— Give me that, kid! — Umberto shouted, pushing me to the ground and taking the bag of bread from my hand.
— Hey! What are you doing?! — I almost fell into a puddle of water, where I saw my own reflection, the image of a boy with dirty blond hair, yellowish green eyes, and ears almost a palm long. An elven child like any other. — There's only one bread for each of us there! — I protested, getting up from the hard ground and massaging my buttocks, watching the boy much bigger than me eating three breads at the same time.
— Mufuh, fumungh, hmphm! — he mumbled with his mouth full, unintelligible. Swallowing, he concluded: — Brat!
— Urgh. Great, now there's nothing for me to eat. Again! — Turning my back on the much larger boy, who unfortunately was none other than my father's firstborn, I headed into the nearby forest. — I'll go find something to eat in the bush, I guess...
— Ha! Try the red berries, they're delicious! — Umberto casually recommended one of the most poisonous fruits in the region, known for paralyzing and asphyxiating its victims. — And bring some for your brothers too!
I headed deeper into the woods and made my way to my favorite hiding place, in front of a rock that displayed a series of people with halos around their heads above much smaller people. It was one of those divine ruins that the Order of Historians was always chasing, and the thing piqued my curiosity while also offering me a very welcome solitude, lying isolated among the ultimamora bushes, the deadly red berries that interested no one and grew all over the continent of Álfheim.
When I was sure I was completely alone, I pulled a quarter of a loaf of bread out of one shoe, another quarter of a loaf of bread out of another, a third piece out of my underwear, and a final piece out from under a bandage covering a scraped knee, for a total of one whole loaf of bread. Yes, it tasted a little too salty, and it was a little too moist, and it smelled suspicious, but at least I had lunch, something not all of my siblings could say that day (or most days).
— Asshole... — I grumbled, staring at the stone.
I didn't really covet fame, riches, and power, but that didn't mean I didn't have desires. Compared to other kids, I was actually quite ambitious: I wanted a room of my own, three meals a day every day, and a few coins to spend on rare trips to the big city.
It had been a hundred years since the end of the last sacred war, and the land was finally recovering from the rampant planting to supply the army, so there were promises of prosperity in the future, but I wasn't sure I would make it, not when my seven older brothers and two younger brothers were all competing to inherit my father's meager farm, which couldn't even keep us all fed. The reality was soon obvious: the chances of me inheriting the farm were virtually non-existent, while the chances of me being kicked out any time soon after one of my brothers was appointed as the new master of the home were virtually certain.
Simply building a new home was not even a possibility either, as the nobles only allowed the use of lands not normally delimited to villages during times of war.
And that earlier show of strength was also just one of the methods my brothers found to show themselves more worthy of their pathetic inheritance than the others, through acts of violence against their "inferiors" and demonstration of strength and talent as farmers, practically monopolizing the tasks of our house.
That's right, even though I was the son of a small farmer, I had almost no experience in the fields because my older brothers didn't let me do much more than collect manure from the neighbors' cattle.
In short: even at the age of ten, I knew that my future was uncertain at best, and it was not unlikely that I would die sooner than I would have liked, even employing all the nifty survival tactics I had developed over the years, such as hiding my meal wherever I could.
So, sitting in front of the rock and surrounded by poisonous fruits, I thought about my alternatives.
I thought, and thought, and thought...
҉
— Father, mother, I am going to enlist in the army of the Holy League — and so, I found myself announcing to my parents, at the age of sixteen, that I was going to become a soldier.
It was the logical conclusion I came to after years of questioning what my best chance was to secure a future where I didn't end up like a corpse on the side of the road with no possessions.
That is to say, immediately after the announcement of the emergence of the new Shadow King six years ago, recruitment efforts began, and a sacred expeditionary force against the shadow forces began to be trained while the royal family set out to find the Hero, the greatest and most powerful of God's chosen virtuous men, who should lead such war efforts. Not that I felt any great moral obligation to risk my life, however small, for this. No, my main reasons for seriously considering the life of a soldier were these:
— The salary is better than that of a subsistence farmer, and the Jornadista Church will pay for all the equipment, food, and shelter expenses for the soldiers during the campaign, so I won't even need to spend a single Solari on it, thus being able to save a nice nest egg.
— Secondly, just by enlisting in the holy army, soldiers receive the Title: Warrior Deacon, which grants an extra point permanently for each Attribute, in addition to authority equal to that of a common deacon, so even after the end of the campaign, I could continue as in many professions that require higher Attributes, or even get involved with the church or the Order of Historians.
