Rowan was of the opinion that optical camouflage served no purpose but traveling with five others that employed it was on the verge of changing his mind. He could swear no one was there a moment ago, only for someone to come out of the bushes. It wasn’t unreasonable to assume that they wouldn’t be noticed if a search party was flying above.

Much to Rowan’s disappointment, he was forced to leave his bag behind, and in extension, his books. The scroll was put inside the pouch tied to his belt, its length conveniently half an inch shorter than the pouch’s width. Right next to the pouch was a canteen, filled to the brim with water.

It was becoming more and more apparent that being a graduate of the Academy meant that you were a successful fighter, tactician, scholar, and survivalist. The curriculum was far more immersive than what little Rowan learned at school.

His tactic was to fake it till he made it, but it was becoming painfully apparent that it was borderline impossible.

Rowan sat underneath the cover of a tree and rubbed a stick on a log that was cut in half. Dry grass was placed in a nick that he’d made with a knife. It was a life hack he’d learned from the internet to impress everyone in the hypothetical scenario that he was stranded in the wilderness with others. It was unrealistic in the other reality, but in this one, it was a mile’s worth of walking away.

He didn’t look half as badass as he thought he would.

“You didn’t bring your flint?” asked Grace as she stood next to him, a pile of dry branches on her hands. Her hair was tied into a messy ponytail he’d gotten used to seeing.

“It was in the bag. I had to leave it,” said Rowan, blatantly lying. It wasn’t the first lie he’d told her and certainly not the last. He turned to her and gave her a scowl, “And all of you have it, right? So why bother?”

“You have to be ready in case you’re separated. That’s rule one,” said Grace and threw the branches on the ground. Out of her pouch —which unlike his, had a strap that had to be worn over the shoulder like a bag— she pulled out a circular piece of steel that looked like knuckle dusters and a sharp, brown rock, “You do the gathering next time.”

Rowan helplessly nodded and his ears grew red.

She slid the steel across the sharp edge of the flint and sparks shot out. The dry grass that sat on the log caught fire and Grace brought the branches to it. Within moments, a campfire stood before them.

“Yeah, sorry,” said Rowan and sat back, hugging his knees.

He’d effectively done nothing while the others finished their duties successfully: Isaac caught a hare for dinner, Jason fetched water while Liz and Peter secured a perimeter. It meant that they’d tied strings between trees that had bells attached to them. If anything ran into it during the night, it’d alert everyone.

That couldn’t do.

Living a lie was difficult, especially if you weren’t overqualified to be playing the role. The Rowan on this side was most certainly more capable than him. Compared to the nerd that he was, the other Rowan was comparable to an Eagle Scout and read history books.

“Who’s gonna cook?” asked Isaac while slitting the throat of the hare. He effortlessly tied a string around it and hung it from a tree branch, letting its blood drain to the ground.

Rowan knew what you had to do in theory, but seeing it was different. He couldn’t help but avert his eyes from the dead eyes of the poor thing.

“I’ll do it,” offered Liz and got a nod of approval from Isaac, who then came up to the fire and took a seat on a log next to them.

Grace had brought enough sticks to last throughout the night and from among them, Liz pulled out the straightest and thickest ones. Even a fool would see what she was trying to do.

“Let me do it,” said Rowan and pulled out his knife. It was inside the pouch next to the scroll, its blade covered by a wooden sheath. Liz lazily threw the sticks at him. Each movement of hers was sluggish and delayed.

Like she was tired.

“You’re tired,” he said and looked at Grace who was moving just as sluggishly.

“We’ve been walking for an entire day. It’s expected,” said Isaac and grabbed a few branches from Rowan’s hand. He threw some at Peter and pulled out his own knife, “Make yourself useful. You’re the one that brought baggage.”

“Gallagher brought his sister as well,” said Peter, pointing a finger at Liz.

“I allowed her because you brought two. He was ready to leave her behind and hadn’t jeopardized the mission,” said Isaac and started to carve a skewer to hang the meat from. He put down the knife, stared Peter right in the eye, and asked, “She set up the perimeter by herself. You’re more of a baggage than her.”

