Orders for a Scouting Mission
Morning light spilled across the training yard when Drillmaster Horst strode out with a scroll in hand.
"Listen up! Squad four, you're up for a real task today. No dummies, no mock fights—real eyes on the ridge west of here. There are whispers of Drovengar scouts testing our border. You're to find out if it's true. Report only, no heroics."
Alexander's pulse quickened. A real assignment.
He stepped forward. "Understood, sir. I'll bring everyone back."
Horst grunted. "See that you do, or you'll be cleaning latrines till your skin peels."
Setting Out
Alexander's squad of twenty gathered their gear. Lionel looked unusually serious, adjusting the strap on his shield twice.
"You think it's really raiders?" Lionel asked.
"Scouts, maybe," Roderick said, checking the map. "If it's full raiders, we're dead men."
"Great confidence boost, thanks," Lionel muttered.
Garrick cracked his knuckles. "Don't care if it's scouts or raiders. They bleed all the same."
Darian Rythorn walked past Alexander with an exaggerated sigh. "So, the great commoner gets to lead us into the woods. Try not to get us killed, will you?"
Alexander ignored him. "We move fast, low, and quiet. Rythorn, you're rear guard. Roderick, map with me. Lionel, take point for now."
Darian's voice dripped with disdain. "Rear guard? You're putting me behind like some raw recruit?"
"You heard me," Alexander said firmly. "Move."
Darian sneered but obeyed, muttering something about "peasants playing commander."
Into the Woods
The forest swallowed them quickly, sunlight filtering through the canopy in broken shards. Birds chirped overhead, and the occasional snap of a twig sent everyone's hands to their weapons.
Alexander moved carefully, eyes scanning every shadow. First mission. First real responsibility. He couldn't let anything go wrong—not with Horst expecting results and Darian waiting for him to fail.
They reached the ridge by midday. Alexander crouched, raising a fist to halt the line. Roderick handed him the map.
"Marker's just ahead," Roderick whispered.
Alexander nodded. "Lionel, you and Garrick sweep left. Rythorn, take three and circle right—watch for signs of movement. Meet back here in fifteen minutes."
Darian smirked. "Oh, so now I'm trusted with something?"
Alexander's voice hardened. "Don't make me regret it."
Signs of Trouble
Alexander's own sweep was uneventful—until he spotted something odd: a boot print. Heavy, wide, and pointing toward their border. His stomach tightened. Drovengar. Has to be.
He signaled silently for everyone to regroup. Lionel returned quickly, shaking his head—no signs. Garrick followed, nothing unusual.
But Darian was late. When he finally appeared, he was dragging one of his assigned men by the arm. The soldier's face was pale.
"What happened?" Alexander demanded.
The soldier stammered, "W-We saw something… movement… by the creek."
"You went beyond your sweep limit?" Alexander snapped at Darian.
Darian shrugged. "We're here to scout, aren't we? I was scouting."
"You disobeyed a direct order!" Alexander hissed.
"And what if I found actual enemies while you were staring at dirt?" Darian shot back.
Before Alexander could retort, a horn blast echoed from the trees. A harsh, guttural sound. Drovengar war horn.
Ambush
From the trees, three figures burst forth—Drovengar scouts armed with axes and short spears. They'd been watching. They'd seen Darian's loud sweep.
"Shields!" Alexander roared.
The squad scrambled. Lionel barely brought up his shield in time to block a spear thrust. Garrick tackled one attacker outright, wrestling the man to the ground.
"Rythorn, hold formation!" Alexander barked.
But Darian froze for a second, eyes darting, unsure whether to attack or retreat. That hesitation let one of the raiders slip past his side, charging toward Roderick.
Alexander didn't think—he lunged, slamming his shoulder into the raider and swinging his sword in one clean arc, cutting deep into the man's arm. The raider howled and fell back.
The other two, seeing the ambush fail, blew another horn and retreated into the trees.
Alexander Takes Control
The squad breathed heavily, weapons still up. Alexander turned on Darian, voice sharp but controlled.
"You broke formation and ignored orders. That almost got Roderick killed."
Darian's face flushed with anger and embarrassment. "If you'd listened to me—"
"I don't care!" Alexander snapped. "You follow orders, or you get someone killed next time. Understood?"
For a moment, Darian looked like he might throw a punch. But the eyes of the entire squad were on him. He looked away and muttered, "Fine."
Alexander exhaled, forcing himself calm. "Roderick, mark the prints and movement on the map. Everyone else, fall back. We're done here."
Report to Horst
Back at camp, Alexander knelt before Horst with the map.
"Confirmed Drovengar presence, sir. Scouts, at least three. Likely probing our defenses."
Horst grunted. "Good work. And the squad?"
Alexander hesitated. "…One breach of order, but no casualties."
Horst's eyes narrowed. "Who?"
Alexander glanced at Darian, who stared at the ground. "…Handled internally, sir."
Horst studied him, then nodded. "Good. Next time, don't let anyone breach order. Dismissed."
Evening Fallout
In the barracks, Lionel said quietly, "You could've thrown him under the wagon, you know."
Alexander shook his head. "He's my man. My responsibility."
Roderick raised an eyebrow. "Even when he nearly gets us killed?"
Alexander met his eyes. "Especially then. I need him to trust me next time, or he'll never follow."
Garrick chuckled. "You're either noble as hell or stupid as hell."
Alexander smiled faintly. "Maybe both."
Across the room, Darian silently sharpened his blade. He didn't thank Alexander for covering him, didn't apologize—but his usual sneer was gone. Instead, there was something else: confusion.