Captain Edran stayed seated long after the other squad leaders had left. Hours had passed since he had heard the report of the troll warlord sighting, and the meeting that came after it had been one of the worst of his life.

  He'd only been in the position of a warband captain for a year and a half, and not every squad leader took his every word as a command.

  Despite the reports, it had been hard to convince the squad leaders to prepare their men for what was coming.

  Gregory and Rancour had looked particularly unconvinced, both lower sons of barons that didn't have a good relationship with his house. Hence, they had always silently opposed him.

  Part of it was also because the report had come from Axel's squad. No one liked that old drunkard, despite his experience, because of his personality.

  But Edran knew it was true. An attack from the trolls was coming. An actual war that no one could have prepared for.

  The sketch in front of him was solid proof of it. He picked it up and frowned.

  If nothing else, at least the sketch looked solid. Drawn in charcoal, it strongly resembled the one Casper had shown him from the book. A troll taller than anything else, with tusks that could pierce through any armour and giant axes in its hands it had gotten from gods knew where.

  Edran stared into its eyes. The sketch didn't do justice to it. According to the report, they were of different colours—green and yellow. He had heard of human children born similar, and they were always killed or isolated, thought of as demon spawns.

  Now, he would have to face a similar monster with one mage, a few veterans, and a few hundred forsakens and new recruits. If he was in the betting market of the capital, no one would have put any coin on him.

  He really didn't trust the recruits to pull their weight. Burning goblin nests was child's play compared to seeing a monster army charging at you.

  Some of these men had joined to escape famine, others for the pay, others because wearing the uniform gave them a place in the world. The forsakens were simply criminals from pickpockets to rapists to even traitors of the crown.

  They’d drilled in the yard, sharpened blades, stood guard on the walls during quiet nights, and killed goblins and rabbits. They thought they understood what it meant to fight.

  They didn’t.

  Edran could already see it. The panic in their eyes when the first horn blew, when the first wave of monsters charged at them. Some would freeze. Others would run. The ones who didn’t… the war would change them, just like it had changed countless others.

  He frowned, putting back the sketch, leaning against the chair and picking up the glass of wine. It might be the only thing keeping him sane.

  As he took a sip, the door to the office opened, and Casper walked in. There were no signs of Henry behind her, so he guessed the old man was again cozying up to the squad leaders.

  “Where were you?” Edran asked as she shut the door. No book in her hands this time. “I would have liked you in the meeting. Henry said you were busy.”

  Casper nodded. “Busy with practicing a spell matrix. Didn't want to take my focus away from it. And I could already guess how the meeting would have gone.”

  He nodded as she walked up to his desk, her eyes looking down at the sketch.

  “So, it's confirmed? Any indication of its level?”

  “Yes and no,” said Edran. “They didn't see him fight, just rile up goblins and trolls. You were right. The warlord is accumulating foot soldiers. I suspect a battle this week.”

  He studied Casper’s eyes for any indication of fear or worry. There was none. She should know that the warlord would at least be around Level 50s, yet she looked almost relaxed.

  Were all mages like that? He had seen a couple, and they all gave off similar energies as if nothing could break them. He guessed standing in the back and slinging spells provided them more safety.

  He curled his lips and said, “Actually, they saw something that sounds like a skill. More like they felt it.”

  Casper raised an eyebrow. “An aura skill?”

  “Yes. Apparently, it made it harder to look at the warlord without feeling fear and anxiety. It could be passive or active. But just this skill would tear through the new recruits like a wild thorn bear.” He sighed. “I don't think most of the recruits would survive even if they didn't have to fight the warlord. Just the aura might freeze them enough for a troll or goblin to cut them in half.”

  Casper studied him. “Then you’d better make them ready.”

  “That’s the thing,” Edran said, voice low. “You can train them to fight, drill them until their arms ache. But you can’t train someone for a mental attack like this in a matter of days. It's not just that. You can’t drill them for the smell of burning flesh or for people they know dying in front of them. That’s what breaks people—not the enemy, but the weight of it all when it starts.”

