to ask, “Are you implying that the new clerk works at noon in the warehouse and calculates records at night? Does he not need sleep?”

“Oh, I checked. The light in his room faded before midnight,” Vince clarified.

“Then how is it possible . . ." Hubert glanced at the report again, then mulled, "Unless he’s really good with numbers."

Vince nodded. “His writing is near illegible, but his calculations were spot-on.”

The acting head clerk grew suspicious. “Then why report this to me instead of using it to your own advantage?”

“Because the new clerk is simply too good. I fear everyone will want his help too.”

Hubert chuckled, understanding that Vince wanted to keep the new clerk to himself. “What are you proposing?

The younger man did not hesitate. “Give him a chamber and put him to work. Let us be the only two with access to him.”

Hubert’s lips curved slightly. “You have my blessing. Arrange it.”

***

Lansius

A few weeks had passed, and the frigid winds and snow that had held Riverstead City in their grip finally dissipated. Warmer air from the western sea quickly brought changes to the landscape. The snow thawed, rivers flowed once more, and the grasslands and tree lines sprang back to life.

Despite the muddy roads and persistent drizzle, refugees began to flock back to the city. The first week of spring saw Riverstead come alive with bustling markets and ongoing repairs throughout the city. There were even talks of spring festivals and victory celebrations.

As the city returned to normalcy, Lansius continued working alone in a small study. As he had planned, Hubert finally accepted him as a fully-fledged clerk with all its benefits. He was assigned to the third floor, just at the far end from his room.

Hubert through Vince kept supplying Lansius with endless calculation work, ranging from minor purchases for kitchen supplies to various taxes received by the city. Dark shadows circled Lansius’s eyes, and he yawned at random intervals. However, the cause of his sleep deprivation was not work-related.

While he feigned naivety around Hubert and Vince, Lansius was well aware that working too quickly could lead to exhaustion. Since he was paid by the day rather than by the task, he deliberately paced himself. Sometimes he would double-check his work, at other times he would study the documents on hand. However, his favorite diversion was reading books under the guise of studying.

The municipal office didn’t have a proper library, but Lansius had discovered two old, leather-bound history books. While they read like children’s stories—filled with tales of creation and heroism—he found them captivating. He was particularly intrigued by accounts of elves, dwarves, and half-humans, as well as their legendary deeds.

He also came across an old, incomplete report about the Mage Guild, which detailed its founding, headquarters, and objectives. This gave him something to discuss with his fellow clerks, usually Vince. From these conversations, Lansius learned that mages were rare. Even Lord Maurice only employed one.

Aside from mages, there were also saint candidates, said to possess the ability to heal. Lansius was skeptical, considering them to be physicians at best, if not mere shamans.

There were a lot of mysteries in this world, and he had to admit that he was rather excited with the possibility that magic was real. This fueled him to read as much as he could during the daytime, and by the dim light of his rushlight, he continued his reading well after sunset.

This passion for reading led to his peers respecting him, mistaking his haggard looks as proof of his hard work.

...

While working in his study, Lansius was alerted by a sudden knock. “Who—”

Before he could complete his sentence, a woman in a black gambeson barged in. Lansius recognized her and went on with his work as if nothing had happened, or else he would forget the calculation in his head.

Stefi took the only other seat, slouched, and muttered, “Ah, it’s much cooler in here.”

“Well, it is on the third floor,” he replied briefly.

She noticed a plate with a slice of spiced ham, beans, and hard bread on the table. “Oh, Jan has made his rounds?”

“Yeah, not long ago. Help yourself,” he said, without losing focus on his parchment and wax tablets.

“They’ll discipline a squire like me if I ate before the master,” she joked.

He snorted but remained focused. Meanwhile, Stefi picked up the only cup on the table and drank from it without a thought. That simple act broke Lansius’s concentration.

Her lips . . . on my cup.

“Ah, it’s refreshing,” she exclaimed.

He quickly pushed aside the inappropriate thought, one that had been surfacing more and more often. Being apart had only made his attraction to her worse. “It’s just water,” he said after collecting himself.

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” she said, then reached for the fastenings on the lower part of her gambeson.

Lansius’s eyes widened at once, his mind leaping to the wrong conclusion.

She pulled out a small package from inside. “Hehe, a present for graduating from that warehouse.”

Lansius let out a breath of relief, then took the package and unwrapped it. “A belt. Oh, you didn’t have to.”

“Go on, test it,” urged Stefi.

Lansius stood and approached her, trying on the new belt by wrapping it around his waist. However, he had never worn a sword belt before and soon grew confused. Stefi stepped in and tied the ring belt for him. With her help, the sword belt sat snugly and properly around his waist.

“So, this is how you wear one.” He moved about to appreciate the look, before turning to Stefi. “You’re very good at this.”

She chuckled at his remark. “Lans, I’m a squire. That’s what I do for a living.”

Lansius realized his error and grinned sheepishly. Indeed, a squire’s primary job was to help their knight don their gear.

“Do you like it?” she asked.

“Of course. But are you sure it’s not pricey?”

“Don’t fret. You need it. The old one is worn out.” She added, “Next is a sword and shoes.”

He found her enthusiasm amusing. “I still think a clerk doesn’t need a sword.”

He held back from mentioning the crossbow. He had a feeling that, if he did, she might spend her own money on it.

Stefi only shrugged and poured another cup of water while Lansius returned to his seat. A moment later, he reached into the bottom cabinet and brought an earthen jar and a bronze goblet to the table.

“What’s that for?” she asked, nodding toward the jar and goblet.

Lansius smiled as he poured the contents generously into the goblet. The rich aroma had a hint of honeyed sweetness.

“It’s mead. Where did you get it?” She became excited.

“One of Wade’s men broke an amphora, so all of them got their pay docked. I felt pity and helped out a little.”

She whistled. “Must be expensive.”

“Yeah, but I got this in return. So drink up and enjoy it.” He handed her the goblet, filled with the golden mead.

She gulped it with a big grin on her face.

Her reaction brought a smile to his face. “Hey, wanna go out for lunch?” Lansius asked.

“If you insist,” Stefi replied, putting a smile on Lansius’s face. He wanted to visit Keith’s shop again to look for gifts for Marc, Tanya, and Arryn. His campaign money was yet to be distributed, but that didn’t deter his eagerness to browse around.

...

