The last thing Sarah had thought she’d be doing when the world went to shit was running a state-sponsored funeral. Yet, as the crowd of new settlers and her own friends gathered around a hole dug by her husband, she found herself less annoyed by the unexpected and more just tired. All day they had fought, and Sarah wanted nothing more than to crawl in bed with John and cry for a good hour.
At the haunted look on his face after the battle, however, she knew that their bed tonight would be anything but calm and restful, and so she’d hiked up her robes and gotten to work.
Miraculously, she’d been able to save Aleks. It was a close call, and pushed her Healer class to the brink of its capabilities, but she’d done it. Even now, he was bunked in the Clan House, as he’d yet to regain consciousness from his ordeal. Losing a leg would do that to anyone, and Mitchell volunteered to personally help the man out when he awoke. Sarah had left him with a warning that if he dared try the same thing he did with himself, she’d break both of his legs in the forest and let him crawl back.
But all of that was like a blur. Here, now, with the sun set and the light of impromptu torches casting shadows on the faces of the mourning, she stepped forwards onto the slightly raised platform of the gazebo. Surrounding them were many new buildings that sat empty, but for all they gained, not a single person focussed on that. All of the focus was on the brave soldier who’d given everything for a town not three days old, and it tore at her heart to see that shapeless form beside the hole, draped over with a cheap canvas bag.
For as much as she hurt, she was their only Healer, and not all wounds were physical. She had a duty. Not just to accommodate grieving, but to do more. To help them start to heal. “Fitting, isn’t it?” She said softly, and the hushed murmurs in the gathering quieted to a silence broken only by the burbling of the nearby river.
“Fitting, that is, that we should find our victory tempered by loss. Fitting that for all our power and strategy and determination, it was the least expected who made the greatest sacrifice. The one least able to change the outcomes stood and said ‘By what strength I have, I place myself before the innocent to keep the forces of the darkness at bay’.”
She paused, as first Jack and then John crashed their fists to their chests in salute. Her throat hitched as she saw tears openly streaming down his face, but he did not sob, nor shake, but stood resolute.
Sarah swallowed thickly as she tried to find the words to continue, leaning on his strength.
“And he did. Gunther personally defeated over ten of the Raccan foe, side by side with his comrades and brothers. He was a loyal soldier, a fine man, and now a void that will be felt in the hearts of us all. Beyond anything, though, Gunther was an embodiment of what we’re trying to do here. He looked at his situation and found himself determined to be better. To make it better for those around him. To not stand idly by and watch as his fate was determined by others. His sacrifice enabled us to emerge victorious from our darkest day, and as such we will honour him.”
She stepped back off the improvised podium, not trusting her voice to hold up, and Mitchell stepped past her. He’d changed from his armour into the breastplate from his class set, and the metal gleamed with the light of the torches. His face was set and hard as he stepped up.
“Gunther did what was expected of him.” He lead harshly, with a firm tone. “He did what any of us would do, and for this, I posthumously and proudly raise Gunther to the status of a Core Member.”
A wave of gasps went around, even though she couldn’t tell how many were just sobs. She was starting to get mad at Mitchell, making this about ranks and duties instead of loss, but then he continued.
“But that is not enough. Not nearly enough for him, for his memory, or for us, for we here are the ones who will carry his memory into the future and ensure he lives on. I go one step further, and raise Gunther higher than any of us. Even beyond the tenets of our village and the ranks we use, Gunther was the best of us, and so I name him Hero of the Founding. Might this short and violent age be remembered not by the loss we endure, or by the work yet to be done - let it be remembered by the man who chose to give everything when he could have done nothing. Let us remember Gunther, the Man. Let us remember Tiros Gunther, the Soldier. Let us never forget Ser Gunther, the Hero.”
Other words were said. Other people told surprising stories of the deceased, and Sarah allowed herself to weep, for Gunther was indeed a good man outside of his role in the village. Eventually, the body was lowered, and the hole filled.
