Chapter 12: Reality Check (2)

"What happened to you?" The healer's voice cut through the darkness like a ray of light, immediately grabbing Lionel's attention. The flickering torch painted shadows on the ground, twisting the healer's kind face into a deformed spirit.

The healer strode closer as the torch crept into his face. His eyes were sunken into hollow sockets, distorted by the surrounding darkness. The night followed him as if the darkness had ensnared him into a phantom of floating specters.

"You're the young man from earlier, right?" The healer said, arriving closer, illuminated by the torchlight. "What are you doing here?"

"What..." Lionel gasped in sheer horror. The surrounding fog seeped out from its shadows, and from its depths he saw a terrifying monstrosity twisted into a horrifying face. Suspecting whether it was a mere illusion, he guttered his eye open, to which he noticed the subtle grotesque visage of the healer's face.

The healer chuckled at Lionel's reaction, "My, your face is battered everywhere. Just what I had thought, you had a fight with Darius, didn't you?"

Still stifled with fright, he could only stare at the healer's face. But as the name Darius travelled to his ears, outrage and anger boiled inside him, unable to forget the humiliation he suffered. "I didn't come here to fight anyone. I just wanted a quiet place to rest for a bit."

"Wait a moment!" Lionel pressed, "You saw everything?"

The night may have dimmed the healer's face, but it was enough for a speck of light to latch onto his bemused smirk. The healer's voice was young, laced with mischief and amusement. "That was fun. It's not often you see a newcomer challenging Darius, let alone pummeling him. I like you tiny friend."

Lionel had read enough books to discern the fox from the sheep, and the healer seemed more cunning than he initially appeared. The posture and the way he set the tone of his voice remind him of a rat who squeals when caught in the act. Such characters were always at the end of the backdrop, left behind to rot in obscurity, just a prop for the reader to forget. Their roles fit for a transient stage, destined to fade into the recesses of the narrative.

Only to be gossiped.

In the face of such schemes, it's better if he could keep his head down and let the tale unfold without drawing too much attention. There are too many things going on in his life for him to even be bothered by such a problem.

"Ideas won't inflict wounds, offer healing, or mend the broken. They're naught but creations of the mind," Lionel reassured himself.

Just as his mind sought relief from the horrors beyond. The wind blew, as if mocking his attempts to justify his insignificance against reality.

Lionel tightened the collar of his coat, feeling the chill crawl beneath his skin.

***

"What's this, a new face here?" The soldier's voice bellowed throughout the tent, jolting Lionel out of his sleep. Startled by the voice, Lionel scrambled to sit up, rubbing the sleep from his exhausted eyes.

Lionel's eyes fluttered open. He squinted his blurry eyes against the sudden brightness of the torch thrust into his face. The sound of footsteps rumbled through his ears. "Who are you?" He mumbled, still groggy and disoriented.

The soldier's brow furrowed. "I should be asking you that. What are you doing here?"

Lionel shook his head. "I was just looking for a quiet place to rest. I didn't mean to cause any trouble."

The soldier's expression softened. "Ah, I see. You must be new to these parts. Welcome. I'm Ariel," he said with an exuberant grin. "I'm part of the patrols stationed here."

"At least, from the gist of it," Ariel added cheerfully.

Lionel rubbed his tired eyes, struggling to focus on the soldier's lively face. "Thank you, Ariel," he replied, introducing himself. "I'm Lionel."

Ariel grinned, clapping Lionel's back. "Pst, if you need any advice on how to beat that guy over there, I'm your guy. I've heard he's pretty tough to beat."

Lionel glanced around, drifting his eyes past the crevice of the tent, and saw Darius sparring with someone. Once he saw Darius, anger spewed inside him, and with callous eyes, he glared at Ariel with a cold look. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm not interested in fighting with anyone. And for your own sake, don't even bother mentioning his name."

"Thank you for your help," Lionel said, as he struggled to stand up, ignoring the injury he had sustained during the fight. However, just as he was about to leave, he turned back to Ariel, unable to conceal his desire for revenge. "I appreciate your advice and will consider it. But for now, I need some time to clear my mind."