Another day came to an end in Riverstead, and the sky quickly darkened. Weary men made their way back to their quarters. Lansius did the same. After spending much of the day in the market, he was too tired to stay up reading and chose to rest instead. Tomorrow, he meant to start early.

The plan did not last.

“Master Lansius!” came a frantic knock at the door.

Waking with a start and still heavy-eyed, Lansius forced himself across the dark room and opened the door just a little, peering into the pitch-black hallway. Only the dim light of a servant’s lantern illuminated their surroundings. “Jan?”

The boy looked distraught. “Some people are leaving the city in a hurry,” Jan whispered frantically. “Master Hubert and Vince too. Wade saw them packing goods onto a fast carriage.”

Lansius’s mind raced as he tried to make sense of why Hubert left, along with Vince.

Embezzlement? No, the old crook is far too eccentric for that, and Vince collects wages for doing nothing.

There was only one possibility left: war.

“Quick, help me pack my things,” Lansius said, rushing over to the cabinet and flinging its contents aside. He knew he was probably too late, but he didn’t need to outsmart anyone—just enough to get himself out of harm’s way.

***

Chapter 8

Crossroads

Lansius

The large glass window on the second floor creaked as Jan heaved it open, and a cold night wind swept in. The young servant then turned to Lansius and whispered as he opened it all the way, “Remember to climb down the bricks. It’s too high to jump.”

Lansius’s heart was already racing. Earlier, Jan had convinced him this was the only way out without being seen by the guards. The municipal office was built almost like a castle and had only one exit.

“Can’t Wade smuggle me out or something?” he asked, his nerves beginning to show.

“He can barely get himself out by bribing a guard,” Jan replied with a hint of frustration. “With you along, it’s just not possible.”

Slowly, Lansius approached the window and was surprised by his disheveled appearance in the incomplete reflection on the glass, but the chilly evening air rushed inside and demanded his attention.

“Which part of the garden is beneath us?” he asked, knowing the soft ground below was his only safety net.

“The one at the far end, near the old tree.”

Lansius hesitated. The darkness below lay still, as if tempting him to jump.

“Master, please be quick, or someone will find out,” Jan urged, as they were on the same floor as the staff’s dormitory.

Lansius turned to Jan. “Are you sure you don’t want to leave with me?”

“Who would feed me if I left? I’m a servant. I was here when the city was taken. They did little harm to me.”

Met with that cold refusal, Lansius took a deep breath, flexed his fingers to test his grip, and began to climb. He braced his hands on the stone window frame and pulled himself up. The night sky came into view, beautiful and terrifying at once. Fear would surely paralyze him if he could measure the height.

“Turn around,” Jan reminded him.

“I know. Just give me a moment.” Lansius turned to face the wall and began to climb down. The earthy scent of moss warned him that the stone surface might be slippery, but he quickly found suitable spots for his hands and feet, securing solid footing.

This isn’t too hard.

The municipal building was nearly ancient, having faced partial destruction and rebuilding several times throughout the centuries. Each time, only its entrance and courtyard received proper repairs, while the other sides remained rough and ill-finished.

“Good luck, Master Lansius," Jan said from the window.

Lansius looked up, but the creaking from the window signaled that Jan had already closed it. With no way back, he took a deep breath and continued his descent. Just two steps down, he couldn’t find secure footing. Some stone bricks jutted out, but they were too slippery.

After a series of failed attempts, he grew frustrated. His hands grew sweaty and raw. He paused on the last good foothold to catch his breath. At one point, he glanced down and saw the silhouette of a tree.

This is only the second floor, right?

An idea came to him. He carefully dropped his bag, hoping the sound of it hitting the ground would tell him how far down it was. However, the leather bag landed too softly to reveal the height. Now out of options, and with his hands already throbbing from the strain, he felt more tempted to jump.

First, he knelt, gripping the last jutting stone brick, and planned to lower his body down. However, he couldn’t hold his weight and quickly lost his grip.

The fall was swift; he landed feet first and fell sideways. Despite the sharp pain in his ankle and back, adrenaline kept the pain at bay. In the darkness, he could see the silhouettes of trees and a line of bushes. He forced himself to run for cover, crouching behind the nearest bushes, and waited.

The building remained silent. Lansius felt relieved and sneaked to find his bag. It took several tries, as only faint starlight illuminated the area.

Once he retrieved it, he quickly left through the narrow path between two buildings. He made several turns and suddenly emerged onto the main street. He looked around to get his bearings.

“Master,” someone called to him from the shadows.

“Wade?” Lansius whispered, and the man urgently motioned for Lansius to come closer.

As Lansius approached, Wade pulled back his hood. He could hardly wait to tell his story. “I came as fast as I could. I struck a hard bargain with the guard. Only a copper to let me through.”

He slipped a small purse into Lansius’s hand. It was the bribe money Lansius had sent through Jan. Rather proudly, Lansius said, “Keep the rest, Wade. You’ve earned it.”

“I knew you’d say that,” Wade said with a grin, pocketing the money. Then he asked, “Are you hurt?”

“Nothing’s broken,” Lansius assured him.

Wade gave a nod. “Then we’d best get you out of the city fast. Things can change very quickly, just like last time.”

“No, wait. Stefi. We need to get her first.”

The older man turned to him. “Where does the squire live?”

Lansius racked his memory before recalling the location, “The old cobbler’s alley.”

“I know the way. Stay close.” Wade looked around, then led on. Not wanting to draw attention, they kept close to the buildings and let the shadows cover them.

The main street was deserted at this hour. As his adrenaline subsided, Lansius felt the pain from his fall in his palms, left ankle, and back. He hoped they were only bruises and nothing serious.

Riverstead was almost pitch-black, save for a few establishments like the tavern that maintained lit lanterns in their front yards. As they walked, they came across a glowing orb that illuminated a large area.

The source of the orb was a giant glass lantern, adorned with a statue of a grotesque, giant lizard, marking an intersection.

Wade approached the low-hanging lantern and opened its small metallic window. The city had placed it there for wayfarers to light their lanterns if they went out.

Carefully, Wade pulled a candle from his lantern and lit it. Then he led Lansius into a dark, winding alleyway. After so many twists and turns, Lansius wasn’t sure of where they were. The area was notoriously challenging to navigate, even at noon. Wade had to stop and study the building signs several times to make sure he wasn’t lost. Then, he stopped.

