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The Ghost of Arcana

Dropped. Oh well.

_Zennn · Fantasy
Not enough ratings
67 Chs

Into the Fray

Andre was abruptly awakened by a discordant chorus of snoring and the regular rumbling of someone's stomach. He suddenly sat up, his heart beating rapidly like a trapped hummingbird in his chest. Although the sun had not yet risen over the horizon, the communal tent was already filled with a quiet state of disorder. Three additional men occupied the tight area, their bodies intertwined like thrown away clothes under the faint lantern glow. Andre's throat was irritated by the strong scent of stagnant air filled with the smell of individuals who hadn't showered, old cabbage, and a metallic taste. This room was not his room at home. This was a conflict.

Andre struggled out of his worn-out sleeping bag, feeling the rough material scratch against his exposed skin. The rest of the men started to move around, whispering curses and incoherent complaints. Moaning, he joined the crowd as they shuffled towards the opening of the tent. Even in the early morning darkness, the camp was filled with a disturbing buzz of activity. Soldiers navigated through temporary shelters, their expressions tired and haggard, with eyes reflecting a weary exhaustion from constantly evading death. The scent of burning wood mixed with the constant odor of sweat and leather as smoke rose from quickly constructed campfires. The difference in scent from the freshly baked bread that welcomed him each morning in his hometown was significant.

He became part of a row of men, each receiving a flickering lantern that illuminated their somber expressions with an oily light. There was a heavy unspoken directive in the atmosphere. They were guided towards a stream close by, the bubbling water offering a pleasant contrast to the anxious quiet enveloping the group. This was not a peaceful swimming spot from my hometown, a place for relaxed enjoyment and playing in the water. This was a baptism in battle, a stark reminder of the tough reality that lay ahead of them.

The men removed their clothes, revealing a display of scars, tanned skin, muscular bodies, and visible ribs. The cold water stole Andre's breath, waking him abruptly with a surge of pain. He rubbed his body with a coarse towel, the abrasive material causing his skin to become irritated. This was not the appropriate moment to indulge in leisurely baths with lilac-scented soap. In this case, maintaining cleanliness was crucial for survival, as people desperately tried to prevent the inevitable spread of lice and disease.

After coming out of the water, cold and only slightly washed, Andre was confronted with a surprising scene right in front of him. Yesterday's recruiter stood in his tent, wearing armor that showed signs of numerous battles with both gleaming and damaged sections. However, the confident demeanor she once had was now replaced by a tired acceptance shown in her green eyes. She threw a bunch of old leather towards him, the tired straps creaking loudly.

The woman interrupted Andre before he had a chance to mention anything about privacy. "Do not bother me with humility, recruit, your twig and berries are no surprise here" she stated, her voice harsh and unprocessed, touched with a fatigue that contradicted her youthful look

Andre's face went bright red.

"Survival matters more than manners in this environment." Put on your clothes. In 30 minutes we will have breakfast, and after that..." she stopped speaking, a cold gleam appearing in her eyes, "the true labor starts."

Andre searched clumsily for his clothes, feeling the rough texture against his cold skin. He felt shame in his cheeks, not only due to his nakedness, but also because of the intense vulnerability she had revealed. In this harsh world of conflict, there was no space for innocent shyness. Only soldiers existed, focused on survival. He put on the old leather jacket, the scent of perspiration and musty leather sticking to it like a second layer of skin. This had become his attire, his symbol of acceptance into this dark brotherhood of men who relied on the sword for survival. He looked up at the woman and saw that her amused smile had been replaced by a chilly, businesslike expression.

"Andre, welcome to the army," she greeted with a flat tone. "Prepare yourself now. We can't stay here all day.

Andre walked behind the group of soldiers as they made their way to the main dining tent, the strong scent of wood smoke and a somewhat meaty aroma hitting his nose. Within, the situation was disorderly. Men crowded around improvised tables, their faces lit up by flickering lanterns. Andre had never seen anything like the grey, lumpy gruel overflowing from the wooden bowls. The surface was coated in a thick layer of grease, and the air was filled with the strong smell of something slightly fermented. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach when he realized that this was breakfast.

