Raindrops fell onto the window, creating a constant but soothing drumming. John tore his gaze away from the parchment in his hands and looked up to dark-grey clouds that had been dominating the skyscape ever since the first rainfall at the end of his first summer in this new world of his.

“How’s your life here, kiddo?” a gruff voice asked him.

John tore his gaze away from the landscape, directing it towards his visitor. Dim light entered the room, basking George, who was sitting in a chair that was obviously far too small for his enormous frame, in a pale light.

“Good, I guess. Just, you know, training every day and night can get pretty damn boring after a few months.”

George, who seemed just as gigantic as the last time John had seen him, leaned back. The chair groaned in protest, but the culprit didn’t seem to even notice that. “As you probably already know, it won’t be too long until you’ll be sent to the frontlines.” He spoke with a slow, unhurried tone that matched neither his appearance nor the past impression John had in his mind.

He seemed like someone who was here to talk about business, not to reminisce about good old times that didn’t really exist in the first place. Perhaps feeling that John had seen through his intentions, the middle-aged giant coughed lightly, raising his head in mock surrender.

“Okay, I’ll get to the point. There’s something I want you to do for me. Now don’t look at me like that, it’s not like I want you to do it for free.” George snapped his fingers, causing a pile of black coins with a hole in the middle to fall onto John’s table. They clinked metallically as they hit the hard wooden table that stood between them, and at that moment John realized that he still had no idea about the local currency. “I think this will be enough?”

John took a long, hard look at the coins in front of him. Mentally sighing at his complete and utter lack of knowledge about the local currencies, he picked one up and examined it closer. It was just about one inch wide, with the hole in the middle being just big enough to fit a few sturdy strings. The matte black surface felt somewhat warm to the touch, but was otherwise completely plain.

A low chuckle reverberated through the whole room. When John looked up, he saw George stare at him whilst trying to hold his laughter in. “What?” he asked with a quirked eyebrow.

“Let me guess,” George wheezed out with a snort, “You don’t know how much this coin is worth?”

John stayed silent.

A full-blown laughter caused the whole room to shake. John closed his eyes, enduring the moment as he awaited the explanation that would surely follow.

After what seemed like an eternity passed, the laughter finally stopped. George wiped a tear off his face and straightened his colossal frame. “Phew, that felt good.” He rolled his shoulders and breathed in deeply, then pulling blue, grey and white coins out of thin air in short succession.

Placing them next to each other, he pointed at the blue coin. “Do you know what this one is called?”

“No,” John responded, drawing the word out with a hint of annoyance. “Can you just assume that I don’t know anything about currencies and get the hell on with this?”

George sent him a beaming smile. “Fine then. Let’s start with the basics of the basics: Us warriors can produce these coins in our cores, and the amount of aether we put into it defines its worth. Since it would be far too bothersome if every single warrior were to use their own coins, the powers that be have decided to establish a system that makes the life of everyone involved easier.”

The giant let the blue coin levitate until it was at eye-height with John. “This blue coin represents the smallest amount of money you can pay with: One Aetherion.” The other three coins floated up to the same height. “A black coin ought to be worth a hundred times as much as a blue one, whilst the grey coins are worth ten times as much as the black coins. The most valuable one would be the white coin, which contains about ten times the amount of aether a grey coin possesses. I reckon you wouldn’t be able to produce even a single genuine white coin even if you turned the contents of your core into pure aether.”

John snatched the white coin out of the air, examining it further. “So how are merchants supposed to check whether the coin is real or fake?” he voiced the gnawing doubt at the back of his mind out loud.

The coin wrenched itself out of John’s hand, flying back to its former place. “Since most merchants aren’t fully grown warriors capable of sensing aether-“

“Wait wait wait wait wait,” John interrupted him, “So you mean that I’ll be able to sense aether when I grow older?”

John’s head whipped back as the white coin shot at his forehead, leaving a red mark on it after bouncing off. “Don’t interrupt me when I’m explaining, okay?”

“Anyway,” George continued whilst ignoring the glare John was sending into his direction, “Most respectable merchants possess an aether scale capable of measuring the amount of aether contained within an object, which is then displayed in numbers. This means that, theoretically, a blue coin containing enough aether inside can be worth just as much as a white one and vice versa.”

“And what about the merchants that can’t afford one?”

“Well, that’s what blue coins are for. One Aetherion is the amount needed to produce a coin like this.” The blue coin closed in on John’s face, stopping just short of hitting the space between his eyes. “Every blue coin is made of a special material that will cost exactly one Aetherion to create.”