— And to top it off, the Hero always wins his fight against the Shadow King, so my chances of survival are actually quite high, maybe even higher than here — I referred to the brutal death of one of my brothers by monsters spawned in the forest, ending up becoming lunch for goblins, finishing my explanation.
My father, a man with tanned skin and calloused hands, shook his head as if he had finally returned his attention to me, my words no doubt having gone in one ear and out the other. My mother, a kind-looking but equally hard-working woman, had long since risen from the table and headed for the kitchen.
Not that I expected anything different from those two, of course, I was more reciting those words to confirm to myself that I wasn't making a wrong decision, and in that regard, I was successful in convincing myself.
— Of-Of course son! Soldier, justice and everything, hahaha. And when do you plan on leaving? Today?
— Uhm...
Okay, I admit, I already expected my parents to congratulate me on my decision to leave, but I was hoping they would at least give me a few days of celebration or rest...
Well, if that wasn't going to be the case, there was no reason to prolong my stay on that farm any longer. Staring at my shadow and the silhouette it cast, my appearance having changed little other than my height and the length of my hair, which now reached my shoulders, I decided:
— Tomorrow, actually. If I leave now, I won't get to Right Foot before nightfall.
— So, two loaves of bread, a piece of cheese and a canteen full of water should be enough, right?
— I think s-?
— Husband, this will probably be the last time we see our son for many years. Let the boy take at least half a sausage and a third loaf of bread — my mother interrupted, coming back into the room carrying a bundle. Placing the bag in front of me, she concluded: — Here it is, my son, food for tomorrow.
I opened the bag and peered into its contents, realizing that there were four loaves of bread, a whole sausage, and almost half a cheese.
I knew that more privileged children received gifts on their birthdays, and at that moment I wondered if that was how they felt.
—...Thank you — I probably smiled like an idiot that day.
҉
— An average soldier gains an average of nine Levels during a sacred campaign! That means you retire on about three times stronger, faster, and with greater magical potential than most people! Even the most experienced adventurers often don't find themselves at Level: 10!
As soon as I stepped inside the wall that surrounded the "big city" of Right Foot, my ears were assaulted by the shouts of an army propaganda agent.
— I'm already convinced to enlist, could you speak more quietly...? — I grumbled to myself. — Well, at least it's convenient that I didn't have to look for the recruitment table for long — I noticed a man next to the one who was shouting, behind a simple wooden table, with a heavy notebook, quill and ink in his hands.
I lined up and waited my turn. Surrounded by many more people than I was used to, I questioned my decision for the first time, not out of fear of the battles to come, but because, as someone who spent most of his time isolated among poisonous berries staring at a rock and thinking about life, I wasn't sure if I was sociable enough to be part of any group, even a war group. My turn to enlist, however, came too quickly for me to really have a chance to regret it:
— Name, place of origin, and age — asked the officer, without even looking at my face.
— Haicard from Wrong Way, 16 years old.
— Be in front of the cathedral tomorrow at sunrise, soldier — He wrote down my information in the file.
- Yes, sir.
҉
— Nghn... — I woke up to the growing noise resulting from the crowd that was quickly gathering in front of the city's cathedral. — Cold! — Obviously, I didn't have money to rent a room in the big city, so I slept in the square that was the place the officer had pointed out the other day, hugging my bundle of clothes and little food, and sharing my corner with other recruits.
Trying to distract myself from the morning chill, I began to observe the impressive architecture of the cathedral in front of me: taller than any tree, the building had a myriad of towers ending in domes, and no right angles, but with many curves and circles, being built mainly with white stones, and full of gold details. In reality, the building copied the architecture of Paradise, the city of God, which floated on clouds of pure white and revealed itself sporadically in random corners of Álfheim.
That made me wonder: did the monster cities copy the architecture of Hell?
—RECRUITS, PRESENT YOURSELVES! — ordered a man in full armor and cape on a wooden platform, displaying purple gemstone teeth as he opened his mouth. His voice was so powerful, I could only assume he must have had some points put into his Strength attribute, judging by his impressive lung capacity.
Like everyone else waiting in the square, I approached the platform to await further instructions. There must have been about three hundred men and women there, but of course, that would not be the total number of recruits from the city, since the recruiting officers were expected to remain there for many months, if not years, enlisting as many people as possible.
— You will now be presented with the sacred Mission of becoming allies of the Hero, serving at his side and fighting against the forces of shadow, thus fulfilling the will of God. Accept it, and you will immediately receive a benefit of one point in each Attribute — explained the man in armor, and he soon made way for an old woman adorned in white and gold clothes who carried a scroll in her hands.
