Chapter 50

The scorching light of the sun filtered through the canvas of a tent, casting long, uneven shadows over the dirt floor. The air inside was stiff with the mingled smells of sweat, damp earth, and the faint remnants of earlier meals.

John sat cross-legged on his bedroll, his sword at hand, slowly sharpening its edge against a rough whetstone. He found the rhythmic sound of stone against metal to be soothing, a steady beat in a world that had become increasingly foreign.

The other men in the tent were occupied with their own routines. Some slept haggardly trying to forget the mundane situation that they had found themselves in, others prepared and maintained their equipment. Bull and Rook, who John barely knew, were quietly gambling over a worn set of dice, their murmured conversation blending into the background noise. The atmosphere was subdued, each man lost in their own thoughts.

John was grateful for the silence. It allowed him to focus, to push aside the creeping thoughts of impatience, to be frank, he was itching. There was nothing more he’d like to do than refresh his cultivation routine but his current situation barred him from doing so. The steady rhythm of his sharpening was like a heartbeat, grounding him, reminding him of his purpose.

But the quiet didn’t last.

"You really don’t seem like you’re from these parts."

The voice cut through the silence, soft but sharp enough to command attention. John’s hand paused mid-stroke, the blade still in his grip. He didn’t look up immediately, letting the words hang in the air as he processed them.

When he finally raised his head, his eyes met those of Hawk, who was lounging on his bedroll with a lazy sort of ease, one hand folded behind his head as he stared at him.

Hawk’s posture was relaxed, almost disinterested, but John felt a sense of sharpness in his eyes, a glint that made it clear he was observing him closely. He felt that the look wasn’t hostile, but it wasn’t entirely friendly either. It was the look of someone who was curious—perhaps even suspicious.

John hesitated momentarily before answering, his mind contemplating to find the right words. "Why do you say that?" He finally asked, keeping his voice as neutral as possible.

Hawk didn’t answer right away. He watched him shift slightly, propping himself up on one elbow, his gaze never leaving his own. "You’ve got that look," he said, his voice casual but with an edge of something more.

"Like you’re always watching, always thinking. Doesn’t fit with the farm boys and street rats we usually get around here."

John’s grip on the hilt tightened slightly, but he kept his expression neutral. "Observation can keep you alive," he responded maintaining his facade. "That’s what my father used to tell me," he replied after a moment, his voice quiet.

Hawk raised an eyebrow at that, his interest clearly piqued. "Your father, huh? Was he a soldier too?"

John didn’t answer right away. Instead, he resumed sharpening the knife, the rhythmic sound of stone against metal filling the silence. "He knew how to stay alive," he said eventually, sidestepping the question wondering why the man was curious about him.

He had prepared himself for multiple scenarios before engaging with his mission things like personal backgrounds and whatnot but he had a slight issue with execution, he truly felt skeptical with all these nuances, truth be told he found it a nuisance.

Hawk let out a soft chuckle, though it lacked any real humor. "Sounds like he was a smart man," he said. "But I’m guessing he didn’t stick around long, did he?"

John’s hand paused again, just for a second, before he forced himself to continue. The question wasn’t out of his expectations, but he hadn’t thought of a believable answer until now. "He did what he had to do," John said vaguely, his voice steady, though his mind was now set on assessing Hawk’s mounting threat.

Hawk watched him for a moment longer, his gaze thoughtful, almost probing. "Why do I have the feeling that you’ve got the eyes of someone who’s seen more than most boys your age," he remarked quizzically, his tone more serious now. "You don’t just survive out there by sheer luck."

John met Hawk’s gaze head-on. "Why do you care?" he asked, his voice carrying a note of fabricated annoyance. He wasn’t sure what Hawk was getting at, but he didn’t like where the conversation was headed.

Hawk leaned back again, the faintest of smirks plastering itself on his lips. "Curiosity, mostly," he said. "New faces around here usually mean one of two things: trouble, or someone running from it."

John didn’t respond immediately. Hawk’s words hung in the air, slightly unsettling him. He knew in this instance that it was right to trust his gut feeling, this man was much sharper than he portrayed, and he could tell that Hawk was genuinely digging for something—maybe just out of boredom, or maybe because he really suspected something about him.

“But what gave it away, I wonder” 621’s thoughts lingered, analyzing his previous actions with a meticulous inspection, “Was I too careless with my actions? Did I slip somewhere?Just what made him suspicious of me all of a sudden...”

