Chapter 29 - Learning to soldier (18 jan 25)

Morning hadn't fully settled when Harold stepped out of the hall. The sun was coming over the mountains in the distance, casting a warm glow on the surroundings. It really was quite a beautiful place here. On Earth, nature was shoved into controlled areas. Here... it just was. The air was cleaner, carrying the subtle scent of damp earth after the night's cooling embrace, and the sound of distant birdsong added a layer of serenity. The water was crystal clear, and the forest was flourishing with old growth. The opportunity was endless.The village was already awake. Frantic work had already begun, and not quietly either. It had found a middle rhythm. Boots moved along packed dirt paths. Smoke rose in thin, steady columns. Work crews formed without being shouted into place. Someone laughed near the kitchens. Someone else swore when a wheelbarrow caught on a stone. Farmers out in the distance were already going through the fields and creating new ones.Hale fell into step beside him as they started toward the barracks.They passed between half-built structures and stacked lumber, through a space that was quickly becoming a hub of activity rather than a mere clearing. Traffic now flowed naturally around the work zones: no signs, no shouted orders; just habit taking shape as people settled into their roles. A simple comfort, like a beer at the end of a long day, would be a well-earned reward."That's new," Harold said, nodding ahead.The palisade rose in front of them, still raw and unfinished but unmistakable. Thick timber logs set deep into the earth, sharpened tops uneven but imposing. A broad, deep ditch ran along the outside, freshly dug, with the soil piled into a low berm. Harold remembered it was Margaret's idea to build it, spurred by concerns that they'd have the means to defend themselves should raiders or something worse approach. The wall was not just a physical barrier; it was a testament to their preparedness and the worries that haunted their nights."Soldiers needed the exercise, it's good practice learning mana control," Hale said. "And it buys us time if something big comes knocking."Harold studied it as they approached the gate. The wall enclosed a lot more space than he'd expected."You could shelter most of the village in there," he said.Hale nodded. "That's the idea. And it'll house four times as many soldiers as we've got now. Gives us room to grow without having to rework everything. Underground tunnels and a basement actually connect the buildings.""You did good work here, Hale," Harold said.They passed through the opening.Inside, the watchtower dominated the space. Stone at the base, timber rising above it, built tight against the palisade so its upper platforms could see out over the wall. It wasn't elegant, but it was solid. Harold could see a couple of soldiers at the top. They didn't have any ranged weapons, so they were more for show.Harold slowed, taking it in. This was his first time inside the perimeter.Almost one hundred and fifty soldiers now. Armed and drilling. They actively patrolled the area. Right now, the only outpost they had was the mine Lira ran, and two squads were stationed there for a week at a time.A week ago, his options were narrow because of the numbers, but now he could start implementing some of the plans he had.As they walked, Harold glanced sideways at Hale. "You and Margaret seem… comfortable."Hale didn't miss a step. "We work together.""That wasn't the question," Harold said mildly. "I didn't know you knew each other back on Earth."Hale exhaled through his nose. "We crossed paths. That's all." There was a silence, a pause where more could have been said, but wasn't.Harold raised an eyebrow, sensing the subtle dodge. "Drills today are squad-based," Hale continued, shifting topics with practiced ease. "Shield transitions first and formation maneuver. After that, controlled duels."Harold nodded, letting the deflection pass, but the curiosity lingered.They reached the central yard just as Hale's Optio noticed them."ATTEN-TION!"The call snapped across the space. Boots thudded into place. Lines straightened. Shields thudded into the ground. The movement was crisp and disciplined.Harold stopped just inside the yard.Nine figures stood off to one side, clearly separate from the main body. Older and more weathered. Their posture was different, but they saluted the same as every other soldier in the yard."Former army vets, I served with all of them," Hale said quietly. "They switched over from crafter roles. Decided they wanted to train