“This is it, the old cobbler’s alley,” Wade remarked.

Lansius took the lantern from Wade. As they walked farther down, he noticed a row of similarly sized buildings and quickened his pace. With Wade following, they arrived at one of the houses, and Lansius began knocking on the door.

“Stefi! Stephania!” he called repeatedly while continuing to knock.

After a while, Wade stopped him and tried to push the door several times.

“Master, it’s locked but not barred,” Wade said.

“She isn’t inside?” Lansius was horrified and surveyed the area. He was confident that this was the house.

Meanwhile, Wade examined the ground with his lantern and discovered footprints. “She’s not here. Someone must’ve called her.”

Lansius inspected the footprints in the muddy ground, kneeling to get a better look. There were indeed footprints, but he couldn’t tell if they were fresh.

“We have to go,” Wade urged. “She’s most likely called to arms.”

Lansius hesitated, but Wade pulled on his arm. As if pursued by ghosts, Wade led Lansius through the dark maze until they finally returned to the junction.

The grotesque lizard guarding the giant orb lantern greeted them again. Only then did they notice the roads growing livelier, with carriages now appearing.

As they neared the south gate, torches and lanterns, illuminated the numerous horse-drawn carriages and carts. Most of the occupants were armed, with some even accompanied by cavalrymen.

A palpable sense of fear and anxiety permeated the atmosphere.

...

No city guard would take a clerk and his assistant seriously, but Lansius had no option. As they passed various carts and carriages, those inside eyed them nervously, their panic evident in the haphazard loading of their carriages.

It was unprecedented for a city to face another siege in such a short time. Everyone here had likely received a tip and was attempting to flee the impending siege. As Lansius drew closer, he overheard a heated exchange between the crowd and the guards.

“No men of arms are to leave the city,” a man hoarsely argued with the crowd.

“I assure you, these are only my master’s private household guards,” someone in the crowd responded.

“We know you let a dozen carriages leave just moments ago,” another accused, and the bickering persisted.

Judging by their elegant coats and fine garments, it was clear that the crowd came from a wealthy background.

Suddenly, a low horn sounded in the distance, followed by faint cries and shouts carried on the wind. The crowd froze, straining their ears to better identify the sounds.

As if confirming their fears, more windows lit up as the dwellers awoke from their slumber, alarmed by the same sound.

“We’re under attack!” someone yelled in a panic. Men from the carriages surged toward the city guards at the gates, demanding they be opened. Overwhelmed, the captain finally relented, especially after learning that the danger approached from the north, while the southern approach appeared clear.

With a groan of iron and wood, the massive city gates began to swing inward. People hastily prepared their carts and carriages for departure.

The clinking of heavy chains signaled that the drawbridge was being lowered. When it finally settled, it revealed a path leading to a stone bridge and beyond, all shrouded in darkness.

Another low horn resounded from the north, stirring more residents from their sleep. People spilled into the streets, confused and fearful.

Three horsemen headed to the gate, carrying brass lanterns that barely lit the road ahead. They were leading a carriage out of the city, and others quickly fell in line behind them.

Before he knew it, Lansius found himself caught in the current of the crowd. Nervously, he glanced to the side and noticed that Wade had stayed behind. “Wade!” he called out.

“Take care, Master Lans.” Wade waved back from the edge of the crowd.

Lansius was aghast. “You’re not coming?”

“I can’t. My woman and friends are here,” Wade replied, stepping back from the fray. “Riverstead is home. No matter who rules it, they’ll still need a warehouse worker like me.”

Wade’s expression was one of grim resolve. He had survived two sieges already; there was no guarantee he’d survive a third. Yet he knew little about the world beyond Riverstead’s walls.

The crowd pushed Lansius forward, moving in one direction: out. The guards were keen to clear the area as quickly as possible so they could reseal the gates for the coming siege. Walking with the crowd, Lansius could see the faces of tired, nervous men all around him, illuminated by handheld lanterns.

The throng approached the drawbridge, and the cacophony of carriages, horses, and escorts filled the air. Soon, they passed under the grand arches of the city gate, leaving only the open night sky above.

Before long, they crossed the wooden drawbridge, then the stone bridge, and reached the open road. The walls of Riverstead now lay behind them, and an open field stretched out in front. And so, the crowd marched, intent on putting as much distance as possible between themselves and the soon-to-be besieged city.

Lansius stood alone near the stone bridge, still hesitating to leave the city and Stefi behind. He was contemplating running back when the echo of the gates closing reached his ears. Soon, the gates were shut, and the drawbridge was drawn up again after the last horse-drawn cart had cleared its way.

Now, there was no more going back. The guards certainly wouldn’t lower the drawbridge for him.

“Out of the way!” the last cart’s coachman shouted at Lansius.

Feeling that his chances were bleak, Lansius shouted back as the cart slowed down at the edge of the bridge. “I have some money. Can you give me a lift?”

The horse and cart sped up, ignoring Lansius’s plight. Lansius sighed, feeling foolish, and jogged to catch up with the crowd.

Amid the chaos, someone called out from ahead. “Hey, you.”

Lansius turned and saw a horse-drawn cart waiting, the coachman perched at the front and several figures seated inside. With nothing to lose, he hurried toward them, breathless.

As he drew near, one of the figures in the cart uncovered a lantern, casting a faint glow.

“Ha, I know you,” said the coachman.

“Huh?” Lansius still could not make out the man’s face.

“To think I met you out here,” the coachman muttered, grabbing Lansius’s hand. He then called out, “Theo, help us.”

The two helped Lansius into the back of the cart, where he landed between wooden crates.

“I’m Theo, and this big fellow here is Max.” The youth merrily gestured to another boy.

Max groaned, wiped his blurry, sleepy eyes, and waved a little to Lansius.

“You said you know me?” Lansius directed the question at the coachman in front.

“Oi, it’s Thomas. Don’t tell me you forgot about me already.” He removed his hood, revealing his bearded face.

“Thomas!” Lansius couldn’t believe his eyes.

The old man smirked and hurriedly urged the horses on. The cart began to pick up speed. Lansius noticed a figure in a traveling cloak seated beside Thomas, and the sight at once made him think of Stefi.

“Did you happen to see Stefi?” Lansius asked.

“The squire?” the older man asked without looking back.

“Yes. We traveled together from Ceresia, remember?”

“For her own safety, I hope she’s in one of the carriages,” Thomas replied bluntly.

