I remembered the void. It was dark but filled with music, like a thousand ringing crystals chiming out, a sound just outside of hearing that nevertheless presses in on you. It was beautiful, and terrifying, and lasted for both infinity and a moment before I was dumped unceremoniously into a mud pit. Thankfully the pit was shallow. I fumbled out of it, the mud clinging to everything, and eventually found a broad-leafed tree to help wipe off my face and hands at least.

“Where the heck am I?” I asked the wilderness around me. Before the void, I think I was asleep, and then the void, and now… here. I didn’t recognize much; mud was mud, but the trees were unfamiliar, and the environment was far swampier than my home. I gazed around in bafflement for a few minutes, my head passing back and forth to try and find some indication of where I was, when I spotted a trail of smoke rising up in the air. Well, civilization was probably better than no civilization, so with a final wipe, I began to walk towards the smoke’s source.

Unfortunately, the trek was slow going. The swamp was filled with a lot of pits of mud and water, and solid ground was sparse. I lost a sock a few minutes in to some quicksand I didn’t notice until it was too late, and the bugs were swarming every time I neared a pond or puddle. Even so, the plume of smoke in the distance was constant against the sky above me and served as a beacon. After what felt like an hour, I finally reached the source: a battle centered around a small camp. There weren’t many people actually fighting, maybe two dozen at most, with some wearing little more than scraps of metal beaten into place on top of thick hide armor, while the others were wearing dedicated suits of armor, even if they weren’t all wearing the same thing, some in boiled leather suits, some in chainmail, and two in full plate- though the ones in real armor were also wearing green tabards emblazoned with a golden upraised fist wielding a hammer.

I stayed back, watching the fight progress; I didn’t know who was who, I didn’t know what was going on, and I wasn’t capable of interfering even if I wanted to. At least, that was what I had planned, until one of the ones in hide and scrap metal armor managed to knock his opponent onto their back and smashed his legs with his hammer, breaking one of the man’s kneecaps. With a frenzied look in his eye, the one still standing immediately stared right at me and began to charge. I stared down the man, frozen in place, my head and heart pounding in fear.

What almost felt like a drilling sensation pierced my skull, and I felt something tether itself to my very mind. It was searching through my head, looking at everything, and I felt it skip a beat.

Firey Rage

I felt myself splitting in two; one wanted to stay and fight, and one wanted to run, and neither could agree. I need to save myself. I need to stand my ground. I need to-

I didn’t have a choice, I told myself. What other option was there? Running? No, I wouldn’t last long. This man is more skilled than I am, but if I’m careful I can at least last long enough for the tabarded guys to help. Focus on defense, use what you know.

No. I’m not going to be running scared.

The man in crude armor came barreling towards me, swinging his sledgehammer in an overhead strike. I stepped to the side, dodging the swing and wrenching his weapon out of his hands as he overextended. In a single smooth motion, I swung around, bringing the weapon against my opponent to strike him in the side, but he reached out and caught my arm before I could hit him. We grappled for a few minutes before, in a desperate move, I wrenched away from him, swung myself in a circle, and struck him in the gut with the hammer, accidentally letting go of it. I apparently managed to catch him by surprise, because he took the hammerhead to the gut and nearly kneeled over. But instead of catching his breath, he grabbed the hammer again and came charging in once more.

As the berserker recovered and attacked, I caught his swing, catching the blow with one hand and hammering the other into his stomach between two pieces of metal. The berserker howled in pain and I used the opportunity to use my remaining arm to wrench his weapon out of his hands once more. I used the hammer as a weight, ducking down and swinging it and my upper body low, my right foot whistling around in a spin-kick that struck him square in the jaw as I let out a loud shout; the crack of bone could be clearly heard over my voice, and the man crumpled like a sack of rice.

I panted, but only for as long as my stomach would let me before it spewed out a stream of bile. I vomited, trying to angle my mouth so I didn’t hit myself or the other man with any of it, and noticed that the tabard-wearing people had finished their fights as well.

One of them, a woman wearing plate armor and with a few locks of dark hair peeking out of her helmet, stepped forward, a smile on her face.

“It seems we got help! You’re quite the warrior, miss,” she said. “I am Paladin Allison, what is your name?”

I wiped my face, spat out what vomit I could, and stood back up on wobbly legs so I could answer. “My name is Sophia Maddison, and thank you, but all I did was get lucky. That was the first time I’ve ever been in a real fight,” I said, gagging slightly as my stomach threatened to rebel again. “I have been training in martial arts for years, but he didn’t seem very skilled.”

Allison nodded at that. “Yes, you would be correct; that band were not very skilled because they were not, in fact, warriors. Are you not from these parts, to have not heard of the Hatred Plague?”

I shook my head, my curly hair bobbing and flecks of half-dried mud shaking off of me. “I just woke up in the swamps nearby, I have no idea where I am or who that is. To be honest, I’m more than a little confused, since chainmail and plate armor stopped being used a long time ago. If you were cosplayers, that guy wouldn’t have tried to attack me, so…”

Allison looked at me askew for a moment before her eyes lit up. With raised eyebrows, she said, “Hold on, are you a jumper? I suppose you wouldn’t know the term if you were… every few years, there’s tell of someone coming from another world. They get dropped somewhere, most of the time not knowing what’s happening or why they can suddenly use Soul Magic. It’s a bit odd that someone so well trained in hand-to-hand combat wouldn’t show theirs in a fight… either way, maybe you should come with us; we can give you a room to stay in if you don’t have anywhere else to be, you don’t want to be camping around here, what with the Plagued wandering about.”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

In point of fact, since I didn’t know where or when I was, I didn’t have anywhere better to go, so I decided to go with them. Along the way, they explained who they were, what Soul Magic is, and who the Hatred Plague King was.