  He took another sip of the wine. The burning sensation cleared his mind, only a little.

  Most of the soldiers in Fort Algar weren't ready for war. They were here to get experience, level up, get new skills before getting sent to the frontlines, not to face a troll warlord.

  He could almost see defeat in front of him. The numbers in the reports were just too many, and they might not even be the final count.

  Casper stood silently for a minute before she spoke. “You can't do anything about that.”

  “What?” Edran asked.

  “Soldiers dying. They signed up for it the moment they joined the army. The forsakens signed up for it the moment they were caught. Wars are like that. You have been in them, even if you never had to face a warlord of this kind.” She took a deep breath. “They will be okay. What we need to focus on is killing the warlord. I doubt the squad leaders gave you any idea.”

  Edran nodded, putting his glass back on the table. “Those sons of bitches kept quibbling among themselves. Some want to send more scouting parties to see the warlord for themselves.”

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  “I thought it would go like that,” she said, pulling a chair before sitting down. “Hence, I have a few ideas of my own.”

  “And what are they?”

  Casper waited a few seconds before pulling out some notes from under her robes. “I think we need to fight the troll army in the plains. If we let them reach the fort, it will be all over for us.”

  ***

  Rayne felt like vomiting as he drank the watery liquid. The healer in front of him, a woman in her forties, called it healing water, but it was nothing more than water mixed with a drop of a health potion. He didn’t even know if it would help, but he still drank it as she bandaged his legs.

  More bandages were around his back, ribs, and shoulder, mostly from burn marks he hadn’t even noticed.

  Apparently, some of the arcspider venom had seeped into his back in the heat of the battle. He was fine since it hadn’t entered his body, but it had slowly burned his back through their trek back to Fort Algar.

  Rayne had been sent straight to the healer’s tent where he had been denied a proper potion and could only take slow sips of the water while he was fixed up.

  Though mostly, he had slept, too tired from all the running and surviving.

  “There,” the healer said. “You should be able to remove it in a day. Now, you can either go back to your squad or rest here. But I will kick you out if more patients come.”

  “That’s quite fast,” he said.

  “Your body heals itself faster once you have some levels. Those stats help, especially in Vitality, and you are drinking the healing water, so it should be fine. Just don’t take part in practice today. And rest.”

  After saying that, she opened the tent flap and went away. Rayne looked down at his bandages, then flopped back onto the hard wooden bed.

  He still had a headache at the back of his mind. It had lessened and gone away when he had woken up but was slowly crawling back.

  He doubted the woman had any pills for it.

  This world’s healing was around spells and alchemy, and the fort had no healing mage or alchemist. Most of the potions came in supplies. He knew that much from going through the ledgers.

  Other than healing potions and antidotes, there wasn’t much he could get to curb his headache. Maybe he should invest in a pharmaceutical industry once he had more coins, though it wasn’t like he knew anything about it.

  The flap of the tent suddenly shifted and Rayne sat up, thinking it to be the healer. Instead, Bran stepped through, still in armour, his face drawn tight as he took in the bandages around him.

  “The lone trek really packed a punch,” he said. “What did Marissa say?”

  Rayne raised an eyebrow. “That’s her name? She refused to tell me, saying she doesn’t give it to forsakens. And she said I will be fine by tomorrow.”

  “Good,” said Bran, moving to stand next to him. “It seems like you won’t be missing the coming action. Axel just got out of the meeting with Edran and the other squad leaders, barking for good rest for everyone for what’s coming. The entire squad—actually the whole fort—is tense. No one gets out of training unless a major battle is coming.”

  Rayne glanced toward the tent flap, hearing faint shouts in the distance. “They would be making plans of deserting if they saw what we did.”

  Bran grinned. “Definitely, but then they would be declared enemies of the crown. Fate’s worse than dying to a troll. At least the troll would be quick. Do you have to stay here or can you walk back?”

  He answered by slowly getting out of the bed. It wasn’t bad, but he missed his own bed. Rayne had gotten used to his room, mainly because that was the only place he truly felt at peace. The only good thing coming out of his reputation was that he could sleep without roommates. Or the army risked him being killed in his sleep.