Once he stepped outside the tent, he could hear a wisp of whispers from a group of soldiers talking nearby. Curious, he walked to them, trying to catch a glimpse of their discussion.

"I heard he was a spoiled brat, acting like he owned the place," one of the soldiers said, shaking his head.

"Ha! That's rich. I bet the kid that Darius beat up had never worked for his entire life," said another.

Lionel's heart plummeted as he heard the hushed whispers directed at him. His fists clenched in anger as a raging volcano boiled inside him. However, before he could say anything, Ariel's hand landed on his shoulder, pulling him back.

"Leave it, Lionel," Ariel said in a low voice. "It's not worth it."

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Lionel fumed with anger, but he knew Ariel was right. These soldiers didn't know him, and their opinions didn't matter. After taking a few deep breaths, he turned away from the group, trying to calm himself down.

"Thanks," he said.

Ariel's eyes roamed over Lionel's battered face and bandaged arms, and a sly grin formed on his lips. "Looks like you've had a pretty rough time here..."

Lionel's blood boiled at the comment. "What's that supposed to mean?" he snapped, his anger rising.

Ariel raised his hands in a gesture of innocence. "Whoa, calm down there. I was simply joking around. Besides, it's not every day we get a recruit who can pin down Darius to the ground."

Lionel glared at him, still feeling the sting of Ariel's words. "It's not funny."

"Also, I'm not a recruit," he replied, regaining his composure. "I don't care what anyone says. I didn't come here to impress anyone or be a part of some stupid silly brawl."

Ariel nodded understandingly. "I get it. We've all been there." He patted Lionel's back. "But don't worry, you'll earn their respect soon enough. Just keep your head down and concentrate on your training."

"But I'm not really a recruit," Lionel insisted. "I'm just here to find an herb..."

Ariel interfered with a jubilant smile. "I know, I know. But to these guys, anyone who isn't part of the regular army is a recruit. And let's be honest, you look a bit bumpy around the edges."

Lionel sighed, feeling a sense of resignation wash over him. It seemed no matter what he said or did, he couldn't escape the label of being a recruit to these soldiers.

"I guess you're right," Lionel muttered. "But I think it's time for me to leave. I've overstayed my welcome here."

As Lionel turned to leave, a loud whistle drilled through his ears, from which the officer shouted, "Line up, soldiers! It's time for drills!"

Suddenly, he felt a strong hand grab his shoulder, pulling him towards the formation of soldiers.

"Move it, recruit!" the soldier glared and barked at him.

"I'm not a soldier!" Lionel protested, but his words fell deaf ear as the soldier forcibly dragged him back to the line. He gritted his teeth as he felt a sense of resignation building up inside him. He was sure this wasn't the camp his uncle told him to, he already checked the map, and it was still an away from where he was supposed to be. He couldn't believe how much trouble he had gotten into just because he had taken a wrong turn. He just wanted to explore the woods and find the herb he needed to complete his task given by Riddick.

The situation was already bad, and its just going to get worse. The ceremony was about to be scheduled in a month, and he had to gather the ingredients needed for his task to prepare for the event. But now, that task seemed to be getting further and further out of his reach as he now finds himself stuck in this predicament.

The drills began, and he did his best to follow their movements and keep up with the rest of the soldiers. The soldiers all looked disciplined and well-trained, their movements sharp and precise. But then, his heart sank as he thought of the long hours of drills and training waiting for him. If he was forced to stay, it would be the end of him.

The camp had already set its base in an open, grass plain, surrounded by watchtowers and sloping hills. The sun hovered atop the sky, casting a bright light on the prairie, making the area seem tranquil and barren. Dust clouds were kicked up by the soldiers marching, along with the sound of exhaustion halting their breath.

