"Nice gloves you got there," Selina pointed at Gant's hands. Both she and Kash seemed quite interested in the type of weapon Gant had received.
"Haha, yeah, not as nice as that hulking sword you've got on your back," Gant said, gesturing to the driving sword strapped behind her. "How are you even able to swing that monstrous thing?"
Selina's expression remained stoic, except when speaking of her god, at which point it became one of reverence. "With the power of Elysium and my god Pluton, many things become simple for someone of my standing in the order." She began to draw the sword from its sheath on her back. Most swords were sheathed at the user's side for convenience, but driving swords had to be worn on the back; otherwise, they'd drag along the ground. As the sword came halfway out of its sheath, Gant's stomach dropped. Inside the blade was a glass circle—a distinctive feature of a particularly nasty weapon, the reaping blade.
Seeing Gant’s eyes on the glass orb, Selina explained, her face still expressionless. "They gave me a reaping blade, just in case there’s any blood I need to extract while we’re away."
Gant swallowed nervously. In theory, it was his blood they’d want to extract, though he hoped she never found out. Lastly, Kash, the final member of their entourage, stood equipped similarly to Ruk, carrying a reel blade at his hip. However, Kash’s was made of a deep black metal with a much larger needle on the other end. Gant paid it little mind, given how varied weapons seemed to be—like his gloves.
After a few moments of silence, Kash stepped in front of the three tower warriors—the vanguard. Clearing his throat, he began, "As you may know, the dwarven side is being heavily attacked from the west. Therefore, our mission, which was originally to accompany an army, is now to venture to the tower alone. The greater force will join us later, but the important thing is to get you chosen warriors to the tower. The previous chosen were absolute monsters when they emerged from the tower. This time, you’re a bunch of weaklings just trying to get there—but we believe there must be a reason you were chosen. So, rest up. We leave at sundown."
Kash walked off into another tent, likely to continue the administrative work for the journey. Chances were, he still had plenty of resources to gather. Gant felt a bit bad for him, dragged into this mission, forced to train them and secure their gear. A short silence fell upon the three. It became clear then—they weren’t friends, not even acquaintances, just unlikely allies.
"I'm gonna practice with my reel blade while I have the chance," Ruk said as he walked off, clearly not interested in company.
Next, Selina spoke. "I'm going to sleep. This will be long." She headed toward her bunk in the distance. Though the atmosphere felt light, they all knew escape was out of the question. The perimeter around the base was impenetrable.
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With nothing else to do, Gant began walking toward the nearest restaurant. During their brief training, he had only eaten bread crackers, which seemed to be a staple here. All he saw the other soldiers eating were the same dry crackers. Spotting a building with a sign depicting a mug, he headed in. Apparently, the slums and the military base had one thing in common—if you wanted cheap food, look for the sign with a mug on it.
To his surprise, no one paid him any attention as he entered. Usually, due to his size, he would be stared down until he either left or sat down to eat. This time, nothing. Around him were crashing noises and the yells of drunken soldiers, asking for one more glass. After sitting down, a woman approached quickly to take his order.
"What'll it be for you, sir...?" Her voice trailed off as she looked him up and down. "You're not a soldier, are you?" she asked, clearly confused.
"No, I'm part of the, uhh, vanguard," Gant replied honestly, seeing no point in keeping it secret. But he quickly saw her face flush slightly after hearing his words.
"Vanguard? Like the... the tower people?"
"Yes, sorry if I disturbed you." Gant felt a heat rising in his chest. Despite the lively atmosphere, he could now feel a few eyes on him. A cold chill crept up his back. After a small gulp, he tried to ease the awkwardness. "I'll just have one cup of whatever everyone else is having, and a bowl of soup. Thank you."
"Of course, it'll be right out."
As the woman left, Gant slumped his shoulders and let out a sigh—just a second too soon. He felt a tap on his back. The tap came from a woman seated behind him, alongside two men. He had noticed them when he entered but hadn’t thought much of them; they didn’t seem threatening. All three had stocky builds and the usual auburn hair that anyone with dragon blood carried. Gant had learned early on that nearly every soldier here had some dragon blood. It was considered necessary to wield the enormous and taxing weapons they used. The main distinction was the rings they wore—purple gemstones, blue gemstones—and only the woman had a golden one.
"Excuse me, did I hear you’re one of the _fabled_ vanguard warriors?" The woman mockingly emphasized "fabled" as if to unsettle him.
"Yeah, I guess I am." Gant didn’t like this situation. He knew people in power never liked feeling overshadowed—it was a quick way to get into trouble.
The woman leaned in, so close that Gant could feel her breath, heavy with alcohol. "We’re coming for you at the tower after dealing with another threat. If you die along the way, I’ll bury you so deep even the dwarves won’t dig you up to use your blood." With that, she turned away. Suddenly, Gant understood why everyone was drinking so heavily—they were preparing for the next day, for a battle they didn’t know they’d survive, and their success depended on some reject prisoners doing the job.
After a few moments of sitting in anxiety, his drink and soup arrived. One whiff of the drink told him he wasn’t finishing it. The woman noticed his face and explained, "People with dragon’s blood have a harder time getting drunk. That’s the weakest stuff we have. Do you still want it?"
Gant shook his head. "Just the soup, please."
The soldier woman from earlier raised her voice. "I’ll have it, but that bastard is still paying for it." With a sigh, Gant nodded and focused on his soup. The warm feeling in his stomach helped calm his nerves.
After the incident at the bar, he decided he was done going out for the night and headed to bed. For all he knew, this was the last time he’d sleep in a proper bed. A lump formed in his throat—something that was becoming all too common.