The woman coughed twice and then began to read the parchment:
— We are elves, and brothers, all children of the ancestral father, God. We are born of virtue, and so we feel a natural inclination to pursue what is just... — that was not a text written by the church, but the transcribed speech of an ancient Hero, and the one who first created the Sacred League. I had heard it a few times in theaters and plays when I visited the city with my family in the past, but then it had a special impact, it gave me goosebumps. — ... Our deities realized that, if they continued to fight each other at their full potential, there would not even be a world left to rule over, so they reached a consensus: the Hero would fight as God's champion and representative of his divine will on earth, and the Shadow King would fight as the champion of the Demônia, a plague that mirrors the vile poison with which the evil deity wishes to pervert this world...
Partly touching, partly enlightening, and partly a little too long, after nearly ten minutes of recitation, the woman's statement finally came to an end, and almost immediately, we were all greeted by a semi-transparent blue window, a force familiar to all, the System:
Quest: Help the Hero defeat the Shadow King.
Reward (immediate): +1 point in each of the Attributes.
Penalty: In case of desertion, you will permanently lose -1 point in each of the attributes and will be marked with the Deserter Title.
To accept?
Yes No
I pressed the button that read "yes", and the window was replaced by another one that showed my typical Attributes page:
Name: Haicard of Wrong Way
Level: 1
Strength: 4
Perception: 4
Occultism: 4
Strength governed almost everything related to a person's physique, from how fast someone could run, how much weight they could lift, or how resistant to disease and attack they were.
Perception, it was about reaction speed, flexibility, and the senses in general.
And Occultism determined a person's amount of magical stamina. The more magical stamina, the more Spells one could cast… Of course, it wasn't like ordinary people like me were taught Spells to begin with, so this Attribute was practically useless to me.
They all measured in at 4 thanks to my newly acquired Title. All just a point above average. Not too good, not too bad. I had heard, however, that the bearer of the Hero Title had stats in the hundreds... I could barely imagine what that meant in practice.
— Those who have accepted the Mission, listen to me! — the amethyst-toothed man shouted again. — Head to the wagons on your left, present your Title: Warrior Deacon to the officers, and await instructions!
— And now, the march begins... — I sighed.
Of course, the training camp wouldn't be located in the middle of a city, and I doubted we'd all be packed into the comfortable interior of some vehicle.
So I prepared myself as best I could, and set off.
҉
I sighed, looking up at the blue sky.
— Seriously, when am I going to get this fucking Skill? — I couldn't keep the frustration out of my voice.
We were being trained from dawn to dusk, far beyond exhaustion, to achieve a specific set of Skills, these being Spear Proficiency Lv. 1, Sword Proficiency Lv. 1, and Armor Proficiency Lv. 1.
— I thought I would leave here sooner than you, but it seems I was wrong... I wanted to be one of those talented people who level up and gain Skills faster than everyone else — agreed Maicon, a recruit sitting to my left, who unlike most of the others in that camp, carried an axe at his waist instead of a sword. Aside from his atypical weapon, his only notable feature was an ear cut in half in a work accident, his short dark blond hair, and moss green eyes like most common-born elves.
Maicon came from a family of lumberjacks, and so already had Axe Proficiency Lv. 1 before he even enlisted, so he was allowed to keep his preferred short-range weapon.
— Tch, if I knew I could get another position just by having a Skill, I would have used the bow and arrow more while I was still in the village — I complained.
— Back with this, man? — Maicon asked with a half smile.
— I mean, I don't think I'll die on the front lines, since we have the Hero and all, but why take an unnecessary risk like that? If I could have stayed in the rear just shooting arrows, I definitely would have chosen that fate — I shrugged, replying. — Even better if I could use magic.
— Well, at least you'll learn how to use a sword. Can you imagine being stuck with a tool? Something that's used to cut logs? If we're talking about better chances of survival, I think you have a better chance of getting out of this alive than a certain someone — Conrad, a fellow recruit on my right side, pointed out with a mischievous smile on his face; he was another young elf with a generic appearance, but with his central incisors well separated.
— Are you trying to pick a fight? At least I have a Skill! You wouldn't stand a chance against me, okay?!
— Oh, really? Unlike your arch-enemies, I wouldn't stay still in the same place, you know?
— You talk like rocks are running around! If we're talking about the target of our blades before the army, you're no different than me!
— Except that a rock miner's work contributes to a worthy industry.
It was true, Conrad, as a construction rock miner, he had Pickaxe Proficiency Lv. 1, so he could technically keep his preferred weapon in the army as well. Except he didn't have a war pickaxe when he enlisted, and the army didn't have any to offer him either, so he ended up being assigned to Swordsman and Spearman like the overwhelming majority of the others.
