“Does it hurt?”

  “A bit,” Jason answered, shifting on the bench and testing the bandage wrapped around his shoulder. “Mostly just stings.”

  The medical tent smelled like blood and antiseptic, with a tinge of ointment used to pack wounds present as well. Groans drifted from the cots filled with men in worse shape than the two of them.

  Some of those men wouldn’t be walking out of here anytime soon. Some wouldn’t be walking at all.

  “Rest your shoulder and don’t apply force with that arm for a week.” The doctor said as he examined his work. “After that, you can start doing some light training. You’ll be fine.”

  He turned to Raen without waiting for a response. His eyes scanned him, first looking at the shallow cuts.

  “These aren’t deep,” The doctor said, already reaching for the antiseptic. “I’ll clean them; none will affect movement.”

  He worked quickly, without sympathy. The sting of the antiseptic was sharp and immediate, causing Raen to flinch for a moment, but he didn’t make a sound.

  The doctor’s gaze then fell to his leg. “Sword?”

  “Arrow,” Raen answered. “Grazed me.”

  “You’re lucky. An inch to the left and it could’ve hit an artery.”

  He wrapped the bandage, tying it off with a sharp tug. “You’ll be fine, this won’t slow you down.”

  Raen thanked the doctor before standing up. He winced for a moment, and the doctor noticed it.

  “Where?”

  “Ribs,” Raen admitted. “I took a punch, but it shouldn’t be –“

  “I’m the one who decides that.” The doctor said in a tone that left no room for argument.

  “Tunic off, let me see.”

  Raen did as he was told, pulling the fabric over his head. Jason’s eyes widened slightly upon seeing the bruise left on Raen’s ribs.

  It spread across his ribs, dark purple in the middle, yellow-green at the edges.

  “Hmmm, it doesn’t look too bad … but not good either.” The doctor said, poking Raen’s ribs.

  Raen jolted slightly, gritting his teeth and staring down at the doctor who scoffed at him.

  “Not playing tough anymore, huh?”

  “The ribs aren’t broken, but that bruise will stay there for a while.” The doctor reached for a small tin and handed it to Raen.

  ”Use this ointment twice a day, no need to get healed by a Mage for this.”

  He then stared at Raen

  “Don’t move too much today and tomorrow, and –“ He straightened, turning around. “Don’t get punched there again.”

  “Thanks,” Raen said as he took the ointment the doctor had given him, applying it to the bruise. He then put his tunic back on and walked out of the tent.

  ***

  He was only able to take a couple of steps forward before a person stood in his way, causing the soldiers nearby to all start moving away quickly.

  Marcus was in front of him, three arrows still stuck in his body.

  ‘Didn’t he have more arrows in him before?’ Raen thought.

  “Did you … take the arrows out yourself?” He asked.

  “No, the field medic did it,” Marcus said, seemingly unbothered by the arrows. “These are deeper, he recommended I come here.”

  ‘No … even then … that’s just too much.’ Raen thought, ‘How high is this guy’s pain tolerance?’

  “Why did you not go in before?”

  “Waited for my turn. Many men are in worse condition than me.”

  He then took a step closer, his calm eyes settling on Raen with a hint of some emotion in them. It almost looked like … interest.

  “You saved the Captain’s life.”

  Raen looked at Marcus, surprised. Marcus never sought him or anyone else out, never speaking unless necessary.

  “Just did what anyone –“

  “No.” Marcus’s voice was flat, his gaze unwavering. “Most men would’ve hesitated, calculated the risk.”

  “By the time they moved, Anderson would be dead.”

  He paused, eyes studying Raen with unusual intensity.

  “You didn’t hesitate. You ran to him straight away, even managed to notice the archer before anyone else.”

  “Your instinct … your mind. It is far ahead of your body. That will get you killed.”

  Raen went still.

  “I’ve seen it before. Men who see three moves ahead but die because their muscles respond too slowly.”

  His gaze was steady, still on Raen. “Tomorrow, when Dral is done with you, I want to see how you move.”

  “But I’m still injured, my ribs –“

  “Good.” Marcus’ expression didn’t change. “You’ll learn better.”

  Marcus turned to leave, then stopped, half-turning.

  “Whatever happened to you?” he said. “Whatever this ‘coma’ actually did … don’t waste it.”

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  He paused for an instant.

  “Men like you are rare.”

  He left before Raen could respond, entering the tent to get treatment.

