Chapter 15: The Encouragement Brigade
The three days after the selection passed in a blur of unexpected normalcy.
No executions to witness. No cold exposure trials. No questions about Earth trivia that John couldn't answer. Just regular meals, his cell, and the strange settling sensation of a routine that didn't involve active torture.
John found himself almost relaxing. Which should have been a warning sign.
The knock came early on the fourth day. Different servant, one he hadn't seen before.
"Lord Saunder has appointed you to accompany Lord Zedrik and Lord Alrick on tax collection. Be ready in twenty minutes."
Tax collection. That sounded boring. Administrative. Maybe even safe.
John dressed in the servant clothes he'd been given, only to find the servant shaking his head.
"No. You're accompanying lords. You need protection."
They brought him armor. Actual armor. Nothing fancy, just a simple steel chestplate over leather padding, but real defensive equipment. The weight settled on his shoulders strangely. He'd never worn armor before. It made him feel almost legitimate. Almost like he belonged in this world as something other than a punching bag.
The courtyard was already busy when he arrived. Horses being saddled. Soldiers checking equipment. And two men who could only be Saunder's cousins.
Zedrik was impossible to miss. Tall, broad shouldered, with red hair like copper wire. Late twenties, maybe early thirties. He had the build of someone who'd done actual physical work, not just watched others do it. His armor was quality but worn, functional rather than decorative. He was currently yelling at a soldier about improper sword maintenance with the kind of creative profanity that suggested military background.
Alrick stood nearby, quieter. Tall like his cousin but skinny, all sharp angles and visible tension. Heavily scarred. Face, neck, hands, everywhere John could see bore marks of violence survived. His eyes had that particular emptiness that John recognized from Saunder. The look of someone whose empathy had been surgically removed and replaced with academic curiosity about suffering.
The crazy runs in the family, John thought, then immediately regretted thinking it in case somehow they could tell.
Zedrik spotted him first. "This the servant Saunder mentioned?"
"Property," Alrick corrected, his voice quiet and precise. "Saunder's psychological experiment."
They approached. John immediately dropped his gaze, remembering the kneeling disaster with Elrin. But neither moved to strike him.
Instead Zedrik grabbed his shoulder and shoved him, testing his balance. "Scrawny. You done any real walking?"
"Some, my lord."
"Some." Zedrik laughed. "Alrick, he says some."
"He'll learn," Alrick said. Then he grabbed John's arm and twisted it behind his back, not quite hard enough to dislocate but close. Testing. Examining the limits of movement. "Poor muscle development. Saunder feeds you regularly?"
"Yes, my lord," John gasped.
"Interesting. Still weak though. Psychological damage more than physical?"
"Both, my lord."
Alrick released him. "Good. Honesty is useful. Lie to us and we'll know."
The hazing continued for another ten minutes. Nothing as brutal as what Elrin's group had done, but constant. Shoving, casual insults about his weakness, making him carry things then taking them back, telling him to stand somewhere then immediately ordering him to move. Testing reactions, boundaries, breaking points.
But there was something almost workmanlike about it. Not cruelty for entertainment. More like they were calibrating him, figuring out what kind of tool Saunder had sent them.
Finally Zedrik stepped back. "Right. You're walking. Property doesn't ride horses. You know how to march?"
"I can walk, my lord."
"That's not what I asked. Marching is different. Keeping pace, not stopping when you're tired, moving with the group. You ever done that?"
"No, my lord."
"Course you haven't." Zedrik sighed. "Just stay with the rear guard and try not to collapse. We're not carrying you."
Alrick moved closer, his voice dropping. "We're visiting a village that's been stingy with tax payments. Three months behind. They need encouragement to fulfill their obligations."
The way he said encouragement made John's stomach twist.
"What kind of encouragement, my lord?"
Alrick smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. Never did with the crazy ones. "You'll see. Saunder mentioned you have interesting perspectives on psychological pressure. Might learn something useful."
That didn't sound good. That sounded like the opposite of good.
Zedrik whistled sharply. Soldiers assembled with practiced speed. John counted quickly. Fifty men. All armed and armored properly. All looking ready for significantly more than polite tax negotiation.
"Move out!"
The column started forward. John found himself near the back with the rear guard, surrounded by soldiers who ignored him completely. The pace was steady, not rushed but not casual either. Military march tempo.
For the first hour, John managed fine. The armor was heavy but distributed weight reasonably. The pace was faster than comfortable but sustainable.
Second hour, his legs started complaining.
Third hour, everything hurt. His feet, his calves, his thighs, his lower back where the armor rubbed. The soldiers around him showed no signs of fatigue. They'd done this countless times. Probably could march all day without stopping.
John's breathing got ragged. He tried to hide it, keep pace, not show weakness. But his body had other ideas. Years of sedentary life in Japan followed by weeks of intermittent starvation didn't build the kind of endurance needed for military marches.
Fourth hour. John stumbled. Caught himself. Stumbled again.
One of the rear guard soldiers glanced at him. "You gonna make it?"
"Yes," John lied.
"Better. We're not stopping for you."
They didn't stop. The column maintained its pace with mechanical consistency. John forced his legs to keep moving through sheer stubborn refusal to give them another reason to mock Saunder's property.
Fifth hour. John's vision started getting fuzzy at the edges. Not passing out, just exhaustion blur. His feet had gone numb which was almost a blessing. Couldn't feel the blisters forming.
Somewhere ahead, Zedrik called out. "Village in sight! Tighten up!"
The column's energy shifted. Soldiers straightened, hands moving to weapons. The casual march atmosphere evaporated into something focused and dangerous.
John forced himself to look ahead, past the rows of armored men.
A village appeared through the trees. Small, maybe forty buildings clustered around a central square. Farmland surrounding it. Smoke rising from chimneys. Peaceful. Normal.
The soldiers spread out as they approached, not attacking but clearly establishing perimeter. Surrounding the village on all sides. Professional encirclement.
Zedrik and Alrick rode to the front. John could see them now at the head of the column, approaching the village center where people were starting to gather. Confused faces. Worried faces.
The rear guard reached the village edge and stopped. Finally.
John collapsed against a fence post, his legs completely done. The soldier who'd spoken to him earlier smirked.
"Told you this was gonna be rough."
From the village center, Zedrik's voice carried clearly. Loud, authoritative, the kind of voice used to being obeyed.
"Village of Millbrook! By order of Lord Saunder, we're here to collect three months of overdue taxes. Plus penalties. Plus interest. You have one hour to gather the required amount. After that, we begin encouragement."
That word again. Encouragement.
John watched from his collapsed position as Alrick dismounted and began walking through the gathered villagers with that same analytical gaze Saunder used. Studying them. Selecting.
Calculating what kind of encouragement would be most effective.
The villagers looked terrified.
They should be, John thought distantly, still trying to remember how breathing worked.