— What are you insinuating, huh?!
— I mean, the materials I collected were used in cathedrals, and castles, and beautiful palaces, pure art! And you collected twigs for huts. We may both have a Skill, but honestly, we are incomparable.
— Do you really think you're so much better just because you worked with rocks and not wood?!
— Yes, I feel so much better for exactly this reason.
— Grr! Haicard! Hold me back, or I'll end up court-martialed before I even finish my training!
— I really don't understand the rivalry between you two. It's like watching a farmer who grows beets competing with one who grows carrots. Honestly, it's the same thing.
Both of my companions sighed at the same time in disappointment.
— Said the guy who spent ten minutes explaining the best position in the marching line to walk slowly enough to not get too tired without being noticed by officers. — Maicon pointed. — You would have to march for hours anyway, wouldn't you?
— That's completely different — I defended myself.
— Said the guy who spent the last few days secretly collecting poisonous berries "for emergencies." We're dozens of days' march from the shadow territory, and we're just recruits. Honestly, if there was an emergency, we'd be screwed with or without those berries, right?
— These are completely different situations — I crossed my arms, certain.
Fortunately, before those two could continue trying to find flaws in my logic (there were no flaws), an officer stopped near us while mounted on his horse and questioned:
— What are you guys doing there?
— We are resting after the end of our training, sir! — I jumped to my feet, standing at attention, and answered immediately.
— You look well rested to me. You're on night guard duty today, head to the east tower.
— Yes, sir! — we answered in unison.
҉
Arriving at the top of the wooden tower, the three of us came across a hooded boy holding a bow and arrow.
— Hey, Haicard, look, an archer. Ask him if he doesn't want to change roles — Maicon nudged me with his elbow.
— Shut up, man — I grumbled, not wanting to offend our partner for the night.
— What? You don't care about a Ranger's better chances of survival and all that anymore? — Conrad went ahead and insulted the Ranger...
— Greater chances of survival just because I'm an archer? — The hooded boy narrowed his eyes. — Hmphm! What nonsense. Just so you know, reconnaissance and sabotage activities are those with the highest number of casualties, and it's almost always soldiers like me who are sent on them: Archers.
— This is just an inside joke, please don't pay attention to what these two are saying — I raised my hands, trying to deescalate the situation. — Anyway, I'm Haicard, this is Maicon...
— Hey.
— And this here is Conrad...
— Hey there!
— ...We'll be keeping you company tonight. Well, at least until midnight or so.
— ...You'll accompany me for half my shift, then. Hmph. Do as you wish, just don't get in my way.
— Half your shift? — I asked. —What is it, are you being punished for this attitude of yours with a full night shift?
— What? First of all, I don't have an "attitude", and secondly, I'm not being punished at all, but privileged!
— Oh, look at the guy — Maicon frowned slightly.
— Are you acting stupid? — Conrad crossed his arms.
— First of all, you didn't introduce yourself when we told you our names, and second, you're already disregarding our help. That seems like a reprehensible attitude to me — I shrugged.
The hooded boy sighed, pulling his hood back and revealing a face with sharp eyes and abnormally fair skin.
— ...My name is Owl.
— Haha! No way! Conrad laughed.
— That's really my name!
— Right... Owl, and why are you on a full night shift if it's not a punishment?
— It's because I have the Skill: Insomnia. It allows me to go 48 hours without sleeping without suffering any penalty. I let the Sacred League know about this from the beginning, so they decided to put this skill to good use, and are training me for nighttime activities and stuff.
— Wow! — the three of us admired in unison.
— A rare Skill? That's… well, rare. — I added absolutely nothing to the conversation, but I felt like I needed to say it anyway.
— Yeah, and now you know why your help doesn't mean much to me. I have a lot more experience with this kind of thing, or I wouldn't have gotten this Skill. So just try not to bother me tonight.
Owl pulled his hood over his face again, and turned to the horizon, looking for any movement or suspicious activity like a good lookout.
We still had six hours of shift left, and apparently not much work to do. It was going to be a long night, by the looks of it.
҉
— ...And that's why I enlisted — I concluded my life story as the three of us leaned on the parapet of the watchtower.
Conrad and Maicon both clapped at the end of my monologue.
I couldn't say what prompted me to tell my story to the three present, since we had talked about everything a little in the last four hours, but apparently I ended up inspiring the others, because as soon as the two finished applauding, Maicon coughed, clearing his throat.
