Lug wore an old, rusted armor that hung in tatters. In his right hand, he held a rusted sword, part of its blade missing.

Despite the hundreds of years that had passed, their condition wasn't too terrible. Soldiers had told him where to dig to unearth these artifacts, and now he was officially part of their army.

Lug stood among the other soldiers, near Xam, just a few dozen meters from the camp. It would soon be 6 PM on a Sunday.

The assault was about to begin.

In the distance, Lug saw a few hundred men. Their armor was different. Instead of the red that adorned Lug's comrades, they wore green tunics. Their armor was gilded, and their swords slightly curved. They seemed eager to engage in battle. Their archers were positioned at the front, ready to fire.

Xam, standing right beside Lug, reassured him. "You'll be fine; at worst, you'll feel a bit of pain. Just try to enjoy yourself!" said the ghost as he tightened his helmet. He had a big smile on his lips. In just a few months, he had become a veteran. A part of Lug admired the determination of this nudist-turned-soldier.

"People can really change. I can change," he thought as he gripped the rusted pommel of his sword.

Lug wore gloves to avoid injury. He knew that by channeling psychic energy into the sword, he could strike the ghosts. It wouldn't make them disappear, but it could weaken them. He was ready. His heart pounded, his eyes fixed on the horizon. The soldier to his right carried a large, worn shield. He clutched the small cross at the end of his necklace, murmuring a few words.

"... The fool and the brutish perish, and they leave their wealth to others. Their inward thought is that their houses will last forever, their dwelling places from generation to generation, they call the lands after their own names. Nevertheless..." he paused for a moment, as if absorbing the words he had just spoken, then continued, "Man being in honor abides not: he is like the beasts that perish...."

Lug was hypnotized, watching the man intently and listening carefully to the words that must have been repeated thousands of times, as if it were the last. He saw the man plant a kiss on the small metal cross before tucking it under his chainmail.

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Before Lug had time to turn his head towards the enemy army, a horn sounded. A deep, resonant note vibrated through the ground.

"Shields!" bellowed the powerful voice of the commander.

The soldiers who had shields raised them. Lug took cover under the shield of the soldier with the cross. A rain of arrows fell. Some arrows flew too far, even reaching the graveyard. Then the commander cried out again. "Charge!"

Everyone started moving, first walking, then trotting. The enemy army drew closer and closer. Finally, after an agonizingly long minute, the clash occurred. The front-line soldiers recoiled slightly. Some collapsed.

Lug's stomach was in knots. He felt like throwing up. Of course, he wasn't in any real danger. But the intensity of this battle was unlike anything he had experienced before. He could read the panic, the desire to kill, the fear of death, the joy, the horror. He found himself in one of those old paintings found in museums, where war is depicted in the brightest colors alongside the darkest, most dismal hues.

After a few seconds or perhaps several minutes - it was impossible to tell in the heat of the moment - the battlefield cleared. Lug finally saw the enemy. Xam was a few meters away, exchanging blows with one of them. Opposite Lug, a man slightly taller than him, with a scar on his face, let out a cry before charging towards him. His sword was curved, and his armor shone, almost as if it reflected the sunlight. Lug raised his sword to block the incoming strike. Unfortunately, his sword hadn't been charged with enough energy. It passed through and lodged itself into Lug's shoulder. He felt a shock throughout his body. This pain was much more intense than anything he had experienced from the knife-wielding criminals in Primont. But he didn't give up.

He let go of his sword and lunged at his opponent, trying to bring him down. But the ghost was too imposing and didn't budge. Lug, gritting his teeth and eyes bulging, pushed with all his might, reinforcing his arms, part of his back, and his legs for support. The ghost was taken aback by this sudden surge of strength and was thrown backward, falling to the ground. Lug gasped for breath. His muscles ached – or perhaps they didn't. He wasn't sure anymore. The adrenaline made the scene exhilarating. He wanted more. Fear had given way to excitement. He picked up his sword and ran into the center of the battlefield, where the main combat was taking place.

Lug fought until the sun set. The enemy army retreated, and the commander's soldiers returned to the camp. Lug was sore all over, having used reinforcement with too much haste and almost without interruption. He was exhausted and knew that as soon as he stopped reinforcing his muscles, the backlash would come. So he decided to wait until he got home to do it. He remained at about 15% of his capacity. The commander personally congratulated him on his bravery. Lug thanked Xam and told him they would see each other again in a few days.

As soon as Lug got home, he sat on his bed. He was so exhausted that the reinforcement dissipated on its own. He passed out on his bed, as much from exhaustion as from pain.