Another morning was rising for the Akrapocalian citadel. Broken walls, dilapidated houses and destroyed facilities were on the verge of collapse after the Arcadian offensive which left most without a place to work or call home. The common folk were trying their best to salvage whatever personal possessions they could before the buildings collapsed.
“Get the people out now! Even if you have to use force!”
One male elf with heterochromia eyes was ordering other soldiers to evacuate the people from the buildings that were about to crumble down.
“Captain!” One of the soldiers that was shoveling a pile of debris yelled. “I found someone under this rubble!”
Lest, the former lieutenant of the private army, had now taken his sister’s position. His often cheerful expression was nowhere to be seen after what happened to her.
He hastily approached the rubble and peeked under one of the big slabs of concrete. He could hear a faint cry from someone underneath. He placed his thumb and index finger in his mouth and whistled as loud as he could which made the soldiers around to look in his direction.
Thankfully, despite the chaos, he managed to issue orders with hand gestures as he gathered more men in order to lift the rubble and rescue whoever was trapped underneath.
“On the count of three!” He placed his hand under the concrete slab and once there were twelve soldiers around the rubble he started to count. “One! Two! Three!”
“Heave-ho!”
Everyone began to lift the slab that proved to be quite heavy at first, but after they flipped it to one side it started to roll down the other way, revealing a bald man that was underneath. His left arm was broken but at least he was alive.
“Get him out of there and to the chirurgeons!”
Lest ordered.
“Aye sir!”
As they began to remove more of the rubble around the man, Lest decided to give another once over the other buildings before being stopped on his tracks by a man almost twice his size. His hand covered the entirety of the elf’s left shoulder.
“You really should rest, Lest.”
As if somewhat in a daze, the captain looked up to the hazel eyed, tanned and grizzled man only to realize it was the general.
“General Kurt? What are you doing here?”
“Making sure the junior officers don’t push themselves to death.”
“I can still keep going.”
“No, you have been working more than your own soldiers. What if you were to fall and leave them without leadership?”
Lest’s hands tightened into fists.
“I can’t let another person die because of what happened.”
“And neither should you fall because of it. Your sister was a valiant soldier but you must not burden yourself as you are right now.”
“Captain!” One soldier carrying a leather duffle bag came running towards the two of them. “Huh?! General Kurt?!”
The soldier, obviously a recruit, stopped and nervously saluted while Kurt dismissed the formality with a shake of his hand before addressing him.
“What’s wrong?”
“A-ahem. We have confirmed that none of the facilities were in use before they collapsed. Therefore, there were no victims there!”
The general nodded with a stoic smile on his face.
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“Good, go rest soldier. We’ll take it from here.”
“Y-yes sir!”
He proceeded to walk past them. Lest sighed while turning around seemingly thinking of where to go next, but Kurt was firm with his decision of letting his officer have a well deserved rest.
“Me and the royal soldiers will take it from here. Reassemble the troops under your command and head to the shelter. Have them rest and keep an eye out on the civilians.”
Reluctantly, Lest nodded before saluting.
“Yes sir.”
As opposed to whistling to get his soldiers’ attention, the captain went over one by one and instructed them to go to the main street where the shelter was located. After spending a few minutes gathering his troops, he made his way down the worn road.
Behind him there were about twenty four soldiers each carrying their standard service bolt action rifle. The wear could clearly be seen on their faces as Lest even decided to forgo the march and simply have them walk normally to the central square.
There, they witnessed the true aftermath of a war brought to their doorstep. Families, workers, children and the elderly were all gathered around the center where the wounded were treated by soldiers who knew how to use magic or chirurgeons with healing potions.
“Hey! Bring more clean water!”
A man wearing an entire white outfit was treating a woman with terrible burns throughout her back. He had some blood stains across the white apron and dirt on the bandana that held his somewhat puffy hair inside the cloth.
One of the soldiers carrying two wooden buckets tripped and almost fell if not for Lest catching him by the chest.
“Woah!” The chestnut haired recruit looked at him with a thankful expression. “Thank you captain. It would’ve been a disaster if I spilled this water.”
Looking upon the soldier more closely, he noticed his hands were reddened from lugging around the water all day. Lest then took the buckets off his hand and bid him to rest.
“I’ll take it from here.”
“Ah but captain-“
“It’s an order, go rest up. We’ll need to work hard in the evening as well.”
“…yes sir.”
Lest turned around and started with the chirurgeon close by.
“Here’s the water.”
Without so much as sparing a look, the man in white handed him a piece of cloth.
“Douse in it and take off the excess, quick!”
He did as instructed all the while without saying a word. He quickly wrung out the excess water before handing it over to the chirurgeon, who spread the cloth on the woman’s back and sprinkled a concentrated healing potion on top of it.
She winced in pain before letting out a sigh of relief.
“Phew… thank you soldier.” The chirurgeon scratched his forehead with the back of his hand before turning to Lest. “What’s your name?”
“Lest.”
“I see. You’ve got a bright future ahead of you, Lest.” He stood up which made his side pouch clink with the sound of glass vials inside. “Not many soldiers can stomach seeing wounds like these for the first time.”
He picked the buckets and started to follow the chirurgeon as they both went through the middle
“I’ve seen worse.”
“Oh? How long have you been in the private army?”
“I was recruited when it was first created.”
“Ah… one of the original first squad. I see. I was living in Arcadia before coming here.”
“You’re Arcadian?”
“No, I’m Zenithian. Elf, former soldier of the anti-demon army or rather, was, until we eventually disbanded after the kingdom’s fall.”
“I see… I’m Londrian myself but ever since Lady Fye adopted us—me, I’ve always considered myself Akrapocalian.”
The chirurgeon turned at him with a raised eyebrow.
“Wait… you said you were adopted by Lady Fye?” He looked closer upon him and noticed his two different colored eyes. “Ah! You are Lest! The army’s lieutenant, correct?”
“Captain of the first squad.”
“Wasn’t your sister-”
“She… she died.”
Color seemed to drain from the chirurgeon’s face.
“I’m… very sorry for your loss.”
“It’s okay. Once we rebuild and gather our forces, I’ll have plenty of chances to avenge her myself.”
A somber look overtook Lest’s otherwise expressionless face as if a surge of anger came from within his soul. That prompted a tap in the middle of his chest by the chirurgeon.
“Don’t fill your heart with hatred kiddo. Fate has a way of dealing with folk that bring misery to others. More often than not we don’t have to lift a finger for it to happen.” He took the two buckets off his hand and chuckled under the white mask. “I say this both as a former soldier and a father, fate is a cruel mistress. What you do today will come back to either bless or bite you in the back in the future.”
“If we are still alive until then that is.”
“Sir Braveheart!”
The chirurgeon looked to the side where he was being called from—two gravely wounded soldiers with splinters of wood lodged inside their legs.
“Coming!”
Lest stopped where he stood and just looked to the darkened skies.
‘Why did my sister have to die?’