"I need to speak with whoever is in charge!" Marcus demanded. The sergeant didn't seem particularly convinced. "Come on, doesn't the fact that this whole thing is a trap count for anything?"
Illmar scoffed. "It counts as a coward trying to avoid his duty."
"Fuck you." Marcus wheeled on the man, rage overtaking any remaining sense. "I climbed the damned ladder. I killed some fucking Dwarf and watched them burn hundreds alive. This is a trap. They have siege mages, Elven archers to kill anyone on the walls, probably more I didn't see."
Bobe shook his head. "You saw this, did you? I will not bother my captain with the tales of a mad noble, and my captain will most certainly not bother the commander with it. Krasus, let's see if the idiot can fight."
The sword came flying towards his face, Marcus raising his armored forearm to block. He pulled his own sword, Krasus never having given him a wooden one, and prepared to dodge the kick.
It never came. Krasus lashed out with a fist and Marcus felt his jaw break. He hit the floor, blood pooling in his mouth.
"It isn't broken." Krasus informed him calmly. "But we won't get you a healer until after the battle. Don't lie to your superior officers, private Lannoy. Until you learn that, this should keep you quiet."
Rage. Marcus didn't remember ever being quite this angry. It demanded action, demanded blood, and he shot to his feet. Krasus actually took a step back, though he didn't seem afraid.
Marcus looked at the man. He didn't even notice how Illmar had a hand on his weapon, visualising the call of fire. Of heat and flame, wondering if the man would believe him when his face was melting.
A hand took hold of his shoulder, the quiet form of Elmus pushing him away and towards the camp. Marcus didn't reply, couldn't reply, and seethed as he peeled potatoes.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
"Get up." The sergeant barked. Marcus looked at the man, honestly wondering if he was going insane. Not dying on the wall was great, and apparently running away while everyone else charged towards the castle let him escape, but here he was anyway. This was the third time, and three made a pattern. "Drag him if he refuses to walk."
Marcus shot them an almost tired look. "Don't touch me."
Illmar hesitated, Krasus didn't. Marcus looked at the man, finding none of the loathing he'd become used to. Three days wasn't long, really, but the pain of a dislocated jaw made it feel like an eternity. No one had liked him, not even Illmar, but Krasus had loathed him.
The sergeant began walking and Marcus followed. He made sure to not insist the assault was a trap, this time. No one had believed him and he wasn't going to repeat that feat a few dozen times to make sure.
One shattered jaw was more than enough.
"What is the plan if the enemy has siege mages?"
Alright, so maybe he couldn't entirely let it go. The sergeant sounded bored as he answered. "That's not for you to know, private."
"No, I suppose it isn't." And boy, did that realisation sting. "So if the Giants break open the gate and arcane fire washes over them, flames glowing white from the sheer heat, I hope the plan isn't to shield against it. Not unless you're sending several dozen mages with them."
Which they wouldn't. They had mages, he'd confirmed that last time, but their level of ability seemed to vary. And, most importantly, all but a few seemed solely focused on support.
"That's not for you to know, private." Bobe repeated, yet this time he sounded somewhat unsure. "What do you know about arcane fire?"
A lot. It was extraordinarily useful for enchanting, binding agents and properly bonding together certain heat-resistant substances. "I know it kills Giants in approximately fourteen seconds."
That was a guess, but a fairly accurate one. Illmar exchanged a look with Krasus, and the old soldier had a thoughtful look on his face. The sergeant turned his head, though he didn't stop walking.
"I'll pass your concerns along to the captain, private."
He knew that tone. It was the 'shut up or get punched' tone. Marcus shrugged, following the increasingly familiar route to the campsite. And when they got there Krasus tested his skill, which hadn't noticeably improved, and then chores had to be done.
At least he knew how to do most of them now.
Perhaps paradoxically, showing a basic level of competence only increased the scrutiny. So much so that when the assault arrived, he had no opportunity to run. Marcus felt that familiar fear climb up his throat, especially when the sergeant pushed him to the front.
Logically, Marcus knew death wasn't the end. If it happened twice it would happen a third time, and he had started piecing things together over the last few days. A class nine artifact, called the School of Life no less, and his combat ability being ranked low. The assault would force him to rectify that, and artifacts could be extraordinarily powerful.
