I felt a sense of familiarity walking into the destroyed barracks, the chaos reminding me of home. Two shirtless soldiers sat unconscious with comical bumps on their heads from where I assumed they were beaten by the Bo staff.

It was a smaller troop. There were three other soldiers besides the passed-out ones. But they continued doing their own things like this was a common occurrence.

It reminded me of Hellion and the troops under my rule. The territory’s barracks were located close to my living, so I would find myself in the disorganized chaos of demonic soldiers frequently.

Demons were rowdy creatures, which meant Adbeel was constantly breaking up fights that I would watch from windows in my dragon form. Sometimes during celebrations, I would have transitioned into this form to mingle with the soldiers. For royalty, this was unheard of, but no one ever ratted me out. But it was home if something like that existed in Hellion.

For a violent species, there were only more extreme ways of life.

Home was found in the midst of war, killing anyone that got in the way of the demonic race. Other races could think what they wanted, but it was – once again – a separate way of life. Different values and beliefs.

Compared to other races, the demonic race would be bound to a trail of blood. If you wanted to survive, that is.

Following that type of life that I had grown up in, these lodgings were up my alley. The chaos, the holes in the wall, and even the destroyed door. This chaotic barrack was the best place in the human lands where I could end up. I didn’t mind it, even if it meant sleeping in the same space as humans.

“Boss, I think you killed them.” A gingered-haired man waved his hands in front of the spinning eyes of the two shirtless ones.

“Probably for the best, if he did,” Another man replied, polishing combat boots on a bed near the door.

Serlon ignored his comment, directing me over to an empty bed at the far end of the barracks.

“Do you have any belongings?” he asked, looking over my dirtied clothing that I’d worn since coming to the human lands. I assumed he already knew, but I gave him verbal confirmation of my situation.

I shook my head, “I don’t own anything except the clothes on my back.” He didn’t seem to judge nor was he surprised, instead crouching down to pull out a small chest that was under the bed.

He clicked the wooden container open that was filled with the same attire that the others in the room had on. Picking up one in his hands, he held it up, peering at the size compared to me.

The bundle was tossed in my direction, and I caught it in my arms. It was a simple undershirt that was worn under armor, except for a golden crest that brandished the royal family and decorated the chest and sleeves. Proof of property of the kingdom. I was no stranger to this, anyway.

Nor did I mind, really.

“You can help yourself to whatever is in the chest. Everyone here has their own. The palace takes care of all living conditions for royal guards, so food, clothes, and an allowance are provided on top of your salary.” Serlon informed, tucking the chest back under the bed.

Already, I felt the stares of the other three soldiers in the room, who observed me with curiosity. The last one bunked beside my bed but never took his eyes off the book in his lap. Still, it was obvious the only thing anyone focused on was the new addition to their barracks.

Fresh meat if you will.

Serlon checked his watch, cursing under his breath, “I have to attend a meeting. Acquaint yourself with everyone, you’ll be working, sleeping, training, and eating together. Morning training is at sunrise, just come down with the group and we’ll evaluate you then.”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

He stepped over the destroyed door pieces, mumbling under his breath, “And I’ll have to take this out of dumb and dumber’s paychecks.” The two shirtless ones.

Footsteps disappeared down the hallway, leaving the barracks in a temporary silence.

The soldier placed the book down, his eyes narrowing at me, “Since when do children get taken into the royal guard?” He questioned, looking me over.

This body was tall, but the face was younger. Therefore, I did appear young by human standards. But I was a dragon, my age was greater than anyone in the room.

Young for a dragon? Absolutely. Young for a human? Far from it.

I shrugged. I gave the same energy back to the black-haired adult, who only looked in his early twenties, “Didn’t realize that skills pertained to a certain age group, gramps.”

He wasn’t old. I was just petty. But this shut him up.

A laughter erupted across the barracks, from the bulky-armed soldier that had been polishing his boots, “Hey, this kid’s all right.”

The ginger plopped the unconscious body of one of the shirtless soldiers on their bed, walking over to grab the other. With both of the unconscious soldiers moved off the floor, he walked over to stand in front of me. Sizing me up, he sighed, moving a hand to my shoulder.

Ginger grunted.

He knelt down, his eyes boring into mine. I stared back in confusion, unable to understand what he was doing. Everyone in this barrack had a screw loose.

“You…” His eyes narrowed; his stare felt like it would burn a hole through me.

“Me?” I pointed to myself.

