The sound grew muted as I hit my knees in the dust.

All around me, the screams of men and horses faded to a dull roar. I was winded, breath rasping in my helmet. The sudden feeling of claustrophobia grips me and I fumble at the clasp beneath my chin with bloodied fingers.

Finally, it comes undone and I rip the helmet from my head. It tumbles to the dirt with a clatter. All around me, ashes fall on the bodies of the dead. I could see my comrades' sightless and staring eyes from where they lay in the mud. We'll never share drinks again, never laugh together over jokes, or wrestle like brothers in the grass.

Those days are long past.

A warning flashes across my vision. My vitality is dangerously low. I need health potions but my inventory is empty. Is this how I die? Here after everything?

A hand grips my wrist and I look down to see a figure from my memory. A man in a dark cloak lay dying, his hazel eyes locked on mine. He is out of place on this battlefield with his freshly laundered clothes and fine-cut leather gloves. Only the red trickling from the corners of his lips giveaway his condition.

"Find him," he rasps, his face intent. "You must find him."

The wagon jolted and I was wrenched out of my nightmare and back into reality.

My eyes fly open, my hand dropping to where my sword hilt should have been. Instead, my fingers brushed only the top of my empty scabbard.

"Are you alright young sir?" The driver glances over at me from his bench at the front of the cart. I see genuine concern in the lines of his wrinkled face. Kind, but that kindness is misplaced in a person like me.

I blink and drag a gloved hand across my face.

"I'm fine," I tell him. "Just a dream." The driver looks unconvinced.

"Are you quite certain?"

I only grunt in affirmation.

When I don't elaborate further he shrugs and turns to face front. I glance around and take stock of my surroundings. I must have been asleep for a while because the moon was high in the sky when I nodded off. Now the first tendrils of morning light are visible on the horizon.

From that light, I can see the golden plains stretching out for miles into the distance.

On a nearby hill A large war camp sprawls across the land. Rows of white tents lined all around with mounted torches. Men crawl across the camp like ants. Armored men. Fighting men.

I see the standards of several Noblemen flapping in the wind and know that one of them is him. The man I've come here for. My stats flicker into my vision as I check them.

Class: soldier

Rank: none

Level: 10

Strength: 5%

Vitality: 5%

Damage: 6%

Endurance: 4%

Agility: 5%

I sigh and close the window. All this work to grind to level 10 and yet my general stats remained frustratingly low. Killing small fries wasn't going to get me where I needed to be. Not if I ever wanted to contend with true monsters.

The driver clicked to his horse and the cart slowed. We approached a fork in the path marked only by a wooden signpost stood hammered into the dirt.

Warning: This sign marks the beginning of Eastern Border Territory lines. Continue at your own risk.

A similar warning blinked in my HUD but I waved it away. I was well aware that I was crossing into dangerous territory. All Monsters past the border were higher level and only the military, and academy-trained Mages were equipped to handle those threats.

After all, there was a war on - and I intended to be a part of it.

I thanked the cart driver and reached into the pocket of my worn cloak. Placing my last few copper pennies into his hand, I curled his fingers over them. Kind man that he was he tried to protest but I was already striding away.

With my canvas sack thrown over one shoulder and my writ of passage clutched in one gloved fist, I mounted the hill before the mass of tents.

It didn't take long for me to be noticed. A Sentry wearing the blue and silver livery of the Kingdom stepped forward to bar my path.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

"Who goes?" he barked, unnecessarily loudly in my opinion.

"My name is Will," I said. "I have a writ of passage from the Elder of my village. By his recommendation, I am to join the Kadian Standing Army."

The Sentry's eyebrows rise as I hand the papers over.

"This seals been broken," he said as he examined it.

"Ah," I said. "Regrettable. I've come a long way I'm afraid, and the trip has been anything but kind."

I gesture to my clothing and the Sentry eyes me, lingering on the dirty hem of my old cloak.

"Yes I suppose so," he murmurs. "Come this way then, you're to see the Auxillary Captain."

I let out a sigh of relief and followed the man as he turned and signaled to the others. The two crossbowmen, which I hadn't seen until now, raise their bows.

It occurred to me as I walked past sharpened wooden palisades, that my encounter could have gone a lot differently.

If they had known I'd received this letter from a dying man or that a quest of unknown origin had brought me here - I could have very well ended up dead.

I follow the Sentry up a dirt path, hiking my pack higher on my shoulder. The camp is alive with activity.

Despite the early hour, soldiers drilled in formation. Some ran in columns, others practiced careful maneuvers under the watchful eye of their sergeants.

I was yanked out of the way as a woman in full plate armor clattered past, and the Sentry gave me a dubious look.

"First time in a military camp I presume?" he asked with poorly concealed disdain. "Yes well, I suppose it would be for someone like you."

"Do try to keep up, and for the love of The God King watch where you are going. You'll live longer."

