Morrison signed one of the many sheets of paper that lay across his desk. The fountain pen glided perfectly across the paper as it traced a motion that he had likely done thousands of times. Each line was exactly as it should be, and not a drop of ink went to waste. He shook his head as he grabbed the next piece of paper, seeing that it was to acknowledge the death of somebody who had been under his care.

The poor old man had close to no hope to survive, and in the end he had ended up succumbing to his wounds. It had been a blow to morale, and it was always shameful when he and his healers failed to save somebody. It was an unfortunate truth that he was often forced to face, that he couldn't save everyone.

He stopped signing reading through the papers for a moment as he went back to another paper that he had signed several days prior. It was one that gave him mixed feelings. On one hand, the man on the paper had been left depressed and alone. On the other hand, it showed hope that even in the worst situations, somebody out there was always alive and in need of a helping hand.

That was what Morrison enjoyed about his job. Saving lives and helping the people. He had even been keeping track of the exact number he had saved in his life. It was a closely guarded secret of his, but the number was well into five digits after the decades he had spent on the job.

On yet another hand though, the man on this paper had been causing a bit of a stir around the outpost as of late. He sighed as somebody opened the door to his office. He didn't even have to hear what they had to say.

“Is it Sol again?” He asked, stroking his beard with slight annoyance.

“Yes sir.” The man at the door said, giving a slight bow.

“How do you all keep letting him slip by you? He is in bandages, he can’t be that hard to spot.”

“I’m… not sure.” The man responded. “One moment he is in the tent, resting and recuperating from his wounds, and the very next moment we get a report that he is walking laps around the perimeter of the outpost.”

Morrison sighed as he stood up from his desk. “I’ll go talk to him.”

_____

Sol took a brief pause to catch his breath as he finished his fourth lap around the outpost. His legs ached slightly from the exertion, but he pushed through the pain to start walking again. If he wanted to get stronger, he needed to get in peak condition. If he wanted to do that, he needed to push himself as far as he could. Maybe he could manage a fifth lap before they noticed he had-

“Hey!” A voice boomed from a few dozen feet behind Sol.

Okay, maybe he won't be able to finish a fifth lap today. That was just one more he would aim to complete tomorrow. He turned to see Morrison walking towards him with a mixed look of concern and annoyance.

“What are you doing out here again? I thought we told you that you needed rest.” Morrison said.

“I am walking.” Sol said.

“I can see that, but you should be sleeping.”

“Sleep will not help me get stronger.”

“No, but it will help you get better. Those muscles will fail on you any second now if you don’t lay down and let them recover.”

Sol mumbled a bit to himself before responding. “I need to get stronger more than I need to get better.”

Morrison sighed as the look on his face went from half annoyance to fully concerned. “Look kid, I know what you are going through right now can’t be easy, but you have to get some rest.”

“But-”

“No buts. You are in a broken state right now, both physically and mentally. It will only get worse until you have recovered. Now, why don’t you come back to your tent and lay down.”

“I… I want to get stronger.” Sol said, looking at the ground. “I have to fight those bandits, make sure they don’t burn down more villages!”

“That is not your responsibility. It isn’t your battle to fight.”

Sol looked dead in the eyes of the man in front of him. “It became my battle to fight the moment they decided to plunder my home. I must fight back. I don’t care if I am risking my life doing it, but I need to do it.”

Morrison was silent for several moments at that. “Tell you what kid, if you promise to rest in bed and make a full recovery before continuing training, I will see what I can do about getting you into our daily training regimen for the rim guards. Does that sound like a deal?”

Sol thought for a moment then nodded his head. “Deal. You better get me into that regimen though.”

“I will do my best.”

_____

The recovery process from being burned alive was not one that anybody would ever describe as a pleasant experience. Sol had been wrapped in so many bandages that it could pass for a full suit. Each bandage had to be replaced daily, with some of the ones placed over his worst burns being replaced every few hours. Every movement of his body hurt, but it was manageable enough that he could walk around with only a minor amount of pain and a large amount of discomfort.

The accommodations had been about as good as could be expected of a kingdom funded outpost. Tents with cots, bland food, and next to nothing to act as entertainment. His only source of entertainment was playing card games with the off duty personnel of the outpost.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

One of the older guards had invited Sol to join them in a game they called “poker”. It was a deceptively simple game that involved betting some coin, gambling on your hand being the best, and a lot of grumbles from those who had been either over or underconfident.

The kind old guard had been gracious enough to give Sol 5 copper coins to start out with. As it turned out, Sol was quite good at this card game. He wasn't sure if it was his sharp intuition, or maybe his blunted emotions not getting in the way, but he had managed to rack up a whole silver in earnings from the over eager players. He had to admit, it had been slightly amusing seeing several of the guards lose some of their money trying to get one over on the newbie.

He had of course paid back the kind guard, giving him ten copper coins. The old man had tried to wave it off and let Sol keep the coins, but Sol was not about to take no for an answer. It wasn't until a week into his recovery that the monotony got slightly shaken up by a wave of people getting brought to the medical tents after another raid had occurred at a nearby village. This time the raiders hadn't been nearly as successful, with not a single person in the village dying.

There were still many injured though, and Sol’s eyes glazed over as a man being carried on a cloth cot was taken past where he was playing cards. The man's skin was burned all over, and his eyelids had been charred so bad that they couldn’t even open. He was brought out of Sol’s sight soon after.