Lansius exhaled bitterly as his hope faded. After a while, he asked, “What will happen to the city?”

“Another siege,” replied the figure beside Thomas, her somber tone carrying the weight of experience.

“Can the city hold out?” Lansius asked.

“No one knows, but Riverstead has never withstood a siege,” said Thomas.

His words left Lansius feeling dejected.

“Try to make peace with it. I need you to stay alert,” Thomas urged.

Lansius was alarmed. “Are we not safe here?”

“Sieges are always bad, whether you’re inside or outside,” Thomas cautioned.

“The horsemen may chase us for supplies and hostages,” the boy Theo added, likely speaking from experience.

The cart became bumpier as the horses picked up speed. Riding in the dark, even with lanterns and torches, was dangerous, but everyone would rather risk it than be captured.

The sound of cracking whips filled the air as the coachmen urged their hesitant horses to run despite the darkness.

Lansius felt a crushing sense of loss as he kept his eyes fixed on the receding city. All he had wanted was a good job and a chance to improve his station in life. And now everything seemed lost.

Stefi, Jan, Wade, please stay safe . . .

As the dispersed crowd and convoy moved further away, the glimmering lights north of the city became increasingly numerous and distinct. At first, Lansius mistook them for an eerie reflection of the night sky. But soon, the unsettling truth dawned on them: those weren’t stars.

They were the glowing hearths of countless fires, illuminating a sprawling enemy encampment. The sheer size of the camp, visible even from a distance, suggested an army not in the hundreds, but likely in the thousands.

The realization that the defeated army—believed to be on its last legs—now appeared more formidable than ever sent a chill through the convoy. A palpable sense of fear and hopelessness settled over them as they left Riverstead to its fate.

***

The State of the War, Spring 4423

Last year, unwilling to wait for the Imperium’s response, Lord Maurice mustered his forces and marched them to Ceresia on the eve of winter. There, he waited and launched a daring winter attack, which took Karius’s men by surprise and turned the tides of war.

Lord Karius of Inglesia was swiftly dislodged from Riverstead and forced to flee, with Lord Maurice’s men hot on their heels. However, even with the arrival of spring, the tensions remained unresolved. Lord Karius stubbornly resisted all offers of truce, seemingly engaging in negotiations merely to buy time.

Out of caution, Lord Maurice secured a fortress to guard against any reinforcements. Despite this precaution, no one suspected that an alliance had formed between Lord Karius and Margrave Gottfried.

The formidable margrave, ruler of four northern Brigandia provinces, had previously clashed with Karius, making their sudden alliance a surprise. The specifics of their agreement were unclear, yet one thing was certain: Karius had set a trap for Maurice.

He had lured Maurice out of Riverstead, giving Gottfried and his formidable army the chance to cross the Great River and launch a devastating attack on the city. The situation rapidly escalated into a crisis for Maurice and his men, whose escape route was effectively cut off.

Now even Maurice’s heir, the young Lord Arte, was trapped in Riverstead with only a small garrison to defend it. To the Arvenians, hope seemed to be slipping away.

***

Chapter 9

Bridge to the West

A speck of light glowed on the far horizon and the once dark sky slowly turned into bronze-yellow. The wind blew fiercely, as if hailing the birth of a new day.

Lansius felt someone pushed his shoulder. “Erm...?”

“The sun is almost up,” Theo, who had slept beside Lansius, said groggily.

“A moment.” Lansius fought off his sleepiness. His body felt stiff, and his eyes were painful to open. The underside of the cart came into view, reminding him not to rise as he normally would or risk smacking his head. He rolled his body to the right instead and immediately felt the cold sensation from the dew-covered grass.

He stood up and shivered. It was his second night, but nothing had improved. They carried no tent and slept underneath their carts as cover. It was better than sleeping out in the open, but cramped, smelly, and still cold.

Lansius lazily folded a sheet of canvas that he had used as a blanket. Theo appeared from beneath the cart. He looked equally miserable. The long and bumpy ride had taken a toll on all their bodies.

The horses, certainly, had it worse. They were moodier than ever and easily agitated by everything. Lansius, who had some experience with horses, led them to a patch of tall grass and tied them to a tree, double-checking the knot.

Lansius watched as Theo and Max headed to get water from a nearby creek. A strong breeze blew past, and he shivered again despite his gambeson. He took in the scents of the forest and pondered his decision to follow Thomas.

Despite his situation, Lansius couldn’t shake off the lingering doubts and guilt about leaving Stefi. His rational mind, familiar with the horrors of a medieval town under siege, argued that escape had been the right choice. Yet, his heart disagreed, plaguing him with emotional torment.

Regardless of his internal conflict, Lansius recognized that his choices had led him here. Any chance he’d had for a life in a lord’s retinue had probably vanished along with the likely defeat of their lord and the siege of Riverstead.

“Morning,” someone said from behind.

Lansius turned to face Thomas and mustered a lively answer. “Good to see you in high spirits, Chief.”

“Heh, you’d be just as spirited if you learned about this,” Thomas teased.

“Learn what?”

“The scout said it’s only half a day’s journey till we reach the river,” the older man answered.

“We’re that close to Ceresia?” Lansius’s mood indeed lifted a bit.

“Yep, with luck, we could be there before sundown.”

“Chief, this time I hope you find a better place than that barn,” Lansius said, half joking.

Thomas laughed and slapped Lansius’s back, arguing, “Hey, it’s not that bad. It’s spacious, and the roof is solid.”

The morning went without a hitch, and the convoy departed in high spirits. As they kept riding west, the trees began to look different, taller, with less branches. The horses had to slow their pace as they traveled at a higher incline. Some carts even had their men get off and walk to ease their horses as they went uphill.

The cart Thomas commandeered wasn’t heavy enough that anybody needed to dismount. It was a slow ride; the sky was cloudy and breezy. Max found the weather so irresistible that he dozed on and off. Meanwhile, Theo stayed on the lookout. The lad was dependable despite being only a year older than Max.

Compared to them, Lansius looked fragile. Unlike Max, who could sleep in an awkward position with head unsupported and both hands gripping crates to keep himself from falling, Lansius couldn’t make himself comfortable enough to fall asleep.

Unintentionally, he counted five carts and two carriages that made up the convoy. It was less than half of when they began. Too disheartened by war-torn Arvena, many had gone south into Midlandia, whose lord was on good terms with Lord Maurice.