  Raen stood there for a couple of seconds, his mind replaying Marcus’ words. He then turned and walked back to his tent.

  ***

  Later that evening, the camp was celebrating.

  The skirmishes had gone well. The 4th Company, after decimating the enemy, had swung around to reinforce the 2nd, who had taken over the original position of the 5th in the woods.

  With the 4th arriving from the side, the enemy morale quickly plummeted, and their soldiers retreated.

  The squad sat in front of their tent, gathered around a campfire. The smell of meat roasting – a rare delicacy only given to those who earned it in battle – created a pleasant aroma that made other squads jealous.

  “You noticed that archer before anyone else saw him,” Dral said, poking the fire with a stick.

  Raen shrugged. “Lucky.”

  “No, not luck,” Mark said flatly. “You scanned the field, identified the threat, and moved. That’s textbook.”

  “Textbook for what?” Thatch asked from the side, grinning, his eyes fixed on the meat with the intensity of a man who hadn’t eaten in days. “Cap’n doesn’t read textbooks.”

  “For someone with battlefield experience.” Dral clarified, eyes on Raen. “Real experience, not the skirmishes we’ve been in.”

  “It’s not just that,” Adam said, staring into the flames.

  “Your orders during battle, they felt … different.”

  “Different how?” Raen asked carefully.

  “Sharper, more certain,” Mark said as he turned the meat. “Before, you were a lot more hesitant; it was more ‘maybe do this’. Now you just command, like it’s second nature to you.”

  “You also marked which enemies are veterans and which were green,” Marcus added from the side, his palm against his face, eyes fixed on Raen.

  “When did you learn to do that?”

  The question hung in the air.

  “The coma,” Raen said, using his established excuse again.

  “Told you – everything’s clearer now, I can see things I didn’t before. Notice patterns I previously couldn’t.”

  “Patterns,” Dral repeated.

  “Or … something else.”

  Dral looked up to him, and Raen met his gaze. Dral didn’t look suspicious, just … curious, analytical.

  “Whatever it is,” Adam said, breaking the tension. “It kept us alive, so I’m not complaining.”

  The others murmured in agreement.

  “Meat’s ready,” Mark announced, and the mood shifted instantly. Everyone reached for their portion, the conversation flung aside for the new priority – eating.

  “Meat’s the best,” Thatch said, ripping into his piece like a starving hyena. “Always.”

  “I should try finding some more. I could earn lots by selling some to others.”

  “You already make a fortune stealing from corpses.” Mark shot back.

  “Borrowing!” Thatch said, pointing his half-eaten meat at Mark. “I’m borrowing from corpses!”

  “They don’t need it anyway.”

  Even Marcus smiled at that, only faintly though.

  “How’s the shoulder?” Adam asked, his eyes fixed on Jason, who was quietly eating his portion of the meat.

  “It hurts, but the doc said I’ll be fine in a week.”

  “You did well,” Raen said. “Kept fighting even after getting hit.”

  “I just tried remembering your orders.” Jason’s face flushed with pride. “Thrust, don’t go too deep, pull back.”

  “And it worked. Saw you take down that soldier. Clean kill.” Mark praised, which made Jason smile, and even seemed to straighten his spine a little.

  The conversation drifted to talks of home, of what they planned on doing after the war, of Jason’s uncle coming with the supply convoy tomorrow, just normal, human things.

  ***

  The following morning, Raen stood at Captain Anderson’s tent.

  As always, Anderson sat behind his desk, which was buried under a small mountain of reports.

  “The scouting mission for tomorrow has just been finalized,” Anderson asked, staring at Raen with confusion. “I didn’t expect to see you here, volunteering to join and lead it.”

  He leaned back in his chair, studying Raen. “Why?”

  “The slots are already filled. Adam and Thatch have been chosen from your squad.”

  He leaned forward a bit. “There’s no need for you to do this.”

  “I know,” Raen said. “But you’ll need someone with better tactical thinking. The routes have gotten dangerous. You know that.”

  “You’re hurt.” Anderson’s eyes narrowed.

  “Only slightly, won’t affect me.” Raen lied smoothly, and Anderson didn’t call him on it. The look in his eyes, however, said he’d noticed it.

  “If you insist,” He said. “I’ll notify the scout regiment.”

  “With your performance yesterday, I doubt the commander will find any issue with adding you to the team. Or letting you lead it.”

  “Thank you, Captain.”

  Anderson waved him off, already looking at the pile of reports.