Sergeant Bruiser's warning replayed in his mind - "could be the final good meal you'll have for some time." He looked around, seeing faces twisted in disgust as they tried to eat the unappetizing food. He felt hunger in his stomach, but found the gruel to be disgusting. He compelled himself to eat, the flavor being a dull, sandy attack on his senses. Eating more bites, one after the other, driven by a strong hunger to satisfy his stomach. The old bread he had brought with him felt like a neglected extravagance in comparison to this. He swallowed the remaining of his portion, the taste of fear mixing with the unpleasant flavor in his mouth.

Right on cue, the men with rough hands noisily gathered the empty bowls and mugs from the tent. The repetitive clanging sound reverberated in the tense silence, serving as a grim indication of the structured life that lay ahead for them. Andre merged into the crowd of men exiting the tent, feeling a mixture of nervousness and queasiness in his stomach. The camp was filled with long shadows as the sun rose, creating a foreboding atmosphere. The atmosphere was filled with a tense vibe, occasionally interrupted by the loud commands of unidentified leaders.

Soldiers surrounded him, standing in somber silence with faces lacking the youthful enthusiasm Andre had sensed only a day before. They were struck by reality like a sledgehammer. This was no longer a soldier's game. This was a conflict, a harsh and relentless truth that would reduce them to their essence, creating only warriors molded by flames and metal. Andre paused to inhale deeply, finding a brief moment of relief in the fresh morning air before chaos ensued. The training session was about to start. Andre, just like all the other soldiers present, was on the brink of being thrown into the chaos of battle.

A piercing whistle shocked Andre out of his deep thoughts. Sergeant Bruiser stood in the midst of the gathered troops, his expression showing a strong sense of self-control. "OK, maggots," he shouted loudly, his voice echoing in the fresh morning breeze. Today's plan: figuring out how to get out of a difficult situation with no simple solution for returning. We are going to go for a run."

A unified sound of disappointment spread among the group, yet nobody was willing to defy orders. Andre got in line, feeling his heart pounding in his chest. This wasn't a relaxing walk through the fields in his hometown. This was a trial of their stamina, a preview of what was to come.

The run started at a consistent speed, with the sound of many boots hitting the firm soil creating a repetitive drumming sound. They moved away from the camp and ventured into the thick forest that surrounded it. The sunlight shone through the trees in speckled patterns, creating mysterious shadows on the ground of the forest. The atmosphere was filled with the fragrance of wet soil and rotting leaves, strikingly different from the camp's smoky odor.

They kept running as if an endless amount of time had passed. Andre's forehead glistened with sweat, running down his face and causing a burning sensation in his eyes. His lungs were on fire, with each breath being difficult. However, he continued at the same speed, driven by a blend of fear and resolve. He wouldn't be the one lagging on day one.

At last, following what felt like an hour, Sergeant Bruiser's rough voice pierced through the steady thud of their boots. Okay, you maggots, face the other way! Return to camp. No charts, no instructions. Trust only your intuition.

Andre felt completely confused as if a wave had engulfed him. They were purposely abandoned to survive on their own in this unknown forest. He felt the impending surge of panic in his throat, but he managed to suppress it. He had to take a moment to think, had to recall the landmarks they had gone by.

The following two hours were a challenging assessment of both physical and mental endurance. The forest, once a vibrant mix of green and brown colors, now appeared to taunt him with its sameness. He roamed without purpose, each fallen log, each tall tree beginning to appear identical. His confidence was eroded by uncertainty. Was he just going around in circles? Did this never-ending maze become his ultimate burial site?

As he teetered on the brink of despair, a familiar sight appeared amidst the thick foliage. The faraway silhouette of the camp, illuminated by the golden light of the late afternoon. He felt a rush of relief so intense that it made tears well up in his eyes. He had managed to return.

