I slept like a baby that night, and Al’s tent was even more comfortable than the one I used to use. It was meant to be a tent for more than one person anyway, but since Al was a recruiter he had certain privileges in return for his position. I was in a deep sleep when I was woken up by the man who’s tent I spent the night in, and he happily informed me that the squad I was going to be placed in had arrived during the night, but since I was already asleep he decided to introduce me the following morning.
I didn’t know much about what kind of people I would have to live with for the next six months at the very least, but I hoped they would be as amenable as the recruiter at the minimum. I had a bit to drink from the waterskin that was in the tent, and then met up with Al again outside. He led me to a tent a few rows down which was about double the size of the one I had just slept with, and there were already a few people outside of it just talking with one another. Something that I noticed immediately was that all of them were about my age, or slightly older than me, which made me think that perhaps this was a group entirely made up of new recruits.
My thoughts were confirmed with the appearance of the squad-leader, a man who went by the name of Gorkas and had a very rough look about him. He was maybe in his late thirties, although with the quality of life in Euphelia he might be 25 and I would have no way to tell. He had a quick discussion with Al who introduced me as the last member of his squad, and he gave me a look from head-to-toe after which he rudely stated that he doesn’t accept me.
Hearing those words I became confused, since I didn’t know if he even had that kind of authority, but thankfully Al had a way of appeasing this man, and after a short back and forth where Gorkas demanded to be allowed to remove me if I proved useless, and Al politely informed him that it was only a decision that ‘captain’ could make. He grumpily accepted the situation as is and I went out towards the largest tent in the area.
I wasn’t entirely comfortable having to answer to someone who didn’t want me there, and even though I had developed some confidence when it came to socializing when spending time with Max and Louis, I still felt pretty awkward having to introduce myself to the people in my squad. Thankfully one of them must have had that one trait I was desperately missing, and enthusiastically welcomed me to the squad, being happy that finally their unit was complete. There were ten people in total, including the presently-absent Gorkas. I never had trouble remembering people’s names and faces due to my good memory, so after the introductions were made once, I had no doubt they’d stay with me forever.
The people in my squad were not from one place, so I didn’t feel like I was intruding in a place I shouldn’t have been. The one who was the friendliest and made a concerted effort to make me feel welcome was named Cameron, and he was actually the eldest in the squad at 24, besides Gorkas of course. He was a commoner from a village in the country north of here, the Kingdom of Hessia. He had been in this squad the longest out of the normal mercenaries, now being in the second year of his contract.
The others were Vaughn from Targis, who joined up just two weeks before I did, Opie from Westmont, his younger brother Edmund who was slightly younger than I, Kurt from Hessia, Herman from a place I have never heard of named Netsam, Dorian from Yas, and Fisk although his origins were something he wasn’t eager to disclose.
The variety in people’s origins was unexpected, and after I brought it up Cameron explained that since there were many mercenary groups recruiting it wasn’t always easy to make the mercenary group come from one place specifically, although they still existed. They said that since they just came back from a commission yesterday, they had a day off as was tradition in the mercenary profession. They invited me to go drinking at a tavern to get to know one another better, which would have been something I’d be down for if I wasn’t almost completely broke.
My negative thoughts were dashed after they said they’d treat me, as long as the next time I got paid I treated them back, which was something I was willing to promise. They must have known one another well enough, as I was the focus of the conversation for the majority of the time. They asked about where I’m from, if I knew how to fight, and they also commented on my unusual loadout, with Dorian in particular being very critical of me not wearing what he considered ‘proper’ armor.
They said that if I wanted to live long then I should spend all of the money I would earn on getting at least some form of chainmail, and Vaugh even offered to take me to the shop where he bought his in Verorum. This was all secondary however, to the fact that all of them used shields when fighting, and said that when it came to ranged attacks and blocking attacks from those who wielded polearms, this was a necessity.
I had already experienced the trouble of fighting a spearman in Jenusia, and I agreed with them in principle, but the problem was that there was no shield on sale for a measly two coppers anywhere. When Dorian suggested I sell my shortsword or even exchange it directly for a shield at an arms shop I declined since I thought that it wasn’t worth giving up my fighting style that I was used to, and that instead I’d just wait until I had earnt enough to buy a shield outright.
I had forgotten for a moment that Sylrfit originated in Dorian’s homeland, so I said to him that he should be aware that a dual wielding style requires two swords, and not the one I would be left with if I followed his suggestions. He interpreted my words as me trying to pick a fight with him, and Cameron’s involvement was needed to prevent him from actually attacking me physically.
I apologized and explained that what I meant to say was that the dual wielding style I used came from his homeland, and that he should be aware that a second sword was necessary to use the style effectively. That changed his mood from angry to suspicious, and asked me how someone not from Yas would even come to know that style.
I said that I learnt it in Jenusia but that my teacher was similar in appearance to him, although I humbly explained that my knowledge of the Sylrift style was very shallow. He still seemed to doubt my words and immediately grabbed me and demanded I show him the forms in the practice area in the camp, almost forgetting to pay for the drinks we had consumed.