Hours passed in remembrance. Many slowly filtered away into houses with broken doors. Others started small campfires and continued to mourn, but also celebrate their survival. Someone had somehow gotten a small cask of wine and a horn, and it was being passed around. She was one of the last up and awake, determined to show the same Strength that John did, but she too had to let sleep claim her eventually. She didn’t have nearly the Willpower to endure any longer.
When dawn rose over New Mill Town, only then did the remnants of John’s First Legion stand and give the fallen Hero a final salute.
----------------------------------------
Sarah slept through most of the next morning, and when she finally awoke, John was crashed on the bed beside her, half-undressed. She took a moment to take off his boots and tuck him under the itchy bedding, then crept out of their room, only to see Miriam doing the exact same thing down the hall. With a silent exchange of glances and subtle head-nods, the two crept down to the main area, where embers smouldered in the longpit. Sarah tossed a log onto the fire to start it back up, then took a seat on one of the benches. Miriam sat down beside her.
They were silent for a minute, until a meowing broke the silence and Nimbus padded out from under another bench, stretching and hopping up onto the rim of the longpit to lounge in the heat.
“Fuck.” Sarah said flatly, and Miriam only nodded in agreement.
“You can say that twice.”
The pair jumped at the source of sound, as Kyla made her presence known. She took a seat on the bench across from them, and there was a moment of silence where each came to terms with the other's presence.
Miriam got up wordlessly and walked over to the system store, emerging not a minute later with a platter and three steaming cups of something. Sartah took the proffered cup and took a sniff, her eyes widening.
‘Coffee?’
Kyla also clearly could smell the beverage, and the trio sat in silence, nursing their cups, until Sarah spoke again.
“That fucking sucked.” She stated, the sheer acknowledgement enough to have the emotions bubbling back up.
Kyla nodded. “It did. It really did. If you guys hadn’t taken us in, there is no way in hell we would have survived.”
Miriam's face paled, invisible though the reaction was in the low light of the fire. “What about other people? You heard about Mitch’s notification - we were the first town. Which means we’re likely the only town.”
“We don’t know that.” Sarah said slowly, trying to keep her energy down and her mind calm. It was slightly baffling to her that Miriam could go from bleeding out last night to back on track this morning. Sarah wasn’t even injured - not like the others were - and she still felt strung out like she’d just gone through two back to back exam weeks.
“I think we do.” Miriam fired back. “I think we started shit too early. It was what, four, five days since we got here that you and Mitch came back with that chest? How many other people could have gone from level one and running from the coyotes, to delving into a level ten to fifteen dungeon?”
“Enough.” Sarah fired back. “Remember, Mitch didn’t have a class when he went down there. It can’t be impossible that anyone else went in and made it through.”
“I haven’t heard much about how he did it, but when we got to the entrance, we were told it was a level 10 to level 15 dungeon. The one about the burning building, yea?”
“Yea.” Sarah answered Kyla.
“Alright, and he went in before a class? So under level five. Can I just say that most people wouldn’t go into somewhere where the weakest things are at twice their level? So if anyone has a settlement, it’ll either be someone stupid, someone courageous, or someone with nothing else to lose, like our Patriarch was.”
Miriam shifted awkwardly in her seat at her fiance being talked about that way.
Sarah finally took a sip of the cooling coffee in her hands, able to quickly tell it was instant coffee. She didn’t care, even letting her mouth burn as she took a big gulp of the hot beverage. Being able to heal yourself had perks, even though she got dirty looks from the other two at the light golden glow that emerged from between her lips.
“So that means one of two things. We either need to shore up, or expand quickly. Imagine being out there in the woods and a bunch of Raccans start coming at you for no discernible reason. When you find out it's because some other people made a settlement… well, Kyla, what would you think?”
“I mean, I already did think you guys were leaving the rest of us out to be killed. As it kept going, I might think it was deliberate - Mitchell shared that quest with everyone. I think the System wants people to die.”
