The magic testing had begun. Eric the Zealot had been the first to try studying the book, and he collapsed to the ground almost immediately, unable to withstand the magic text.

  He was now in a corner of the fortress, sitting by himself and recovering from the headache. He looked a little sad, almost melancholic.

  Mark approached him and asked:

  “Are you crying?”

  Eric, who hadn’t been crying, seemed surprised at the question. A couple of girls walking by looked at him and giggled mockingly.

  “I’m not crying!”

  “Come on,” Mark insisted. “There’s nothing shameful about crying…”

  “Fuck you, Mark!” he said, making a gesture telling him to go away.

  Mark sat next to him.

  “So what? Hogwarts didn’t accept you into their school. You didn’t get the letter, and your inbred cousin did. And now you’re crying, it’s completely natural…”

  “I. Was. Not. Crying!”

  Mark needled Eric a little bit longer before he offered him to join the gambling.

  “You can gamble anything you want, as long as you find somebody willing to take the bet. Weaponry is the preferred currency. Hopefully, soon we’ll get some actual money, and we’ll be able to gamble like civilized men.”

  Eric accepted to join the gambling crowd—he seemed to relish the actual tears of the people who also failed to become [Mages].

  Mark soon had about twenty gamblers watching the door to the room where the magic testing was happening.

  It was a little absurd because their survival depended on getting enough magic users, but eventually, they started celebrating each time somebody failed to become a [Mage].

  And heckling anybody capable of magic, who was sent to some special quarters to be given the basics by Tobias.

  Was there a little wine involved?

  No, of course not.

  There was a lot of wine involved.

  “Long live the Muggles, motherfucker!” Eric shouted after taking another gulp from a bottle.

  After some time, Emily came to them, furious because they had made a teenage girl with a talent for healing magic cry. The girl was behind Emily, pointing at them with tears streaming down her cheeks.

  Luckily, Eric waved her worries away and assured her that everything was under control.

  'Don’t worry, doc. I’m the second-in-command in this fortress; I’ll keep these idiots under a tight leash...'"

  Then he fell asleep on Mark’s shoulder, his bottle of wine clunking on the floor. Mark raised his hands a little, trying to look as innocent as possible.

  Sadly, the little snitch behind Emily insisted that Mark had been one of the worst hecklers.

  Emily glared at Mark.

  “Grow up, loser,” she said, and walked away.

  Mark looked at the rotten fruit some eager members of Eric’s Zealots were bringing to start throwing at the happy new [Mages].

  And he felt a little bad about what he was about to do.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Didn’t stop him, though.

  “I bet my dagger that I hit the next [Mage] right in the face. Who wants a piece of the action? And people with [Unerring Throw], you cannot bet on throwing stuff. Let’s keep this fair and civilized.”

  That afternoon Johan organized a meeting with his Special Ops Squad. The meeting happened in the Command Room. They were all there, sitting around the big rectangular table: Arthur, who had finally appeared from wherever he had been hiding; Tobias, exhausted from teaching people the basics of magic; Mark, who had lost all his gambling friends to alcoholic stupor; and Emily, keeping away from Mark and looking at him with anger.

  “Weren’t you witnessing the [Mage] triage?” Arthur asked the General.

  Johan shrugged.

  “It gets a little old, seeing people fall unconscious and cry that they want another opportunity. We’re getting some future [Mages], but not as many as I hoped. We’ll probably end up with forty or so.”

  “Very few [Healers],” Tobias added. “Now we only have two, including Emily. I hope it will reach four. Five, if there’s a miracle. We really lucked out back on the ship, with Emily being able to [Heal].”

  Mark was mostly ignoring the conversation, looking with a big smile inside his bag of holding at some of the things he had earned gambling. Emily looked at Mark with disdain.

  “And why is the drunk gambler here?

  Arthur smiled. He was sitting next to Mark, and he put a hand on his shoulder.

  “He’s not drunk. He’s just a special kind of asshole.”

  Mark put the bag of holding away and laughed at Emily’s surprise.

