“Plinius, Plinius, show us again! Again!” The crowd of kids shouted at the man.

The sergeant laughed heartily, swinging the wooden sword and activating [Grand Slash], a skill he had honed through his combat expertise on the battlefield.

In a real demonstration for soldiers, he would have wielded his enchanted battle-axe, his signature weapon. However, this was not a battlefield, and his audience was not a group of hardened warriors.

He swung the weapon for a few more slashes before calling it a day and sending all the kids home. Well, almost all of them.

"Lysippus," Plinius addressed the young boy applauding him as he handed the sword back, "how is your mother? I haven't seen her this week."

Lysippus, a mere eight-year-old child, nodded wisely, displaying a level of maturity beyond his age—a regrettable necessity, unfortunately.

"Mom is well, Plinius. She said to thank you for all the food you had sent over. She also asked if Aunt Irene could come over and help her figure out the house situation. Do we need to change houses again? I really like this one."

Plinius winced at the question. Lysippus's mother had lost her husband, like many other women, to war. Although the Elves were not officially at war with Humans, people wiped their butts with peace treaties when skirmishes occurred. Plinius, with the financial assistance of a few fellow soldiers, had helped several widows. They lived together in the same house, albeit rather cramped, but they all found jobs and managed to get by, leaving the children to look after each other or one of the adults.

"Your mom just wants us to help change a door, Lysippus. We'll get it done. And don't worry; you can stay there."

"Yay!" The child raced back to his friends, and Plinius sighed.

Thankfully, there was an abundance of work available this year. Amorium was thriving more than ever, and most of these women had found jobs to cover rent, food, clothing, and more. Some of the children had even apprenticed themselves to blacksmiths or pursued other useful professions.

The immense relief that washed over Plinius, knowing he had no terrible news to share with the children, was palpable. He made his way to his family's home, where he spent the night with his two sisters when not sleeping at the barracks. Unfortunately, he often had to check on his brother as well.

"Irene?" Plinius knocked, expecting to find his older sister, but it was Anatholia, the second youngest, who opened the door. "She's at the bakery, working a double shift."

"Alright," he sighed. "I haven't seen her around this week. Has she been working too hard?"

"It's Irene," Anatholia sighed as she returned to the small living room and continued painting a pot. She was a [Potter] with a few levels in the rather unhelpful [Artist] class. However, people paid well for Anatholia's skills – enough that she had managed to transform a childhood passion into a viable profession.

Plinius glanced around, noticing a crucial person missing from the scene. "Where's Fidatus?"

"He's in his room. He was sick a few days ago—the red skin patches again. Irene has already paid the healer, but the ointment Fidatus needs is costly."

"Well, why didn't she—"

Anatholia's gaze remained fixed on the pot, but her voice turned icy. As the second oldest in the house, she held a certain authority over Plinius, the youngest.

"You need to fulfill your Vow: Debt of Honor, Plinius. Irene has said that if you give away more money, she'll make a scene at the barracks. Don't test her. Have you been paying?"

She produced a truth-stone and placed it on the table, causing her younger sibling to cringe.

"I—I have paid a few gold coins. That's all. I still have three hundred and fifty to go."

Anatholia took a deep breath. "Irene is right. We need to pool our resources and pay off your debt. We can't let it continue to grow. I've been getting more orders lately. I can probably contribute about a gold coin a week..."

"Please, Anatholia, I'm not—"

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"A child? You are, Plinius. Where are you spending your money? Did you buy a gift for that girl you're smitten with, the baker? You better allocate at least half of your stipend towards the debt by the end of the month."

"But what about Fidatus?"

"Fidatus? We take care of him, Plinius. We took care of you too, remember?"

It was true. Irene and Anatholia had done everything they could to make ends meet when their parents were killed in a military campaign. Regrettably, the military's funds for deceased soldiers typically barely covered the outstanding debt. The one saving grace was that if a soldier died, their debt wouldn't be passed onto their family. Unfortunately, this also meant that many had taken their lives once crippled in order to avoid being a burden on their loved ones.

"Irene came home to change clothes," Anatholia said in a gentler tone. "I think she's going out with someone. She took the only nice dress she has."