Miriam hummed. “Not quite. The System wants people to push themselves, not die. Every time we do something we don’t think we can do, we get experience. Like, if I want to level up my secondary class, I need to create enchantments I haven’t done before. Repeats get me a little xp, but not much.”
Sarah nodded. “I mean, I don’t do too much that’s inherently new, but whenever I fix up an injury I haven’t done before, it's worth more experience.”
Kyla nodded. “Okay, it’s not trying to kill people, but it definitely doesn’t care for our safety.”
“Agreed.”
“Yep.”
Kyla sighed. “Well, I suppose I should get to work. Someone needs to organise these people and I’m pretty sure the boys will be knocked out for a few more hours. Miriam, could you let me know which buildings Mitchell was thinking of putting up first? We have a massive cost reduction for the day, and if we can get a few buildings up, we can upgrade the Settlement’s Rank. Don’t know what that does, but it seems important.”
Sarah left them to it as she finished her coffee and left the building to see a surprise - the majority of the townsfolk were already at work!
Small groups worked together with axes to open up the East and South gates, while a pair of women went around to each house, fixing the hinges that the Raccans had broken down during the siege. She heard the sound of shouting atop the scaffold and saw a haggard looking Ezekiel directing something outside the wall. From the column of dirty smoke, she imagined they were cleaning the battlefield.
Her own feet took her almost on autopilot towards a small group of the younger Aspirants, who were crowding around the ruins of the mill.
It was not two minutes later that she discovered Singh was dead - claw marks in triplicate across his throat and his left arm sitting separately a yard away. His corpse lay in the corner of the mill, a look of horror and agony sealed forever on its face.
Sarah needed to leave the area upon seeing the bite marks on its flesh.
----------------------------------------
Mitchell awoke in the early afternoon and quickly remembered the events of the night before. A quick glance showed that Miriam was already awake and out, and he could faintly hear the sound of axes chopping into wood echoing through the town.
With a groan, he rolled out of bed. A few notifications awaited him, so he took the time to work through them.
The first three were levels for his Aspiring Clan Leader class, and the next few explained just how that had happened while he slept.
A Hero is named: Ser Gunther, of Old Mill Town. His deeds live on in the collective memory of this settlement. This provides the following benefits:
Militia raised in Old Mill Town gain bonuses to Willpower when following the orders of their officers.
Ser Gunther’s name can be invoked in various ways, which will further increase this bonus in times of distress.
Militia assigned to Old Mill Town are resistant to Loyalty checks.
Construction of a new structure is complete!
Construction of a new structure is complete!
Construction of a new structure is complete!
Construction of a new structure is complete!
Farm is now actively staffed and producing food.
Market Stall is now actively staffed and unlocks Trade
Leatherworkers Hut is not staffed and is not producing.
Docks are now actively staffed and ready for operation.
Warning! Treasury is low on funding! Current Funds: 63F
He blinked a few times, mind whirling, before he dismissed the screens and chose to go see for himself.
The day was bright and sunny in the growing settlement. He could see that the gates had been repaired. He could see that the houses had been fixed, and the blood cleaned from the wood, though a faint copper stain still remained in some places. He saw, out of the Eastern gate, as a tree fell with a rumbling crash. Walking to the town square, he could even see out of that Eastern gate to where a small farmhouse and middling barn had been erected outside the wall. Furrowed earth replaced the grass, and as he watched, a man pushed a plough through the field while two more with ropes pulled on it.
He looked to the south, where a small hut with a leather roof sat beside a series of vats and racks, though this building lacked the productive bustle of citizens. His gaze continued to take in the improvements, and his eyes saw a primitive wooden dock jutting out over the river, while various carpentry tools lay strewn about the beach. John was there, making some sort of platform for the trio of dock workers, who appeared to be two burly men and a diminutive woman.
This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.
Then he finally realised there was a man staring at him from underneath a canvas covered market stall, and Mitchell stumbled his way over, still waking up.
