65 Spies Among the Soldiers

The mess hall beckoned, a couple of friendlier soldiers inviting him to sit with them. The majority of the group were privates, but the military system had unraveled greatly since their arrival at Relentless. Going back to the strict discipline enforced by Commander Ericksson and his officers would certainly be difficult for these men.

"Sergeant, we were just talking about the battle. We've been wanting to talk to you since we heard what you did that night," one of them, dressed in bright green, waved him over. "My name's Jacob too, but most call me Jake," Jake said, shaking Jacob's hand. Jacob was mystified by the entire encounter. He had never even interacted with these people before: why did they want to talk to him so bad? It didn't seem to be anything sinister, at least not based on their attitudes.

"I'm an open book. Ask me anything," Jacob scooped food into his mouth unceremoniously, withholding the desire to let loose grunts of appreciation for the food. He was in polite society. Or, well, this world's society. None of the other soldiers shared the same reservations he did. They reveled in the quality of the choice meats, a transparentness Jacob admired.

Jake took the opportunity and immediately turned away from his own bowl of beef stew. "I've been meaning to ask, sir. How is it that you're a servant when you're such a fearsome warrior?" Jacob winced; the question wasn't a comfortable topic. Not just mentally, but physically as well. Whenever he retold the story, which was surprisingly often these past few days, his collar always reacted to some treasonous thought or other. His neck was sore, but he obliged the soldier. Jake seemed honest enough, and he had clearly been taught by a master of the puppy-dog eye technique.

"It wasn't always the case, Jake. Every great warrior begins his or her path from somewhere. Mine just so happened to be from under the iron grip of the king." Yikes, those hadn't been the right words. The collar illuminated, detecting his anger. "Plus, using magic to augment my fighting abilities gives me an unfair edge up compared to everyone else." The bread was delicious too, Jacob realized. It was freshly baked, the crust cracking with every light squeeze. Jacob would miss Relentless as much as the privates sitting around him. Going back to a tent would be such a downgrade, even if his was a private tent befitting his rank.

Jake saw the light glow of the collar, but he had the common sense to not ask about it. Instead, he chose another topic. Jacob nearly rolled his eyes when the next question came; he should have expected it. "What happened to your hometown, sir?"

"Razed to the ground," he offered simply, finishing the rest of his food before standing up from the table. Jake made to follow him, but a stern glare forced the private back into his seat. Jacob had enough nightmares about the sights he'd seen, the men he'd killed, and the ghosts of the past. Another conversation like this was sure to shake him up just before the tournament.

A sinister idea grew in Jacob's mind. What if these kind soldiers were meant to be informants for the sponsors of other contesters? If that were the case, Jacob would lose sleep and wake up weaker than when he went to bed. It was a clever ruse, but unfortunate for the person setting the plan in motion. He had discovered one group of potential spies already. Evading them shouldn't be all that difficult. Evading everyone, actually, wasn't a bad idea.

It was awfully pragmatic and it would make for a lonely and boring evening, but Provost Thomson would have probably advised something along similar lines if he had the time to make it all the way to where her office was. Of course, there was no guarantee she was in her office; Provost Thomson made frequent jaunts around the Relentless complex. The various buildings and the training yard were her playground, allowing her to explore and get into the thick of things. There was no way she was actually the one running Relentless, right? Jacob had some doubts, though he'd been assured by numerous members of the court and the Provost that she was the one in charge of all decision making.

With someone as reckless as her at the helm of Relentless' operations, he supposed they couldn't afford enemies. And yet, they feuded with the neighboring school of Dauntless frequently enough to warrant a more serious leader. Perhaps there was another side to the enigmatic Provost that he didn't know yet.

All of that was beside the point, even though it did make for a good time-sink. Instead of wandering to his room and doing nothing for hours, waiting for his muscles to recover all on their own, Jacob returned to his training room. Unused by anyone else in the college for the past few days, it was a prime place to practice his meditation. It was large enough to make noise from others a much smaller issue than in the shared dormitory area.

The wind molecules washed over him. This time, Jacob attempted to modify his technique. With a greater grasp on the movement of the particles, as well as Jacob's ability to channel more power, Jacob was capable of extending the second-skin of wind around him. It formed a semi-visible bubble, as if he were a inside a giant soap bubble. He could see out of it, but the room was slightly distorted. Jacob focused on keeping the wind moving around him as he walked.

This was his new meditation, and it provided even better results. No longer did Jacob bluster around in the dark when it came to his latent abilities. Now he was capable of getting stronger through his own method. His mana exhausted itself fairly fast, almost twice as fast as it would have taken with his previous meditations.

As the world changed, Jacob needed to necessarily adapt. His own methods weren't tested beyond himself, but it would hopefully grant him enough power to at the very least, if nothing else, break the magic on the collar.

He'd need to work on learning metal magic soon. The sooner the better.