Sufficiently fueled for the day’s march, I continued my preparations for the upcoming battle.
As a soldier who had survived for 3 years, I was entitled to additional benefits, one of which being that I was granted tailor adjusted fur lined armor.
Warmer than leather armor while providing the same amount of protection, it was a level of comfort all soldiers who fought in the snow strived for, not only for the warmth provided, but the standard leather armor had no ability to resist, nor repel water. Blood would mix with sweat, and quickly and completely drench your innerwear, making you more susceptible to frostbite, while the fur liner would keep you dry, and ensure that if you were to survive the battle, you wouldn’t freeze to death.
Wearing fur lined leather, with spear on back and scabbarded short sword strapped to my waist, I stared into a bucket of water at my reflection. I seemed to have become a different person, a soldier.
But my helmet and boots, both obviously three sizes too big, and my short height combined to juxtapose with my hazy eyes, making me give off a warped impression. As if I were a boy who grew up too early.
Bitterly smiling in sordid amusement, I pulled my gloves down one last time to make sure they wouldn’t come off, before marching off to the courtyard to join the rest of the company.
The courtyard, previously devoid of life and blanketed with undisturbed snow, was filled with soldiers, and the once pristine, untouched snow was now more of a slush mixed with dirt and gravel.
The offensive two months ago had resulted in a pyrrhic victory for the Baron’s army, with the company I was in being reduced to ten men from 123.
I heard how entire regiments were wiped out in taking back the traitor generals’ cities, though the castle we stayed in was never controlled by the rebels. It was used by the only general who chose to stay loyal to the Baron. But, I heard he had long died, killed off in the opening days of the war.
On the orders of the previous regiment head, we didn't enter battle with the rebels' main armies. We were tasked with the destruction of one of their many scouting bases.
Despite the heavy losses of the company as well as the regiment at large, including the regiment leader and 8 of the 9 captains under his command, in just under a week, the 10 companies in the regiment's ranks were completely replenished with fresh faced men.
Though, I knew the vast majority of the new recruits would die. Not only because of their lack of experience, but because Captain June treated his men’s lives with a complete lack of care, apathetically sending his men to their deaths.
Despite only being 11 years old, and fighting as a soldier for 3 years, I could in fact be considered as having the most seniority in the company, most everyone else from when I had joined having died over time.
At the front of the courtyard, June, freshly promoted to regiment leader, sat on black horseback, with his second in command next to him, similarly sitting on horseback, though his white in color. The captain was a level 5 swordsman with 100 years of experience who looked 25 years of age at most, while his lieutenant was a veiled level 3 light mage of ambiguous age.
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The lieutenant had recently risen in level, successfully performing a level 3 spell a week ago, but the captain’s power was stagnating, if not deteriorating outright. Supposedly, the captain used to be a quasi level 6 knight, but failed to fully form a magic circle, and the backlash dropped him down to mid level 5 in power.
Desperate to one day reach his previous level of power again, Captain June started to groom a light mage, the lieutenant, in the hopes that he would one day reach a high enough level to heal him.
I respected the lieutenant. He had helped me get the fur armor, and he was relatively friendly with me, at least compared to how he treated the rest of the soldiers.
Though, he never revealed his name to me. He insisted on being called lieutenant.
“Sound the horns,” the captain declared, having finished counting the soldiers.
Brbrbrbr
The cry of the horn was deafening. Ear splittingly loud, it was meant to signal to the old goddess that blood was to be shed in her name, as well to beseech her to guide the pious to the afterlife to rest, before a new life would begin for them.
Beginning to march, the ground itself trembled, as the company’s feet trampled the snow, exposing the dirt road that connected each city in the Baron’s territory.
The march was relatively uneventful, save for a scout’s misstep resulting in a twisted ankle. Despite the palpable tension, the beauty of the land couldn’t be dampened, with dark green needles forever covering the tree's branches. Such trees weren't found in the South, where the leaves would change colors with the passage of time, from green, to orange, to red, to brown.
Though, I had to admit, the green needle trees were especially pretty with freshly fallen snow hugging the branches.
In one of the army's previous marches, I was tasked with scouting ahead. But being so physically weak, and not having eaten anything that day, I tired quickly, and had to rest.
I remembered, how while sitting under a tree to catch my breath, the sky was a beautiful clear blue, with not a cloud in sight, and the way the powdery snow glistened, it all overshadowed the pain I felt in my lungs from breathing in the cold air with a dry throat.
As I rested my back against the trunk of a tree, I felt as if I was the only man in the world.
Gods, it was beautiful.
That feeling of peace was addicting, to the point where the thought of desertion crossed my mind. To leave the Baron’s army, and wander the forest, living off of the land.
And even if I were to freeze, or starve to death, I would have had no regrets.
For in death, my corpse would forever be with the trees.
Just like the green needles that covered their branches.
I still longed to feel that tranquility.
Under that tree, I came to realize what I desired.
Once the rebellion was put down, the North men who aided the traitor generals would be pillaged. I would take from the tribesmen, whether it be people, gold, or artifacts, I would take it all, sell it, and buy my freedom. After that, I would purchase a plot of land in the South, and retire to a life of farming, creating, and nurturing life unlike how I currently only took it away. I would work everyday, caring for my fields and animals, performing backbreaking labor day in, day out, and when the sun set, and the day was at an end, I would fall asleep in a warm bed, with feelings of contentment, and safety.
And when my time was up. When I had fully lived a life worth living, I would fall into an eternal slumber from which I would never wake up, forever dreaming.
That was all I wished for in this life.
But until I actually got the money, it would forever stay a dream.
Rekindling the proverbial fire that burned inside me, I emptied my mind, and reaffirmed my will to survive.
No matter the cost.