“Wait wait wait, isn’t that a little hasty Raff?”

“Yeah, I think we should at least let the kid have some time to decide.”

Raff didn’t seem to be budging an inch.

“... just look at him. He’s practically drowning in self pity.”

...blunt one aren’t you. Malt knew this was the case, but being told that out loud stung a bit.

Tors brought his hand to his chin, scratching the patches of scrubble that sprouted there.

“I mean… even if you say that I’m not sure his highness will let him. He is a hero after all… well mostly anyway.”

Was that last part really necessary?

Symes pushed his circular glasses up to his forehead, rubbing his slightly squinted eyes.

“I guess it could work if we really pestered him. If we could have even a single hero on the southern front we’d crush those Khods in a week.”

Confusion spread through Tor’s face.

“... say Symes… you weren’t at the summoning were you?”

“No, I was busy. Why?”

“Uh… well you see Malt’s stats are… sub-par, if you catch my drift.”

“I’ve heard he was a lot weaker than the others but with even a tenth of a hero’s strength he could serve as a valuable morale piece.”

Tors buried his face in his palm, sighing.

This situation is physically painful to be in.

“I’ll just let the lad tell you himself.”

Absolutely unforgivable. To think you’d throw me under the bus, and I thought we could’ve been friends.

“...”

“So? Spit it out kid. What’s your strength? Even if you’re weak I’ve heard the heroes in the fairy tales had at least four hundred to start off.”

“... eight.”

“Eight hundred? That's not bad at all! You’re already stronger than Tors and I combined.”

“... just eight.”

“Oh… I’m sorry for asking?”

Just kill me now please.

“Well, I suppose we could still use a bucketboy or something on the front lines. Hey Symes, what's the average strength for this month’s recruits.”

“Around fifteen for the ones plucked from villages and thirty for the ones from training.”

“I see… well I suppose he could reach twenty by the time the Khods order another big push.”

The three soldiers looked at one another, seeming to have a silent conversation with their eyes. After a few seconds, they all nodded in agreement.

Tor’s looked Malt square in the eye as the atmosphere got heavier.

“Hey kid, we can’t give you any special treatment even though you’re a hero. But if you’re ready to for it… we’d take any help we can get.”

I know that I really should just say no but… He thought back to the displeasure, the feeling of uselessness he felt walking around the palace. The quick glances of pity that the servants occasionally shot him. The gluttonous feeling of having such a luxurious life without contributing at all. And above all, the inadequacy he felt when he stood next to the three people he should have related to most in this world. It was as if he was an unwanted child standing beside his gifted siblings

Suddenly, the decision seemed simple.

He stood up straight, arms stiffly to his side.

“I’d be happy to serve, sir.”

“That’s the spirit lad! We could always use some motivated boys on the battlefield.”

Symes took a small brass pocket watch from his breast pocket, noting the time.

“Looks like it's about a quarter to midnight. We’ll take care of getting permission, just meet us at the guard barracks an hour before dawn.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something important Symes?”

“Oh, and before I forget. Be sure to say your farewells before you leave. You may not have a chance to later on.”

Malt gulped at those words. Although he said it so nonchalantly, a certain morbidity hid behind those words. Perhaps reading Malt’s expression, Tors gave his back a hard pat.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it kid, you won’t be a frontline fighter... well, you will be on the front line, but with only eight strength you’ll be a reserve at best. Probably.”

Tor didn’t do much to assuage his fears. Well at least he’s trying...

“Best to get some sleep will you can kid. It’ll be at least a couple day’s ride to the frontline.”

“Yeah, I’ll try to. Thanks again, sirs.”

“Sirs sounds a bit stiff don’t you think? Just call us by our names.”

“Thank you, Tors, Symes, Raff.”

After what seemed like an eternity, Malt finally broke away, scrambling down the hallway to get to his room.

The rest of the night wasn’t necessarily eventful after he finally found his way back. He tried to pack for his trip, but realised he didn’t have anything to pack.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

I really hope they give me some clothes, I don’t think this uniform is gonna cut it anyway. I didn’t even ask whether they were gonna provide me armor or a weapon, or food for the trip. Or money. Damn I need to get my shit together. Oh well, I guess I’ll think about all that later...

Malt collapsed into his bed, falling asleep rather quickly considering he was basically going to be a soldier in a couple hours.

***

The hallways remained empty and unlit. The sun had yet to rise, not even it’s rays could penetrate the dark overcast blanketing the skies. This erie tranquility and silence was characteristic of the minutes before dawn.

Malt started making his way towards the guard barracks, which he’d found the location of in the previous day’s endeavour. No one seemed to be awake besides the servants rushing to prepare the day’s breakfast in the kitchen he’d passed by.

This may be the last time my life will be this quiet in the foreseeable future. Guess you never really appreciate something until it threatens to leave you.

The barracks stuck out quite a bit, considering it was one of the few rooms which had it’s lanterns on.

As he approached, he could hear Tors and Symes inside, talking to one another;

“You really think that that lads’ gonna make it?”

“I mean he is a greenhorn… but he’s eager, at least. Morale in the south’s critically low. People are deserting by the hour. I honestly wouldn’t be too surprised if only a hundred will still be able to fight by the time Malt arrives there.”

“Yeah, no kidding. They know they’re fighting a doomed war after all. At least veteran soldiers are the ones staying.”

“Mhm, that’s the only reason we’ve been able to hold on for so long. Most of the troops there are hardened warriors after all. But I agree with the King, they wouldn’t stand a chance against another assault.”

