A Restless Evening
The day's training had been brutal, and the recruits slumped around the barracks like half-dead oxen.
Lionel lay sprawled across his bunk, dramatically holding his stomach.
"If Drillmaster Horst yells in my ear one more time, I'm going deaf permanently."
"You'd have to have something in your head to lose hearing in the first place," Roderick muttered, wiping sweat from his brow.
Garrick sat on his bunk, sharpening a practice blade with absent focus. "I say we get used to it. They're turning us into soldiers."
Alexander sat silently, staring at the ceiling. Something gnawed at him. He'd heard whispers all day—Drovengar raiders spotted near northern hamlets. Rumor? Maybe. But his gut told him otherwise.
The Alarm Bell
The deep clang of the warning bell shattered the evening calm. One strike, two, three—the pattern for an external threat. Shouts erupted outside, and the Drillmaster's voice thundered down the hall.
"Arm up! Move, move, move!"
Recruits scrambled for weapons and shields. Alexander yanked on his helmet, tightening the chin strap as adrenaline spiked.
"What's going on?" Lionel asked, eyes wide.
"Raid," Garrick grunted, grabbing his shield. "Heard the scouts whispering earlier."
Alexander's pulse quickened. This is it. First real fight.
Rushing to the Wall
They poured out into the courtyard and toward the western palisade. The distant sound of shouting and clashing steel already echoed from beyond the wooden walls. Torches flared along the ramparts, revealing silhouettes running along the top.
"Recruits, on the west line!" Horst barked. His normally mocking tone was razor-sharp now. "Form shield wall—tight! Move!"
Alexander pushed his way into position with his squad, shields locking together as they'd practiced. The smell of smoke and sweat was heavy, and above it all came a sound Alexander would never forget—a deep, animalistic roar from beyond the gate.
Drovengar war cries.
The First Clash
The gate splintered inward as three raiders forced their way through, axes swinging wildly. They were larger than most men Alexander had seen, wrapped in furs and leather, tattoos snaking across their arms.
"Hold!" Horst roared. "Hold the line!"
The shield wall shook as the first raider slammed into it. Alexander braced his feet, shoulder-to-shoulder with Garrick and Roderick, feeling the impact ripple through the formation.
One raider swung an axe over the shield edge, catching a recruit in the shoulder. The boy screamed, collapsing. Lionel, eyes wide, stepped forward and swung his wooden practice blade with a surprising scream, striking the raider's helmet and staggering him.
Alexander reacted without thinking—he stepped out of formation, shoved Lionel back into place, and drove his shield forward into the raider's chest. The man stumbled. Alexander followed with an instinctive sword strike to the thigh.
Blood sprayed warm across his cheek. The raider howled, retreating back through the gate.
Adrenaline & Instinct
The fight became chaos—raiders surging in small groups, soldiers trying to hold formation. Alexander's mind sharpened. This is real. People are dying. Focus.
"Lionel, stay left! Garrick, anchor the corner—don't let them flank!"
His voice carried without thought, cutting through the panic. Even Roderick, who usually quipped at every opportunity, simply nodded and adjusted his stance.
Another raider charged, swinging an axe at Alexander's head. He ducked instinctively, slamming his shield upward, catching the man in the chin. Garrick followed with a brutal shoulder charge, dropping the attacker flat.
"Alexander!" Lionel shouted.
A second raider leaped the fallen gate, charging straight for the young recruit who had been injured earlier. Alexander didn't hesitate—he broke formation again, sprinting, shoving the injured boy out of the way. The raider's axe clipped Alexander's shield, splitting the wood slightly, but Alexander pivoted and slammed his sword point into the man's ribs.
The raider fell, gasping, as blood bubbled at his lips. Alexander's stomach twisted, but his hands moved on their own, pulling the blade free and returning to formation.
Prince Adrian Watches
From the inner wall tower, Prince Adrian Valerius watched the chaos unfold, his face set like stone. His royal guard urged him to retreat, but he ignored them, eyes locked on the recruits below.
One recruit in particular.
While others panicked or hesitated, Alexander's focus never wavered. He moved with instinct, his voice cutting through the panic, holding men together who might otherwise have broken.
"Who is that?" Adrian asked a nearby knight.
"Commoner recruit, sire. Name's Alexander, I think. Just enlisted this week."
Adrian said nothing, watching as Alexander shoved a wounded soldier back behind the line and filled the gap himself without hesitation. Interesting, he thought. Very interesting.
The Push Back
After what felt like hours but was likely only minutes, the Valerius garrison regained control. The raiders, seeing reinforcements arriving from the inner barracks, began to withdraw, dragging their wounded with them.
Horst's voice bellowed: "Advance two steps! Push them out!"
The recruits followed, emboldened. Alexander raised his shield high, shouting, "On me! Keep formation!" They advanced together, step by step, until the last raider fled into the treeline, war horn echoing their retreat.
Aftermath
The gate was a wreck, the ground slick with blood—some of it theirs, more of it Drovengar's. Two recruits lay dead, and several others were wounded.
Alexander stood frozen for a moment, sword still trembling in his hand. The face of the raider he'd stabbed haunted him—the shock in the man's eyes, the gurgle of blood. He was alive… then I ended him.
Lionel touched his shoulder. "You alright, Alex?"
Alexander swallowed, nodding slowly. "Yeah. Just… first time."
Roderick's voice was quieter than usual. "You saved that boy. If you hadn't moved, he'd be dead."
Garrick grunted. "You fought well. For a farmer."
Alexander looked down at his bloody sword, then clenched it tighter. I'll fight again. I'll fight better.
Horst's Unexpected Praise
Horst marched up, covered in grime and sweat but grinning like a wolf. "You recruits held better than half the militia I've seen. Especially you, Alexander. Breaking formation can get you killed, but tonight it saved lives."
Alexander straightened. "Just did what I thought was right, sir."
"Keep thinking like that," Horst said, then added, quieter, "and you might just make something of yourself."
Night Reflections
Later, in the barracks, silence hung heavy. Even Lionel didn't crack jokes. Garrick cleaned his sword in silence. Roderick sat on his bunk, staring at nothing.
Alexander sat apart, helmet in his lap. He thought about the look in the raider's eyes, the weight of life taken, and the thrill of surviving.
He whispered to himself, almost inaudible: "I'll rise… no matter what it takes."