“Hail Patriarch. Good to see you whole and healthy.” The man stated flatly.
Mitchell squinted at him, discreetly analysing the fellow and finding his name was Tommen, though his stats were nothing to note. “Good day to you, Tommen. I see you’ve been busy while I’ve been secluded away - why don’t you tell me about your stall here?”
The man stood straighter at Mitchell using his name, and proceeded to talk his ear off for the next fifteen minutes.
Mitchell learned a few things, not just about the Market either. He learned that Kyla had the capability to initiate projects, and had done so in the early morning. He learned that the docks were operational and required lumber to begin making fishing vessels, which Tommen was excited to start seeing goods from. He learned that the Farm did not run like a normal farm from Before - rather, it could undergo one ‘state change’ each day until harvest. From what he understood, the Farm had begun the process of growing potatoes, as that would be the cheapest and easiest crop to start.
He also learned that they had fired up the leatherworker for all of five minutes and the stench was simply unbearable. Kyla had assured the people that the building would not operate until that issue was solved. Finally, and this was the majority of what Tommen spoke of, he learned of the Market.
The Market had a link to the System Store in the Clan house that allowed each person to buy goods from the Store as if they were buying from Tommen. Looking into the details in his screen, he found that he could set various restrictions to the type of goods that could be sold, as well as levy a tax on goods purchased this way. With the Market, they could also sell items to the System Store. Kyla hadn’t set any taxes, so Mitchell quickly set up a 1% tax on sales while keeping purchases exempt. The town was growing, and they would need to purchase a lot. Eventually, he planned to tax System Store transactions but leave most Market transactions exempt - He wanted to promote internal trade, if at all possible. He was no economist, but his people trading currency between themselves sounded better than giving it back to the System.
He also restricted the sale of poisons and traps. Further upgrades to the market would allow for a licensing system that would allow him to restrict goods to certain types of purchasers, but for now it was all or nothing.
He finished off his chat with the talkative merchant by buying himself a sack of jerky, and he nibbled on it as he meandered down to the docks, greeting the busy townsfolk as they passed him by. With the sun in the sky and the people all active, it was almost hard to reconcile the bloody battle from the day before as happening here, but still Gunther’s tombstone sat in its place of honour beside the gazebo. There was no fence, but the visible footpaths of peoples tracks still gave the grave a wide berth out of respect.
Mitchell didn’t spare a gaze for the tombstone. Not out of disrespect, but because the truth burrowed its way deeply into Mitchell’s heart and took root there - this was his fault. Jumping ahead without considering the consequences had brought the Siege down on them, and the blame for that could be laid at no other feet. Only his extreme Willpower stat had allowed him to make it through the speech the night before without cracking, and he feared it would be insufficient now, tired and worn as he was.
John worked hard, he noticed when he got there. Townsfolk - Aspirants, mostly - were dragging trees over to him, and with saw and plane he made boards out of them. Over and over he would split, carve, and finish before the next log was placed atop his pair of sawhorses and he started all over again.
“John.” Mitchell announced himself. The few lingering Aspirants nearby looked over and scurried to their feet, watching with wide eyes. John continued to run the hand-planer down the length of wood.
Mitchell moved over to the other side of the log, so he was at the Centurion’s front. “John.” He said urgently, but it was clear that the man didn’t see him or even hear him. Mitchell waited until he finished his current length, then placed his hand over top of John’s.
With a start, John fell back, the tool falling from his cramping hands and revealing bloody blisters. “Jesus, John, what are you doing to yourself?” Mitchell asked aghast.
John looked down at his hand, used his other one to steady its shaking, then bent low to pick up the tool he’d dropped. With a growl, he spoke. “Not enough.”
Mitchell’s heart sang a song of sorrow and camaraderie. “Stop.”
“I can’t. A boat could make the difference next time.” John began planing the board again, though at this point the blood had covered the tool enough that each stroke left a red smear on the boards.