Wait… aren’t I eavesdropping right now? This probably isn’t a good idea. Malt walked into the warmly lit room.

“Ah, You’re here lad. We’ve been waiting a bit.”

I’m early though? Ah, whatever.

Malt walked over to the circular table the other two were leaning on. On it were various packs and bags, presumably carrying traveling supplies.

Tors brought a tin mug to his lips, sipping the steaming coffee within. After letting the hot drink wash away his fatigue, he finally turned to Malt.

“Well, guess there isn’t much to say. You ready yet? Say your goodbyes?”

“Ah, about that…”

A small grin tugged at Tor’s lips.

“Oh ho… you’re gonna leave without telling them?”

“W-well we’re not that close and all, you see…”

“I won’t force you into doing anything, ”

His face suddenly became serious.

“ but you shouldn’t just leave any relationships hanging like that. You don’t know whether you’ll meet them again, after all.”

Symes nodded in agreement. After a brief silence, he opened the bags on the table.

“About your supplies. You’ll receive basic training and your kit when you arrive at camp. These are just traveling supplies and basic necessities. All this is paid for by the coin the King promised you, so don’t worry about it.”

One bag was a large canvas rucksack containing camping supplies and toiletries. Assorted pots, pans, firestarter and utility knives, that sort of thing. Tied to the top was a compact bedroll. The smaller leather sack contained the perishables, mainly dried rations and seasonings.

“Oh, and this is a little gift from myself.”

Tors produced a bundle of clothing from under the table.

“Some of my old clothes and a rain cloak. Can’t be walking around wearing that fancy shmancy looking uniform after all.”

Malt graciously accepted the clothes with a smile.

“Thanks kindly, I was wondering where I’d get new clothes anyway.”

He looks like a musclehead, but he’s surprisingly caring after all.

Symes pulled a small pouch from the rucksack.

“This is the leftover coin, you should probably save it for emergencies though. Well, I think that's all. Have any questions?”

“... No, not really.”

He took the bags, putting them on before draping the rain cloak over everything. It looked like it was going to rain, after all.

“Well, we’d best get going. The wagon leaves in less than an hour if I remember correctly.”

Malt steeled himself, there was practically not turning back at this point.

Tors lead the way followed by Symes and Malt. The sun’s rays were beginning to appear on the horizon, albeit covered by a thick blanket of grey clouds.

After a few minutes of walking, they arrived at the palace’s front entrance. The guards, spotting Tors and Symes, pulled open the large embellished doors. A cold breeze wafted inside, pushing away the stifling warmth that had once been there.

This feels so surreal. Who’d thought I’d be going off to become a soldier just a couple days after coming to this world? Even though it was nearly freezing because of the breeze, he broke into a sweat. Well it’s too late to opt out now, I suppose.

Malt followed the other two with nervous steps, lagging slightly behind.

A few steps before he exited the palace, a voice called out from behind him.

“Malt! Hey!”

Malt turned to face the voice, alarmed.

Glenn was standing there along with Naomi and Erika, panting. It was obvious by the way they were struggling for breath that they had run all the way here.

“H-huh? What’re you three doing here?”

After taking a few moments to catch his breath, Glenn straightened his back into a prouder stance.

“Sir Tors told us that you were joining the southern war, is that true?”

He did what? Malt turned his head towards Tors, but he looked away, pretending to be occupied with the carvings on the wall. I swear that guy...

Before he could answer, Erika yelled out,

“It’s too dangerous Malt! You might get hurt, you know!?”

Naomi nodded in agreement,

“Your stats aren’t high enough. It’d be best just to take up the Kings offer and stay here.”

Ahh, Naomi’s always been a blunt one, hasn’t she?

Malt looked them in the eye, thinking for a moment before speaking in a calm and deliberate tone.

“I get why you’re worried, the southern front is practically doomed at this point.”

Glenn interjected,

“Then why are you even going? You could lose your life!”

“Because I’d rather die doing something useful than rotting away in this palace for the rest of my life.” … What bullshit am I spewing? I just wanted to go because I felt bad for doing nothing … oh well, I guess this sounds cool in its own right.

“Beside, I could say all the same things to you guys as well.”

Glenn opened his mouth, but he couldn’t utter anything in response. He realized that that statement was completely true. He retreated, Malt’s words reverberating deep inside of his psyche. The other girls, however, weren’t backing down.

Before they could say anything, though, Glenn raised his hand to them, stopping them. It seems like what Malt said really stuck with him. He walked forward until he was standing face to face with Malt.

“Malt. Promise me you’ll come back.”

“I promise on my life that I’ll come back after the war’s over, fit as a fiddle.”

Malt’s claim, oozing with confidence, seemed to assuage some of his fears. He’d made up his mind.

“I don’t approve of what you’re doing-”

He placed his hand on Malt’s shoulder, giving him a slight smile.

“But I can at least respect your choice. As your friend.”

Huh? What’s this? Hearing the word “friend” coming from Glenn’s mouth made him happier than he’d thought it would.  This is bad, I think I'm starting to get all sentimental. Get your shit together Malt, this isn’t some soapy drama. It’s not like you’re going to die or anything… probably.

“Mhm, thanks, Glenn.”

Malt was the first to step away, waving them farewell. The girls seemed to have more to say, but they bit it back, opting to smile and wave instead.

Before he turned away, Glenn and Malt made eye contact one last time. This is what you call bromance right?

After taking one last glance at his newfound friends, he turned away, walking into the dawn’s light.