Cold wind chilled his skin with the crispness of morning, the sun yet to climb far enough into the sky to warm him. Rain had fallen overnight; the unmistakable scent of wet dirt and teardrop dew filled the air, and a cacophony of bird call sounded across the open plain. Alex found himself grateful for the standard issue army boots. They were excellent for moving quickly over the slippery cobbles of the Regnal Road North.

Tirus had guided him to the armoury the previous night, where the duty quartermaster retrieved Alex’s new equipment. Donning the hardy leather armour and black-and-gold surcoat had felt almost fraudulent, associated with the gruff demeanour of Sergeant Barker and the stoic professionalism of his unit as they were, but it certainly made him feel less out of place. The sharp blade sheathed at his belt and sturdy shield strapped across his back made the prospect of encountering monsters much more palatable, though nothing filled him with confidence quite like his new unit.

Sergeant Campbell’s instruction to familiarise himself with the unit roster birthed this new sense of security. Knowing that they were all Silvers had been one thing, speaking to a strength and competence beyond his own, but their operational records had been the real dealmaker. Aside from him, every member of the 119th Combat Unit had at least five successful independent extermination missions under their belt, with Sergeant Campbell eclipsing one hundred and Corporal Sadir following close behind with eighty.

The men and women that travelled down the northern road at a brisk pace were far removed from the town militia. These were people that pursued the ideals of strength wholeheartedly, going so far as to dedicate their lives to the task, and ran toward danger rather than away from it. Alex was proud of his victory over the Feirwolf, but for the 119th, such a monster could only be considered a nuisance. In fact, a Bronze Feirwolf fell into the territory of town militias and hired guards, though never as a solo operation. Something to remember, at least.

Alex mentally thanked Barker for the brief yet intense training routine. The 119th drove forward at an endurance pace, prioritising consistency over speed, though no less intense for it. A casual inspection left Alex certain that only he relied on the draw of power to maintain the brisk jog for an extended period. Before their departure, Lance Alera had queried why they didn’t requisition horses for the journey, before being reminded by Sadir that all available mounts were destined for the defensive operation to the East. For Seaport.

This didn’t appear to present a problem. Campbell had informed them of Reliquia’s close proximity, serving more as an extension of Solaris than a truly independent town like Seaport, Alvora or Riverfix. In fact, the short journey appeared to inform the decision to relocate the local army presence, secure in the fact that reinforcements could be dispatched from the capital in short order. A role the 119th Combat Unit performed.

They arrived at the town in short order, scarcely three hours from Solaris proper. Campbell ordered them to take a brief rest while he marched over to the small gatehouse that served as the town’s entrance, surrounded by a wooden palisade. It appeared they wouldn’t be entering the town proper.

“Bloody invasion.” Private Smit spat. “Running the road like a damned recruit. Headquarters couldn’t leave some horses for poor bastards like us?”

“Nobody knows how many the Theocracy sent.” Private Smithers said, crossing his arms.

“So?” Smit replied.

“So they grabbed every spare unit, sword and spear they could, and ordered them all east.” Lance Alera said, stretching her calf. “Thank your lucky stars they didn’t send us, too. Wilderness patrols and sentry duty abound for those unlucky sods.”

“Defending the nation is a hallowed duty, Lance Alera. We should commend our fellow soldiers for their bravery.” Lyra said.

“That’s right. Their noble sacrifice means we get to spend our evenings in the alehouse.” Tirus said, toasting with his waterskin. “To errand boys and full tankards, gods bless ‘em.”

The young soldier earned a smattering of side-long glances at the remark, though none as disparaging as Lyra’s. She appeared to puff out her chest for a moment, opening her mouth to speak, but Alex’s mind had stalled earlier in the conversation. Something important had been skimmed over.

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“What’s a theocracy?” Alex said.

The question took the wind out of the conversation. Lyra and Alera turned to him with matching gazes of disbelief, while Smit sneered at him and Tirus let out a bellowing laugh. Smithers turned his head to look at Alex, the augmenter’s unexpressive countenance belying none of the emotion seen in the faces of the others.

“The Solomon Theocracy. The enemy.” Smithers said.

