The inside of the barracks was so dark that Oak had to rely on echolocation to find his way.

The echoes of his footsteps and the tip tap of Geezer’s paws painted the small entrance hall and the hallways, leaving from it to his mind in vivid detail. There was a counter in the center of the entrance hall and two hallways, one on the left and one on the right, going down the length of the building.

If not for him and Geezer, it would have been utterly silent.

Oak chose the hallway on the left and started exploring, sword ready for any creepy crawlies hiding in the darkness. Would be nice if I hadn’t dropped my shield, but that’s life for you. An endless opportunity for mishaps, disappointments, and tragedies of all kinds, he thought. Still breathing though, so I can’t really complain.

Holding on to that comforting thought, he opened the first few doors he came across, not finding anything interesting or useful. Just some clothes that were too small for him, personal effects of no real utility, and enough scrolls and stacks of paper to run the bureaucracy of a town like Spoke for three generations.

If you had to pick one thing that united different peoples and cultures across space and time, paperwork seemed like a safe bet. Apparently, no one could survive without it, which Oak had always found puzzling. He could barely read on a good day, and it had never been an issue for him.

Hanging from a hook next to the fourth door of the hallway, Oak found an oil lamp and, after some trial and error, he was able to light it. The flame burned with a warm glow and cast flickering shadows on the brick walls of the barracks. With a lamp in hand, Oak started going through the rooms one by one.

He would not sleep in this place until he had searched every nook and cranny of it.

***

The light of the lantern shone on the bare walls of the hallway, and shadows danced to the beat of Oak’s steps. They were about midway through the building and he had found plenty of bunks covered with rotted away scraps of linen and chests filled with soldiers' belongings, but nothing edible yet. Luckily, there were still plenty of rooms left to search through.

“Geezer, there is something we need to discuss,” Oak whispered, and gave the dog a meaningful look. “From now on, if something pounces on me from behind, I expect you to help out.”

Geezer whined and looked away. The hound's ears laid flat against his head.

Oak carefully touched the bite wound on his right shoulder and winced. One of the ghouls they had run into earlier had gotten him good. At least the wound was not bleeding anymore. “I know you are scared, but if something eats me, your odds are not looking too good either.”

He set the lamp down for a moment and gave Geezer a hug. “You have been very brave so far, and I wouldn't ask if it was not necessary, but I think you might need to be brave for the foreseeable future,” Oak said, and kissed the top of Geezer’s head. “I am going to need your help to get out of this city in one piece.”

Geezer grumbled and shook himself, slapping his ears against Oak’s face. He laughed, picked up the lamp and opened another door, sword raised and ready to swing if need be. The room beyond the doorway happened to be a storage room, and it was in excellent condition. Runes glowed faintly on the walls and on the wooden chests, neatly stacked on top of each other.

He stepped inside and prepared himself for crushing disappointment. If this room had no food or it had gone bad, he just might cry. Geezer could sense his growing tension, and the hound pushed his head against Oak’s thigh in a silent sign of support.

Here goes.

Oak cracked open a chest and let out a sob.

There, inside the chest in neat little rows stacked on top of each other, were packages of hardtack. With a shaking hand, Oak snatched one, opened it, and started eating. It was the best thing he had ever tasted in all twenty-seven years of his life. He had to set his backpack down and take out some water halfway through the package because the hardtack was so dry he wasn’t able to swallow it down, but after that he got back to eating, a wine bottle full of water in hand, taking sips between every few bites.

He ate three full packages before he could even consider checking out the rest of the chests.

Things only got better from there. Oak found much more hardtack, and entire chests filled with salted pork and corned beef. His mouth watered as he imagined how good a piece of hardtack with salted meat on top of it would taste like.

“By the Corpse-God, Geezer, we struck gold,” Oak said as he gathered food into his backpack. Now he just had to find the kitchen of this place so he could cook the meat. It was okay to eat without cooking in an emergency, but he did not want to risk it if he did not have to.

After eating another package of hardtack, Oak made sure all the chests were closed, gathered his things, and set out to explore once more. He felt great. For the first time in what felt like forever, he was not hungry. A weakness he had grown used to had vanished and his body felt full of energy. It was hard not to whistle a little tune as he combed through the sleeping quarters of the soldiers of the Old Empire, but he stayed quiet.

In a cabinet next to a bunk that was at least a foot too small for him to sleep in, Oak found an actual, well-made rucksack.

The leatherworker who made this should get a medal.

He stroked the well-oiled surface of the rucksack in wonder. It was in almost perfect condition, despite being at least three hundred years old. Oak quickly discarded his own haphazard backpack made of burlap sacks and rope and packed all of his supplies into the rucksack.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

As he walked out of the room and headed for the back of the building, he could not help feeling optimistic. Ashmedai must have blessed him with good fortune.

There was a water fountain at the back of the building, next to a large door with a plaque on it that Oak could not read. The fountain was bubbling along without a care in the world, crystal clear water cascading to a basin and vanishing from sight. Oak stared at it with suspicion. Things were currently going far too well for his liking.

Oak looked around the large room and strained his hearing to the maximum, but he heard nothing. Geezer looked at him like he was touched in the head, padded to the fountain and started drinking.