“Are you going to make a bet?” One of the guards asked.

“I fold.” Sol said as he set his cards face down, gathered his coins in a pouch, and walked in the direction they had taken the burnt man. One thing he had been quite good at ever since he was a kid was being stealthy. His parents had hated that, but it had led to quite a few fun nights of sneaking out and exploring the forest around the village.

He stood just outside the tent that the man was in, crouched down and listened through the tent at what the healers were saying. He didn't know exactly how long he was there for, as his mind was going blank listening to the healers list off the various things they needed to do to get the man to a stable condition.

‘It is a miracle that I made it.’ Sol thought to himself as he heard how complicated the process would be. ‘May the gods bless this man as they blessed me.’

After a few hours, he heard the man wake up and ask for food and water. The healers obliged and brought him both. When the food was finished, Sol heard the raspy voice asking for more.

“We can’t bring you more. The kingdom restricts us to only giving two free meals each day. You will be brought more shortly before sunset.” The feminine voice of one of the healers said from within the tent.

The burnt man let out a few sad sounds at not being able to eat more. He must have been starving. Sol remembered how hungry he had been after waking up, and he wouldn’t wish that kind of hunger on another person. When the healers walked out of the tent, Sol snuck up on the one in the back and slipped 25 copper into the pocket of the healer.

“Don’t turn around, but bring that man another bowl of food.” He whispered into the healer's ear.

The healer obviously didn't listen to the first half of that, turning around. By the time she was turned around, the source of the voice was gone. Sol peeked out from inside the tent when the healer turned away. He saw her feel around in her pocket, feel the coins, nod her head at nobody in particular, then keep walking. Thirty minutes later, the burnt man in the tent was enjoying another bowl of food, and Sol was back to cleaning out the pockets of the guards playing cards.

____

“I am just saying, I can’t imagine a spear would be the best weapon for somebody of your… stature.” The guard sitting opposite of Sol said as he dealt out the next hand of cards.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Sol said, giving the man a look as he peeked at his cards. His height wasn't a subject he was fond of talking about with others, and definitely not when he was getting called short.

“A spear is a weapon meant to stay out of somebody's range while keeping them within your own.” The guard explained as the initial bets were made. “If a tall individual were to fight you with a sword, then the only benefit of the weapon would be rendered useless because they would have a similar range as you.”

Sol grumbled for a moment as he thought about that. He wasn't completely sure on what weapon he would be practicing with tomorrow, but the spear had been one of his top picks.

It had been two weeks now since he had first been brought to the camp, and Morrison had cleared him to begin training with the newest recruits the next day. He had been debating for a while what weapon he would be using during training, and every guard seemed to be eager to preach their weapon of choice to him. He had been encouraged to try a spear, sword, bow, mace, flail, and even just a spiked shield.

The only reason he hadn't had weapons thrown his way to test out was because Morris made it very clear to the outpost that anybody who did anything to put strain on recovering patients would be severely punished, enforced by the leader of the outpost who herself had recently entered the consolidation stages of her cultivation.

That was another thing that greatly interested Sol. Cultivation was something that just about everybody knew about, and everybody tried at least once. The vast majority of those who tried had failed, at least out on the rim. Those who didn't succeed ended up giving themselves minor mana poisoning for a few days after. Sol was no exception to this rule, and he grimaced as he remembered how he’d had the runs for days after trying to cultivate mana.

The basic concept behind it was that you draw mana into yourself and use it to strengthen your body. The reason most failed is that mana is fundamentally poison to the human body. One had to have a strong mind and body to even get past the Foundational stages and break into the Disciple stages. Woodsman, the late lumberjack of his village, had been believed to be at the very peak of the foundational stage. Given another year, Sol was sure the man would have become a disciple cultivator.

Before he could think of giving it another try though, Sol would need to ensure that he was mentally and physically prepared to go through these stages. Mentally speaking, he felt ready enough to do it. His resolve was so strong that he had been willing to walk laps around the outpost while recovering just to try and get a little stronger. Physically, well that was another story entirely.

The lack of physical activity these past few weeks, plus the significant injuries he had sustained, had left his body a good bit weaker than it had been. He hadn't been the most physically fit person before it had all happened, and now he would be lucky if somebody didn't look at him and think he had an eating disorder.

He wanted to keep this in mind when choosing his weapon tomorrow, so he threw out an idea as he raised the bet to double what it had been. “I may try training with daggers, if just to start with something light.”

There was a silence in the group as everyone looked at him, almost as if expecting him to follow it up with something. When it was clear he wouldn’t be, one of the guards who had already folded on this hand spoke up. “You are kidding, right?”

“Dead serious.” Sol responded.

“But daggers are a weapon for assassins, and even then it is always to deliver poisons and not to deal actual damage.”

“Well maybe I can find a way to fight effectively with them. They just seem like the best option, at least for now.”

The guard just shook his head. “You are going to be regretting that choice when you are sparring tomorrow. If you are lucky, maybe your opponent will go easy on you.”

“Hey, luck is what I do.” Sol responded, once more raising his bet. “Besides, taking chances from time to time can be way more interesting than sticking with what is safe.”

As he was saying that, the last card of the hand was revealed. Sol revealed his cards. Unfortunately, two people had managed to beat his hand despite the fact that he had a three of a kind. He didn't mind. Surely losing today's gamble meant that he had to win tomorrow's gamble.

Surely.