Mitchell grabbed the hand manipulating the tool and tried to drag it off, but John’s Strength was not to be underestimated. They had a brief tug-of-war over the bladed tool, before Mitchell gave in and let go.
With a resounding snap, John forced the tool straight through the board and the wood splintered, shards digging deep into the Carpenter’s arm. “You’re no good like this. C’mon. We need to talk.”
----------------------------------------
George continued the looting and burning of the Raccan horde. He’d quickly put a stop to any trophy-gathering, though they had taken the more… intact hides, and were able to set them aside. George planned to sell them on the Market.
He also set a few choice cuts of meat aside. Sentient or not, Nimbus was continuing to grow and his appetite was growing with him. He’d cure the lot so he could always have meat for his partner.
The weapons, however, were distributed among the people. Slings were given to everyone, though the one sword they’d retrieved had gone to Aleks to present to John as a trophy of the battle. The Optio had wanted to take the beasts head, but given how scorched and mangled it was - what pieces they could find - it was a lost cause.
Surprisingly, George found Ezekiel by his side, assisting him without saying much. The two had worked in silence clearing the road for an hour that morning before the first word was spoke.
“If we’d come correct, asking to join you all, would you have let us in?”
George couldn’t speak for himself, but he could speak for Mitchell. “If it were up to me, no. But it wasn’t. It was up to Mitchell, or Miriam if you’d managed to convince her.”
“I thought Miriam was in charge of magic.”
“She’s also Mitchell’s fiance.” George sniped as a joke.
“Ah.” Ezekiel’s face fell and he again bent over to gather more debris from the field surrounding the town.
They worked in silence for a few more minutes, and George could tell that Ezekiel had more on his mind. “Why do you ask?”
Ezekiel dropped the severed legs of a Skirmisher, and stood up, glancing up at the sky. “I miss Jacob. He was the better one of all of us. As bad and cruel as Singh was, Jacob was good and kind. I wonder, if we hadn’t come and tried to take, would he still be alive? Would he have fought and fallen in the Siege? Would there be two graves there, two Heroes for us to look up to? Because now, all we have is a scratched rock that we lost in the woods to remember him by.”
George shifted uncomfortably. He wasn’t the best guy to talk about these philosophical things, so he just gave his own opinion. “I don’t think he’d have fallen. Mitchell didn’t, and he’s using your buddies' old armour. I don’t think anyone would be upset if you were to make a place for him here, though.”
Ezekiel scoffed. “I wouldn’t dare. That’d be like asking to put up a Raccan statue. He was an enemy to you, and that’s all he’ll ever be.”
George looked to each side, seeing the closest people were still far, all the same he lowered his voice. “But not to you. What was he to you?”
With a catch of his breath, Ezekiel began to speak and told the tale of Jacob, a good man who was cut down before he could become great. A family member. A role model. A friend.
As the stories poured out, so too did the occasional bout of sobs and tears, but George did not judge the Archer. No, he understood just how heavily that sort of loss can hit someone, the type where one wonders if they were at fault, if they couldn’t have done more. When those exact words came spilling from Ezekiel's lips, George dropped his shovel and wrapped the young man up in a tight embrace.
The Ranger made sure to remember every single word about Jacob, the man he would never meet.
----------------------------------------
Mitchell and John walked to the end of the admittedly short dock. Mitchell took off his boots and sat on the end of the dock, putting his feet into the water. The water was cold, but not frigid.
Soon, the wood beside him creaked as John sat down as well. The carpenter held his hand up, the wounds having already stopped bleeding. “What did you need to talk about?” He asked flatly.
“You.” Mitchell said simply. “You lost men. How are you doing?”
John scoffed. “At least you didn’t ask if I was alright. I’m doing shitty, Mitch. Tried to sleep last night - couldn’t. I managed to get back for dawn and fake being asleep so Sarah wouldn’t worry, though.”
Mitchell hummed. “I was wondering how we ended up with so much lumber.”