The convoy Lansius was in traveled the same path he had taken last winter. Nobody questioned the decision. For them, it was only natural to return to the heartland. Like many, he was eager to return home and couldn’t care less about the reason.

Since yesterday, Lansius had been dreaming of finally arriving in Bellandia and seeing his family. That thought kept him going despite the situation. Even the awful taste of the hard biscuits, which he had to soften with water just to make them edible, did little to dampen his spirits once he reminded himself that he could taste Mother Arryn’s cooking in a few weeks.

He couldn’t wait to play with Tanya and trade stories with Marc. On the surface, he felt happy, but the guilt of leaving Stefi behind was eating at him from the inside.

During the journey, Lansius kept to himself more than usual. He didn’t ask about Theo’s or Max’s background, nor did he inquire about the figure who sat next to Thomas. It was only because of their close vicinity that he overheard the boys describing her as a guard for hire, Miranda.

The older woman wasn’t much of a talker, but had once mentioned how her only son bore a resemblance to Theo. Miranda did little but maintain her prized crossbow every night, despite no apparent usage.

Despite his interest in crossbows, Lansius could not bring himself to ask about it. Not even to look at it. He simply had no appetite for anything.

Then the line of carts suddenly slowed to a stop. Everyone but Max looked around for the cause, but Thomas glanced back and raised a finger to his lips. “Listen.”

Only then did they realize they could hear the faint sound of rushing water.

“It’s the river,” Theo exclaimed.

The convoy had to wait before crossing the narrow bridge. The old wooden structure often had its support beams weakened by the current, so it had to be checked first.

While they waited, the rest of the convoy dismounted. Most went to the river to look around, fill their canteens, or wash their limbs.

Lansius and Theo saw Miranda dismount, and they decided to follow. Thomas tied the horse to a tree and jogged after them, leaving Max sleeping alone in the cart.

Even the sound of the rushing water made Lansius feel rejuvenated. The riverbank was picturesque, and the weather was lovely. Many sat on the ground or leaned back against the grass. It was a welcome respite after the rough rides of the past few days.

...

“Boss!” Max suddenly cried from behind, putting everyone on alert.

Thomas sprang into action and ran for the cart. Lansius and Theo followed, fortunate not to soak their feet. Around them, men from the other carts panicked and scrambled toward the wooded area, bringing their weapons with them.

Miranda rushed past Thomas and, in one practiced movement, vaulted onto the coachman’s seat. Her face had gone tight as she shouted, “Grab your spears and run to the trees.”

The few carts in front made a risky dash to cross the bridge, but for the rest of them, there was no choice but to run for the woods.

The smell of earth and decomposing leaves was everywhere as Lansius followed Miranda and Thomas deeper into the woods. The trees were tall but spars. It wasn’t nearly as easy to hide as he had thought.

Miranda found a hidden slope behind an old tree and signaled to take cover. “Stay away from the boulder,” she instructed.

Lansius was too breathless to think, but Theo gave a questioning look.

“Any distinct spot like a rock formation is a landmark. Don’t linger near them. The enemy will certainly look for you near there,” she explained.

“Will they be chasing us?” Lansius asked as he sat behind the tree’s giant roots.

“Calm down, lads, with luck they might just take the carts and leave us alone,” Thomas said.

That gave some sort of relief, but soon the screaming and shouting dashed their hope. It wasn’t possible to tell what was happening, but the situation wasn’t promising.

“We need eyes,” Thomas said to himself.

“I’ll go. Your old bones might not be fit for the job.” Miranda loosened her ring mail coif, put her sword and crossbow on the ground, then crawled out. She tried concealing herself while moving toward their cart.

As she moved farther away, the trees and vegetations readily hid her from sight.

Yet that did not satisfy Thomas for long. “You three, wait here. I’m going to look for another spot.”

With that, Thomas went deeper into the woods alone.

Theo looked at Lansius and Max. “Do you think we’ll be safe here?”

Lansius had no answer. Max, meanwhile, let out a loud sigh and complained, “I shouldn’t have listened. I never wanted to go to Riverstead.”

They waited in nervous silence until the sudden rustle of leaves put them on edge. Theo stepped over a thick root and slipped out to take a look.

A moment later, he turned back, relief on his face. “It’s Miranda. She’s back.”

She came dashing toward them, breathless and visibly troubled, then dropped behind the giant tree for cover. “Where’s Thomas?”

Before anyone could answer, the older man returned, sliding over the moss before crouching in front of her. “Not good,” he reported.

“What did you find?” Miranda asked.

“Signs of horsemen. They’ve cut off our escape.”

“Damn it, they also have footmen encroaching on us from the front. We’re trapped. They want hostages," Miranda said bitterly.

“Or slaves . . .” Thomas added.

“So, what should we do?” Theo asked, his young voice laden with worry.

They were trapped, with horsemen at their backs, a river to their left, and footmen blocking their path ahead. Their options were dwindling rapidly. A cold sweat formed on Lansius’s back, and his grip on his spear tightened.

Thomas was silent. He knew the grim reality: their entire convoy consisted of only thirty men, most of whom were not fighters.

Miranda pulled her leather strap necklace. It connected to a small pouch she hid behind her ringmail. She emptied the content into her palm and revealed rings, jewelry, and gold coins.

Such valuables were so unexpected that they all did a double-take. For them, the value of such treasure was beyond their ability to comprehend.

“My job is to deliver this to Alba Castle,” she began. “Sir Ian was wounded in battle. He’s in no condition to ride, and chances are he’ll get captured along with Riverstead. He wanted to send his signet ring and valuables to his son. That way, his son could either ransom him or succeed him if he perishes.”

Miranda handed two decorated silver rings to Thomas. “Return these to the knight's family and claim your reward.”

“Why are you doing this? You should do this yourself,” Thomas protested.

“Someone needs to lead them. I’ll manage somehow," Miranda answered defiantly.

“Alone? It’s too risky—”

“I can’t let these boys be taken into slavery,” Miranda insisted.

With a weary sigh, Thomas finally relented.

She went on, “The worst that can happen is that I meet my husband and son in the afterlife.”

Her words stunned everyone. Thomas, meanwhile, looked grim, as if the thought had stirred an old memory.

