Previously on Reincarnated as a Grunt in the Demon Lord’s Army:
Lenore Wraithwhisper had been through a lot lately. For starters, she’d found herself trapped in a body and life that wasn’t hers and had needed to get used to the experience of having two completely unique sets of memories in her head. Before she’d even been able to come to grips with that new reality, she’d been thrust into a massive brawl with a number of dangerous enemies.
She’d managed to survive that (barely) and eked out a bit of status for herself. In doing so, however, she’d managed to get on the bad side of the local authority in charge of the event and had been saddled with a trio of Goblins destined for execution and to whom the very idea of ‘unit cohesion’ had been a tough sell. She’d gotten them in line, but in the process of doing that ended up making a deal with a terrifying extra-dimensional being she’d named Pitch that had granted her the power to strengthen her allies temporarily, at the consequence of incredible pain for the duration of it, and prolonged lesser pain for days after using it. That had earned her just enough of an edge to scrape out a victory in the next tournament she’d been signed up for and had given her some hope of winning it all.
Sadly, those hopes had been dashed quite thoroughly by the fact that the next team they’d fought had been transformed into Undead abominations. With a small assist from Pitch, she’d just barely managed to defeat the last of the creatures, but had been knocked out at the same time, resulting in a draw. When she woke, she was informed that even a draw was enough to eliminate her and that she’d been given her first task as a low-ranking officer in the Demon Lord’s Army. Which brings us to this point…
* * * * *
“That bitch!” Lenore said of the Lord of all Demons, She Who Must Be Obeyed, and she who had just transported Len and her three goblin minions into the middle of a goddamned snowstorm. Her trio did not respond to that, clearly uncomfortable with direct disparaging of their supreme leader.
The one saving grace of their situation was that they’d been transported with a large sack that, when opened, revealed some rations, a map and compass and, most importantly, sets of cloaks and furs that would offer proper defense against the cold. Len paused her grumbling about the Demon Lord just long enough to get garbed up, then resumed her tirade.
“Can you believe her?” she snapped at no one in particular. “Bad enough that we get eliminated due to bullshit rules, but to send us out here as we’re still recovering? Not a single goddamn bit of warning either, just a sweet little ‘Hold this, will you?’ and a flick of her wrist and we’re here. Fucking hell!”
The anger was helping her stay warm but other than that, it wasn’t doing much besides make the Trio uncomfortable, so she dropped it. The map had come with a convenient ‘you are here’ indicator for where they’d been dumped by the teleportation spell and the compass showed the rest. Basically, they just had to head due north, though there was no obvious roads nearby leading to the (less than encouragingly named) fort of Grenus’ Hovel.
The trek itself was long and miserable but the compass was a godsend to keep them mostly on track. The map showed a road that they should be getting near, but it was tough to say what was what as the storm whirled around them. After what felt like hours, they did reach a more worn path that seemed likely to be what they were looking for (though calling it a road would have been generous) and, after about half an hour more heading east, they managed to locate their destination.
Whoever had named the place ‘Hovel’ had been right on the money. Poorly maintained walls sheltered a small encampment that had only two buildings and a large-ish tent, along with a mine that she could barely make out. No guard was posted at the entrance, and they were able to walk in without challenge.
“Well, it’s not the worst place I’ve ever seen,” said Larry.
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“Sure, but didn’t you spend your entire life in the underbelly of society, robbing folks blind and hiding in garbage?” Moe countered.
“Well yeah, but it’s still not the worst…”
Len was busy looking around for any signs of life. No fires were lit, and she really hoped she wasn’t about to run into another pack of Undead creatures (given recent events, she thought that was a perfectly reasonable concern). They settled on checking the tent first.
“We could split up to search the place more quickly,” suggested Curly, the eldest of the goblin trio.
“Yeah… not gonna be doing that,” said Len. “You guys really need to watch some horror movies one of these days.”
That got blank stares from her minions, and she let it drop. As she approached the tent, she drew her dagger, better to have something handy just in case. Curly readied his quarterstaff, and the other two kept their hands free. Cautiously raising the tent flap up, Len peered inside and was rewarded with the sight of a burly Orc getting dressed.
“Ugh,” he said in disgust. “The hell do you want, dark elf?”
Len blinked once, then blinked again, then blinked a third time to try and push the image of the pantsless Orc out of her mind before it could get locked into long-term memory. Shuddering slightly, she lowered the flap and continued the conversation with some blessed fabric obstructing her view.
“Ah, I think I’m supposed to be in charge of this place now.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, if I’m honest, it all went by a little quick. Astrid showed up while I was still recovering from my second fight in the Grand Proving and, well, here I am. Said that it’d be my job to get all the locals in line and build this place up.”
“Did she now, mighty Demon Lord assigned you the job personally, eh? Got any proof of that?”
“Erm, I’m not actually sure. Give me a sec.”
She hadn’t paid much attention to it while digging through the pack to desperately locate anything and everything that she could use to stay warm, and once she’d found the desired, she’d promptly stopped caring. Digging through the rations she actually found TWO letters. One addressed to her, and another addressed to ‘Valkar Bloodeye’.
“Just gonna take a guess here, would you be a guy named Valkar?”
“That’s me, the Orc grunted from inside the tent. Well, lemme see what it is you’ve got.”
He held a hand out expectantly from inside the tent and snatched it back inside quickly as soon as she offered the letter.
“Huh. Looks legitimate enough, I suppose. Congratulations on your posting to scenic Grenus’ Hovel. Rest assured that I don’t expect you to last the week and will be prepared to pick up the pieces when you fail like the rest of ‘em.”
“That’s… direct,” Len said.
“Look, I’m sure you’ve got it in your head that you’ll be the one to finally turn this place around but take my word for it: this shithole just needs to be closed down. Cut our losses and get out of here. Every couple of months they send some new meat up here to try and get the results they’re after. Half of them wander out into a snowstorm and die, the other half pick fights with the locals and get killed. Every once in a while someone’s smart enough to run away. Regardless, it gets nothing done and the place is worse off than before. Forgive me if I’m a little tired of the routine.”
“Fair enough,” she said “but let me make myself clear: I don’t have the slightest fucking clue what’s going on here. Whatever your beef with the situation is, you’re gonna just have to suck it up and deal, because I’ve got too much going on to deal with another whiner right now. Now, since this is apparently the leader’s tent, kindly get your ass out of it and come back to see me tomorrow. My companions and I are going to need some time to rest from the bullshit couple of days we’ve been through.”
She’d half expected some objections from him at the sudden eviction, but he just shrugged, grabbed a couple personal effects, and headed out of the tent. She wasn’t naive enough to think that she saw respect in his eyes at that treatment, but she didn’t see injury either. This guy just didn’t care.