Chapter 4 - Crude Practice & A Chance

As midnight draped its quiet shroud over the camp, the few guards stationed around took a welcomed break, some even giving in to a momentary nap. It was at this moment that Aiden's eyes snapped open. Ensuring the coast was clear, with only the dim light of a flickering torch permeating the tent fabric, he reached for the stick he had secured earlier.

Rising silently, he cast a discerning glance around the tent, enveloped in a profound silence. The grueling work had exacted its toll on each man, leaving them devoid of energy for even the briefest conversations upon returning to their respective tents, let alone formulating a collective plan to survive the impending war.

I guess that’s how they separate us, by working us to death, he thought as he stretched his aching body. Aiden was weary, but understanding that if he wanted any chance of survival, he had to endure the pain and follow through with the plan he had crafted after watching the knights.

With a deep breath, he wielded the stick with both hands and assumed a crude battle stance, reminiscent of what the knights had done. Then, recalling how they swung their swords, he mimicked the motion, producing one whoosh after another. Repeating the process, he sought to gain a better understanding of how the weapon was held and moved.

After a few dozen swings, Aiden was starting to get the hang of it. Though he was well aware that a real sword would be heavier and would demand significant effort to wield steadily.

Next came efficient legwork while operating the weapon. To an outside observer, it might appear completely absurd—Aiden circling his blanket while slashing at an imaginary opponent. However, to Aiden, it was the best he could do. He had no choice but to repeat what he had seen to the best of his memory, whether he missed a few steps or mixed some; he couldn't really tell, nor did it matter.

Just as he completed his seventh circle, Aiden was interrupted by an outside observer, named Sam.

“... What are you doing?” the now seated man asked, keeping his voice low.

Aiden knelt beside him as he replied, “Practicing. You should do too.” He started to rise, but Sam's firm grip pulled him back.

“Sleep!” Sam groaned through clenched teeth. “Or Bard will break your legs this time.”

“They need able serfs, not cripples,” Aiden responded, retracting his hand. “I doubt he will break my leg. But the war surely will. It might even kill me if I'm not prepared.”

“Prepare? How does swinging a stick prepare you?” Sam retorted.

“Something is better than nothing, Sam,” Aiden rose up, adjusting the stick. “That digging and running will kill me for sure, but if I can snatch a sword, I might survive. No, I will survive.”

“It doesn’t work like that, Aiden,” Sam slumped his shoulders, exhaling. “You need proper training to use a sword. Just swinging will throw you off balance, and one slice will be enough to kill you.”

Aiden resumed his swings. “That’s why I am practicing those knight’s moves. Like I said, something is better than nothing. They are preparing us to get ourselves killed for literally nothing. I can’t die, Sam. Nor should you. Nor any of us.”

Sam paused, sweeping his gaze over the sleeping men. Even in their slumber, their faces contorted with pained expressions, hands instinctively reaching to rub the swollen areas. Not long ago, they were all living happily in their humble homes. Now, tasked to throw their lives away for someone else. They wouldn’t even be remembered for their sacrifice; their bodies left to rot in the cold.

“Wish we could just leave,” he muttered under his breath, the words carrying the weight of a shared longing that echoed through the dimly lit tent.

Aiden halted, tracing the direction of Sam’s gaze. “They have our names, ages, and villages. Even if we somehow desert, they will go back and drag our fathers,” his father’s teary face flashed before his eyes, forcing him to avert his gaze. “... sisters, mothers. They will drag anyone they can find. These bastards are heartless. We have to be strong enough to survive this, Sam. There is just no other way.”

“Except dying,” Sam chuckled, rising to his feet with a grunt.

“Of course,” Aiden smiled, sharing the same sentiment.

Sam looked around before asking. “So, what’s the plan?”

“Haven’t figured one out yet,” Aiden sighed, hands on his waist. “But I am sure, with both of our heads in the same pit, we will work something out.”

Sam nodded in agreement. “But we have to do it quickly. I heard they will start shipping us once the equipment arrives.”

“When is that?”

“Soon, they say.”

“Well,” Aiden pondered for a moment. “For starters, we could learn the ways of the sword.”

“With a stick?” Sam frowned.

“And watching the knights,” Aiden added with a grin.

Sam stared at Aiden, as if dumbfounded by his idea, then smiled. “Something is better than nothing, huh,” he said, extending his hand for the stick that Aiden handed over. “So, tell me, Master Aiden, what is it that you are going to teach me today?”

“Well, my dear apprentice Sam, today we will learn ‘Just Swinging’!”

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With that, the duo of friends got into the makeshift training, practicing and discussing the crude ways of fighting under the dim glow of a flickering torch until some soldier passed by, making them to feign sleep. They attempted to resume afterward, but their fatigued minds couldn't take it anymore. Deciding it would be best to continue the following night, both eventually succumbed to exhaustion, falling asleep, only to be awoken as soon as the first rays of morning light crept in.

A loud horn marked the beginning of their day, prompting Aiden to hastily fold his blanket and stand outside in the cold for an hour until the guards completed their counting.

Afterward, he washed his face and prepared for the morning run, a grueling exercise that fluctuated between a doable 5 laps and an arduous 10 laps. Today, it was decided to be 7 times, and so the running commenced. There was no prize for finishing first or punishment at last; the sole objective was to complete the laps within the given time period, signaled by another distinct horn.

“Stay close,” Aiden instructed Sam as they maintained a steady jog and made their way through the outer edge of the field. When the barracks, where a handful of knights had been coming and going, came into view, he added, “If they start sparring, observe how they move. We will practice that tonight.”

“Only if they start sparring,” Sam replied, casting a glance at the barracks where nothing worthwhile was taking place at the moment.