"Really?" Plinius felt a weight lift from his heart. While a typical person might have felt jealous about an unknown individual entering his sister's life, he trusted Irene. She was not one to act frivolously. She had always had her priorities in order. If anything, Plinius hoped that this Elf could be a good match, capable of shouldering some of the burdens Irene had taken upon herself.

“Don’t tease her, and don’t tell her I told you. You know how she is,” Anatholia said with a sneaky smile as she drew a cute bear on the pot.

“Wouldn’t want her dropping another brick on my head,” Plinius said with a smirk.

Anatholia actually snorted at that, ramping up her laughter as she crossed Plinius’s eyes.

“Go check on Fidatus,” she said after a brief pause. “I think he’s missed you.”

…

"Hey, buddy," Plinius opened the door to Fidatus's room, finding his brother engrossed in one of the puzzles that he loved so much. Both Irene and Plinius often stopped at the Pratus’ stalls, specialized in those little jigsaws.

Fidatus looked up and immediately jumped to his feet for a big hug. Plinius, being taller and larger, wrapped his arms around his older brother. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes forcefully to hold back tears as he felt his bones beneath the soft clothing. Fidatus's skin was incredibly delicate, and he frequently suffered from ailments that caused him to bleed. All healers recommended costly alchemical remedies and rest, but these never provided more than temporary relief, lasting only a few weeks at most.

"I got you something," Plinius said, stepping back and rummaging in his pocket for a small wooden puzzle he had acquired at a bargain. "I know it might be a bit too simple for you, but—"

Fidatus gave him another big hug. He did not speak and hadn't done so for a very long time, not since their parents had passed away. Fidatus must have been around twelve at the time.

"Do you want to hear some new stories? Oh, and by the way, have you been outside lately? Irene told me she took you to the Pratus two weeks ago. How was it?"

Fidatus looked slightly uneasy when Plinius mentioned going outside, but otherwise, he nodded enthusiastically at the mention of the Pratus. He made a few signs he had devised to indicate he had indeed gone. The reason for his loss of speech remained a mystery, one that even the healers could not solve.

"Do you want to go with me, maybe?"

At that, Fidatus's eyes crinkled with apprehension.

"Don't worry. You don't have to. Show me the puzzle instead."

Plinius spent the better part of an hour chatting with his brother, mostly sharing a few amusing stories that coaxed some smiles from Fidatus. Otherwise, he simply watched his older brother work on the little puzzle, solving it as slowly as possible to make Plinius think it would last a long time. Plinius knew full well that his brother, who spent much of his time drawing on Anatholia's spare scraps of paper and solving puzzles, could easily complete this one in less than two minutes.

Still, it was nice to spend time like this, trying to make everything seem normal and, for a moment, to feel like a family.

Fidatus only ventured outside with Irene. He didn't feel comfortable with Anatholia or Plinius, but neither sibling held it against him. Irene was the only one capable of truly drawing Fidatus out of his shell in any significant way. She also had him do chores around the house and small tasks he could manage.

For the most part, Fidatus was like a very big child. He was the shortest member of the family, and his illness often left him bedridden due to pain in his bones. Furthermore, he frequently struggled to keep food down, making it difficult for him to gain strength.

…

Plinius walked back to the barracks, his heart hurting because he couldn’t spend more time with his family and had no real time to pay a visit to the widows of the men who had been under his command. He was one of the very few [Sergeants] who tried to look after deceased [Soldiers] this much. Everyone knew it was impossible to help someone in debt to their necks, but their families were innocent.

From day one, every [Soldier] was pretty much taught to live day by day and to not really care about the consequences in the long term. But unlike others, Plinius had worked hard to become an officer and was working even harder to become a [General] one day. That was the best career position he could ever aspire to. He would have much, much more money than he did now. And not just that, he could requisition funds for himself if needed. He would spend as much as necessary to find a solution for his brother’s future. Fidatus had spent enough time in this state—it wasn’t fair.

And if he married into nobility, who knew… Plinius reasoned that perhaps, his wife would have much more access to funds and resources than he ever had. Maybe, he could have her leave in writing that if he died, she would take care of his family. He wondered if that would be the case, though.

Even if she did, she would still be a noblewoman. Plinius had very little education about politics, meaning that she could probably forge, fake, and twist him around her fingers however she wanted. It would only be up to her whether she would fulfill his final wish in case his mission didn’t go as planned.

I can’t fail. Whatever happens, I cannot fail.