The levitating blue coin vanished. “To us warriors, the most important thing about these coins lies in the simple fact that we can drain aether out of a coin when our stocks run low, provided you have any at hand and enough time. Though it is quite a tedious and slow process unless you use horrendous sums amounts of money, every second counts when your very lifespan depends on aether.”

“So you mean that I could theoretically live far longer than normally if I were to just use a boatload of money?”

George nodded.

“Then the children born in rich families will have quite an extreme advantage over normal people, won’t they?”

George nodded once again. “That’s just the way it is. Children born with a silver spoon in their mouths will cultivate at a pace that far outstrips your imagination.” A wry grin spread out on his face. “That doesn’t help them when they step on battlefields, though. They fall like any other rookie.”

A moment of silence in which they just stared at each other with wry grins ensued. “Do you have any other questions? Otherwise, I’ll tell you the task I want you to perform,” George finally said.

It took him a moment of hesitation, but John decided that hearing just what would animate George to come in such a business-like manner was more important than most of the questions pressing his mind. For now, at least. “None. I’ll ask you when any pop up.” Seeing the strange expression on George’s face, he quickly added, “After you’ve finished talking, of course.”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“Good.” George cleared his throat, and his expression quickly turned neutral again. “You probably haven’t been told, but you’ll be deployed to Evergreen in a few weeks. In there, you kids will have the role of providing all kinds of support to the returning soldiers of the frontlines.”

He reached into his robes, fumbling around for a bit before finally pulling a thick envelope out. “Your job is as easy as it gets: Simply deliver this to any logistics manager you happen to meet. Tell them it’s from Deathblade George.”

“What kind of cheesy name is that?”

George raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have to care about things like that, boy. Simply deliver the message and we can pretend you never asked that question. Understood?”

Realizing that he had done something unexpectedly offensive, John nodded obediently. “Of course. And the money will be mine before or after I have accomplished the task?”

“Oh, I nearly forgot. Here, this is yours.” With a snap of his fingers, the pile of coins started levitating, slowly flying through the air until it stopped in front of John.

“Now, do you accept?”

John found his gaze inexplicably drawn to that big, beautiful pile of money, but managed to rip it away. He blinked, trying to think of the implications such a task could bring. “Why would ask me, of all people, to perform this task? I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but why not just go there yourself?”

George shifted in his seat uncomfortably, almost breaking it in the process. “Well, you see-“ He put a hand around the badge hanging on his chest. “There are certain circumstances that won’t allow me to do so myself. Honestly, I’d love to tell you all about them, but as you probably know these walls have ears.” The giant of a man pointed a finger towards the ceiling.

John’s eyes narrowed at the other’s words. “And what guarantees, then, that I won’t die an early death due to some unforeseen…accidents?”

“I’m afraid that I’d follow you to the grave in case you were to die due to me, so don’t worry. This job is very safe, and very well paid. Stop asking questions and simply accept like a good kid, okay? Greg – I guess you better know him as Teacher -  will watch over you, anyway, so you can rest assured. It’s more likely for the Evergreen to lose its leaves in summer than for someone to sneak past him and kill you.”

John put one hand to his chin, the other reaching out to grab the still levitating pile of coins. They evaded his touch, however, and his hand caught nothing but thin air. “I guess I’ll accept. Do you mind if I consult my teacher about the real risks of this little task?”

“I’m sure that he’ll contact you on his own as soon as I leave this room. Speaking of leaving, it was nice to see you and all, but I’ve really got to go now. Circumstances, as I’ve already told you.” George winked at him.

The chair nearly toppled over when George rose to his full height. A few swift steps and formalities later, he was gone.

Closing the door, John mentally started counting. At five, a familiar voice resounded from behind him, “I assume that this is the man that handed you in?”

The boy turned around, and after glancing around the room he discovered the ramrod-straight form of his teacher sitting on his bed. He nodded in response to the old man’s question, taking a seat opposite of him.

A pair of amber eyes sized him up. “Did you ever come into contact with him before he brought you here?”

“No?” John stared straight back at them. “We actually first met each other when I collapsed on the street. He nursed me back to health by shoving something strange down my throat, and then led me here. As far as I know, I’ve never even seen him before that incident.”

The old man’ stare was fixed on him long enough to make John uncomfortable. He mumbled something under his breath that John didn’t quite catch. “That’s also fine. I’d advise you to stay as far away from that man as possible, however. He’s far more dangerous than you most likely believe.”

John raised an eyebrow. “Why? Does it have to do with those circumstances he mentioned?”