  “I would never get drunk before something as sacred as gambling. Fighting for my life? Sure. Going to my father’s funeral? Yeah. Why not? But never gambling—it’s crazy some people do, to be honest.” He added, ignoring that it had been his idea to bring in the wine. Then he looked at Arthur. “Where were you, by the way?”

  Arthur smirked.

  “We found a little spot on the rooftop. Very intimate. And afterwards, listening to all the noise, I preferred to take a nap in peace. I heard what Eric did, stealing Liam from us. Did you take from that little piece of shit everything he has ever loved?”

  “Nah. He’s a lucky drunk. He cleaned up.” He looked at Johan. “Good news, my beloved general. I no longer need you to provide me with some daggers. A few of your men will need them, though. And a sword, a bow, a couple of axes, and six lances. Your entire phalanx wing is filled with idiots.”

  “Not my phalanx wing; those are still training with the marines. You took the weapons of the people who don’t have any interest in fighting, or even training. So fine by me.”

  Johan smiled.

  “I actually have a mission for the Special Ops Squad!”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah! Somebody’s been stealing from our food storages. I know it’s not one of you, because you were out of the fortress. So your next mission is to catch the thief and bring him to justice.”

  Arthur stared at Johan. It took him a couple of seconds to answer. There was incredulity in his voice.

  “You want us to catch a food thief?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Yeah, fuck you,” Mark added.

  “What?”

  “We’re an Elite Special Ops Unit,” Mark explained. “We’re not catching some loser getting an extra dessert.”

  “It’s offensive you asked,” Arthur said.

  “Yeah, fuck you. Twice,” Mark added.

  Johan looked at Tobias and Emily for support.

  “Sorry,” Tobias said. “I’m not legitimizing your request with an answer.”

  Johan desperately looked at Emily as his last possible source of backup.

  “You realize we’re the ones who recovered the magic book, right?” Emily said. “Killed a hundred Mongols doing so. We also brought with us some Viking soldiers. Like, you know who we are?”

  “I’m your general. And you guys are adding more goddamn Mongols every time you tell your story. You have to...”

  “With all due respect, General ILoveFurries the Seventh,” Mark interrupted. “But fuck you. Thrice.”

  “I literally cure people with my hands. Back on Earth, there were religions built around people like me.”

  “Come on, Tobias, say 'fuck you' at least once. It feels good.”

  “Listen to me, it’s important. Because our food reserves are...”

  “Fuck you,” Tobias said, and then looked at Mark. “Hey, you’re right! It felt great!”

  Johan raised his hands, surrendering.

  “Okay, okay… What if I say that I want you to hunt down a saboteur, a traitor stealing our most vital assets, the greatest threat we have ever faced?”

  Mark rolled his eyes.

  “We’re not children. You cannot just change the words around.”

  “Goddamn. Fine. I’ll ask Eric to do it with his most trusted…”

  Mark and Arthur exchanged a look.

  “We’ll do it,” Arthur suddenly decided. “It’s beneath us, but we’re so loyal to the battalion that we’ll make the sacrifice.”

  “Yeah. Fuck Eric,” Mark added.

  “We still have to punish the little bitch for stealing Liam from us,” Arthur added.

  “I know,” Mark said. “I’ll find a way.”

  Johan seemed a little surprised.

  “Okay. You people are fucking crazy. But I’ll take it. The food thi—“

  “The saboteur,” Mark corrected. It did sound better.

  “Okay. The saboteur has been stealing our resources from the kitchen every night. I’m pretty sure he’s been Leveling in some Class that helps him to do so; the fucking idiot. Catch him and bring him to me. Good luck.”

  He got up and was about to leave the room when somebody said:

  “Fuck you!”

  He turned around, and there was a hint of deep pain in his eyes.

  “Sorry,” Emily said, with a little smile. “I didn’t want to be the only one who didn’t say it. You’re right, Mark. I felt good. I felt powerful.”

  Johan hurried out of the command room when Mark started convincing Emily that throwing rotten fruit at others would feel even better.