Thus, the run continued as usual, with the group chatting and joking amongst themselves as they went, each one keenly aware that these were their last few days in this world they had called home.

"If only I could save them," Aiden whispered inwardly, noting the melancholic smiles on their faces. Such a feat would require a miracle because, in his current condition, Aiden wasn't even sure if he could save himself.

“Look,” Sam’s voice cut through his thoughts. As he followed Sam's gaze, he saw two knights readying themselves for sparring. Aiden's hopes soared, but just as the action was about to unfold, the view was obstructed by the tents, and then the final horn sounded, crushing his anticipation.

“Come on,” Aiden groaned, slumping his shoulders. “At least running is over. That’s a positive,” he spoke through ragged breaths, hands on his thighs. The knights were bound to repeat their actions in the evening. He would catch them then for sure.

Returning to the middle of the field, the enticing aroma of freshly baked bread enveloped them—the only sustenance they were given. However, due to their limited quantity and the vast number of people present to consume, it was never enough.

By the time his turn came, the bread had long gone cold, and the quantity dwindled. Aiden wasn't even sure if the last in line would get any. But, well, there was little he could do about it, so stressing over it was rather pointless.

Standing in a corner, Aiden chewed on the bread, Sam beside him. “Follow their patterns and movements when we start digging,” he reminded.

“And don't run at them,” Sam returned with a chuckle.

“One slap is enough to learn,” Aiden shot back, taking a sip from one of the countless drums of water spread throughout the camp. At least they weren't stingy on water; the serfs, including him, refilled them when instructed from the nearby river.

Just then, the horn rang, signaling the commencement of the formation practice, the one Aiden detested the most among all.

“Now we go fucking forward and backward for half-a-day,” he stomped the ground in frustration but followed Sam’s lead nevertheless.

They were taught to form a line when traveling, run into battle head first, and if survived, stop when the next horn sounded. That was it.

"We could learn a lot from watching the knights, but here we are," he scoffed, begrudgingly following the bald instructor's commands.

"Patience, Aiden," Sam advised. "Or you won't see the knights train."

Aiden rolled his eyes but held back his complaints. He didn't want to end up like the dozen or more men ordered to repeat this drill until evening without food or water just the other day. Why? Because they looked away or were absent-minded when the instructor checked on them.

And so the marching continued, relentless under the scorching sun, parching everyone's throats. The horn sounded, finally bringing an end to this grueling drill. After that, they were allowed to go to the river for bathing and attend to all other bodily duties, including cleaning the only pair of clothing they had.

“Wish I could just stay like this the whole day,” Aiden, half-submerged, muttered, allowing his burning body to unwind. The last two acts of training had taken a toll on him, on everyone, yet there was no reprieve in sight.

Another loaf of bread awaited them as they returned to the camp. Before their clothes had even dried, the horn to start digging was issued.

At least let me eat, Aiden shook his head, taking a bite of the cold bread before grabbing the shovel and heading to his pit, already filled as usual.

Some mage must be doing it, he had figured, since every night a cloaked man went that way.

The small arena was still empty. But surely, a few hours later, the knights would return. With that hope, he stretched his stiff limbs and started digging.

As the evening approached, the knights began their sparring. Aiden, excited, observed their moves. When that Bard bastard came to check, he would dig thoroughly; if not, watching the knights took priority. Sam was onboard the same boat too.

However, today something was off. The knights practiced too quickly, their movements a blur that Aiden's eyes struggled to follow. Overwhelmed and unsure where to look, a dark-haired middle-aged man obstructed his view. Aiden hadn’t noticed, but the man was staring directly at him. It took Sam’s repeated calling to make him aware, prompting him to lower his head as soon as their eyes locked.

The fuck is his problem?

He attempted to poke his head out a few times, but seeing the man persistently fixed on him, Aiden abandoned the approach and focused on digging. When the sun had completely set, he looked up to find the arena empty. Then came the horn.

"That was a downer," Aiden sighed, stepping out of his pit.

"Keep your hope low, and you won't ever be disappointed," Sam remarked as he walked away.

"...Yeah," Aiden exhaled, casting a final look at the arena. “Maybe I was expecting too much. Why would they practice slowly anyway? So I could watch and learn? Nope! They don’t even know me,” he muttered, falling in step with the rest of the diggers.

Tiredness weighed on Aiden's shoulders as he forced the soggy bread down his throat and chugged a jug of water. The hard earth provided barely any comfort, not that his weary body required it. Hitting the blanket was enough for him to doze off to sleep.

Aiden's eyes shot open at the sound of muffled shouts around him. Raising his head, he spotted two or three guards holding flaming torches inside the tent. One of them pointed directly at Aiden, and the other firmly gripped his shoulder.

“Get up,” the guard ordered, and Aiden was hauled to his feet, his sleepy senses still adjusting. They dragged him outside, into an open area between the tents, where Aiden was certain he saw the same dark-haired middle-aged man from before.

The guards forced him to his knees, and the man advanced. “What’s your name, boy?” he asked.

Aiden looked up, tracing the features of the man. He was right. It was the same guy. “Aiden,” he replied.

“I heard you want to become a knight?” The man continued in his questioning.

How did he... Aiden was about to wonder when he caught sight of Sam in the corner, standing behind another guard. What the fuck is going on here? Did Sam talk? Even if he did, we did nothing wrong. Then why was this guy here? What did he want? His mind raced with thoughts, abruptly halted by a smack to the side of his face.

“Answer!” the guard behind him ordered.

Aiden aspired to be strong, and if becoming a knight would grant him that, then, "...Yeah," he grunted, the pain spreading through him. They wouldn’t kill me for being honest, would they?

“Good,” the man nodded, a golden glint in his eyes as he drew his sword from its sheath and dropped it before him. “Pick it up,” he said next. “Let’s make you a knight!”