The others in the squad tagged along, enjoying the spectacle, and I wasn’t averse to proving that I indeed knew the style of Dorian’s homeland. After showing them only the basic forms, since I was more confident that I knew them correctly than the intermediate ones, Dorian came up to me menacingly, and my natural instinct was to shrink back.
He grasped my shoulders, and practically begged me to teach him the basic Sylrift forms, which wasn’t something I expected. I calmed him down somewhat and asked him to explain, which he was happy to do. He recalled how he saw those exact movements used by swordsmen of his people, but due to him being poor and unable to make it into their good graces he was never able to learn Sylrift swordsmanship, it had been a regret of his for years and stated that it must have been Gera’s arrangement that I was put into the same squad as him.
He made lengthy promises that he would always remain in my debt if I were willing to teach him, but I felt that my skills were nowhere near worthy to be trading favors for. He saw that I was unwilling and asked why, and after hearing my qualms made a counter offer that if I taught him the basic forms only, he’d give me his backup shield that he had no need for at this moment, which was a more enticing offer than a favor from my new squadmate.
We eventually came to an agreement, and when we noticed that the others in our squad were looking at us strangely we quickly separated as to a passer-by the closeness at which we spoke might be easily misinterpreted. Seeing the embarrassment which was evident on both of our faces, they broke out in laughter and praised Dorian for getting along with the ‘newbie’ in the group, which created a very pleasant atmosphere for the rest of the day as well.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
That evening I had to sleep in a tent with nine others, which was a novel experience for me but not entirely unwanted. The camaraderie that was there between everyone in the group was something that was very appealing, and by the end of my first day with them it became something I was slowly yearning for.
***
Lydon Novak, known by almost everyone around him as simply Lydon; the captain of Backhand Blow, did not choose to enter the mercenary profession simply for gold and glory. The choice to establish one’s own mercenary band is a difficult one, and most that attempt such a thing fail within a year due to financial or oftentimes, deadly reasons. Lydon had a lot of advantages that others in similar positions did not: he had fought in many conflicts since his adolescence, and received a military education to go with it. He also arrived in western Euphelia with a retinue of loyal followers, who had known him for a decade or longer. Those who were not his closest confidants did not know much about him, something he used to great advantage in his dealings, which allowed him to become a relatively successful leader of mercenaries, an achievement in his own right.
But Lydon was not satisfied with such an achievement, as his goals were not to be the leader of the strongest mercenary band, nor were they to be known as a valiant and powerful warrior, his sights remained on his homeland. He was groomed by his father to be the heir of the Duchy where he was born, with a heavy focus on the military and matters of governance, skills which came useful to managing a mercenary band as well. The first part of his life went by without much difficulty, which made him less vigilant to threats from those he considered kin.
His younger sibling, with whom he had shared a brotherly bond, was not content with his lot in life, and had planned for years to usurp Lydon’s birthright. When out on campaign to suppress some unruly subjects of his father’s, Lydon received news of his father catching an illness, and slowly approaching death’s door. As soon as he had received the messenger, Lydon placed one of his trusted friends in charge of the army, and rushed back to his home.
On the very same day, as he was hurriedly traveling home, another messenger reached him, although not in an official capacity. Werley was the son of his father’s marshal, the same man who had mentored him in all manner of war since childhood. He warned him that the situation at home was not simple, and that he suspected that his own brother who had been declared regent by the rest of his father’s council, intended to proclaim himself heir, which would not bode well for him.
He had thoughts at the time of returning first to the army that he led, most of whom he was deeply familiar with and would take up arms against his brother for him without a second thought. But should he do so he would lose valuable time, as an army on foot could not travel as fast as him on horseback with only a select few guards. If he took his time returning, then the chance of him being unable to see his father again would increase, and he thought that even if his brother sought to become the new duke, he wouldn’t dare harm him for fear of becoming a kinslayer.
He resolutely returned to his home, but his father had long passed on the fourth day that he returned. He was seized by men loyal to his brother, and thrown in the dungeons for a whole month along with his closest friends and allies. Only after his brother secured oaths of fealty from his father’s subjects, did he release him, in a much worse state.
Seeking to secure his rule, his brother banished Lydon from the Novak Duchy, claiming that he was the one behind the ‘poisoning’ of his father, and sent him on his way along with many others who would prove troublesome to govern.
His father’s marshal led the group out of the duchy on foot, with not even a horse or wagon given to them for the journey. Many collapsed from exhaustion on the way, some disappeared in the dead of night seeing no hope of reclaiming what was lost, and by the time they left the borders of his Lydon’s home there were fewer than thirty of them left.
Lydon was in a lethargic state at the time, along with many others who could not even begin to think about vengeance, or redemption. They were all aware that any feeble attempt to return would result in imprisonment at best, and execution at worst. At this time, blaming himself for failing to ensure the ascension of the previous duke’s chosen successor, the former marshal began to concoct a strategy, one which would return things to their proper place.