“Give it back. I’ll do it myself,” said Rowan and extended his hand, palms facing up. It wasn’t out of the kindness of his heart, but because he wanted to make himself useful. It’d make him look incompetent.

Grace would…

No, he couldn’t think about her. It reminded him of the rejection that was still fresh in his memory.

Rowan sighed and snatched the sticks from Peter’s hands. With only three cuts, he’d made a jaggy skewer —it was easy. He used to do that when his father was still home. Skewers were one of his favorite dishes and the moment Rowan was allowed to hold a knife, he’d learned how to make skewers.

That was before he learned to cook.

Finally, he’d finished six of them in the time it took Isaac to finish three. That gave him a measure of satisfaction —like he’d done something productive.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

It was deafeningly silent for a few minutes until the perimeter rang, dragging their attention to the exact same spot. It was kept around twenty meters from where they sat, making it possible to see the outer perimeter from where they say, albeit with obstructions.

Jason stood there, holding a wooden barrel filled to the brim with water. It was one-third of his size and had a steel handle that could be held. During travel, it was kept empty, only used for camping purposes.

That’s what it looked like so far, at least.

“My bad,” he shouted and raised his free hand.

“I’ll go take care of the hare,” said Liz and climbed back to her feet, but Rowan pulled her down from the wrist while using her as leverage to hop up to his feet.

“I should do it,” said Rowan and gave her a wink. He knew how bad her cooking was and he didn’t want to risk eating a failed dish in the middle of nowhere. Whether that was the same in this world or not, he didn’t care. He didn’t want to try his luck.

Even if it meant that he had to learn how to skin small games from the ground up.

“No, no. I’ll do it,” objected Peter.

“I can do it just fine,” said Rowan and shook his head.

“I can do it better,” said Peter in response and hopped up to his feet as well.

“I insist. I’ll do it. I’m good at cooking,” said Rowan and raised his arms as if to push him.

“Well, then you go take care of the cooking. I’ll do the butchering,” offered Peter, but Rowan didn’t want to give in. Even if he didn’t know how to skin it, he had to offer token resistance.

“I know how to do it as well,” he retorted.

“Well, then you should be glad I’m taking care of it. Father goes hunting every month and he brings me with him. Trust me, I know better,” said Peter, and that was the opportunity Rowan had been looking for. He nodded with an exaggerated scowl and stepped back, arms raised, but this time to show that he meant no harm. Peter nodded and added, his voice full of irritation, “Thank you.”

He took his seat back on the ground, leaning on a tree trunk. Jason had taken a seat next to him and Liz was on the other side. Grace sat opposite to him and Isaac sat between Jason and Grace, both of them on the same log.

It was only the first day and they’d be traveling for a minimum of a month and a half. Rowan could feel the exhaustion set in just thinking about it.

“How far are we from the road?” asked Jason, fiddling with a map. He held it over the fire and let its light pass through the parchment. The sun was setting and that meant it was too dark to make out the map without any light.

“Around ten miles east of it,” said Isaac nonchalantly.

“Wouldn’t that mean we’d be passing through Demon territory?” asked Jason, a sour expression on his face.

“It’s their territory in name only. They don’t wander into the outskirts often,” said Isaac and chugged down the contents of his canteen in a single breath. After that, he refilled it from the bucket that Jason filled up.

All the while Rowan sat there, lost beyond a shadow of a doubt. He’d hoped that the word ‘Demon’ in Demon War Records was merely for flair but a world of swords and magic didn’t allow for much doubt.

“But what if they do?” asked Jason.

“Then we fight. That’s obvious,” said Peter from behind them. He was far more skillful with a knife than he’d expected, so much so that he’d managed to separate the skin of the hare from the meat in the time it took Jason to ask two questions.

It was the better decision to let him butcher the meat.

“No, we don’t. We run,” corrected Isaac.

“But they’re our enemies. We’re supposed to kill them. That’s what they teach at the Academy,” said Peter, eyes squinted.