I continued to observe the camp as he led me on, though with more attention to my immediate surroundings. He wasn't wrong, this had been my first time in a military encampment. What he didn't know was that I was also only about 4 weeks old - at least in this world.

We paused walking to let a group of washerwomen rush past before making our way to one of the outstanding tents on the edge of camp.

It was older than the others, and certainly less grand than that of the nobility. Where their tents were cream-colored, large, and flying the banners of their house colors - this tent by contrast was.. Well.. Unimpressive.

I got the impression that it had been white once. Either time, lack of funds, or both had worn it down to its present state. There were stains along one side and several holes had been patched like a bizarre quilt.

I was ordered to wait outside while the Sentry ducked inside.

There were raised voices, the sound of something falling, and then the Sentry walked back through the flap looking harassed.

"You deal with him," he snapped. "He's in one of his moods and I'm not paid half enough to see farmers' boys around camp."

He shouldered past me and I watched him go for a moment before turning back to the tent. Knowing I might soon regret this decision, I ducked through the flap.

"Unacceptable!" The shout came from a balding man wearing a military uniform that looked several sizes too small for him. A robust mustache sat across his upper lip like some sort of furry caterpillar.

He had something clutched in his fist and was waving it about like a toddler having a tantrum. Realizing I was the only other person in the tent I cleared my throat.

"Are you uh.. Talking to me?" I asked. My eyes snagged on his soldier rank, now hovering over his head. "Sir."

"Simply inconceivable," he snapped, throwing the paper onto already cluttered desk. He heaved himself into a creaking wooden chair and glanced up at me.

"Waverly is it?" he grunted, eyeing me over a pair of spectacles.

"Will, sir." I corrected the Captain. He hardly seemed to notice.

"I tell you, I have been a party to not one but three campaigns in my lifetime and yet they still manage to disregard my contribution to each and every one of them. That's the way with nobility, isn't it."

He shook his head.

"They care only for their bloodline and the glory of their household name. The rest of us be damned."

I stayed tactfully silent during this tirade and eventually, he sighed heavily. He pulled his spectacles from his face, dropping them on the desk.

"Yes," he muttered. "Werkins. You had a writ of passage, did you not? Does it contain the proper seal?

"Will sir," I corrected again. "And yes." I stepped forward and handed off the writ for his examination. He glanced at it for a moment and then frowned. My heart skipped a beat in my chest but I kept my expression neutral.

Chances were that I could lie my way out of it if my ruse was somehow discovered.

"You're a long way from home, eh?" He asked, folding up the paper and tossing it into a pile on his desk.

"I dare say if you've trekked all this way to join the Army then you mean business."

"I came here with one purpose sir. To kill monsters."

"Indeed," he barked a laugh. "Well, I'm afraid I have bad news for you. The Standing Army is comprised mostly of the soldiers pledged to the different households of nobility. Those Men-at-Arms are well-leveled and just as well equipped. Not to mention that many of them are veteran Monster killers. I would offer you a place with my Auxiliary but I'm afraid I just haven't got enough room for a-"

The tromp of heavy boots announced the soldier moments before the tent flap flew open.

"Sir," said a stiff voice.

A man with silver at the temples of his dark hair came to a stop before the desk. He looked harggard, but there was no mistaking the seriousness in his eyes. I read his stats almost without thinking.

Class: Soldier

Rank: Auxiliary Veteran NCO, Corporal

Level: 27

"I'm quite in the middle of something Giller," grumbled the officer. There was a note of distaste in his voice. "I'm sure whatever complaint you have this time can wait."

"I'm afraid not sir," said the man. A muscle feathered beneath his coarse beard.

"I was just informed that the soldiers you sent out to scout the ridge line against advisement have returned."

"Excellent," said the Captain, slapping a hand down on his desk. "Finally we've made some damn progress. Tell them to attend me at once, I want a full report on their findings."

"They're dead. Their bodies have just been returned to camp by the forward scouts. Or at least, what's left of them."

There was a heavy silence. The Captain looked momentarily stunned.

"I… All of them? Surely..." he trailed off weakly.

"All of them." Giller's voice was flat but there was an anger in his eyes that smoldered just beneath the surface.

"They were good soldiers. Men I've trained myself over the last few months."

"Yes well," the Captian seemed to have recovered some of his earlier bluster. "They were soldiers after all. They know the risk. It's an occupational hazard."

"A hazard that could have been avoided if hasty decisions hadn't been made. Sir," he added as an afterthought.

It was the Captain's turn to glare. He sat forward, face reddening with anger as he stared down the veteran.

"Careful Corporal," he sneered. "You toe the line of insubordination. I will not have common soldiers disregarding the chain of command. Not in my regiment."

For a moment they gazed at each other, and the tension was palpable. I got the impression that this hadn't been the first Western-style standoff between the two. Finally, the Corporal straightened and snapped a condescending salute.

"By your leave sir," he sneered.

The Captain curled his lip.

"Dismissed. Oh, and take the new recruit with you. I dare say a vacancy just opened up."