John chuckled sadly. “I figured it was my only way to get levels without the Legion. Some Legion it is, though. Just me and Jack, now.”
Mitchell waved a hand in the air. “Come off it, you know it would have been bigger if we had more time. Which it looks like we do.”
“We do. The town is a safe zone for now, but we haven’t had anything or anyone show up, save for a new batch of immigrants. Makes me wonder where the hell they come from, and how the coyotes and such know to stay away.”
“I try not to think about it too hard. I might adjust the immigration settings though, I think we’re good on general labour, probably need some levelled people to help run the new buildings. Tommen’s settling in well, though.” Mitchell said idly.
“Might not be a bad idea. Tommen’s the Market guy, right?” John looked over, and Mitchell gave a nod. “Yea, he’s a talker.” John trailed off, and the two listened to the burbling water for a moment before John spoke again.
“I don’t think I can do this, man.” John’s voice was low and wavered.
“I think you can, but tell me why you think you can’t.” Mitchell responded evenly, shoving his own thoughts about it to the back of his mind.
“It’s.. We had so long, and I trained them up as best I could. I was certain, absolutely certain, that we’d all make it through alive. With Sarah around, the alternative never even crossed my mind. Then we lose Gunther, and I almost lose Aleks, and Jack is stuck in the same rut I am. One battle tore my ‘army’ into shreds. What kind of commander am I, to let that happen?”
Mitchell nodded. “Alright, I can envision that. Give me a moment.” Mitchell did his best to put himself into John’s shoes. It was difficult, as while he was in charge of the town, he was not directly in command of anyone but the various Core Members. Even then, it was less command and more like he was able to describe his positions in a way that made them the obvious choice. It was a tenuous balance.
After a pause, he came clean. “I can’t imagine it, John. I just can’t place myself in your position here. You took a terrible loss, and it’s clearly hitting you hard. I think my confusion - sorry, not confusion, but disagreement - with how you’re going about this is that you’re being a bit too self-pitying.”
John whipped his head around with a glare, ready to respond, but Mitchell kept speaking over the attempt. “Is that wrong? I don’t think so. You’re in a situation where you were thrown into a position of authority, then expected to do much with little. That’s on me. You did damn well, John. Yes, a man died under your command. Are you forgetting them, though?”
Mitchell twisted and gestured back at the shore, where all three of the Aspirants who had been assisting had taken over John’s role with furious fervour. The Patriarch didn’t know much about wood, but it might even have been too much fervour. Beyond them, not a single person was wandering about with nothing to do, nor gathered together as Sarah trained them on basic first aid as she had before the battle. No, despite dour, sorrowful expressions, their gazes were focussed and hands steady.
John turned back to the river silent.
“You did, didn’t you? You forgot that through your actions and those of your troops, we didn’t lose a single person who wasn’t ready to put their life on the line. That’s absolutely insane, John. I consider myself somewhat of a history nerd when it comes to wars and battles, and the numbers you pulled it off with… that just doesn’t happen. You and your legion performed a miracle last night. I say this with the absolute most compassion possible - if I had to choose between Gunther, and the rest of our population, I choose Gunther. If I had to choose between Gunther and you, I choose Gunther. Fuck, John, if you weren’t there…” Mitchell swallowed thickly. “I owe you, man. Miri was upstairs that whole time. If they’d gotten through you…”
Mitchell stood, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. If you need a day off, it’s yours. If you need to resign, do so. But don’t do it until you’re done. Jack needs you to pull him out of his shit. Aleks needs his commander when he wakes up to tell him that he did well. Your town needs you, Centurion. Will you allow this miraculous victory to become a defeat after all your foes are dead and gone? I don’t think you will, but I could be wrong.”
Then Mitchell used his new skill for the first time. It had gone unused all of yesterday as he couldn’t decide who or when it would be used best, but here and now he realised he would never know, and he would have to take a page from John’s book and just do what he thought was right, even if he wasn’t certain it was the right call.