again; they spent most of their time on Earth learning Roman tactics and design. I couldn't make this work without them; none of us is getting the mana exercises yet, though. It's an endless source of ribbing from the rank and file. We spend a lot of the evening talking to some of the better ones here about the theory of it."Harold recognized one immediately. Beth's uncle. Older than most here, gray just beginning to creep into his hair. He met Harold's eyes and gave a slight, respectful nod. They all got younger when they came over. Now they all looked to be back in their prime."They're teaching Roman-style doctrine," Hale continued. "Formation fighting. Discipline under pressure. It's slower to learn, but I fully believe it will be imperative we learn these methods to fight the foes you have told me about."Harold nodded, then turned to Hale. "They know they can't respawn right.""Yes," Hale said. "We're aware. That's why they call it the service."That settled heavily in Harold's chest.He stepped forward."At ease," he said.The soldiers relaxed, but only slightly. He could see some of the faces wondering what was going on.Hale turned to face them. "Today's drills will include paired engagements," he announced. "Controlled force. Just cause we got those fancy healing potions doesn't mean we go all out."A few eyes flicked toward Harold.Hale didn't acknowledge it. "The Lord will be participating."That earned murmurs. Not loud but curious.Harold felt it, the weight of expectation. As he gripped the practice shield, his fingers tightened around the edge, a telltale sign of his mixed confidence before sparring. He knew he needed to do this, though he felt uncertain.He exhaled.The soldiers relaxed, but only slightly. Harold could see it in their faces, the quiet recalibration when a routine changed.Hale turned to face them.He exhaled and stepped away from the command group.Beth's uncle was already watching him approach, amusement written plainly across his face. The man was broad through the shoulders, posture relaxed but alert, the look of someone who'd spent years fighting.Harold picked up a practice shield and wooden sword from the rack beside the formation."So," he said, glancing at the slate marking squad assignments, "should I be calling you Optio now?"That got a bark of laughter from the man."Optio, or Squad Leader, if you're feeling polite. Garrick, if you want me to like you," he said."Harold," he replied. "And Beth warned me you'd enjoy this too much."Garrick's grin softened just a fraction. "She's too smart for her own good, thought she was crazy when she called."Two familiar faces stepped into line beside Harold. His escorts from yesterday. Both are already armored, practice swords already in hand."You two as well?" Harold asked.One of them smirked. "Figured we'd make sure you didn't get embarrassed again.""Much appreciated," Harold said dryly.Garrick clapped his hands once. "We'll start with Armatura, then move to Agmen. We keep trying to use the Latin names. Improves our mystique," he said while smiling.The line shifted immediately.Armatura wasn't sparring. It was repetition. Shields came up, and blades were angled. Their feet were set. They drilled strikes, blocks, shield presses, over and over. Not fast or flashy. Every movement is precise. Every mistake corrected.Harold struggled to match the rhythm. His sword lagged a half-beat behind. His shield came up a hair too high. Garrick noticed everything."Too wide," Garrick said, tapping Harold's shield rim with a stick. "You're not dueling, you're protecting the man beside you and striking in a way that doesn't disrupt the formation. The strongest blow you can make between shields."A soldier to Harold's left muttered, "Told you this wasn't the fun part."Harold snorted and adjusted.After several hours, Garrick raised his voice again."Alright, pack on, and form up."Groans rippled through the formation.They broke into column, packs on, shields slung. Agmen was marching. Long, sustained movement in formation. Loaded to bear and maintaining the pace. The kind of drill meant to teach bodies to move together when exhausted.They stepped off.At first, Harold managed. Then the weight set in. The armor and the shield. The sword bounced against his hip while his breath shortened.Instinct flared and mana surged. His legs lightened, and his stride smoothed. The pressure eased a little, allowing him to breathe easier. Contrary to the relief it brought, tapping mana carelessly was not without its costs. Overusing it led to physical fatigue and a backlash, and it carried a social