Since nothing untoward happened, when Geezer was done, Oak filled all the bottles he had with him and drank his fill. The water was so cold it made his headache, but it tasted fresh. The city might be filled with monsters and we are still quite a ways away from getting out of this place, but facing it all with a full belly and a quenched thirst is a small mercy I am certainly thankful for. He wiped his mouth and shook himself.

“Right, let's get that door open so we can move on and explore the other side of the building. I want to finally go to sleep,” Oak said and yanked on the door with a plaque on it.

The door swung open and the warm glow of the oil lamp revealed the contents of the room in all of their glistening glory. At some point, Oak had opened his mouth, though he could not remember doing it. He closed it with a click and shook his head.

“By the bloody Chariot. Geezer, am I dreaming,” Oak asked.

Right in front of him, placed on stands across the walls and the floor of the room, were Elven weapons and two suits of armor. He had found the barracks’ armory. Different types of swords, spears and axes covered the walls while suits of armor hanged on two stands in the middle of the room. Sadly, Oak could tell with a look that neither set of armor would fit his massive frame, but the weapons were a different matter.

One weapon in particular instantly caught Oak’s eye. It was a large two-handed falchion. A cleaver falchion, in fact. It had a broad single-edged blade that broadened still towards the tip. The blade of the sword did taper into a fairly round, almost flat point at the tip, but it was clear by just looking at it that this was not a thrusting weapon. Oak thought it was glorious.

He crossed the room and picked it up reverently. The sword had a fairly thick spine, but it was not too heavy, somewhere between five and six pounds. With his strength, wielding it in a single hand if the need arose would not be an issue. Oak slid his hand along the blade's surface, touching the runes carved into it and listening to the ghosts brimming inside the blade. They whispered of chopping men, elves and beast alike in half, of rending flesh apart and wreaking ruin to all.

Oh yes. You are exquisite.

He felt a tingle in the blade, a symmetry of purpose. “I will use you well,” Oak said as he stroked the blade’s spine. “We will make such merriment together.”

Geezer let out a huff and turned away from him.

“Hey, no need to be jealous.” Oak laughed. “I am not replacing you with a piece of metal, no matter how well forged that piece of metal is.”

The sheath was a plain, but functional piece of wood covered with leather. He took it from the wall and slid the falchion inside. With a bit of fiddling, he attached the sheath to his belt. When everything was in place, he did a couple of practice draws to see how it felt, and found no issues.

It is truly a gift to be a tall man with long arms. A shorter fellow might not even be able to draw this behemoth from the hip.

Even though he had found a magnificent sword for himself, Oak was far from done. He looked at the sword he had taken from one of Jarl Shaw’s carls what felt like a lifetime ago, and considered his options. In truth, he had been using it up to this point out of habit. It felt a bit too long to swing freely inside buildings and tight spaces, and he now had a much better option to use when he had room to spare.

The meat cleaver he had found was the length of a short sword anyway, so he could just start using it and pick something from the armory for his left hand, since he no longer had a shield. His decision made, Oak left the nameless carl's sword and sheath leaning against the wall, and walked over to the stand near the left corner, which held all the short swords in the armory.

Oak had considered an axe, but ultimately decided against it. Axes were great in his opinion, if you had a shield, but without one they felt lacking, since blocking with an axe was not so easy. He had seen enough people lose fingers trying to make that work and did not feel the need to walk in their footsteps. Since he already had a weapon in the meat cleaver that was more suited to offense than defense, picking a sword that he could use to block if the need arose was a natural choice. He ended up picking a double-edged sword with a minimally leaf-shaped blade and a narrow point.

A falchion on his left hip, a short sword on his right hip and the meat cleaver in a sheath across his chest, Oak felt ready for war. He was about to leave when a thought struck him.

Should I bring a weapon to the person I am here to rescue?

He could surely attach something to the side of his rucksack, and if he put himself in the shoes of the unfortunate soul he was here to save, a weapon did not sound bad at all.

What should he bring then? Oak did not know what they liked to use or what they were proficient with. Since Ashmedai spoke of a tortured soul, Oak thought it safe to assume the person he was rescuing might not be in tiptop shape.

If I was horribly weakened, and on death's door, what weapon would suit me best? Oak thought, and stared intently at the collection of swords, spears and axes in front of him.

A spear. A spear would be best. Easy to use, fairly light and you can wield it in two hands. And yet I can’t choose a spear because they are too long and unwieldy in tight spaces. I don’t want the weapon to catch onto something if I have to run away from a monster.

The longer Oak looked, the more his attention lingered on the longswords.

One of those might do. Not much heavier than a one handed sword, and you can use two hands so the load is essentially halved when you swing it around. Not that hard to use and even a child could hit me with one hard enough to kill me if they struck something vital.

He ended up picking a double-edged longsword with a narrow blade and a needle sharp point. The sword was very light, maybe just a smidgen over two pounds, if even that. Even an infirm grandmother could poke holes into someone with this toothpick, he thought, and secured the sheathed longsword to the side of his rucksack with some rope.

With one last longing look towards all the beautiful weapons glistening in the light of his lamp, Oak stepped out of the armory and closed the door. He had an inspection to finish.

It was well past bedtime, but he was damned if he was going to die in his sleep because one of the rooms in the other hallway housed a nest of man-eating mice or something equally ridiculous.