I walked for what must have been two hours, maybe more. Most of it was in circles, around the sa cracked walls and the sa filthy alleys. With everything racing through my head, no one could bla .
At least the clothes had dried. And I’d beco numb to the pain.
All these mories, this strange blend of lives, swirled in my skull. It’s weird. I feel closer to fifteen-year-old Ed than the engineering student I used to be. And yet, none of it makes full sense. Living and reading about the dieval period are very different things. But more bizarre than any sword or stone wall were the mories of carriages without horses, called cars, and spending an entire day staring at a glowing box called a mobile. Who does that?
Just then, the sound of wooden wheels and snorting horses snapped out of my existential spiral. A carriage sped toward the area where I stood. Nothing fancy, just a standard four-wheeled wooden coach, pulled by a pair of horses and flanked by two guards on horseback. But sothing about the way the crowd parted made it clear this wasn’t just any traveler.
I froze in place, until reflex kicked in. A buried mory surfaced: the courtesy one must show to a noble. My body moved before my brain did, dropping to one knee and bowing my head just as the carriage passed.
Too slow.
Pain lanced through my shoulder as sothing struck from the side. I looked up, dazed, just in ti to see a pair of soldiers passing through the crowd, thin rods in hand. Were they... enforcing manners?
Before I could process it, a hand gently patted my uninjured shoulder. I turned to see a man, older, maybe in his twenties, give a sympathetic glance.
“Don’t worry. That’s just how nobles are,” he said. “Next ti, don’t stare at their carriage from the front. And kneel faster. You’re lucky they were in a hurry. Otherwise, they might’ve demanded five or ten lashes in public, just to make an example.”
He shrugged and walked away. “Your parents should’ve taught you that.”
I stood there silently, watching him disappear into the crowd.
My father did teach ... I thought bitterly.
That brief mont said more than all my hours of wandering. Between yesterday's brush with death and this morning’s reminder of how powerless I was, it beca painfully clear, I wouldn’t survive the year at this rate.
No Class. No survival skills. I couldn’t hunt. I couldn’t fight. Aside from reading and writing, I had no valuable talents. Worst of all was the bitter seed of rebellion growing inside , this resentnt toward kneeling, toward obedience, toward helplessness.
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That emotion, I knew, didn’t co from Ed.
It ca from .
And that was probably going to get killed.
Mouthing off to the wrong rchant or noble would get whipped, or worse. I could already picture myself bleeding in so alley again, all because I didn’t show proper respect to soone richer or better dressed.
Call it fate, or just timing, but that’s when I saw the signboard:
ROYAL ARMY – RECRUITS NEEDED – NORTHERN FRONT
Enlistnt Bonus: 10 Silver. Food & Training Provided. Age: 14 to 33
I stopped.
Normally, neither I, nor the Edward whose body I now occupied, would have given that board more than a glance. Even the poorest slum rats avoided enlisting for the northern front. Everyone knew the stories.
A death rate over 50%.
Avalon was at war with its northern neighbor again. So old grudge, territory, or resource, who knows. But what mattered was this: soldiers sent north rarely returned whole. If they returned at all.
And yet... I kept staring at the board.
The Kingdom of Avalon wasn’t just so backwater. It was one of the most powerful kingdoms on the continent. Its military had held the borders for over 3,000 years. Stories floated through the streets like smoke: one of the current Dukes had started as a commoner, joined the army, and was granted his title after turning the tide of a beast tide in the west.
I wasn’t trying to beco a hero. I wasn’t dreaming of glory or titles.
But I needed training. A roof. A way to survive.
School had already kicked out for unpaid fees. The city had no programs for orphaned teenagers. No safety nets.
I had no skills. No allies. No future.
Previous Edward was training to beco a scribe. I was supposed to be an engineer. I did so exercise in high school, mostly treadmill and endurance running, but I knew nothing about fighting. Nothing about blades, spears, or spells.
But this... this was an option.
I took a deep breath and walked toward the booth.
A bored-looking soldier manned the post, flipping through a parchnt register.
“I’d like to enroll,” I said.
The soldier looked up. “Na? Skills? Age?”
“Edward. Trained as a scribe. I’m fifteen.”
He frowned, and my stomach twisted.
Was I too young? Was being unawakened a problem? Would he turn away?
They did forced recruitnt, didn’t they? Surely soone like could volunteer.
The soldier muttered under his breath, “What’s a scribe in training doing going to the front... but that’s not my job. City departnt will handle the background check.”
He looked over again, this ti more thoughtfully.
“According to kingdom law, unawakened individuals can’t be deployed to active battle. You’re not sixteen either. But...” he paused, tapping the hilt of his blade, “there’s a special training program. For kids aged 14 to 15. It’s not glamorous. You’ll be sent to Stonegate City.”
“Stonegate?” I asked.
“About four days from here. You’ll train with the city guard for six months. If you show promise, you might be allowed to specialize, scouting, logistics, ranged support. Until your Class Awakening. After that, you’ll be deployed.”
I stayed silent for a mont.
That wasn’t a terrible offer. In fact, it was the best I could hope for.
The soldier looked at expectantly. “So? What’ll it be?”
I nodded, firm. “I’ll apply to the training program.”
He gave a sharp nod and dipped his quill in ink. “Alright, Ed. Welco to the first day of the rest of your life. Let’s hope it’s longer than the last guy who walked up here smiling.”
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