Mitchell reached out, and Inspired Courage.
John growled deep in his throat and as he turned and stood as well, Mitchell could see the redness in his eyes and the quivering in his jaw. Despite this, the man stood as solid as a rock and his gaze was unwavering steel. “Hell no, Patriarch.” John set off to find his Optio, and Mitchell let out a sigh of relief.
----------------------------------------
John stood in the evening light before the Clan House, Jack by his side. The two looked ragged, but soon the rest of the Core and Inner Members had arrived and the meeting began.
“Why’d you call for all of us? I’m trying to figure out some enchantments and I really need to get back to i-”
“We’re going to the dungeon.” John stated with finality. “As soon as Aleks is back on his feet, we’ll head out on a training expedition. I wanted to invite anyone who hasn’t gone before. Sarah, I think you and Mitchell should stay here and hold down the fort. Miriam, I understand if you’d like to as well, but I think with myself, George, Nimbus, and the Legion, we should have a good shot of making it through.”
Mitchell ran a hand through his beard thoughtfully as Miriam spoke up. “Oh, I didn’t realise it would be interesting. Yea, I’m in.”
“Yep.” George said simply for himself and Nimbus. Jack didn’t bother to reply, but he stood by John’s side regardless.
Ezekiel raised a hand. “Are we included in this? Kyla and I both have high combat levels, but we can still watch your backs.”
John paused. “I didn’t think you’d want to, but yes. All are welcome to join the expedition.”
Mitchell raised a hand. “I agree with your idea, but not yet. Hold on, let me explain. You, Miri, George, Kyla, Ezekiel, and Sarah. That’s a sufficient group where I think the risk would be reduced.”
“Mitch, the whole point is to train up the Legion.” John protested.
“I know. Which is why you won’t be going, John. Your combat level is high enough right now that you can miss this run, but we need you to build that legion back up. I’ve already reset our immigration parameters, and over the next few days you should get a few more troops with relevant skills and levels. I need you here to train them up. What’s the smallest group in a formation for your class? Not the best at Roman stuff but wasn’t it like 11 or 12?”
“8 per tent, ten tents to a century.” John responded.
Miriam furrowed her eyebrows. “Doesn’t century mean one hund-”
“Yes, and no I don’t care right now.”
“Out of curiosity, can you keep going? Century is what… 80 men?” Mitchell inquired.
“81, with the Centurion.” John answered as his eyes flashed blue. He was consulting something in a System screen. “Six centuries in a cohort, ten cohorts to a legion. Then the camp followers and auxiliaries, equines - cavalry, for those who didn’t know - it all adds up to around 4000 men in a legion, but Centurions only command up to a cohort, max.”
“So one could say you are severely understaffed.”
John scoffed. “I could force conscription in this entire town and not have enough men for a century.”
Mitchell clapped his hands together, gathering everyone’s attention. “Alright. So John, I hate to do it, but my order is this: You are forbidden from the dungeon until you can go with a full tent at your back, and another to guard the town in your absence. Does that seem unfair, given your position?”
John chuckled. “No, not really, but they’re not actually called tents, they’re called contubernium and they’re a unit that shares a tent when camp is made. Other than that, a century is a century is a century.”
Mitchell raised an eyebrow and let the beginnings of a grin spread. “So you want to wait for two centuries before you do the dungeon? Am I hearing this right?”
John laughed aloud, causing a more than a few double-takes. The Centurion had been despondent since the funeral, without so much as a hint of a smile. “Two tents coming right up, Patriarch!”
“You guys are so weird.” Kyla said offhandedly, before clapping a hand to her mouth. A faint blush spread across her cheeks.
George chimed in, his tone friendly. “Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet. Let me tell you about how we trained for the tutorial…”
The next morning, Miriam, Sarah, Kyla, Ezekiel, George, and Jack left for the dungeon. John was forbidden, but Jack was waiting at dawn with a packed bag, and nobody had the heart to go and wake Mitchell to clarify.