“You tellin me you don’t even know who curbstomped your little pisswater village? Gods above, we’ve been gifted an idiot.” Smit said.

Alex’s hand flew to the hilt of his sword, and he stepped toward Smit. “Don’t you speak about my fucking home like that.” he growled.

Smit grasped the handles of the daggers at his side, one in each hand, and a wild gleam shone in his eyes. The soldier’s expression twisted into a predatory smirk, head cocked to the side as he began to slide the twin blades from their holsters.

“You want to play, little boy?” Smit said.

“Enough.” Corporal Sadir barked, looking up from the document he had been quietly reviewing. “Get your hands off those weapons before I snap them off. Fools.”

Alex and Smit continued to stare at each other, eyes locked, before Smit resheathed the weapons with an exhale. The gleam in his eyes dulled, replaced by a distant look, and Alex released his hold on the sword hilt. It briefly occurred to him that Barker had warned him not to start fights with people more powerful than him, but he couldn’t accept anyone talking about his people’s bravery like that. They did their duty by the law, and died in defence of their homes. Smit’s mockery had no place treading on that.

“If either of you try drawing blades in my presence again, I’ll break your arms. Am I understood?” Sadir said, looking between the pair.

Alex nodded, and Smit repeated the motion a second later. Nobody in the unit seemed surprised, and Alera had even turned away to focus on her stretching throughout the confrontation. Tirus just regarded the scene with an amused grin, and Smithers maintained his stony-faced composure throughout. The only one with a notable response was Lyra, who had fixed Smit with a glare of her own, chin jutting out. That was unexpected.

“Right. To answer your question, Private Alex, the Solomon Theocracy is a rival nation from across the Sunsift Channel. Orius and the Theocracy have been at war for three generations now. Private Smithers had the right of it. They are our enemies, and the zealous dogs who invaded Seaport.” Sadir said.

“Why us, why now? Nobody has ever invaded Seaport before.” Alex said.

“Nobody knows. Pope Solomon the Third died a year past, so this could just be a show of strength from fresh blood. As for why Seaport? That’s even more confusing.” Sadir shook his head. “They must have crossed the widest part of the channel, taking them past at least three other towns. It’s a miracle we didn’t see them coming.”

“Why aren’t we on our way to Seaport then? I saw their numbers. We should be ripping them out of Orius, root and stem.” Alex said.

Short as his tenure had been, his recent experience in the army had convinced him that their soldiers were every bit a match for the invaders. If they all marched east, he had little doubt they would put down every one of them that dared destroy his home. The kernel of fear that blazed in his belly struggled against the burning drive for revenge.

“We?” Alera said, chuckling. “There is no we, boy. There’s us, the experienced soldiers, and you, the weak recruit that skipped out on the entrance requirements because of your connections. You’d be dead in a heartbeat in a proper war. In fact, you should be praying to survive even this little mission.”

“Alera, that’s enough.” Sadir said. “Though she isn’t wrong, Alex. There’s a good reason the army doesn’t take in every Bronze that winds up at her doorstep. You need to focus on improving, and fast, or you’ll die. Leave the real fighting to those equipped for it.”

That was the rub. As silence descended on the gathering, Alex’s mind turned inwards. He knew they were right - a Bronze had no place in war. Any half-trained Silver could and would kill him in seconds, unless he could somehow enter the strange state his fight with Sylas had pulled him into, but he had no idea how that happened in the first place. A simple truth reigned over his desires: if he wanted the ability to survive, act on his feelings, his beliefs, then he needed to reach Silver as quickly as possible.

“Tell me.” Alex said. “How do I improve? What do I need to do to reach Silver?”

“That’s my job.” A voice said from behind him, boots squelching in the mud. “Don’t you worry, Private Alex. By the time I’m through with you, you’ll be wondering how to reach Gold.”

Sergeant Campbell sauntered up the unit, who quickly formed up in a line at his presence. Alex scrambled to join them, not yet fully acquainted with the procedure, and snapped off a salute delayed by only a half-second compared to the rest of his squad.

“With me, soldiers. We’ve got a location. Time to hunt.”