A further three hordes had attacked them before Bertrand finally got off duty.

Due to the oversaturation of soldiers upon the fortifications he actually got off with only having to spend his morning on the guard tower while in the afternoon he was free to do as he pleased.

The other soldiers got off even lighter, only having to spend a short hour on overwatch before they got replaced.

It was a bit of a strange system but it did help maintain discipline and make sure fresh eyes were focused on spotting anything out of the ordinary.

Bertrand headed off to get some lunch, nodding politely to anyone he passed on his way to the town centre.

Everyone was quite on edge and although fighting wasn’t common it certainly wasn't rare.

Far from discouraging it, it seemed the officers were approving of it.

Helped keep people on their toes or something was probably their reasoning.

Bertrand didn’t want to be kept on his toes though, he signed up so he could protect his country, not sit around playing cards and watching the same pattern of pathetic attacks each day.

But he knew it was all he could do.

A small team of mages had been sent out to scout ahead of them.

And he just felt demeaned by that, like all his training and effort to be a skirmisher meant nothing.

But he pushed those feelings down, they were risking their lives for him and everyone else in this legion and by extension the Francia Conglomerate.

They deserved respect.

And he deserved to be fed proper food.

It was the same soup they had been served last night and the night before that one.

And although he wasn’t a gambler like Césaire he bet it would be what they got for dinner tonight as well.

But that’s all they had to eat, so with a slight grumble he grabs a slightly dirty bowl and gives himself a few hefty spoonfuls of the lumpy soup.

Before heading off to one of the makeshift barns.

With so many people lazing about now just one tent wouldn't cut it so a few houses had been roughly repurposed into barns.

It was a rather clever name, as while going to a barn to let off some steam was allowed, the name made you feel like an animal going to get some feed.

This tended to make it so people rarely stayed for long in the barns, a solid hunk of soldiers like Césaire didn't care about it though, so the barns always had some regulars.

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

Walking into the repurposed house, Bertrand headed to the corner of the square like structure.

The inner walls had been knocked down to create more space and the cave ins from the sudden lack of support had been dealt with by stringing up a series of ripped fabric onto the roof.

Creating a rather delicate but decently sturdy roof.

Walking up to Francois he plopped down on their right side, today he and Francois would be on the same team.

Versing them would be Césaire and Olivier.

For some reason Césaire thought corners were lucky, so this side of the barn belonged to them.

That’s not to say other people didn’t join in on their games, it was just rare.

“You ready to lose Francois?” Césaire sneered.

After losing game after game he had taken to trying to get under Francois skin to win.

“Of course.” Was the relaxed reply he got from Francois.

So far not one of his ‘psychological warfare’ tactics had worked.

He was probably joking Bertrand figured, I mean you didn’t become bone buttoned by being stubborn.

Not for skirmishers at least. So Bertrand suspected that Césaire was just trying to put everyone at ease with his insults and tactless behaviour.

And funnily enough it worked.

At pointing them to ease, not at winning him any games.

The sun had just started to fade when Césaire and Olivier managed to score a win.

Bertrand felt like Francois had done it more out of pity than it having been won fair and square.

He was utterly unstoppable in games where luck wasn’t a factor.

Bertrand was quite surprised by that.

He always figured Césaire was the best at card games, dice games, Seer even board games.

But no it turned out that it was Francois.

The only games where he consistently lost were games where luck played more than the players did.

It was getting rather late though, and Bertrand had to get up earlier than usual to cover a fellow watchman's shift as they were struck bu a cold.

So, with the last rays of sun to guide him back, Bertrand departed from the barn and headed back to his tent.

Césaire and Francois were still going to stick around and play a few more hands so they didn’t come with him.

He walked along the paved streets, cautiously gazing at shadows and keeping his hand close to his beamer.

Ready to unsling it and fire at a moment's notice.

Just because there had been no sighting of adaptors inside the town didn’t mean he had forgotten the officers warning.

After a few tense minutes though he arvided safety back at the heavily patrolled housing sector.

A solid fifty soldiers were armed and ready for action, walking slowly and confidently through the sea of tents.

Nobody slept in the houses themselves, it seemed wrong and they were quite used to their tents.

For most of them all they had slept in for the past year was a tent. That sense of family was quite comforting when you didn’t know anything and the things you did know were being revealed to be false or at least not wholly truthful each day.

Opening his tent flaps and slipping off his boots, Bertrand made his way over to his bedroll.

Gently unslinging his beamer and placing it beside the bedroll.

Just in case, you could never be too careful in these uncertain times after all.