All of them were covered in blood, either their own or the zombies but they still made their way back to the camp. Arms slung over each overs backs and fearful glances cast behind them every few minutes. It was a pitiful sight.

Bertrand had never felt so humiliated in all his life, granted he hadn't been alive for long, being only twenty two years old. None of the training he had undergone could have prepared him for this.

And he doubted any future training would ever be created to better equip soldiers for coping with mental manipulation. Mental magic was outlawed, practitioners tortured and made an example wherever and they appeared.

But that, thing, it wasn't a human, so the laws of man mattered little to it. Even now, stumbling up the hills with his few remaining compatriots. he still felt an existential dread clouding his mind.

They were almost stopped halfway by one of the outer guards but upon seeing their sorry state they went up and helped them instead, grabbing hold of the mage's midriff and carrying them up the hill, with them slumped over his shoulder.

The wagon gates that Bertrand felt were flimsy and only there to add a false sense of security, were suddenly so comforting and sturdy. He was so overwhelmed with relief at the sight of them, that he almost shed a tear.

Stumbling through the outer sea of tents, attracting plenty of shocked and curious stares, they made their way into the inner camp, walking through a gap in the wagon circle.

There, they split up, some of the infantrymen wandered back to their own tents, exhausted both physically and mentally, well others went to seek medical attention.

Bertrand was a part of the former group, trudging his way back to his tent with unsteady steps. Seer he felt exhausted, just a few hours ago he had awoken for the second time this day, with a moderate hangover and feeling rested, now all that energy he had gained from his long rest was expended.

And although his hangover was gone, a whole new painful headache had replaced it.

Groping around for the buttons on the tent, he unbuttoned the flaps and stumbled inside, remembering too late that he should wipe his boots off with the grass.

With poor coordination, he yanks the brown leather boots off, before digging around the mass of bottles and crumpled bags to find some leftover Fargoth.

The joy he felt when he found some remnants of the wonderful weed was comparable to when he received his first paycheck. Leaning back he slammed the weed into his mouth, chewing it like it was some mystical herb that held the cure to eternal life.

The bitter taste didn't even impact him anymore, funny how much a single afternoon can change a person, before he would have scrunched up his face from the taste, now he just stared off blankly as he chewed.

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Swallowing, he shuffled over to his bedroll, before collapsing on top of it. Closing his eyes and praying that his sleep was dreamless, he didn't want to have to re-experience the horrors of today in the form of nightmares.

Thankfully his wish was granted, and he sailed away into a dreamless oblivion of pure sleep.

Waking up only when the sun had disappeared, replaced by the soothing light of the moon, the tent fabric was quite thin. Allowing even those weak rays of light to seep in, illuminating the inside of the tent and helping him find another few leaves.

Whether it was a design choice or just a means to cut costs, these tents were well received by everyone, skirmishers, grenadiers, Seer, even officers liked them.

Plopping the leaves into his mouth Bertrand briefly paused to wonder if he was perhaps developing an unhealthy habit, but as far as he was aware Fargoth wasn't addictive and held no properties apart from mild pain relief, so he swallowed them.

Then just as the leaves slid down his gullet, it hit him, this Fargoth was given to him by Eudes, it looked, smelled and even tasted the same.

But he wouldn't put it past Eudes to screw with the Fargoth, it was already too late to spit them and they seemed fine, out but he resolved himself to never ask for medicine from Eudes ever again, just in case.

For a few minutes, Bertrand just sat there, both of his squadmates were gone, so he started musing about various things, art didn't really interest him. Ecconics obviously didn't. So what his idle thoughts ended up drifting to was war.

But despite his involvement in it, he didn't actually know that much about it. He knew how to adapt and fight sure, but he didn't know why he knew those two things. Why were they taught adaption, what made the instructors believe it was an important ability for skirmishers to have?

I mean it was common sense that it would be good for scouts to be adaptable, but still, how had they arrived at that conclusion? As for why he knew how to fight. Why was he taught combat, what was the point of learning how to fight when there were beings you simply could fight?

This had been Bertrand’s first experience against such a terrifying foe, but he had heard tales, tales of single mages devastating entire armies.

Reports of numerous men and women bending reality to their whim and tearing apart whole regiments of soldiers.

Was what he had fought a mage?

Then, inevitably while his mind was on the topic of mages, he thought about their savour. Why was a mage with them, why was he disguised?

And why did he do nothing while that thing tore them apart? Seer just what was going on, that thing was no zombie, it was perhaps once a human, sure, but it wasn't even remotely close to any zombie he had seen.

Granted he had only seen two different types, but still, what were they hiding, surely a creature like that would have reports about it would have been sent back, or had…had everyone who had seen it died.

Most horrifyingly of all though, what if it wasn't just an abnormal monstrosity but rather a member of a whole new species.

Bertrand had to actually slap himself to escape the spiral of theories and conspiracies he had created.

He had to do something, something other than be alone with his thoughts, so he stood up and left the tent, he was going to find his friends.