Point of order: they were the Free Paladins, an order dedicated to protecting the innocent. They took in anyone, of any background, any history, any career. Anyone with a fire in their heart and a passion to do what was right could join, contributing whatever they could bring and being trained in combat.

Soul Magic is, well, magic as an expression of the soul. It was a natural part of a person, and came as easily to them as breathing; your soul magic changed with you, adapting to who you are and how you grew as a person.

The Hatred Plague King was a bandit lord who had the power to induce a seething, blinding rage and hatred in others. It could only spread from the Plague King himself and those he himself infected, but it still meant that entire towns were wiped off the map, their people brought to their new King and turned against their former friends and family, and more and more people were depending on the Paladins for protection.

The Paladins’ Citadel was not at all how I’d imagined it. I had pictured gleaming white stone walls and towers, beautiful and imposing. But instead, it was made primarily out of wood painted with a fireproof plaster, and the guards standing in front were decked not in gleaming plate or chain but in quilted gambesons painted with their group’s symbol.

Inside the walls was an entire city. The walls were lined with market stalls selling a variety of things- mostly food, but there were also stalls with clothing, supplies such as nails and glue, even one with silverware. But I noticed that none of the people were using money; they simply talked to the person manning the stall and took what they needed, while more guards in gambesons and occasionally basic chestplates and helmets here and there watched over it all.

Allison showed me to the main hall, where the closest thing to a government these people had existed. The Paladins had effectively taken over a town and expanded it to take in people in need and had eventually developed a moneyless system; the Paladins themselves kept stock of people’s needs and how much of any resource could be spared, and those ‘merchants’ weren’t taking money because they didn’t use it. Money wasn’t worth much when you’re struggling to eat, and while they weren’t doing horribly on food, a lot of people’s belts were tighter than they would prefer.

The other woman had assumed I wanted to join the Paladins, and to be honest, I didn’t have any other skills they could use; I doubted coding in C++ or driving cars would be very relevant here, and the only stove I had ever used was an electric one.

After a meal, nothing but a few slices of bread filled with food scraps baked into it, I was taken out into their training yard with the armsmaster, an old man with a short but scraggly beard and hair to match and garbed in a gambeson; his name was Michael. He laughed when I said my preferred weapon was unarmed combat, but he still took a stance and asked me to show him my skills.

We gave each other a small bow before the two of us faced off for a moment, but I broke the tension by lashing out with a quick jab at his solar plexus; he tried to grab me, but a quick knee to his groin forced him back. I lashed out a snap-kick at him as he pedaled back, then settled in a defensive stance and waited. He gave me a nod and rushed forwards, trying to grab me again; this time I let him get close before twirling around him to the side, wrenching his arm between my elbow and forcing it locked shut, then grabbing his pointer and ring finger and wrenching them back just far enough to hurt without breaking anything.

As we backed off once more, the armsmaster spoke up. “You’re quite skilled there; I can see how you took out an infected with your bare hands. Though I’ve never seen that style before, it seems to be based more on strikes than grappling, is that right?”

“I’m sure you haven’t, I’m a… what did Allison call it? A jumper?” I replied. “My teachers taught a mixture of various styles, but primarily based in Taekwando, which focuses on kicks and swiftness over raw force or grappling.”

“Hmm, that makes sense; Allison described a specific kind of kick you used on the infected earlier, can you show it to me?”

With a small bow to each other, we began again, this time Michael hung back with his palms raised. I did the spin-kick again, my torso bending down to let my foot strike both of his hands with force.

“Impressive!” he said. “I think that would be awkward to perform while wearing armor not designed for it, but still. It seems to be mostly for civilian self-defense- am I right?”

I gave a nod and placed two quick jabs to Michael’s outstretched palms. “That and for when a soldier is disarmed or an enemy gets inside their weapon’s reach. It was invented by a military in my world, but it’s based on older styles developed by ascetic monks.”

Michael let out another loud guffaw. “Hah! Monks that kick and punch like brawlers, that’s an idea! Still, I suppose they would have the time for it! Now, let’s see you translate your skills to a proper weapon.”

The armsmaster tossed me a carved stick, weighed to be easy to grip like a real sword or club, as he grabbed a shield and another cudgel for himself. “Take this training cudgel, show me what you’ve got.”

I was admittedly clumsier with the weapon; I hadn’t trained in using them, I hadn’t advanced far enough in my classes, but that didn’t mean I didn’t know the basics. The stances, how to follow through with a swing, that was all familiar enough, and it meant I could at least not look like a total idiot- and using my dominant left hand gave me an advantage... or so I thought.

I sent out a feint, turning an overhead swing into a jab, but the armsmaster saw it coming and blocked with his shield. He immediately countered, sending a quick swing towards my right, one that I just barely dodged around, twisting around into a brutal side-slam that he just caught on the edge of his shield. Unfortunately, I overextended, not having the muscle memory to swing a real weapon, and he managed to tag me with a quick jab to the shoulder.

I let out a growl and recentered my stance, tightly gripping the cudgel with both hands and swinging it away from his shield. Michael managed to back away slightly, forcing me to overextend again, then caught the cudgel with a parry and knocked it out of my hand.

I knew he was an expert at hand-to-hand combat. I knew he was trying to train me. But something inside of me burned, and I let out a raw scream as I dove at him, feeling like my skin was bubbling with the sheer fury that that erupted. I threw a punch, faster than I could ever remember, straight at his face, and I watched as my fist broke his nose and left behind a burn, flames erupting from it.

Michael immediately backed away, calling out, “berserker! Berserker!” A few other knights came out into the yard armed with various weapons, but I didn’t care, I charged. Unfortunately, I wasn’t paying attention; I felt something hit my head, and as much as I tried to stay awake, I couldn't.