Wasting no more time, she pressed a jewel-encrusted brooch into Theo’s hand and an ornamented buckle into Max’s. Then she handed half the coins to Lansius. “You’re some kind of scribe. Count it.”

“Six gold coins and sixteen silver,” Lansius answered with ease.

“Good. Remember to return it to Alba Castle, or I’ll find you and turn you into target practice,” Miranda said sternly to Lansius, who was older and less naive than the boys.

Lansius nodded, fully aware that in Arvena, it would be no hard task to find the only black-haired man around.

“Thomas, get them out safely. I’ll cover you,” Miranda said as she checked her weapons.

“Best of luck, then,” Thomas said, and quietly led the trio away.

Lansius took one last glance and saw Miranda fastening her ring mail coif. When she noticed, Lansius bowed his head in respect. That simple gesture made her smile.

With haste, Thomas led the trio into a crouch among the undergrowth and tall trees, moving them across shallow slopes and behind uneven mounds for cover. Then came the sound of cracking branches and the heavy hooves of horses.

The noise drew closer. Thomas signaled for the trio to hide behind trees thick with underbrush, while he crouched alone among the shrubs. They waited nervously until a horseman in an orange-and-black surcoat came into view. He wore a skullcap helmet and ring mail, while his horse was without armor.

The horseman wound his way through the trees, clearly searching for anyone who might be hiding. His mount was restless beneath him.

“Come out, you little dirty rabbits.” The voice came from another direction, muffled by the trees.

“Evnas, keep your mouth shut,” came a distant reply in a thick northern accent.

The banter between the still unseen men drew a snort of amusement from the horseman in orange and black.

Thomas quietly pulled back from his lookout spot and whispered to the trio, “I need to draw him away. Keep the river to your right and keep walking. Find a shallow place and cross, but avoid Ceresia. The enemy will be there.”

And then, without warning, Thomas climbed out of hiding and ran in the opposite direction.

“Halt!” the horseman cried as he spotted Thomas. “I found one,” he declared to his comrades, and clenched his legs to signal the horse to speed up.

“Evnas, go assist him!” commanded the other person. But before the second rider could come, the rider in black and orange had given chase.

Meanwhile, Theo froze, but Max, who understood the situation, dragged his friend from the spot. Lansius followed without a word.

***

Thomas

The older man zigzagged between the trees as he ran, but the horseman kept his cool and trailed him from a distance. He couldn’t run and hide forever. Out of breath, Thomas slowed down. Before he stopped, instinct guided him to stand in the open instead of hiding behind the trees.

The horseman closed in with a drawn sword. The sound of hooves pounding the ground echoed through the air as he charged, intending to kill.

Thomas stood on his ground, his axe ready in his right hand. But the rider’s approach left no gap, forcing Thomas to dodge roll at the last moment into the trees.

The horseman overshot his approach, trotted his horse around, and prepared for another pass. He could afford to play this cat-and-mouse game patiently.

One more pass and then another. The horseman kept harassing his prey to provoke them into making a mistake.

Out of breath and out of tricks, Thomas’s attempt to bait the rider into a duel on foot had failed. Now, he risked meeting up with the footmen, or worse, the second horseman.

The horseman seemed to enjoy this and started another approach when a sharp, distinct sound echoed. It wasn’t loud, but the rider staggered, dropped his sword, and moved about erratically. A bolt had penetrated his ring mail through the doublet and ruptured his lung. The rider soon suffocated as his lung became filled with blood.

Thomas dragged his tired legs, then attempted to deliver the killing blow, but before he could, someone rushed in from another direction and speared the rider.

The rider cried out in pain, but was unable to retaliate. His flailing causing his horse to panic. He fell backward, hitting the ground hard as the horse galloped away. The fallen man, decked in the orange and black surcoat lay motionless, either from the fall or his fatal wound.

“Ronan,” Thomas said, recognizing the spear wielder.

“Thomas? Who fired the bolt?” Ronan asked as he pulled his spear from the dead man.

“It must have been Miranda. Where are the others?”

“Dead, tch—they even killed Ulrich . . .” Ronan’s voice was full of anger and sadness.

“The lad? But he’s no older than fourteen . . .” Thomas felt sickened.

“There’s no reason to kill him . . .” Ronan grew frustrated. “Nothing good will come from this. Better run while you still can,” he warned and walked away.

“Where you’re going?”

“Swim.”

“And lose all your gear?” Thomas asked.

Ronan turned to face him and opened his arms to signal, what else can I do?

Thomas reflected, but chose not to follow. Probably because he had no kids of his own, he wanted to save Theo and the rest.

Footsteps on his right surprised Thomas. He readied his axe, but saw Miranda and felt relieved. “Good shot.”

Miranda pulled Thomas behind a tree and forced him to crouch. “Don’t do that again!”

Thomas grinned, and boldly suggested, “Hey, let’s bait another one.”

“Are you an idiot? You’ll be dead if I can’t find a clear line of sight.” Not wanting to hear his response, she added, “The footmen are closing in. Let’s get out from here.”

Thomas seemed to remember something. He took two rings from his pouch and threw them one by one to Miranda. “Catch.”

“What are you doing?” She stared at him, unable to believe he meant to throw his life away.

“One more. For the boys,” Thomas said, and went after the second horseman.

***

Chapter 10

Amertume Forest

Tall trees with lush leaves and sturdy branches painted the backdrop as the trio ventured deeper into the forest. The undergrowth was teeming with bright green ferns, mosses, and shrubs that carpeted the forest floor. Max led the way, with Theo and Lansius following closely behind. Their only guide was to keep the river on their right.

Despite having trekked for some time, they had yet to encounter anything suspicious. This lack of threat emboldened Max to look for a shallow spot to cross the river.

Recognizing Max’s intent as he steered them closer to the river, Lansius voiced his concern. “Max, I think we should walk farther before attempting to cross.”

Max halted, catching his breath. “We’ll get too tired if we walk farther.”

“The sooner we cross, the better,” Theo chimed in.

Lansius nodded. He didn’t want to stall progress with a debate. Thus, they continued alongside the river until they found a suitable spot with jutting boulders.

Max was the first to wade into the water. He made steady progress initially but then suddenly found himself submerged up to his chest.

The other two could only exchange glances as a soaked Max returned. Taking over Max’s bag, they continued their search along the riverbank. Before they knew it, they stumbled upon a potential solution.

