The journey began quietly. We recruits, soldiers, and prisoners moved as one unit under the cool morning sky. I was surprised by the pace. This wasn’t a stroll through town; it was a steady, military march. Disciplined. asured. Unrelenting. Tʜe sourcᴇ of thɪs content ɪs NoveI(F)ire
There were about twenty-seven to thirty people in total: seventeen soldiers, five new recruits, including , and several prisoners locked in the final cart.
Ben’s companions, most from the logistics division, were easy to spot. About eleven of them, including their sergeant, wore light armor and carried short spears. They moved with practiced ease, lean builds, efficient steps, and the kind of coordination that ca from routine, not battle-hardened experience.
Sergeant Cole’s team, though, was sothing else. Six soldiers, two of them won. All of them wore high-quality gear. Two had crossbows and lighter armor, likely scouts. The other four wore heavy armor. One of them carried a sword and moved like it weighed nothing, but it was Sergeant Cole himself who held the highest rank among us all. The remaining three, one of them a woman, wielded spears. Not standard-issue, their weapons were better crafted, with finer edges and reinforced shafts. Watching them move was like watching a storm bottled in steel.
Among us recruits, the mood shifted quickly. When we started out, the three boys, Jerry, Mike, and Tom, were all energy and jokes. They'd grown up together in the sa orphanage and dread of becoming knights. It was oddly comforting to hear them laugh, even if most of their jokes were nonsense.
The only one who hadn’t said much was Lela. Her bow was slung over her back like a natural part of her body. She moved with precision, quiet, steady, alert.
Jerry tried to hit on her once. Just once.
She turned to him without breaking stride and said in a flat voice, "If one of you tries that again, I’ll put an arrow through your back."
From the front of the column, one of the logistics soldiers chuckled and called out, "I’d take that seriously, boys. As of now, she’s valued more than the four of you combined. So even if she pierced a few of you with an arrow, at most she’d get a slap on the wrist."
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Tom looked stunned. “Why?!”
The soldier shrugged. "Archery’s tough. Takes years of practice. Most proper archers co from hunter families, adventurer families, or nobles. She’s probably been training since she could walk. You lot? You’re barely standing."
We nodded, and no one said anything after that. The forest around us took over the conversation.
The rhythm of the march was strange but almost ditative. The sound of wagon wheels creaking, boots crunching over packed earth, and birds calling in the canopy above blended into a kind of music. Shafts of golden light filtered through the leaves, dancing across the ground like flickering ghosts. The scent of pine and damp earth filled the air. Every step into the forest felt like a step into a dream, untad and tiless.
For , everything was new. My first ti outside the city walls. First ti walking through a forest this deep, where the sky vanished beneath a ceiling of green. There were no rooftops here, no bells or smoke stacks, just towering trees, moss-covered roots, and branches that arched like the ribs of so ancient beast. It was beautiful and surreal. The kind of quiet that didn’t feel empty, but alive. Breathing. Watching.
Ben had spoken to us recruits before we left the barracks.
“You’re allowed to put your camping kits on the wagons,” he said, looking each of us in the eye. “But I’d recomnd carrying them, at least for part of the journey. Build your strength now. Don’t wait until it’s too late.”
I took that advice to heart. I carried my gear for an hour at a ti, then let myself rest by tossing it onto the wagon for fifteen to thirty minutes. Then I picked it back up again. With rhythmic breathing and steady pacing, I pushed myself further than I thought I could.
Around midday, Sergeant Cole’s voice cut through the quiet. “We’re nearing the first resting point! This area’s still inside the forest, so stay sharp.”
We stopped near a shallow creek. Cole raised his hand. “Fill your water skins. You have forty-five minutes. Eat your jerky. Use the latrine. But stay alert. Next rest is in six hours near a small hamlet. That’s where we’ll camp.”
Everyone nodded.
We refilled our water, rested where we could, and moved out again. The second half of the day was harder. My shoulders ached. My legs dragged.
By sunset, we reached the outskirts of a modest hamlet, maybe twenty houses, a few chimneys puffing smoke, and curious villagers watching us pass.
We set up camp just outside the periter. Wagons were circled. Small fires lit. Tents raised.
There was no training that night, just food, fire, and the comfort of a blanket on the ground.
Tomorrow, the road to Stonegate would continue.
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