In the distance, Lionel could see the faint outline of mountains, suggesting that the encampment was in a high-altitude region. The center of the camp continued with the training, with large beige-colored tents supported by wooden poles dug around the area. Several training fields were visible where soldiers sparred, ran drills, and practiced with different weapons. The mood was filled with the scent of sweat, leather, and steel, testing their resolve at every moment of their breath.

The thought of enduring the rigorous routine day after day was daunting, especially since he had no interest in becoming a soldier in the first place. The officer towered over the soldiers, giving out another command, as the soldiers followed in unison. Their steps resonating across the training ground. However, Lionel struggled to keep up, his muscles aching and his lungs burning as he tried to match their pace. But he refused to give up. He gritted his teeth and pushed himself harder, determined to prove that he could handle the training.

As the drills were about to end, he felt a sense of relief wash over him, thinking that he could finally leave and continue his search for the herb he needed. However, before he could slip away, the officer's voice suddenly thundered across the field, barking out another command.

"Alright, recruits, now it's time for hand-to-hand combat training! Pair up, and let's get to it!"

Alas, fate had a way of playing jokes on him. After scanning the field for a partner, his throat gulped as he noticed Darius moving his feet toward him.

Lionel couldn't believe his eyes. Of all the soldiers here, why did he have to end up paired with the one who had been giving him so much trouble?

Darius smirked when he saw Lionel's expression. "Looks like we're going to be partners, recruit," he said, cracking his knuckles.

"Let's just get this over with," Lionel muttered in resignation, stepping forward to face him.

The two soldiers circled each other warily, waiting for an opening. But to Lionel's surprise, Darius lunged forward, aiming a punch to his face. Lionel managed to dodge the blow, but Darius followed up with a swift kick to Lionel's side, causing him to stumble and slip through the ground.

"Why are you doing this?" Lionel huffed, catching his breath.

Instead of answering, Darius stood over Lionel, ready to strike again. Lionel braced for the next attack, but it never came. Suddenly, he felt a hand grabbing his shoulder, yanking him away from the fight just in time.

"Alright, that's enough," the officer said sternly, separating the two soldiers. "You both need to work on your technique together, and I won't tolerate any more unnecessary aggression. Understood?"

"That's not gonna happen!" Both shouted in unison. But as the officer's words rang into their ears, they both realized that they needed to put their differences aside and work together if they were going to make it through the training.

After a moment of tense silence, Darius spoke up. "Fine. Let's do this."

"Truce?" Darius asked.

"Truce," Lionel agreed.

Reluctantly, the two men started to work on their hand-to-hand combat techniques together. Initially, they were both hesitant and awkward, each attempting to outdo the other. But gradually, they began to work together, learning from each other's strengths and weaknesses.

"What technique is that?" Lionel asked as they practiced a basic block and countermove.

"That's just a conventional soldier technique," Darius replied curtly. "They call it Waekwando."

Lionel nodded, trying to commit the name to memory. "I've never heard of it before."

"It's not surprising," Darius said with a nonchalant shrug. "It's a basic technique that soldiers are taught in training. It's nothing special, but it's effective."

Even with their training progress, an underlying awkwardness still lingered between them. They remained cold and distant, unwilling to let go of their grudges just yet.

Lionel did try to spunk up some conversation, but unfortunately, the conversation fell dull and flat. The training session felt awkward.

No matter how hard he tried, it seemed like a wasted effort.

While they trained together, Lionel couldn't help but notice the scars on Darius's arms and the distant look in his eyes. He wondered what kind of battles Darius had fought before, what kind of pain he had endured.

But he didn't dare to ask. He was still a passerby, a guest forced to participate in the training accidentally.

Lionel also understood that he couldn't form any deep attachments with the soldiers around here, including Ariel. He still has a herb to find, and letting his emotions get in the way would only slow him down.

There had to be a threshold beyond which he couldn't afford to attract trouble. He couldn't just bump into problems and attract complicated relationships into his life. He didn't come here to be a soldier, to forge a reputation, or to be part of the larger group. If anything, he'd rather not be in a group. It's only within affiliations and nobilities that you find petty conflicts and vendettas.