Theo spotted a run-down hut not far from the river. Next to it, a piece of a canoe jutted out from overgrown shrubs. Hopeful, they jogged over to inspect the boat. It was old and decayed but, crucially, didn’t have a gaping hole. Max and Lansius cleared the debris from the small boat while Theo investigated the hut.

Despite his efforts, Theo returned empty handed. “So, can we use it?”

Max looked at Lansius, who nodded and replied, “This might just do the job.”

Together, they lifted the small wooden canoe into the river. Despite their panting and heaving, they were elated when the old boat floated without leaking much.

With help from the others, Max climbed aboard with an equally weathered oar, followed by Theo. The boat wobbled precariously.

“If we all get in, this thing will capsize,” Lansius warned.

“What should we do then?” Theo asked.

“You go first with Theo and come back for me later,” Lansius suggested.

“Okay, just wait here.” Max began to row, unsteadily at first.

Lansius stood back and watched, a smile tugging at his lips as Max grappled with the oar. The boat drifted aimlessly at first, but Max was starting to get the hang of it.

The emerging sun cast beautiful reflections on the water’s surface. Max was making good progress when he abruptly stopped and lurched forward. Theo quickly steadied his friend before shouting and waving at Lansius.

Lansius couldn’t make out what Theo was saying due to the river’s noise. He initially thought Max had grown weary from rowing, but then he spotted a blot of red on Max’s tunic. He instinctively ducked and scanned the area in terror.

Confirming his fear, a silvery object darted again toward the boat, striking its side.

Crossbowman?!

Lansius scanned the area where the threat had come from, half expecting another bolt to be loosed in his direction.

“Get the boys, kill them. They might be Maurice’s bastards!” a chilling voice echoed from the woods.

But the expected bolt didn’t come, and Lansius saw no one. His survival instincts surged, and he abandoned his friends, sprinting away from the riverbank as fast as he could.

He had left his spear behind, but he didn’t care. He ceased thinking and just urged his weary legs to keep moving. He slipped, crashed into a tree, then pushed off and continued to run. His left ankle twisted as it caught a tree root, sending him tumbling. But he got up and pressed on, delving deeper into the forest.

He did not know how long he ran like that.

By the time Lansius finally lurched to a stop, he folded into a fit of harsh, uncontrollable coughing. Exhaustion had caught him at last. Sweat soaked him through, and whatever strength remained in his body had been wrung dry. His limbs throbbed with every beat of his heart.

For a long while, he could do nothing but lie there, gasping for breath. He noticed the trees around him here were older, their bark a darker shade of brown. The ground beneath him was softer, the air thick with the smell of decomposing leaves.

The rustling leaves and branches above him created a serene soundscape, the sunlight and shadows dancing in a playful game. But all he could see were flashes of Max and Theo.

“Damn it . . .” he cursed, tears stinging his eyes.

He had known the boys for three whole days. They had traveled together, eaten together, slept side by side.

To think they have to die like that . . .

Overwhelmed by shock and grief, Lansius struggled to his feet. He was dizzy and in poor shape, but he had no other options. He clung to Thomas’s advice: Keep walking with the river to your right.

So, he pressed onward, alone, farther into the heart of the ancient forest.

***

The chirping of birds stirred Lansius from his restless slumber. He woke to find himself chilled and crawling with ants and insects. Groaning, he rose, shaking off the tiny invaders and even beating his clothes against a tree trunk to dislodge them.

Afterward, he staggered to the largest tree nearby, draping his blanket over one of its branches and settling down on a protruding root. He was consumed by exhaustion, his sleep cycle disrupted. His nights were sleepless and filled with fear. To make matters worse, his empty stomach churned, making him feel as if he might vomit at any moment.

The lightheadedness persisted, so he occupied himself by massaging his legs. His left ankle throbbed painfully, and his right knee was sore from numerous falls and slips. Even his shoes were beginning to fall apart.

This morning marked the third day Lansius had wandered alone. As his heart worked to pump blood into his weary head, he pulled out his traveling bag and rummaged through its contents. One by one, he put its contents into his lap: a piece of hard biscuit wrapped in linen, a wooden bowl and spoon, a tin cup, two small purple carrots, and a peculiar red fruit he had found but dared not to eat.

In his determination to not leave anything behind, he shook the bag, and a pouch tumbled out onto his lap. It was the money pouch, which he had kept in his bag due to its significant value. He had forgotten about it, and out of curiosity, he emptied it.

Gold, silver, and copper coins formed a small pile on his lap.

He picked up one of the gold coins, inspecting it closely.

How many months of work is one of these worth?

It was a rhetorical question, but he found the irony amusing and burst into laughter.

To think that I would die with six gold coins in my hand . . .

His laughter only served to worsen his pounding headache. Dizzy and starving, he glanced at his meager ration of hard biscuit, but knew it was too dry to eat without water. He reached for his water pouch and took a few sips, then bit off a small piece of biscuit, chewing it like an awful tasting candy.

He had less than a third of his water remaining. He knew he needed to find the river or some sort of creek. The problem lay therein. The previous day, he had bet on finding another village if he kept following the river, reasoning that most settlements were located near a water source. Ceresia farmland was near a river delta, Bellandia had a large creek, and Riverstead was flanked by three rivers.

However, he had underestimated the terrain. The river had become increasingly difficult to follow on foot, frequently disappearing into steep ravines or similarly impassable areas.

Yet, Lansius could still hear the distant murmur of the stream, providing a glimmer of hope. He looked at the sun, steeling himself for another exhausting journey. He knew there was no turning back; he didn’t have enough food to retrace his steps.

Now, it was either move forward or die trying. Aided by a walking stick he fashioned from a broken branch, he once again set out into the vast forest.

...

After a dizzyingly long trek, Lansius's stomach churned many times. He felt so weak and hungry that he found himself eyeing leaves and mushrooms, wondering if he could boil them somehow. The lack of any tools to start a fire had become his greatest regret, and it had cost him dearly. A fire would have helped against the chill of night and kept the insects off him. More importantly, without one, he was limited to the wild berries he barely dared to eat.

Hunger was all in his mind as walk. Yesterday, he had eaten the last half of his hard biscuit. Now, only a leftover carrot remained, but even after chewing it, he found little respite from his hunger. To make matters worse, his waterskin was nearly empty, as he still hadn’t located the river.

