Sūnva, that was her name!

She was older than he expected, maybe mid-thirties, and had red hair that matched her eyes. He noted all of that in the background as his attention was immediately drawn by a brutal scar bisecting one closed eye. It was not her only scar either, just the worst. There were many smaller ones, whisker thin, that crisscrossed her face. Altogether it lent her an intimidating visage. However, when she turned her crimson eye on him, the look was not an unkind one and he thought he saw a flick of recognition.

Sūnva crossed the room in a few strides and stood before him. She looked him up and down, then reached out one arm. Dante hesitated, unsure what to do. It wasn’t quite at the right angle for a handshake but he grabbed it with his hand anyway. The woman raised one scared eyebrow and shifted her grip so that they were clasping forearms. Then, to his utter disbelief, went in for a hug. She even clapped him on the back, as if they were lifelong comrades.

This must be a strange cultural thing, like the French and that cheek kiss thing. Right? They withdrew and Sūnva repeated the gesture with Svōl. This cannot have the same implications as Earth. So shocked was he that he nearly missed when she turned to the rest of the party and pointed at the non-human girl.

“Zail vras Pauwna.” Sūnva spoke each word carefully while gazing directly into his eyes, making sure to annunciate. She pointed at the only other man he had not been introduced to, who looked a bit like a rodent, and said. “Zail vras Varvi.” She continued down the line, repeating the same phrase with slight variations.

I get it. This is their version of ‘their name is’. So that four-eyed lady is Pauwna and the shrewish man is Varvi. He could feel a smile tugging at his lips. It’s nice of her to try and teach me, no one has even tried that.

While he had been puzzling this out, Sūnva had finished going down the line and he realized that he had forgotten to listen to the other's names. Shit, well I am sure I can pick up their names later. She was now looking at him expectantly and he realized what she wanted.

“Zail vras Dante.”

A smile touched Sūnva’s lips and she clapped him on the soldier. Dante fought the urge to shudder. This touching thing is cultural, isn’t it? He couldn’t say he liked that at all. It contributed to a clenched feeling in his chest that had been building up since he came to this world. I just want to be alone and take this in for a while. That didn’t look like it was happening any time soon.

Introductions done, the group headed towards the fire pit and Dante trailed behind. They began taking seats and Dante found himself between Svōl and Pauwna, who always seemed to keep one of her three eyes on him. That is more than a little creepy ...

Sūnva retook her position by the pot and began scooping stew into bowls, then handed them out. Iron tankards of something that smelled faintly of alcohol followed. Soon, Dante had a bowl of the same mysterious stew as well as the drink.

Peering into the bowl he saw strangely purple chunks of meat, golden grain that looked like oats, and some root vegetable that looked like a bleached carrot. There was a chunk of coarse bread lying on the side, half soaked in the juices. Dante took a cautious sniff.

It smelled positively divine, which quashed most misgivings he had about its contents Looking around, he saw that the others were simply taking sips straight from the bowl. Utensils, at least on this war front, did not seem to be a thing.

When in Rome, do as the Romans do. Hopefully, it's not poisonous to Earthlings. He closed his eyes and tilted the bowl towards his lips.

Nothing touched his lips and he tilted it further to a similar result. He lowered the bowl and squinted at it suspiciously. Is the stew really thick or something? He nudged it with the bread. Nope, seems liquid enough. So what happened? He tried drinking from it again, tipping it very slowly and keeping careful. The stew acted normal right up until it was a couple of inches from his lips, where it stopped as if hitting an unseen barrier.

It couldn't be …

Dante grabbed the cup of mysterious alcohol and tilted it back. Just as before, it stopped right before his lips.

This can’t be happening.

He tried to quell the rising bile in his throat and took some deep breaths. Surely there must be a solution to this. If only I had silverware! An idea struck him then and he grabbed a piece of the hard bread. He dipped it into the stew and brought it to his lips. To his great relief, despite the bread flexing a little, it worked and he ate of this world's food for the first time.

It was unexpectedly oily, though surprisingly good regardless. It wasn’t grease. If he could compare it to anything, it would be like the fish oil. He could tell that it had not been seasoned, but it was still delicious one of the most delicious things he had ever had.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

I guess hunger and narrowly avoided disaster is the best spice.

He paused mid-mouthful and watched the bread flex under the influence of [Warding Flesh]. He tried to reach out for any strange new sensation like he had with [Chameleon] but felt nothing. Cease! Halt! Lessen! Despite his self-invoked commands, he could not feel anything change. Dante sagged but continued eating. He had been hoping that there was some built-in control for the [Ability], but nothing immediately obvious leaped out at him.

Is this why it was so cheap? Because it’s actively trying to kill me? How long before it pushes even air away from me?