“Oh, how I wish it were just that. No, he’s well known to be a bloodthirsty monster that slaughters his enemies indiscriminately.” Two amber eyes abruptly started shining as the old man clenched his fists. “Regardless of whether they are soldiers or civilians.” John’s teacher shook his head full of white hair. “But I guess you have to see something like that in order to believe it. As he is now, George really does seem like a kind middle aged man, as much as it pains me to say this.”

“Then don’t I simply need to avoid becoming his enemy? I mean, he seems like a pretty reasonable man, after all. I’m sure that you’d need to do something outrageous to offend him.” John calmly answered despite the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach when he realised that he could have been in mortal danger all this time.

‘Calm down, me. Everyone around you being a possible psycho isn’t anything new,’ he told himself. ‘The very fact that he saved my collapsed on the streets proves that he doesn’t have some strange hate for humanity as a whole. Or at least against you.’

Greg smiled sheepishly – something that looked completely out of place on his otherwise strict face. “That’s quite the good point you raised here. Not to mention that even he has things he can’t afford to lose, which, I guess, is the main reason he hasn’t gone on a rampage in Cymae yet. But I digress. What I actually came here to tell you about was our expedition that George has already told you about. As I’ve already paid everyone aside from you a personal visit since I’ll have to attend to some matters of my own in the next few days, I’ll keep myself brief. The excursion itself will start in two days. Pack your things and stand by on our usual training field until I arrive. You’ll get the rest of the details when we start moving.”

John’s mouth twitched as he observed the old man stand up. “Could you perhaps elaborate on the details of our…excursion? I don’t want to be rude, but I think it some things like our exact destination and what exactly I need to pack would be pretty helpful?” he inquired as politely as he could.

His teacher, who had already stood up, froze. A fraction of a second later, he coughed. “Of course. I was just waiting for you to say those words.”

“Anyway, we will be travelling to Everfort, which will take us around two weeks by foot. The official reason is to “provide support”, but in reality, we are doing this to show you what awaits you if you don’t give it your all in training.” The old man smiled weakly, and John could have sworn that he saw something vulnerable in his wrinkled face. Whatever he thought to have glimpsed at vanished just as quickly as it appeared, though, and he continued, “Believe me, the life of a warrior may still seem pretty glorious to you now, but you’ll learn that it’s harsher than that of most commoners. Most of our kind don’t really get to live beyond their forties.”

His teacher sighed, and a familiar sharpness that could cut through steel shone through his eyes again. “Look at me telling you these things! I must be going senile.”

John licked his lips as he thought about the ridiculously low expected lifespan of a caste whose potential age was well beyond one hundred. He clenched his fists tightly. “What do I need to carry with me?” John asked after realizing that there he had far more important things to worry about at the moment.

“Clothes, a healthy amount of common sense and a few games to pass time with. You can just suck all of that stuff into your core, so there won’t be a need for a backpack or anything of the like.” The old man glanced around the room for a moment. “Not that there is much to pack in your case, anyway,” he added.

“Gee, thanks for that. It’s not like I could acquire a lot of stuff with my non-existent allowance anyway. Even if I were allowed to actually go out, for that matter.”

A yawn escaped the old man’s mouth. “Well, tough luck boy. It’s for your own protection. Who knows what kind of schemes our enemies might try to pull off against you brats?”

John sat back, puffing his cheeks up like the child he was now. ‘I need to act more like a proper adult, dammit!’ he scolded himself in the back of his mind. Not letting his train of thought interrupt him, he retorted, “Why, then, are we travelling towards the frontlines, arguably one of the most dangerous places in the entirety of Frumentum?”

“What kind of warriors would you be if you never saw what war can do to even the bravest to man? Although our name, warrior, contains the word “war”, that doesn’t mean that we were born to live and die on the battlefield.” Greg absentmindedly straightened his robe. “After everything is said and done, we are still humans, despite what some commoners might think. We live, bleed and die just like any other human. It is my job as your teacher to show you just how fragile the life of warriors can be, in spite of all our superhuman abilities. That’s why I’m constantly telling you that every life should be fought as if your very lives depend on it. Because in the future, it will.”

“But I digress, again. Prepare your things. I expect to arrive around the time the sun has reached its zenith. If you still aren’t present at that time, I’ll personally come to wherever you may be and whoop your ass all the way to Everfort.” John’s teacher told him, proceeding to start walking again. Within a moment, he also exited the room.

Feeling his muscle aches return as soon as the old man was gone, John groaned. Two weeks of travelling? Were those bastards trying to kill his undernourished self?

Sighing as he knew the futility of his complaints, he jumped onto the bed, draped the blanket over himself and nuzzled against his beloved pillow. Who knows how much rest he would get in the following weeks? He might as well stock up on sleep whilst he could.