Waking up was pure agony. Muscles he didn't even know he had stung all over his body.

But still he forced himself up, groaning with the effort as he tried to shrug his shoulders to relieve some of the tension that had set into them during his rest.

Despite his best efforts though his brief attempt at exercise did nothing except bring him more agony.

Letting out a short string of curses Bertrand groped around on the floor for his canteen.

Letting out a slight gasp as a bright flare of pain coursed through his arm.

Clearly, it wasn’t just his Muscles but also his tendons that had been abused.

Thankfully after he managed to grab his canteen and take a few swigs of water the pain had died down.

It must have just been a combination of straining himself during the night and him sleeping funny.

Looking around his tents he notices that his squadmates were already prepared for the day ahead of them.

The dirtied outfit that had adorned Césaire previously had now been replaced by clean trousers and a nice warm jersey, which they probably borrowed from Francois.

Francois was also inside the tent, which alleviated Bertrand’s worse fears, though he seemed rather shaken. A large cut ran down his check and his fingernails looked broken.

He must have been engaged in a brawl against one of those things.

Seer, he was an inspiration, how had he survived?

“So your awake, glad to see you could actually get some sleep.” Francois said. His tone was cold and filled with pain.

Seer he even winced as he spoke, just how badly had he been injured.

How many wounds were hidden beneath his woolen jersey?

“Yes?” Bertrand said in reply, unsure of how he should answer.

“Great, now listen closely. Seven hundred of us lie dead, a grave loss. We would be withdrawing if it weren’t for the fact there’s nowhere we can retreat to. We make our stand here or our entire campaign will fail. Not may, but will.” Francois said, his cold tone of voice being replaced by one of pure passion.

Nodding his head along to Francois’s words Bertrand just stays quiet and lets the man continue.

“We have managed to receive a small group of reinforcements, the previous task forces sent ahead of our legion have returned to us, well not all of them, but enough. Not everything is grim. We still have a chance, we will be pulling day long watches now and we will be far more alert. We have suffered greatly but we have also learned much.” Francois said, he muttered the last part though, almost like he didn’t even believe his own words.

After waiting a few more seconds just to make sure Francois was finished Bertrand voiced his question. “How did this happen?”

Giving each other a glance Francois shrugs his shoulders a bit and Césaire lets out a sigh.

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Seeming to have drawn the short straw and being made to be the explanative one Césaire cleared his throat before answering Bertrand.

“The bodies were fake. In every horde that was mowed down, there would be a few adaptors who would hide amongst their fallen kin. Slowly inching their way forward by night and staying still during the day. Then when they got close enough they charged the walls and overwhelmed them.”

“Why? Wouldn’t it make more sense for them to just charge in one massive wave, wouldn't that have let them conserve more force?” Bertrand asked, feeling even more puzzled than before.

His question seemed to be outside of Césaire’s ability to answer as the bony man raised his eyebrows and gave Francois a pleading look.

Shaking his head slightly Francois took over the role of answerer.

“Practice.” they spat out angrily.

Taking a few moments to gather their breath before they continued.

“The zombies are using us as practice, as training dummies to use new tactics on and figure out how to best combat humans. Our task forces were sent ahead to investigate whether or not these zombies are truly an independent force or rather soldiers of some unknown power. The evidence they found rather compellingly pointed towards them being independent. Poorly planned attacks slowly got better over time, less efficient methods being used compared to tactics that could have resulted in far greater results. Everything points towards these zombies being led by amateur commanders that are growing far more experienced at an alarming rate. We’re like the grinding stone they're using to sharpen their swords. All metaphorical of course, so far there's been no cases of zombies being found using weaponry.” Francois sadly explained.

Looking deflated and empty.

Seer if Bertrand had a mirror he would probably look the same.

Even Césaire had lost his neigh permanent smirk.

But he soon regained and said with a cheery chuckle. “We gonna stand around moping or should we get to our posts? Also Bertrand you should go wash up, you look like shit.”

And before Bertrand could even fire off a curse at him he slipped out of the tent.

“Hmm, I need to wash up as well, we should go together, no telling what could happen on the way there at this point.” Francois said, stroking his beard.

“Right.” Was all Bertrand could find to say to them.

He just didn’t have it in him to come up with anything more proper to say.

He just wanted to slide back into his bedroll and drift back off to sleep while he still could.

But alas he had a duty to do, a duty that had just become far more important.

So rubbing the sleep out of his eyes he roused himself from his tired state, trying to rid himself of his lethargy and in the process become more alert.

It sort of worked and he ended up leaving the tent following behind

Francois, he wasn’t properly on guard yet, eyes glossing over possible ambush spots and shadows.

As well as the scattered corpses that had yet to be cleaned up.

They would have to burn them soon, least disease spread amongst their number.

But Bertrand honestly doubted it really mattered.

It was far more likely they would all be dead before disease started to become an issue.

Reaching the washroom, a small house coveted into a communal bath of sorts.

The duo stripped off and scrubbed themselves clean, not particularly interested in looking at Francois all over, Bertrand turned away from them.

But not before catching a glimpse at the dozens of dark purple bruises dotted all over his back.

Francois had truly suffered.

Soon they were cleaned up, and had their clothes back on.

They hadn’t bothered toweling off so Bertrand had to deal with the discomfort of having wet clothes pressed against his skin.

Though it wouldn’t last long, the suns rays would dry him and roast him soon enough.

Bidding farewell and good luck to Francois, Bertrand parted from them and headed towards his post