He scowled as he ran out of bread and began using his fingers to chase the stew into his mouth. This drew some looks of disapproval from some of those around the campfire, but he was past caring. This was literally a matter of life and death.

I am going to have to take this into account when choosing the [Specialization]. It’s only going to get worse too, it’s not like I can stop using it. It is always on and every level I have gained from it has been from an unavoidable attack. As he made his way through the bowl, he tried to think of solutions. I should see if I can find or carve a ladle, it would solve a problem in the short term.

Dante finished the bowl with relish, but he was still hungry. He looked around at the others, unsure if asking for a second bowl was rude. If I am looking to build strength, I am going to have to eat more than usual. No one else seemed to have taken a second helping and, not wanting to cause a scene, so Dante was stuck holding the bowl awkwardly. Lively conversation had been happening while he had been having his existential crisis. He looked to Svōl, trying to catch his eye, but was studiously ignored.

He needed some air. Dante placed his bowl on his chair and made his way outside. Closing the door behind him, he leaned against it and took a second to take a breath of air. It was ... not great. Even here, he could smell fire and blood. The uncomfortable feeling in his chest tightened. He picked a random passageway that headed away from the front and set off.

He did not know where he was going, just that he wanted to be anywhere but here. Even at night, the trenches were full of soldiers and Dante seemed to catch the eye of every single one. Frustrated, he started taking less busy turns but that hardly seemed to help. At some point, he wasn't quite when, he had broken into a run.

A solitary flash of green caught his eye and he slowed to a stop. Chest heaving, he wiped sweat from his brow and looked to see what had caught his eye. In the middle of the trench, was a sapling.

It was a sad thing, stunted and mostly barren. It seemed to have sprouted out of a crack in the stone of the trench and its tiny branches reached up, presumably grasping for the rare ray of light. Dante doubted that it would survive. Though ... after a second look, perhaps there was some hope.

It was clear from the footprints around it that the soldiers had taken care not to step on it. Someone had even gathered loose rubble and made a crude wall around the base. Some of its branches had been tied to a vertical stick, stretching them upwards.

Someone obviously cares about this poor tree.

Dante took a seat next to the sapling and closed his eyes. Once again, he took a deep breath and this time the air was a bit fresher. It smelled a little like pine, which was nostalgic. Some tension drained out of him and his breaths steadied. If it weren't for the distant explosions, he might have fallen asleep here.

This place is nice. I don't want to leave.

But he couldn't stay. Dante already had been here too long. He wouldn't be surprised if someone had noticed.

Standing up, he turned to make his way back and nearly jumped out of his skin when he found Svōl leaning against a wall just beside him. They gazed into each other’s eyes and Dante found a kind of resolve there. As they had that little staring contest, he came to a sudden realization.

Ah, he wasn’t trying to be friendly. He was just keeping an eye on me. Trying to see if I would run off.

That hurt more than Dante wanted to admit. The tightness in his chest came back with a vengeance and he adverted his eyes. I just wanted to be alone, was that too much to ask? Dante was just so tired. He was just about to walk around Svōl and make his way back when he realized that he had no idea where he was.

"Svōl, could you take us back?"

Receiving only a blank look, he sighed. Dante pointed at himself, then Svōl, and mimed walking with his fingers. The blank look continued. I so don't need this right now.

Eventually, he got the point across by saying both their names while holding up two fingers, then everyone else's name while counting on his other for each of them, and then bringing both of them together. At this, Svōl took the lead and rapidly led them through the trenches.

After getting back to the bunkhouse, Dante pointed at himself and the beds. Fortunately, Svōl seemed to get his message and took him to one of the nooks, one in the far corner of the room and on the second level. The intent behind placing him there was not lost on him. He would have to walk past everyone else to leave the room, but he could not bring himself to care anymore. Dante climbed in and wrapped himself tightly in one of the blankets, facing away from the rest of the room. Behind him, the conversation continued interspersed with the occasional laugh or animated shout.

I never knew that one could feel so alone when surrounded by so many happy people.

He could not bring himself to go to sleep immediately, the commotion in the rest of the room took any chance of that happening away. Besides, his mattress was hardly comfortable. Straw poked through the sheets and the blankets were rough as a burlap sack against his skin. He lingered in a trance-like state, not wanting to think about anything. After what felt like an eternity, the noise began to die down and the light faded as the fire died. He could hear people climbing into the neighboring beds and soon the room was only filled with the sound of snoring.

In those few quiet hours, Dante began to parse the experience of the last few days. His agonizing death in fire and his other near-death experiences flitted through his mind. The reality of his situation hit him. I am on the front lines of the losing side of a war and I have no allies. Death could come at any moment and there is nothing that I can do about it. Such thoughts kept coming to him long into the night.

Peace only came to him when his exhaustion gave way to a restless sleep.