stigma in their community. What if it was needed in a fight and someone had tapped themselves out before then?Then something cracked smartly against the side of his helmet. "Don't," Garrick said, walking alongside him now, voice sharp. "No mana."Harold winced. "I wasn't—""You were," Garrick said. "And you'll stop."The two bodyguards glanced at him but said nothing. They kept pace without reinforcement—sweat on their brows. Teeth clenched."You lean on that," Garrick continued, "you'll never build the frame and muscle underneath it. Mana's a tool, not a crutch."Harold cut the flow. Immediately, everything hurt. His steps grew heavier. His breathing was ragged. His shoulders screamed. The column pressed on.Someone behind him murmured, "Keep up, Lord."Another added, "Try not to die."Harold managed a breathless laugh and ground through it. It was even more frustrating because they were repeating the same path around the village.When Garrick finally called the halt, Harold bent forward slightly, hands on his knees."Congratulations," Garrick said cheerfully. "You didn't fall out."Harold looked up. "Low bar.""It's a start," he said, eyeing him.Garrick clapped him on the shoulder. "You're joining us for morning PT. No mana. Same rules as everyone else.""I'm a Lord," Harold said weakly.Garrick grinned widely. "Then lead from the front."The soldiers chuckled, and one slapped him on the back.Harold straightened, wiped sweat from his eyes, and took his place back in line.By nightfall, Harold ached in places he'd forgotten he had.Dinner was simple but filling. Stew again, thicker this time, with chunks of meat that hadn't been there a week ago. He ate slower than usual, muscles protesting every movement, listening to the low murmur of the hall. " I would kill for a beer right now," Harold murmured to himself.He was halfway through when Margaret appeared beside him, slate tucked under one arm, expression carefully neutral."Come with me," she said.Harold looked up. "That sounds ominous.""It's not," she replied. "Mostly."She waited until he stood before turning and leading him through the side door and around the back of the hall. The air was cooler there, firelight spilling out through gaps in the timber.They stopped beside a small lean-to that hadn't been there that morning.Inside, steam curled lazily into the night.Harold stared.It was a tub. Crude, but real. Before Harold fully realized what he was seeing, the delicate sheen of moonlight caught on the metal hoops, hinting at the surprise awaiting him. Thick staves were bound with these metal hoops, forming a tub wide enough for an adult to sit in without folding themselves in half. A small fire pit sat beneath it, stones stacked to distribute heat.He blinked. "Is that—""A bath," Margaret said. "Don't ask too many questions."He stepped closer, incredulous. "How?""The kitchen crew," she said. "They bribed a couple of the craftsmen with extra rations. Someone had the idea. Someone else had the tools.""And you allowed this," Harold said, eyebrow raised.Margaret's mouth twitched. "I told them we'd overlook it."She paused, then added, "As long as we get access sometimes."Harold laughed, low and surprised. His words carried a hint of playful authority, a taste of the leadership style he was slowly growing into. "So this is corruption," he said, voice lightly teasing yet with an underlying firmness.Margaret corrected him, "This is morale," and added, "And hygiene." As she handed him a bar of soap, Harold considered the contrast between moments of relief and the relentless duties that occupied their days. Earlier, he had joked about wanting a beer, a simple pleasure now mirrored in the unexpected gift of a hot bath. He looked at the tub again, letting its warm promise linger in his mind."I assume there's a schedule," he said."There will be," she replied. "After you go first."He glanced at her. "That's not subtle."She shrugged. "You trained with the soldiers all day. People noticed, and you do not smell good. And we all smell bad, and we still notice you."Harold exhaled slowly, the tension draining out of him just looking at the water. Garrick's words echoed in his mind: mana's a tool, not a crutch. He realized that just as he needed physical strength to stand among the soldiers, he needed the mental fortitude to handle the duties of leadership without over-relying on shortcuts. This was more than just about building muscle; it was about laying a foundation for everything he aimed to achieve."Alright," he said. "I'll allow this criminal enterprise."Margaret smiled, satisfied, and walked away.