He became the figurehead around which the exiles could gather, and even managed to bring Lydon back from the brink of suicide. The plan included raising an armed force outside the borders of the Novak Duchy, one which would be the key to establishing the rule of Lydon in the future. At the same time, the marshal would use his long years of experience to set up a network of like-minded individuals within the duchy, one which would allow for a smooth transfer of power back to Lydon.
This plan was still ongoing, with Lydon now focusing on gathering enough wealth and men with battle experience far to the north-west of the Novak duchy, which he thought was better to maintain the element of surprise on the day his plans came to fruition.
The mercenary group he had formed two years ago, was now stationed in Targis looking for prospective recruits, in order to both replenish their numbers due to men dying or choosing not to renew their contracts, and also to expand the group in size. His short-term goals were to increase the size of Backhand Blow and also to participate in local conflicts to get the mercenaries accustomed to actually fighting.
Battles in the imagination of modern people where one army gathers somewhere to fight another with massive numbers were actually quite uncommon, and smaller skirmishes and sieges occurred much more often. They were of course often disregarded as an epic battle between thousands has better appeal to the average man than one where you have to sit behind a fortified wall for months on end, or a fight between a dozen horsemen and some peasants.
One of the skills which Lydon had developed in the two years he had led Backhand Blow was to predict where conflicts would arise using information that was readily available from merchants and peddlers, something that proved useful when deciding where to position his band to snatch up all of the most lucrative commissions.
He sat in his command tent, staring at a hand-drawn map of the political situation of Targis and the states closest to it, with the most prominent country in this whole area; Jenusia, being absent. This was because Jenusia has not had a war in over 80 years, and as such rarely if ever sought out mercenaries.
His contemplations were interrupted by his guard, who informed him that Gorkas, one of the squad leaders, wished to speak with him. He stored his map with practiced motions in an inconspicuous place, as having such an item was not exactly met with approval by the authorities of most countries, and invited his loyal squad leader in.
“You don’t look entirely happy Gorkas, did someone piss themselves in your tent again?” Asked Lydon, trying to dispel Gorkas’ frown with a joke.
“I’d laugh, but that has happened twice in recent memory and I have no more desire to humor these babies who can’t hold their bladder, can you imagine their reactions when facing someone on the battlefield?” Responded Gorkas, responding to his superior’s quip.
“Alright enough, so tell me why did you come here?” Asked Lydon, no longer attempting to temper Gorkas’s displeasure.
“It’s your favored recruiter, the Tulian, he’s brought me an even more useless boy to my squad than the previous one, this one didn’t even bring any armor with him?” Gorkas complained, and in the middle of his speech Al walked into the room without any warning.
“Speak of the devil, and he shall appear! So Al, is it true that you recruited an un-armored boy for our band?” Asked Lydon, amused by the appearance of his recruiter at such a convenient time.
“Although he may not possess any metal armor, he does wear a leather cuirass along with some other things. But what convinced me to recruit him was not his armor, but his skills…” Al explained, before pausing for dramatic effect. After eliciting an “Oh?” from Lydon, he continued.
“... as with any recruit I had a friendly spar against him yesterday, and not only did he survive against me for more than fifteen minutes, I failed to land a single strike on him! He studied a peculiar form of swordsmanship that requires two swords, and they have great offensive power, something which was a counter to our slow and steady Warthog style” Al elaborated, drawing in the interest of Lydon and bolstering his own achievement of recruiting Leon.
“As if you didn’t go easy on him! Don’t think I haven’t spoken to the other squad-leaders, you offered him a draw after no blows landed during your spar. If you kept it up you would have tired the runt out!” Gorkas countered, not wishing to be stuck with a young man who he saw as useless in his squad.
“Even so, fighting for fifteen minutes against Al here who’s been with us for over a year now is nothing to scoff at. Just because he’s slightly different and young doesn’t mean there’s no potential there” Lydon reassured, not entirely believing Al’s claims but not dismissing them outright either.
“I have no need for snakes who don’t fight head on! We’re mercenaries, we need to be able to fight together and with the way he moves when fighting it’s unacceptable!” Gorkes refuted, his opinion unchanged.
“Since your squad is still relatively fresh Gorkes, how about we see how he does on a commission or two? Surely that’s a better indicator than either of our opinions” Al proposed, trying to find a compromise with the stubborn man.
“Fine! But after a commission I want this man out of my squad! Throw him to the wolves for all I care…” Gorkes agreed, before storming out of the tent, confident in his estimation of the compromise’s result.
Al and Lydon looked at one another, before bursting out in genuine laughter. Lydon had known Gorkes for much longer than Al did, but it seems he has already figured out the way to deal with the notoriously difficult man. Al’s eye for people is one of the reasons that Lydon placed him in charge of recruitment, even though he wasn’t from the hinterlands and as such, did not know of Lydon’s true purpose behind forming Backhand Blow.
Al didn’t want to overstay his welcome so respectfully bid the captain goodbye, but was stopped in his tracks by Lydon.
“Wait, before you go, what was that new recruit called?” Lydon asked, intrigued by the new recruit who caused divisive opinions between his recruiter and long-serving retainer.
“His name is Lev” Answered Al, before finally making his exit.