  “Oh, and Raen?” Anderson spoke, stopping Raen who was about to leave.

  “Sir?”

  “If you notice anything suspicious,” Anderson’s voice was quieter now. “Anything at all.”

  “Don’t take risks, return immediately.”

  Raen stared at Anderson, slightly taken aback by the care present in the captain’s voice.

  He held his gaze, then he nodded at him.

  “Yes, sir.”

  ‘I unfortunately won’t be able to go through with that order, sir.’ Raen thought as he made his way back toward the training grounds.

  ‘Adam walked into the ambush unknowingly last time. I won’t let that happen again.’

  ***

  By the time Raen had reached the training grounds, Dral was already waiting for him.

  “Only light training today. You’re injured.” Dral stated the moment he got close.

  Raen stopped, taken aback.

  He didn’t tell him about his injury.

  “You’re favoring your right side when walking,” Dral answered, as if he had read his mind. “And your breath is slightly off compared to the usual.”

  Raen sighed, almost in awe at the latter’s incredible observation skills.

  “Take up the stance, let us begin.” Raen nodded, taking his sword in hand before falling into the stance Dral had taught him.

  About an hour later, Dral stood next to Raen, who was holding his sword straight in front of him, sweat slowly rolling down his forehead, reaching his nose, then finally dropping to the mud.

  “Not bad, you have grown accustomed to the stance,” Dral nodded his head. “Your breathing is not too labored. Your progress is fast … more than I anticipated.”

  “Hmmm … I think we can go for further training, perhaps-“

  “I’ll continue his training for today,” a voice said from behind the.m “If that’s not a problem, Dral.”

  Both of them turned.

  Marcus stood at the entrance, having appeared without a sound. His greatsword rested in his hands, as always, the tip in the mud.

  “You’ll … train him?” Dral blinked.

  “Yes.”

  Dral stared at him for a long moment, glanced at Raen, then back at Marcus. For the first time in a long time, he seemed befuddled, confused even.

  He then nodded, almost absentmindedly.

  Marcus crossed the training ground in a few long strides and stopped in front of Raen.

  “Your footwork and balance have improved. But under pressure, they crumble too easily.”

  “Stance, combat ready,” Marcus said, practically an order, and Raen obeyed.

  Then, Marcus moved.

  His figure was a blur, his sword like a ghost.

  Raen panicked, his mind screamed danger, and his body moved without thinking. His stance broke, his footwork turned messy.

  He tried to make it work, to pivot, bring his sword up –

  The sword stopped at his neck, bypassing his guard in a heartbeat.

  “Your instinct responds before your body is able to, causing this mess,” Marcus stated, pulling back the training sword in his hand.

  “Today, we focus on improving that, as well as your footwork and balance.”

  He then glanced at Dral, who was still watching them. “Your stance is good; he will grow into it.”

  Dral nodded, leaning against the fence of the grounds to observe.

  The training continued into the evening.

  Marcus’ way of training Raen was … different.

  Most of the time, it was not difficult at all. Raen was barely getting tired, physically, at least.

  He was given different tasks by Marcus. Different ways of walking with a weapon in hand. Different ways of stepping depending on the situation. Evading, blocking, moving to strike … each move had a different ‘step’ to it, and Raen was made to memorize it, but not with his mind, but with his body.

  Boring. Grueling. Repetitive.

  The training only had one purpose: Improve Raen’s balance and footwork, make it so that his body remembered it.

  Make it so it was his instinct, something his body just did.

  Marcus would demonstrate once, and then watch as Raen tried to mimic it.

  He would correct him if it was wrong and move to the next one when he was right.

  By the time the sun began to set, Marcus stopped, nodding to Raen.

  “Enough for today.”

  He turned and walked away without another word.

  ***

  Later at night, Raen was in his cot, staring at the ceiling of his tent.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ He thought, the word settling heavy in his chest. ’Tomorrow is the day.’

  ‘The day I awoke, only to learn news of your death.’ Raen told himself as he glanced over at Adam, who was sleeping without a care in the world.

  ‘I can’t protect you forever. If I wrap you in safety, you’ll die in the chaos later.’

  He glanced at the ceiling again.

  ‘If I let you walk into the trap alone, you’ll die tomorrow.’

  The choice wasn’t really a choice at all.

  ‘So I’ll walk with you, and make sure the past doesn’t repeat itself.’

  He closed his eyes. Sleep didn’t come for a long time.