“The beauty of the spear lies in its reach and simplicity. By the end of today, you’ll all fight like seasoned veterans!” shouts the trainer.

One of Hubbert’s men, a scruffy-looking fellow, is assigned to train a group of a dozen eager youngsters. As I glance around, I notice their faces are full of excitement and unshaken optimism. I can’t help but wonder how many of them will hold on to such enthusiasm when the real battle begins.

We’re handed tipless spears—essentially blunt sticks roughly my height—and divided into pairs. Being the tallest in the group, I’m partnered with the second tallest: a lanky teenager with a dark brown bowl cut, his frame as skinny as a twig.

“I’m David,” he says, his voice brimming with enthusiasm.

“Steponas,” I reply, offering a nod in introduction.

“You were with that girl begging for food a week back, weren’t you?” David asks, as if a realization just dawned on him.

“We were desperate,” I admit, keeping my tone neutral.

“I heard an old blacksmith took you two in. Bald and short, right? Supposedly, he was planning to overwork you both until you left town on your own.” His words come out bluntly, as if stating a simple fact.

So that person who referred us to Henrik wanted to get rid of us. Makes sense. To them, we must have seemed like a nuisance—two strangers wandering into their city and begging for scraps.

“You two, stop chatting and spar!” the trainer barks.

We spend the next few hours relentlessly hitting each other with blunt sticks. The trainer shouts instructions without pause, his voice growing hoarser with every passing minute. By the time noon rolls around, I’m unsure what will be more sore tomorrow—my body or his throat.

Exhausted, we collapse to the ground, drenched in sweat and gasping for air. David, somehow, still has a grin plastered across his face. His enthusiasm is almost infectious.

“I always wanted to be a mercenary,” he says between heavy breaths.

“I can see that,” I say, still panting.

“Traveling with friends, fighting alongside them, having stories to tell your future grandkids—it sounds exciting, doesn’t it?” David turns to me, his breathing now steadier.

“Sure,” I reply, less engaged than he probably hoped.

His enthusiasm is contagious, but the weight of reality lingers heavily on my shoulders. I wonder how his demeanor will change after this looming threat is over—if we even survive it.

“I’ll join the Blue Claw once this is all over,” David says, looking up with a dreamy expression. “But enough about dreams—it’s time for lunch.”

Our group heads inside a small house where a couple of women are stirring a massive pot. The aroma wafts through the air, sparking excitement among the young men, myself included. One of the two women is Laura. She smiles warmly when she spots me.

We sit at a long wooden table, waiting as the women ladle out bowls of soup. When Laura reaches me, she adds an extra scoop to my bowl and winks. I shoot her a cautious look. If the others notice, they’ll definitely get jealous.

“Steponas, that’s your girl right there, isn’t she?” David says, his voice louder than necessary.

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The group’s enthusiastic chatter halts abruptly, and every pair of eyes turns to me. The other woman stirring the pot giggles, while I glance at Laura—her face is bright red, a blush creeping all the way to her ears.

“You know, David,” I say, trying to keep my composure, “I like you better when you’re not talking.”

The group, except for me and Laura, erupts in laughter. I glance at Laura, keeping my expression neutral, only to see her blush deepen. Come on, woman, you’re not helping by reacting like that!

“So, how long have you two been together?” David asks, leaning in with an exaggerated grin. The others stare at us expectantly, their curiosity palpable.

“We are not together,” I say flatly, my tone leaving no room for debate.

“Oh?” David replies, his smirk morphing into something even more obnoxious. “So that’s how it is.”

The group roars with laughter again, some making exaggerated noises of intrigue. Laura covers her face with her hands, clearly wanting to disappear.

I flick David’s forehead with a quick snap of my finger. “Ow!” he yelps, clutching his forehead with a dramatic expression of betrayal.

“Eat your soup before it gets cold,” I say, my tone carrying an air of mock authority.

“Okay, okay! Man, you almost left a hole in there,” he grumbles, still rubbing his forehead.

“It’s fine,” I reply with a smirk, “nothing would leak out anyway.”

The group erupts into laughter again, the camaraderie lightening the mood. Even Laura lets out a quiet giggle, her blush fading as she hides a smile behind her hand.

Lunch ends, and we return to training with renewed energy. Spirits are high, our stomachs full—except for one unfortunate soul whose partner jabbed him in the gut a little too hard, resulting in some stomach contents spilling out. The laughter that follows keeps the mood light despite the grueling work.

We train until the sky turns a fiery red, signaling the day’s end. Exhausted, we collapse in the dirt, breathing heavily. David’s relentless optimism seems to have infected the entire group, spreading laughter and camaraderie among us.

The training leaves me feeling more comfortable with a spear in my hands. However, I can’t help but wonder how well I’ll perform when wielding a real weapon—and when my opponent isn’t giggling like an idiot the entire time.

As outsiders in this town, we don’t have a designated place to stay. Naturally, we end up sharing space with Hubbert’s men in the keep.

There’s one problem: the rumors—or perhaps assumptions—about me and Laura have spread to the Blue Claw as well. Now we stand awkwardly in a small room with a single bed in the center.

“You know,” I begin, breaking the silence, “when we slept together on the floor in that shed, I didn’t really think about the fact that we were, well... sleeping together.” My voice trails off as I glance at Laura.

She looks at me, clearly expecting me to blush or stammer, but instead, I’m met with a cold, blank stare. “Grow up,” she says flatly.

Now the tables are turned, and I’m the one blushing. What happened to the meek girl from lunch? Who is this new Laura, brimming with boldness?

“I’m not letting awkwardness stop me from sleeping in a real bed for the first time in weeks,” she declares, her voice resolute.

She’s absolutely right. It’s abed. A real bed, right in front of us! Thank you, Laura, for reminding me what really matters most in life.

Without thinking, I strip off my shirt and toss it to the floor. My pants follow suit a moment later.

I glance at Laura, expecting her to start preparing for bed as well, but her face is frozen—blank, yet somehow deeply traumatized. That’s when it hits me. I always sleep in my underwear, so I undressed out of habit. But tonight, I’m not alone.

There’s a girl in the room.

“Grow up,” I say, repeating her earlier words in an attempt to defuse the tension.

Her eyes widen even further, and for a moment, I wonder if I’ve made things worse. Without hesitation, she kicks off her shoes and tugs her dress over her head, dropping it onto my messy pile of discarded clothes. Now standing in her underwear, she crosses her arms with an unshaken gaze.

“I am grown up,” she retorts, her tone sharp and unwavering. “Are you?”

We both stand there, half-dressed, staring at each other for a moment longer than feels comfortable. Her unwavering gaze begins to falter as the silence stretches, her confidence cracking ever so slightly. What is happening right now?

“Let’s go to sleep,” she says abruptly, turning her back to me, her movements purposeful and precise, as if to shield her face from view. “A long day awaits us tomorrow.”

“Yes, let’s,” I reply, my voice steady, though my thoughts are anything but.

It hadn’t really hit me until now, but I’ve been traveling with a woman all this time. Seeing her like this—vulnerable and yet so composed—stirs something in me. Unnecessary and confusing thoughts creep in, but I shove them aside before they take root.