"I’m not running from anything," John said, his voice low but firm, hoping to shut down the line of questioning.

"Maybe," Hawk replied, his tone nonchalant. "Or maybe you just haven’t realized what you’re running from yet."

John stiffened at the remark, but before he could respond, Rook spoke up from the corner, sensing the tension. "Lay off the kid, Hawk," Rook grumbled, not looking up from his meal. "You’re gonna scare him off before he even gets a chance to see a real battle."

Hawk glanced over at Rook and shrugged, the smirk still playing on his face. "Just trying to get to know our new friend here," he said lightly, though his lazy eyes remained on John, still watching him.

John forced himself to relax, returning his focus to the sword in his hands. The blade gleamed in the dim light, the metal cold and unyielding beneath his touch.

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"I've already seen battle," he said quietly, his voice just loud enough to be heard over the ambient noise of the tent. "During the raid on the previous night.”

Hawk’s eyes narrowed, the lazy demeanor from before replaced with a sharper, more focused intensity. He leaned forward slightly, his curiosity clearly piqued. "Right," Hawk drawled, his tone laced with skepticism. "How did you manage to survive that?"

Even Rook paused in his work, his eyes flicking toward John with a mixture of interest and skepticism. He even felt the eyes of the others within the tent converging on himself especially Alex’.

John silently observed his surroundings with his own sense of interest, there was a reason why he mentioned the raid; he simply felt the need to solidify his position and to further obscure his facade with fake truths.

"It wasn’t easy, but I survived" John phrased carefully, his voice steady but measured. He kept his eyes on the sword, using the task as a way to avoid Hawk’s penetrating gaze. "I simply did what I felt was necessary. I ran when I had the chance. Hid when I had to."

Hawk let out a low hum, clearly not satisfied with the vague answer. "Ran, hid," he repeated slowly, as if tasting the words. "Sounds like you’ve got some good instincts, cowardly, one might say. But I’m sure a lot of the recruits would’ve done the same, and they certainly didn’t make it. So, what makes you different from those poor sods?”

John’s grip on the sword tightened. He knew he needed to tread carefully—too much detail, and he risked giving himself away; too little, and Hawk might think he was seriously hiding something.

"I learned a lot from my father," John said after a brief pause, trying to keep his tone as neutral as possible. He glanced up briefly, meeting Hawk’s gaze with a look that he hoped conveyed a mix of sincerity and guardedness. "He taught me how to stay alive when things get bad and I guess I sort of followed my instincts."

Hawk’s eyes searched John’s face for a moment, as if trying to peel back the layers of his words. The smirk from earlier was gone, replaced by a serious, almost contemplative expression. "Your father again, huh?" Hawk echoed, leaning back on his bedroll, though his attention never left John. "He really must’ve been some man to teach you how to survive a massacre like that."

"And, if that’s truly the case..." Hawk pressed, not quite ready to let the matter drop. "Does that mean you didn’t fight at all? Heck did you even help out at least? Look, I get that you’re a kid and all but do you really belong here? Would you even be willing to shield my back or would you run and hide away instead?”

He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing, “after all, there’s nothing worse than being betrayed in the heat of a battle."

The question hung in the air, a challenge that John couldn’t ignore. He kept his gaze on the sword in his lap, feeling the weight of the entire tent’s attention on him. It was a test; he was sure of it.

Before the conversation could continue, Rook, who had been quietly observing from his spot, spoke up again. “Ease up, Hawk,” he said, his tone firm trying to diffuse the mounting tension. “The kid’s been through a lot. No need to keep grilling him.”

Hawk glanced at Rook, his expression hardening slightly. “And what, you’re gonna play the kid’s protector now, Rook? He’s got to prove he belongs here just like the rest of us.”

Rook opened his mouth to respond, but Sarge’s gravelly voice cut through the tent, silencing any further protest. “He’s right Rook, shut your trap.”

All eyes turned to Sarge, who had been silently observing the commotion. His stern gaze locked onto Rook, who immediately fell silent under his glare. Sarge then turned his attention to John, his expression unreadable but intense.

“Let the boy speak for himself,” Sarge said, his voice carrying the weight of authority. It was clear this was not a suggestion—it was an order.