  They probably preferred him dying to monsters—or trolls—if things went wrong.

  Rayne adjusted his bandages and wore a tunic with a grunt before stepping out into the fort, Bran taking the lead. A chill bit through the air, and he saw the streets were thinner than usual.

  A few soldiers passed by, not even looking at him, their expressions locked in that same mix of readiness and unease.

  It should have been only a few hours since even Edran got the confirmation of the troll warlord, but the whole fort seemed to have a clue now. He wondered who had babbled.

  “Don’t look at the soldiers,” Bran said suddenly, bringing his focus back to him. “A lot of them will be dead in a week. Forsakens often get the task of heaping up their bodies in a pile to burn. You wouldn’t wanna see even a passing face in there.”

  Rayne nodded, thinking back to Marco. “What happens to forsakens who die?”

  Bran stalled for a second. “Marco unfortunately won’t get a funeral. They don’t bother with forsakens until there’s a body. But all his possessions will be checked through and sent back to whatever family he has.” He paused, then added, “Though, a lot of it gets taken by greedy officials. From what I know, Marco only has a brother and he does well, so it should be okay.”

  “I don’t know,” said Rayne. “He died in an unfortunate way. Getting his face eaten by a troll. I don’t know if anyone deserves that.”

  Bran’s eyes flicked to the looming tower approaching. “I know what he did to land in the army. And no, he didn’t. But that’s the way of the world. People die all the time. The less you get affected, the longer you live. I know it’s not much of a consolation. You saw his corpse. We didn’t. But that’s advice that stayed with me out of the numerous others that were plain bullshit.”

  Silence stretched between them with each step. Rayne simply loomed over his words. It wasn’t as if he was deeply affected. His feelings had numbed slightly since waking up in this world, but he kept thinking if he would go the same way as Marco.

  Eaten by a monster. Body found by another. Not even getting a funeral.

  He shook those thoughts away, not wanting to go down the tunnel of doom right now. Fortunately, they reached the tower just then.

  “The others should be on the ground floor. They were sitting and eating jerky when I came to get you,” Bran said, breaking the silence.

  Rayne nodded, pushing the door open, and his party was really there, huddled in a half circle around the central table. He saw a few more soldiers looking from up the stairs.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  Bran shrugged, and as they stepped forward, Kesh finally noticed them. He elbowed Nate, and soon, all of them were looking back at him. A glint in their eyes made him more confused.

  Was he in trouble? As he thought so, Nate and Kesh finally stepped away, giving him a good look at what they were staring at.

  The troll armour.

  It was finally there. Rayne’s steps quickened at the sight of it, and he quickly joined the huddle, looking over at it.

  It dominated the table, a mass of hide, bone, and crude metal. The chestplate was shaped from overlapping slabs of thick, blackened leather. Plates of yellowed bone reinforced the shoulders and spine, their jagged edges giving it a primal feel.

  The helmet rested on the side, made entirely of metal. It still had the distinctive smell of the troll, but not to the point of being a bother.

  Rayne touched its surface just as Nate planted a hand on his shoulder.

  “It arrived an hour back. Two of Master Landor’s assistants carried it. Not an artifact, but looks pretty solid.”

  Kesh agreed. “Yeah, a few bastards tried to rip it off, but lucky for you, we were here.”

  He nodded a thanks but soon, his eyes landed back on the armour. His current one had been dented too much already, so this was a godsend before the coming battle.

  As he kept admiring it, Bran’s voice drew his attention. “It looks like it can take a pretty hard blow. You want to test it out once you heal? I can get you a sword from Kiyan.”

  A few of them groaned at the suggestion of more training, but Rayne simply looked down at the armour, then at Bran. It wouldn’t be bad to get used to it.

  He nodded. “Sure, I would like that. Just don’t damage it. I’m hoping for it to save me from a troll punch.”

  Bran grinned. “I will try, and even teach all of you a sword art.”

  ****