Chapter 52: The Fort

They arrived in the camp later than anyone would’ve liked, and roused the knight that had fallen asleep keeping watch. Michael couldn’t blame him much, they were still well inside Stent from what he understood, but Tain gave him some choice criticism before they made their way into the sleeping camp. Michael muffled his movements with a quick spell, and the others followed suit, not wanting to wake everyone with their clanging as they wove around the tents toward the camp’s center. Jakub went into Lance’s tent and Lance followed him out shortly after. He was waking up, but seemed alert in spite of that. He looked to both Tain and Jakub. “Report.” “The beast has been slain, and the village protected.” He removed one of the antlers from his pack. “I present this as evidence of its death, and as your due as commander.” Lance took the antler with a raised eyebrow, holding it with both hands and testing its weight. He sighed a bit. “I would’ve liked to see the creature that wore such a heavy crown in person.” He tested one of the points with a finger, drawing some blood. “I’m glad you all made it back safely and intact. You’ve given our little company their first taste of victory before we’ve even made it to the front. Go and get some rest. I’ll see to it you all get double portions at breakfast, and a ride on the supply wagon for the first half of the day to let you recover” He looked at Michael. “Management of the supplies has been... difficult without your help.” Michael saluted. “I’ll make sure things are resolved before we get on the way in the morning.” Lance nodded. “You’re all dismissed. Get some sleep.” Tain hesitated for a moment. “Do you know a good tanner that can work the beast’s hide?” he asked as everyone else trickled away. “I’ll help you send it to the same man that will process the horn you gave me... for the cost of a new pair of gloves.” Michael and the others made their way to the center of the camp where Penitents were obligated to pitch their tents. There were exactly five plots left for them, a testament to Lance’s attention to detail. Ollie created a softly glowing orb to work under, and the moment that they’d all managed to get their tents assembled, their armor off, and themselves under blankets they were fast asleep. ... Michael was the first to wake, get dressed, break down his tent, and put on his armor. Pyotr was up a bit after him and shook his head at him as he watched him work. “Major Recovery, no wonder always so chipper in the morning,” he shook his head. “You don’t seem to have any trouble waking up.” He shrugged. “Waking up without a hangover is much easier. In the old world, I was regularly dealing with that illness, as well as a young ballerina yelling at me. Here, I have no such handicap.” The rest of the camp awoke, and true to Lance’s word, those that had been on the hunt were given double portions for breakfast. Michael spent a long time untangling a mess that involved two warhorses for the front, somehow being swapped with the draft horses and pulling the carts, and some of the dried goods being ‘misplaced’. Michael felt some empathy for the knight in charge of managing their supplies, but that empathy only went so far in the face of sheer incompetence. Back on Earth he’d have called him an idiot in person, given him one chance to fix things, then let him fail on his own, but with the politics at place he decided it would make more sense for him to just fix it all himself and let the idiot fuck it up for himself once they reached the front. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. At the end of that day, the road forked. Rein took nearly a fourth of the company to travel to the northwestern front, and Elias took the rest to head to the East. All of the Penitents aside from Michaels group went with them. There were no tearful goodbyes as they left, but Michael and the others clasped hands, exchanged nods, or said goodbyes to them as they went. They may not have been friends, but they’d spent a good portion of their early time on this world together, and they were one more connection to their old lives that was leaving them. Adebisi, Iqbal, Lee, Prakash, Ogun, Shui and a couple dozen others. They’d sparred with them, backed them up when they were cornered by regulars, and eaten with them. That was worth something, even if that something wasn’t friendship. The remaining half of the company stayed with Lance and continued on the main road and t was two more days of travel before their destination came into view. A large watchtower peeking out above the trees made up of ugly gray stone. As they got closer they saw that high concrete walls extended from it, and met up with smaller towers in a large square before the walls extended further away, beyond where Michael could see. Lance approached the rear gate at the head of the company. A lightly armored man in gray appeared at the top of the gate. “Who approaches?” he yelled, his voice carrying easily down to them. “I, Knight Lieutenant Lance Kreg, am here to deliver fresh knights, supplies, and Penitents. The man nodded at them. “Raise the gate!” The metal bars of the gate rose shortly after the command, and the company started to file into the fort with Lance at the head. Michael and the other Penitents were near the center of the formation, as they had been from the start. The inside of the fort seemed almost like a small town. The walls all had a series of buildings constructed against the side of them. Some concrete, others wood or even brick. There were chickens and other livestock seemingly roaming freely, and hundreds of soldiers milling about doing different work all around them. There were several knights, much like those he was travelling with, but there were far more rank and file soldiers. Those that were armed held mostly spears, and wore only breastplates and helmets, though a few of them were slightly more armored than others. While the knights that had just arrived were fresh faced and even smiling, the soldiers in the fort were very different. All of them were dirty, with most of them having some bandages or arms in slings. Their eyes didn’t seem to focus on anything as they walked around doing their duties, and they largely ignored the incoming recruits. The only real acknowledgement of their arrival was an increase in interest when the wagons of supplies made their way through the gates. Michael helped to make sure all of the inventory was properly accounted for, helping the company’s would be quartermaster to fill out the requisite forms with the much more experienced quartermaster of the fort who only kept from spitting on Michael and kicking him out because without him there the entire affair would’ve devolved into a horrible mess that would take hours to fix. Once he was done he returned to the rest of the company where Lance was talking to a much older man with three stripes on his black shoulder pad marking him as a under-general. Lance turned around. “All knight recruits report to the southeast barracks. Officers with me. Penitents approach!” Michael exchanged a look with his friends as they marched to the head of the group. They reached them and saluted both the under-general and Lance. “Penitents,” the man practically spat out the word. “Report to Lieutenant Bayle at the base of the northeast tower. Move directly and do not stray or I will have you whipped.” Lance opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, but stayed silent. Michael took initiative to salute again, and move toward the base of the tower. He didn’t particularly want to get whipped. The others followed closely behind. Without the other knights surrounding them they swiftly started to draw the eye of the soldiers around them. There were some attempts to spit at them, slurs muttered in their direction, and enough glares to bore a hole in the walls that surrounded the fort. Still, no one actually attempted violence, likely too tired from fighting to do so. They reached the tower and walked inside. There was a thin man wearing chainmail sitting at a table and writing in a black book. He had a wispy mustache, thick black hair, and two stripes on his shoulder that marked him as a Lieutenant. He looked up at them, his eyes appraising. “A mage, a dragoon, and three Penitents with knight training... I can definitely use you. Which is the healer?” Michael stepped forward. “Me, sir.” He nodded. “How many can you heal at a time?” “I’ve never hit a limit.” He ran a finger across his mustache, fixing a stray hair. “It’s likely you’re going to find one today.” He stood up from his chair. “All of you follow me to your bunks. After that you and I,” he pointed to Michael, “will be heading to the infirmary.”