“Hey, fellas, I’m going back home. The money I got is good, and I don’t want to be a soldier. Come by if you ever pass through Flatwood.” Buck-toothed Hugh was the first to quit, but he wasn’t the last.

  A week later, only thirty-seven of the fifty former paladin candidates remained.

  Someone, no one knew who, but Stephan strongly suspected it was the marshal himself, started calling them the militia squad, and the name stuck. It wasn’t meant kindly, and certainly nobody would have expected such a name given to the Paladin’s squad with the Paladin still in it.

  Other than the derogatory name, with Bernard’s death and the drop in attendants came a shift in the curriculum.

  Letters and numbers got quietly demoted from daily lessons to ones held twice a week, replaced by hours of drilling with weapons, armor, and endurance training. And out went the lessons on strategy.

  Whatever plans the academy had once had of producing future commanders were gone. They weren’t forging officers anymore. They were hammering out reliable sergeants, men who could follow orders, hold a line, and command at most a few dozen others without ever needing to understand the grand design or ask why.

  As the training for the day neared its end, Captain Anita Bellas gathered the youths in the yard and spoke with a stony face and clipped voice.

  “Tomorrow is a rest day. Not for you,” she said flatly. “You are far behind other students of your age, and tomorrow we’ll be holding a mock battle. I will collect you myself at your barracks at dawn, then take you to the forest outside the castle. Dismissed.”

  Some of the boys perked up, excited whispers breaking out immediately. But once the captain was out of earshot, others groaned.

  “They want to make us quit.”

  “Like abyss I’ll quit. Do you know how much a sergeant earns?”

  Stephan heard it all from the edge of the group, definitely noticed and just as certainly ignored.

  Since Bernard’s death, the others had shunned him. Not openly, not with cruelty, but they kept him at a distance. Averted eyes. Conversations that trailed off when he approached. Small things. He couldn’t blame them. Mark had been closest to him, eating beside him, once even talking late into the night until Bernard shushed them.

  Now Stephan knew Mark hadn’t been a friend. He’d been a shadow. A guard. A knife with a fake smile protecting his principal.

  Dinner passed quietly. Stephan ate alone, pushing food around his plate while his thoughts circled the same impossible knot. What should he have done with Mark and Bernard? What could he have done?

  Rationally, In Living Memory told him he had sixteen more attempts. Sixteen chances to make better choices. Emotionally, that wasn’t enough. He wanted to get it right the first time, to create the perfect world so that his family and friends wouldn’t forget him.

  And to make that work, he needed information. He needed power. And power meant levels. Inside the classroom he had learned that the first few levels came easily, but the higher one climbed, the tougher and slower it got. He would have to challenge himself with increasingly difficult tasks and increasingly powerful opponents.

  Right now, all he earned was the faint warmth from healing the occasional soldier. As for information on current events, the castle was blind to the happenings in the kingdom. Communications with all regions were severed or rumors.

  Roads were unsafe; messengers unreliable. Anything farther than a hard day’s ride might as well not exist.

  Rumors, however, leaked through the cracks.

  The Paladin’s murderer was a cultist of some sort. A spy planted in the squad under suspicious circumstances. Nobody could agree who had actually brought him in. Then there was the news of bandit lords uniting into a large force. Whispers spread about fiends and fae roaming the lands, slaying people and eating children.

  Some even swore that the stalkers of dreams had begun to stir, escaping their burrows because they had been left unattended, despite barely a month passing since the Paladin had fallen, and most of the kingdom hearing the news mere handful of days ago.

  Still, it was undeniable that fiends, fae, and certain other malicious factors all knew the Paladin had died on the very day it happened, if not the very hour. Their leaders lurking in the dark places had somehow known the very moment it happened. That was the only way to explain the gremlins and other fae shenanigans he caught word of.

  That thought sat heavy in Stephan’s chest as the barracks quieted around him. Alone, uninterrupted, he pieced together conclusions he desperately wanted to discuss with the marshal.

  And beneath it all, one smaller, absurd problem gnawed at him. How am I supposed to get myself thrown into solitary confinement?

  Start a fight with an instructor? It was the only thing he could come up with, but the idea fell apart the moment he considered it. There was no sane way to justify such a drastic action.

  He went to bed thinking about what he was supposed to do and how was supposed to grow strong until he finally fell asleep, still searching for answers, searching for a way to help Lacy.

  The next morning, he was up early. While the others grudgingly got up and stretched, Stephan, impeccably dressed, tightened the sheets of his made bed. Unfortunately, sleep hadn’t refreshed him so much as drew a thin veil over his thoughts.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Stephan ran his hand across the buttons to check whether he had buttoned up correctly when the shout came.

  “Move! We haven’t got all day!”

  Captain Anita’s voice cracked like a taskmaster’s whip from the doorway, and sluggishness turned to chaos as boots were pulled on and shirts hastily buttoned.

  They formed ranks outside, Captain Anita pacing the line and tapping anyone sloppily dressed with her rod. Then the rod cracked on the stomach of an unfortunate who had failed to button up properly for the second day in a row.

  “Armor on. Then we’re running to the forest.”

  She strode toward the stables while they suited up. By the time they were ready, she was mounted, wearing a chain shirt and padded leather pants, her helmet hiding her face entirely.

  “Form up behind my horse. Let’s move.”

  And they did.

  Three miles later, the forest loomed ahead, mist still clinging to the shade. Others were gasping for breath under their heavy hauberks. Stephan wasn’t, but he acted fatigued. The weighted log his instructors saddled him with during endurance training had paid off for once.

  A squad of armed heavy cavalry wearing only padded armor waited for them at the treeline. They saluted Captain Anita without dismounting. She returned the gesture, then rounded back towards the recruits.