Coming here looked like a mistake, I took back what I said earlier. Humans were just strange. Fuck this. How was this anything like Hellion?

He nodded, glancing over his shoulder to the bulky-armed human, “Do you remember the duke’s bratty son? What was his name? Richie? Bitchy?” He asked the bulky-armed human, who paused for a second.

From the exam spars? Serlon had mentioned the same thing.

He gasped, clapping his hands, “Oh god, that worthless ingrate? The spoiled brat that we escorted to the neighboring town last month. How could I forget him? I was one more snarky comment away from strangling him.” He shuttered, reliving some sort of negative experience.

God. How hated was the human? It was my third time hearing about him. If I had known, I would have just let him beat me. If he was even capable of that.

Thinking back to that sad excuse of a fight, I highly doubted that. Scratch that idea.

The book brain placed his book under his pillow, “Why is that relevant?”

His grip on my shoulder increased and the human grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He pointed back to me, “This twerp is the one that beat that little shit in his place at the exam. Even broke his arm!”

Truly, that hadn’t been my intention. Thunder thigh’s arm just broke itself. For the last time, not my fault.

At this point, I barely knew the duke’s son. But, if this many people found his misfortune amusing, then I could already guess his view of this kingdom.

“Is that true?”

“...I guess.” I mean… yeah.

A smirk. The stern face from earlier melted off, he got up, walking over. With a pat on my back, his expression genuine, “Just know, you did a lot of people a favor. The kid ended up nearly making Gunnar quit.” Book brain motioned toward Ginger, who released his grip on my shoulder.

Gunnar nodded with teary eyes, confirming this story.

Book brain motioned towards the human with bulky arms, “That’s Trent. And the unconscious twins are Lars and Daniel. I’m Eran, the leader of this troop when Sir Serlon isn’t around.”

“I’m Asta.” I introduced myself, using the moment to settle into the bed, after flicking off my boots.

Trent placed the polish in the open chest beside his bed, slid it back under, and lay back in his cot.

“How old are you, Asta? How’d Sir Serlon nab you?” Trent questioned; his eyes already closed.

Nab wasn’t the right word. It was more of an equal negation if anything. I wanted things out of our deal, and he wanted his own goals. Simply, we were both using each other, and it was understood by both sides.

“I’m sixteen. And I agreed to come here on conditions that Sir Serlon agreed to.” I clarified, laying back in the bed. Oh, this was pretty comfortable.

I rolled over, hoping to cease the conversation with the other soldiers in the barracks. The sun had already set, and moonlight poured into the loud chamber. Unfortunately, the questions only continued.

“Sixteen? Holy crap. I figured you were young, but not academy age. I thought kids your age were nose-deep into textbooks,” Gunnar exclaimed, his bed creaking as he settled in.

Academy seemed like an important thing here. The conversation reminded me of the combat instructor that brought Jamie and me here. He worked at an academy here, as well. I wondered if I’d see him before my father called me back.

That depended on how long his tantrum lasted. I just hoped it happened after I gained leverage with some information on ARC.

“Never got the chance,” I commented, hoping to move past the topic. I didn’t have enough information to give a valid excuse for it.

They seemed to understand, moving onto more of a subtopic.

Eran piped into the questioning, “Still, being a royal guard is dangerous. The crown prince’s estate is a target for a lot of assassinations.”

Well...duh.

I scoffed, still facing the wall of the barracks. Assassinations were a typical occurrence in Hellion, except assassins tended to be more elaborate dealing with a twelve-meter dragon. That’s only if Dagon or Adbeel didn’t stop them first.

Needless to say, I’d seen everything. I doubt I’d be caught off guard, even in human form and being limited on magic from the transmutation spell.

“Is that so? Duly noted.” I sighed, putting on my best “I’m interested in what you’re saying” voice that I could muster up.

It didn’t take a genius to pick up my uninterest, instead of retaliating Eran threw something over. I caught it by instinct, sitting up to stare down at a small booklet.

“What’s this?” I twirled it around my hand.

“Make sure you read that before we leave for training in the morning. Be ready to go the second sunlight seeps into the barracks, or else the whole troop will be forced to run laps around the estate.” He yawned, blowing out the candle by his bed, and covering himself with covers.

Flipping over the booklet to the front, I read from the worn cover of the small leather rule book. It was the rules for a guard, a standard piece of equipment. A bookmark slipped out, falling on the covers below it.

I picked it up, noticing the small scribble that ran horizontally.

[Welcome to the Royal Guard, Asta]