“Just because they’re your enemy doesn’t mean you have to fight them every chance you get. They know who we are, they tattle. They tattle, the Sects expand their searching perimeter and find us,” said Isaac and stuck a small stick he’d sharpened into his mouth to use as a toothpick, “Nothing is absolute.”

“Wouldn’t it be simpler to kill them, then? That way they can’t tattle,” said Rowan, fully expecting that killing would be the best method to keep them silent.

“They’ll be hunting there. If we don’t get in their way and make it apparent that we’re simply passing through, most Demons wouldn’t bat an eyelash. The moment we fight back, one of them runs away and they’re fast. We won’t catch up to them fast enough while also fighting,” said Isaac after he finished picking his teeth.

Peter sliced off the limbs where they connected with the torso with surprising ease and handed them to Rowan alongside the head. That was what Rowan was used to. He’d cooked his fair share of skewers but it was his first time cooking it over a bonfire instead of a specialized mangal —it was a steel box in which coal or wood was placed, over which the skewers were placed to be cooked.

It’d be absurd to keep holding it until it was fully cooked, perhaps not. He didn’t know how long it’d take to cook but his instincts were good when it came to cooking. Being the only one that had time to do it for the last six years helped.

“Does anyone have salt or pepper?” asked Rowan after he grabbed the limbs, only to receive confused glances. He sucked his teeth and nodded a few times, “Okay, no salt it is, then.”

That’s when Rowan heard something wet plop to the ground in the distance. Horror movie producers nailed their sound effects when it came to spilling guts. The one who’d done that, Peter, came moments later and took a seat on the leg next to Grace and Liz.

“You can cook?” asked Peter and Liz gave Rowan a weird look.

“Yeah, don’t you?” asked Rowan, taking his chances. The Academy taught them to survive, so it had to have taught them how to cook as a baseline.

“Not with salt or spices. The meat already has enough salt in it. Only nobles can afford fresh meat, so pray tell, how can you cook fresh meat?” asked Grace, speaking up for the first time since they’d sat down.

“I was taught,” said Rowan.

“By whom?” asked Liz this time. Her eyes were narrowed, “I’ve never bought fresh meat.”

That’s when Rowan remembered: full orphan. That meant no father and no mother. Perhaps the details were different in this world. In the old, his father had disappeared almost six years ago while their mother was still very much alive and present.

“That’s not really important, is it?” asked Rowan and put a brief smile on his face. He directed his attention to the food. Rowan cut off small chunks of meat from the limbs and started to stab the skewers through them, then after there was little enough meat sticking to the bone, he stabbed a skewer through what little meat that remained.

“What… did you say your name was, boy?” asked Isaac as he joined in.

“Rowan,” he said.

“No, the other name. The one of your family,” said Isaac.

“Gallagher,” said Liz before he could open his mouth.

“Hm,” grunted Isaac and nodded, “Gallagher. I’ll remember that.”

Within a few minutes, they’d finished preparing the skewers. Some of them had ribs, some of them had limbs and some of them had only meat. Then they had to cook it over the open fire, which they were so intent on cooking like marshmallows.

Rowan’s eyes wandered and landed on a branch that could work perfectly for a slingshot.

He had an idea.

He grabbed the stick, stabbed it into the ground next to the fire, and started to look for another one, only to find none among the dry branches meant for lumber.

“Well, time to do some gathering,” said Rowan and hopped up to his feet. Measuring the size of the stick with his eyes alone was enough. It didn’t need any delicate measurements.

“Gallagher, huh?” mumbled Isaac, making Rowan raise an eyebrow.

He snapped some tree branches and when they didn’t come off, he cut them with his knife. There was no complaint so people weren’t averse to cutting off live trees in this new reality, which was a great find.

Rowan brought exactly nine branches of almost equal size, all of them perfect for slingshots. He stabbed them into the ground, two of them parallel to each other so the skewers could conveniently be placed on them, effectively emulating what he was used to.

“You take care of the cooking,” said Isaac.

Rowan nodded.

He was being useful, at least. That was good. That let him feel good about himself.