  “Pair up.”

  They did, quickly and naturally, leaving Stephan the odd one out. Knights approached them, dismounted, blindfolded the youths, then helped them onto the horses.

  “I guess Prancer’s lucky today.” The onetime strategy instructor laughed while approaching Stephan. “He only has to carry one scarecrow.”

  He tied black fabric over Stephan’s eyes, then roughly hauled him into the saddle.

  “Each of you knows your designated location and your role. Explain the rules of engagement to the recruits on the way to the drop offs.” Captain Anita clapped her gloved hands. “Let’s go.”

  Stephan couldn’t see a thing, but his mount lurched into motion, and the sounds of other horses grew more distant quickly, letting him know they were alone.

  “The rules are simple,” Stephan’s escort started. “We each drop off a pair of recruits, or just a recruit in my case, and tie an armband around their upper arms. You’re gonna be the proud member of team red, by the way. It’s the superior choice because you don’t see blood as easily on the cloth. At least from a distance.”

  Why would that matter?

  But Stephan clenched his teeth in pain before he could ask the question.

  It was his first time riding, and it proved an even worse experience than he had expected. His instructors had told him riding takes skill and getting used to. You suffered until you learned how to do it, but it was one thing to hear about it, and another altogether to have your testicles hit the pommel as you slid forward in your saddle, your eyes closed.

  Golden light flashed inside Stephan’s pants while the oblivious Knight kept talking.

  “Now, rules for you. You will wander the forest looking for other reds while attacking or running away from the blues. Once you’re clobbered senseless, you are out. Now, can you repeat the rules to me?”

  Stephan did. Without joking about blood, and only faltering once to heal his groin.

  “Excellent,” the Knight said. “We’re going to stop by this tree here.”

  Stephan couldn’t see the tree and wanted to ask why, but he was a recruit talking to a Knight. To say asking questions was odd was an understatement.

  A minute later, another horse arrived.

  “Sir,” a feminine voice said and saluted, then waited.

  Captain Anita arrived next.

  “Sir,” she also thumped a salute before she started hissing. “Why is Sir Paladin still blindfolded, Gawain?”

  Stephan’s heart went from walk to gallop, and he removed the blindfold all on his own, only to find himself surrounded by three knights. Gawain, the burly Knight whose horse he had been riding, stared at him, grinning.

  “Sir Paladin didn’t remove it until now. Why that is, I cannot say.”

  Captain Anita, her visor up, rolled her eyes and shook her head. Stephan wanted to ask what was going on, but a fourth Knight arrived, lifting his visor to reveal a scarred, frowning face.

  “Sir,” he saluted Stephan, then saluted Captain Anita as well.

  “Now that we are all here, put your armor on. We’re moving out once we’re fully geared.”

  “What?” Stephan finally asked.

  “Donning armor and moving out, Sir,” Captain Anita replied calmly. “We have received news that a moderately powerful warlock is raising the dead eighteen miles from the castle for some reason. We are tasked to subjugate him and destroy the army he is building.”

  Stephan’s mouth went dry.

  “And why am I here?”

  “You’re the Paladin, Sir,” she said matter-of-factly. “Try to slay as many undead as possible to gain some levels while we fight the warlock. Don’t expose yourself with Smite or by casting blessings, please. If the warlock focuses on you over their own survival, we’re not certain we can protect you. Otherwise, focus on staying alive and exterminating the undead. The warlock will ignore a junior squire suppressing skeletons and zombies when he has us to worry about.”

  Stephan was silent, processing what was happening, and Captain Anita mistook it for fear.

  “You need not worry, Sir,” she said. “Everyone here has Lord Marshal’s full confidence, and your secret is safe with us. As for the story, Lord Gawain is currently taking you to your place in the forest, and you will wander around for ten hours without accomplishing anything meaningful. We have it all planned out, don’t worry.”

  Stephan nodded hesitantly.

  Well, I complained about not getting levels and not doing anything Paladin-like. Fighting undead while helping a squad of knights take out a warlock feels like a worthy cause.

  The deception and scheming sat ill with him, but after what had happened to Bernard, he had learned the price of indiscretion. Not to mention that a warlock was raising an army close to the castle, despite thinking the Paladin was dead.

  What if he had known I was alive and well? Wouldn’t an entire coven or whatever warlocks form have gathered to kill me?

  “So, what’s the plan?” he asked. “What can I do to help without putting any of you in danger?”

  “Well, Sir,” Captain Anita said, “the most important thing is to not draw attention to yourself. Lord Gawain has an enchanted mace and sword prepared for you. While not optimal, you will have to rely on your own armor and shield, since your magical gear isn’t finished yet, and taking someone else’s might not have gone unnoticed. Keep to the fringes, keep safe, and do your best to reach as high a level as you can.”

  She stopped talking, then remembered something important. “And under no circumstances will you engage the warlock yourself. Is that understood, err, Sir?”

  Stephan nodded. Engaging a warlock that required four knights thrice his level to handle wasn’t bravery. It was stupidity.

  And Stephan had made enough stupid mistakes already.

  [Stephan Cobblerson, Paladin level 10

  Class skills: In Living Memory XVI, Blessing of Healing I, Blessing of Arms I, Smite I, Blessing of Protection I, Inspiring Aura I, Blessing of Conviction I, Blessing of Intuition I, Blessing of Health I, Bane of Darkness I, Mercy I

  Attributes: Agility: 18, Charisma: 18, Composure: 20, Dexterity: 18, Endurance: 19, Intelligence: 15, Luck: 17, Perception: 17, Presence: 18, Strength: 19, Toughness: 19, Vitality: 20, Willpower: 19, Wisdom: 18]