The sun was high on the horizon when he finally found the will to continue southward. His legs wobbled with exhaustion and fever seized him in waves, yet he trudged on almost mindlessly. He knew that if he didn’t find a settlement today, surviving would be near impossible.

The terrain was unforgiving, forcing him to mind his steps on the moss-covered rocks, fallen branches, and overgrown shrubs. There was never a direct path. He constantly had to adapt and navigate when the terrain became too treacherous.

By midday, his stamina had dwindled to the point that he needed to lean on a large branch for support. The dizziness persisted, and he slumped to the forest floor. He reached for the last piece of food he had, a fruit resembling a red mango.

With his left hand, he unsheathed his knife and inspected the short blade. But instead of using it to cut the fruit, he found his eyes lingering on its edge, as darker thoughts began to creep in.

After days of wandering alone through the wilderness, he had begun to question his own sanity. He tried to calm his racing mind, but the feverish images persisted.

Stefi, Jan . . . Thomas, Max, Theo, Miranda . . .

Lansius remembered their faces and exhaled deeply. Half of him felt so guilty that he contemplated ending it all right there, but the other half clung to a sliver of hope.

Before he knew it, he was overcome by shivers, and exhaustion claimed him. He managed to sheathe his knife before collapsing onto his side. He intended to take a brief nap, but half an hour turned into twelve.

...

Lansius did not realize a new day had dawned when he opened his eyes. He felt chilled but surprisingly refreshed, and even his ankle seemed better. Oddly enough, he did not find the usual insects crawling on his clothes.

There was nothing unusual in his surroundings, except for a plant with dark purple leaves near him. With nothing to lose, he took his knife and carefully excavated the plant, making sure to extract it complete with its roots. He wrapped it in leftover linen and stored it in his bag. Afterward, he checked his gear, took the last sip of water, and mustered his will for another trek.

Strangely, he no longer felt hungry. Unbeknownst to him, his digestion had slowed down as he’d barely eaten properly in half a week. Now, his body pulled energy directly from his fat, and he became skinnier each day.

After what felt like two hours of walking, he could hear the river more distinctly than before. The sound spurred him onward.

Suddenly, his foot plunged into what felt like a puddle of water. He instinctively pulled it out, startled by the cold, wet sensation. On examining his surroundings, he found he had stepped on a hidden creek that was concealed by ferns, shrubs, and other vegetation.

This stroke of luck made him burst into laughter.

Suddenly, a loud neighing sound startled Lansius, causing him to jump sideways and land on his backside.

A horse?!

He could hear the animal’s heavy breathing coming from somewhere behind the trees. He quickly filled his canteen from the creek and set off to find the horse.

Immediately, he grew concerned about the horse’s rider, but after being alone for so long, Lansius was willing to risk even a cell or a dungeon.

As he peered between the trees, he spotted a brown horse with white spots. It was calmly drinking from the creek in the middle of a small clearing. The horse was saddled and had reins, indicating the presence of an owner.

Lansius observed the surroundings, but found no one even after several minutes.

After some deliberation, he slowly approached the stream, doing his best to appear nonthreatening.

The horse neighed unhappily, but Lansius remained calm. He knelt by the creek to clean his hands and face, something he hadn’t done in days. He continued to observe his surroundings and noticed saddlebags on the horse. Seeing them as a potential lifeline, he gathered the courage to approach.

He racked his brain to recall what Stefi had taught him about horses. He made no sudden movements, approached the horse indirectly, and stayed within its line of sight.

After a tense moment in which the horse moved several times and Lansius paused to give it space, he finally managed to grab the reins. As he took hold of the leather strap, the horse protested but didn’t run or kick.

“Easy, boy . . .” Lansius patted the horse’s head to calm it down before moving to the saddle. He wasn’t planning to ride—his horse-riding skills were far too poor—instead, he opened the saddlebags and unloaded their contents onto the forest floor.

There were pouches, ropes, onion-smelling thing, linens, and various other items. On the other side, he found water pouches, a metallic flask, a black metal pot, and a sheet of fabric. The last thing he did was unstrap a sword from the saddle.

As the sword clattered to the ground, he first gathered the pouches and moved the items away from the horse, lest the animal trample them. Once done, Lansius let go of the reins.

“Go on, you’re free to go.”

The horse remained distrustful but eventually trotted away. He had considered keeping her, but he was too worried that her rider was nearby. He was also concerned that leading a horse might make him an easier target to track.

Loaded with goods, Lansius moved to find some cover. He continued until he found a cluster of gigantic trees with tall shrubs on either side, and then he began to unpack.

Nuts? This is promising . . . and this is . . . ugh, moldy bread.

He threw the bread away, along with some rotten salted meat to avoid attracting any carnivores. Without wasting any time, he popped a handful of nuts into his mouth, finding they tasted somewhat like almonds. He then uncovered thin biscuits and eagerly devoured them.

The biscuits were superb, better than any he had ever had. Next, he cut a chunk of cheese and ate it whole.

Curiosity led him to sample the ale from the engraved metallic flask. He coughed heavily as his throat burned, but he felt invigorated.

A metallic glint caught his attention. He had forgotten about the sword. He picked it up and drew it from its scabbard.

It was a fine-looking arming sword. Its blade had a fuller, the cross guard looked sturdy, and the pommel was rounded. The blade only had minor defects or imperfections. As Stefi had taught him, only the area around the tip was razor sharp. The rest of the blade was only as sharp as scissors and meant to be used against an armored opponent.

Feeling satisfied, Lansius sheathed the sword again and felt somewhat safer because of it. Not knowing how much time had passed, as the woods obscured the sun, he decided to push his luck further and continued his search for a way out.

A horse, even a lost one, is a good sign that a settlement is near.

With renewed spirit, he slung his newfound sword over his shoulder, along with his loaded bag, and set off again. His instincts told him to follow the creek, so he abandoned his search for the river.

The ground grew rougher, with boulders strewn across his path. The sun had turned reddish-orange, and the trees were beginning to thin. That alone made him quicken his pace. Then he saw it ahead, a place where shafts of light broke through and spilled across the forest floor. He jogged toward the opening, hoping for something, but what he found left him speechless.

Vast meadows. Two distant hills. A lake. And beyond them, small rectangular shapes that could only be farms or orchards.

It was not just a clearing. It was a way out.

A warm wind met Lansius as he stepped free of the forest and back toward the civilized world.

***

Next Part

Thank you for reading! 🤗