He staggered back to the campground, legs aching, lungs gasping for breath. Sergeant Bruiser greeted him with a look of surprise. "Ah, Andre, well, well," he growled, his voice rough yet laced with a touch of admiration. Wasn't anticipating your return this quickly. Did I lose you for a moment there?"

Andre managed a shaky nod, too exhausted to speak.

"Shocked you found your way back," Sergeant Bruiser continued, a hint of a grin playing at the corners of his lips. "Most of these lot wouldn't know north from south without a map shoved up their noses. But hey, that's what training is for. Now, onto the next challenge – swimming."

Andre inwardly groaned as his body desperately demanded rest. However, he straightened his shoulders, determined not to display his tiredness. He realized that today was only the start. The transition from a frightened farm boy to a soldier had only just started, and the road ahead was expected to be much tougher than a leisurely run in the woods.

Andre's legs, shaking from the effort of finding his way back, pulled him towards a clearing that was close by. In the middle, a broad, dark river wound its way, mirroring the early sunlight with a slick appearance. This appeared to be their fresh practice area. Soldiers removed their clothes, exposing a patchwork of toned muscles and jutting ribs. The atmosphere was filled with tense excitement, interrupted by splashes and curses as men entered the water.

Andre did the same, feeling a gasp as the cold water took his breath away. He moved deeper into the water, feeling the muddy ground squish uncomfortably below his feet. The water rose to his chest, engulfing his reflection completely in the murky depths. He felt a disturbing feeling of being exposed and defenseless. Here, in this new setting, he felt vulnerable without the slight confidence he had earlier.

On the edge of the shore stood Sergeant Bruiser, a tall and imposing figure, as he yelled out directions above the sounds of splashing and loud commands. They engaged in fundamental swimming movements, causing the water to swirl into a murky foam. Despite his initial fear, Andre began to relax as the rhythm of his movements soothed his racing heart. Although not the most elegant swimmer, he managed to stay above water, feeling a small sense of pride growing within him.

Out of nowhere, a loud voice broke the peaceful silence. "Hey, Andre!" Sergeant Bruiser shouted loudly, with a hint of cruel enjoyment in his voice. A massive hand grabbed Andre's shoulder tightly before he could respond. He was pulled backward, causing the world to tilt on its axis, and the ground vanished beneath him.

With a surprised gasp, he dove into the cold, murky depths. He was overcome with panic as the water invaded his lungs, depriving his body of air. His arms and legs thrashed frantically, trying to reach the surface that appeared to be miles in the distance. He gasped, releasing a muffled scream as bubbles formed from his lips. The water, previously a refreshing hug, now seemed overwhelming, a dense, stifling covering.

As the world started to blur with a whirlpool of green and blue, a fundamental instinct took over. His legs flailed desperately, driven by a strong desire for oxygen. His arms reached upward, his sight hazy from the dark water and feeling the pressure in his lungs increase.

Andre gasped for air like a drowning man as he broke the surface with a last burst of strength. He coughed and gasped, the enjoyable feeling of fresh air entering his lungs was overwhelming. His limbs shook involuntarily, a combination of fatigue and sheer terror making him feeble and quivering. His heart beat frantically against his ribs as he clung to a rock nearby.

Sergeant Bruiser, a tall figure outlined by the fading sun, observed with a face that was impossible to decipher. "Welcome to actual battle, worm," he bellowed, his tone lacking any compassion. Outside, foes will not allow you a moment to rest. You have to either battle or submerge.

Andre held onto the rock tightly, the freezing water sticking to his shaking body. Today he experienced death, a chilling and frightening possibility. However, he had also made it through. Facing that terror, a feeling of resolve had been sparked in him. He refused to allow Sergeant Bruiser to conquer him. He would not sink underwater. He would acquire the skill of combat, in order to stay alive in this harsh unfamiliar environment.

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