After a moment, John looked up, meeting Hawk’s gaze once more. “If it comes to it, I won’t run,” John said, his voice steady but soft. “I’ll fight, and I’ll do what needs to be done. I might be young, but I know what it means to have someone’s back. My father made sure I understood that.”

Hawk raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by John’s response but still skeptical. “And how do I know that’s not just talk?” he pressed, his tone challenging. “It’s easy to say you’ll fight when you’re sitting here in a tent, but when the swords start swinging and the arrows start flying, words don’t mean much.”

“You don’t understand,” John held his gaze, his expression unwavering. “I did fight,” he said quietly, but firmly. “And I did help.” He paused for a brief moment, then glanced over at Alex, who had been quietly listening to the exchange. “I saved him,” John informed, nodding toward Alex.

“When the attack came, I made sure he got out alive.”

Alex, who had been trying to stay out of the spotlight, suddenly found himself at the center of attention. He blinked in surprise, but quickly nodded in agreement, his expression earnest. “H-He’s right,” Alex confirmed, his voice shaky but relatively clear. “John pulled me out of there. If it wasn’t for him, I-I probably...wouldn’t be here.”

Hawk’s eyes flicked over to Alex, then back to John, his expression thoughtful. The tension in his posture eased slightly, though the skepticism in his eyes didn’t entirely disappear. “That’s something, at least,” he muttered, leaning back a little.

“I’m not here to run or hide.” John said, meeting everyone’s gaze directly. “My goal is to become stronger, when the time comes, you’ll see that I’m not just talk.”

Hawk seemed to scoff at the proclamation but he decided to stay quiet.

Sarge studied John for a long moment, his expression inscrutable. Then, with a slight grunt, he nodded, as if satisfied with the answer. “We’ll see,” he commented, his tone was neutral but it carried an undercurrent of challenge.

“You’d best remember what you've said.”

..

The atmosphere inside the tent had barely settled after John’s exchange with Hawk when the tent’s flaps rustled. Barnes burst in with enthusiasm, a broad smile plastered across his face. “Good news, grunts!” he announced, his voice booming with excitement.

John and the others turned their attention to Barnes, curiosity and anticipation evident in their expressions. Hawk’s earlier skepticism faded, replaced by a keen interest in the new development. Meanwhile, John, still processing his earlier conversation, felt a flicker of intrigue.

Barnes took a moment to soak in the attention, his gaze briefly flickering over the group. He seemed to sense something amiss in the atmosphere, a residue of the earlier confrontation. However, he brushed it off with a shake of his head, determined to keep the mood light. “Looks like we’ve got some exciting news coming our way,” he continued, his voice still brimming with enthusiasm.

He paused for effect, letting the suspense build. “We got new orders from High Command!” Barnes finally declared, his grin widening.

“We’re getting deployed with the Faelius Hounds!”

A murmur of surprise and excitement rippled through the tent. Hawk’s eyes widened slightly, his previous doubts momentarily overshadowed by the news. “The Faelius Hounds?” he repeated, a note of disbelief in his voice. “You’re actually serious right now?”

Barnes nodded vigorously, his smile never faltering. “Damn right! I told you so! We’re finally moving up. Big opportunity, fuckers. High Command definitely thinks we’re ready for something serious.”

John looked around at the other soldiers, noting their varied reactions with suppressed amusement. Rook raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued but remained silent. Alex, who had been mostly quiet, looked up with a mixture of surprise and anxiety.

Barnes continued, unaware of the lingering tension from the earlier discussion. “This is our chance,” he said, his tone enthusiastic. “We’ll be part of a major operation with some of the best soldiers in the field.”

Hawk, never one to let a chance for sarcasm slip by, leaned back with a wry smile. “Oh, great,” he said. “Nothing like being thrown into the deep end with the Faelius Hounds. If we screw this up, I guess we’ll be the ones they use to teach future recruits about failure.”

Barnes chuckled, brushing off Hawk’s comment with a wave of his hand. “Come on, Hawk, don’t be so negative. This is a big opportunity for us. Who said anything about failure?”

Sarge, who had been silently observing the exchange, finally spoke up. “Alright, so what’s the mission?” he said gruffly. “What did higher ups say?”

Barnes whipped his head towards Sarge before responding matter of factly, “Something about the goblin we caught, but never mind that, just pack your things old man. The details will naturally be given when we meet up with the hounds.”

“The rest of you, prepare, we’ve got work to do.”