— Very well, now it's my turn.
— Please, don't tell me you three are going to retell your entire life story... — Owl sighed, massaging his glabella. He was on the opposite side of the tower, but it's not like it was far enough away that he couldn't hear us, after all.
— My father is a lumberjack. Not some sort of big boss of the industry or anything, just a lumberjack. And I've had an axe in my hands for as long as I can remember! — Maicon ignored the hooded boy and began his story.
— And since when are you considered "people"? I always saw you as a worm — Conrad pointed out.
— Grr, maybe not "people", but definitely a murderer if you don't shut up…! — Maicon looked with genuine bloodlust at Conrad, who smiled and covered his mouth with both hands, signaling that he wouldn't interfere anymore. — As I was saying, I started working when I was very young, always cutting down trees. However, it was always my father who took care of selling the trunks and all those details. But, of course, things couldn't go on like this forever. If he wanted me to take over the profession in his place one day, I had to learn everything about it. So, a few years ago, he started teaching me this more mercantilist side and everything. Soon, I was sent to take care of this matter alone for the first time! Then, when I arrived in the city, I heard the recruiter's speech, I was impressed, and I enlisted!
— Wow... — Conrad didn't even mock the former lumberjack, who was influenced by military propaganda the first time he heard it alone.
— What willpower... impressive — even Owl felt disappointed, and he didn't even know Maicon.
For my part, I remained silent. Of course, I too had been influenced by all the propaganda from the Jornadista Church and artists about holy war, but in my case, I liked to pretend that my decision had been one made largely on a logical basis.
Well, with or without a good reason, Maicon was in the same place as me, so I couldn't say he had made a bad decision without being a hypocrite. Our chances of survival and success were the same, after all, and they weren't that bad.
— What about you, Conrad? — I asked, suddenly even more curious about the others' motives.
— Unlike the idiot here, I have a good reason, okay?
— Oh, is it? Then please let us hear such an excellent, exuberant, magnificent reason, oh, your excellency of good reasons!
— Sure — Conrad shrugged, but unlike when he used to make fun of Maicon most of the time, he didn't have a half smile on his face, he seemed strangely serious. — Like you, I come from a family of workers, but in my case, we were stone miners for construction. And I say "were" because there are no other members of my family in the business. My father died in a work accident and, well, you don't see me mining now, do you? Anyway, that wasn't the only tragedy that hit us. A flood destroyed our house shortly after my father passed away, and the money we received for his death was used to repair the house, without us even being able to pay for a proper grave. But he was a good man. He doesn't deserve to be buried in some field without even a good headstone. So, I enlisted, and as a bonus, my mother is spared a lot of taxes that would make it impossible for her to live on her own in our new house, so much so that she can eat every day now.
— ...Yeah, that's a good reason — Maicon looked away and retracted his aggressive posture.
— ...My condolences — Owl also commented, to my surprise. — I... know how hard it is to lose someone important to you — he explained. And when we fell silent and paid attention to him, he continued: — I've also suffered losses. More than anyone should suffer. My... My entire village was massacred. It was the shadow army on some kind of secret mission in the heart of the League's territory. I still remember the voice of the monster that killed my mother. I couldn't see his face because my mother hid me in the latrine pit so I could escape the massacre, but I remember his voice well. I couldn't forget. Not when I hear it every night, so clearly that I can barely sleep... It was because of this paranoia that I got Insomnia. I can't rest. I can't... not until I get my revenge.
— ...It seems like it's just you and me on this boat of silly stories, Haicard — Maicon put a hand on my shoulder.
— No, wait a minute, my story at least has some drama, like, with all my brothers and everything! — I tried to defend myself.
— Conrad, how many brothers do you have? — Maincon asked, unconcerned.
— Eight.
— Owl, how many did you have?
— Eleven.
— And I have five myself, and I was just as hungry as anyone else. Not to mention the periodic monster attacks. I know it can be hard to accept your own mediocrity sometimes, Haicard, but don't worry! Your friend Maicon is here for you!
— Urgh... — I knew very well that my case was far from unique, but even so, it was a little hard to be confronted with that reality so abruptly.
But there was at least one other thing I could focus on about what Maicon said.
The word friend. It was the first time I found myself next to someone not just out of obligation, but because I was happy to be in that place. Maicon, Conrad, and even Coruja, who I believed would inevitably end up getting closer to us, my friends. I might just be an ordinary and ambitious young man, but I could finally see a future beyond the gutter.
— Hu. Yeah, I'm counting on you.
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Author's note: I split the prologue in 2 parts. The next part will have the first real battle! :D