He thought about that arrow-warding amulet in his fathers vault. How much would he give to go back and grab that now, he wondered? Regardless, this seemed like some sort of test. A way to train apprentices without taking up the time of the Archmage.
The sergeant barked at them to move, Marcus felt a hand push him forwards when he froze, and he ran. Right. Get to the wall, fake an injury, stall as everyone else climbs the ladder, run back. No need to die a horrible death again.
The arrow took him in the leg, piercing through a thin section of armor, and Marcus fell. Hit his head on a stone and stars flashed as blood ran down his face. The helmet saved his life, and as the excruciating pain of taking an arrow to the knee overwhelmed him he wasn't particularly thankful for that fact.
It took four long, painful minutes before another arrow killed him.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
"Early shift change." Marcus said, making sure to affect a bored tilt to his tone. Last time the sentry had become suspicious of his enthusiasm. "Captain Brakkus wants to see you. Something about Alena being pregnant?"
The sentry paled, muttering curses under his breath as he took off. Marcus watched him go, nodding to the next sentry over, and ranged a little further north. Impersonating a guard was a better plan than making a run for it, that was for sure.
Surprisingly, and thankfully, Elves didn't really have sentry duty. There weren't enough of them, apparently, so it was mostly Humans and Dwarves that took up the job. Orcs were too restless for it, or so he'd been told, and no one had suggested that the Giants put in their hours.
He ranged a little farther. Far enough that the other sentries could only just about see him, idling there for a bit. He had a suspicion he wouldn't be able to get far, but still. This was the closest he'd gotten to escaping camp before enemy soldiers started ranging through the woods.
Marcus finally set off, walking south through the forest. It wasn't a big valley, really, and running was more suspicious than walking. Less noisy, too, though he'd replaced his half-plate armor with a leather set.
Figuring out where to steal one unnoticed had taken a few loops.
Ten, fifteen minutes later Marcus paused, his skin tingling at the feel of magic. A lot of magic. He bent down and picked up a rock, throwing it forwards. It flew without interruption, landing some ways away. He moved on slower than before.
And he also kept his hand out, almost feeling his way forward, because if he was right there should be an edge. A boundary of some kind. Artefacts were powerful—extremely powerful in some cases—but they had limits. The rough math he'd done about how much it would take to simulate all this was already astronomical, so one of the easiest ways to cut down on the energy required…
His hand hit a translucent barrier, the stone he'd thrown a few feet behind him. Marcus smiled in triumph, walking east, then west for a few hundred feet.
A rough oval shape, though he couldn't be sure without tracing the whole thing. Probably ran deep underground and overtop, though it would be more accurate to say there simply didn't exist anything outside of the boundaries.
An enclosed, self-resetting touch-based illusion. Marcus marvelled at the sheer ingenuity, the utter impossibility, of the thing. There was some concern that he was still sitting in his fathers vault, hallucinating, but it wasn't like he could check.
"There you are." Sergeant Bobe spat, coming to a halt as Marcus turned. An Elf was with him, eyes all but glowing in the dark. "Desertion is punishable by death, private."
Marcus knocked on the boundary, which didn't echo but did stop his hand. The Elf frowned, walking up and testing it himself. His eyes widened and he let out a low-pitched trill, calling for reinforcements. It was a weird way of doing it, but apparently other Elves could hear that for miles and miles.
"What?" The sergeant said, confusion overtaking anger. He walked up and tested it himself, growing more confused. "What is this?"
Humming, and running his hand over the boundary, Marcus spoke as the Elf whistled again. "Not time travel, I'm ninety nine percent sure of that. The magical energies required are mathematically impossible to gather, even assuming you found the right formula. No, this is a highly advanced illusion program meant to train apprentices for Archmage Balthazar."
Bobe's eyes widened, the name clearly meaning something to him, and Marcus frowned.
"Do you know something abou-" Marcus blinked, finding Bobe looming over him, demanding that he'd 'get up'. Marcus grunted and rose, sighing. "Don't alert people to the not-time loop. Got it."
Illmar shot him a strange look as Krasus' hand clamped down on Marcus' shoulder.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
"Keep your guard up." Pier said, hitting his exposed shoulder. Marcus grunted, his arms feeling like they were about to fall off. Pier pulled back, which Marcus appreciated. Out of all of them the man was the least likely to inflict needless pain. "You're not doing that badly, honest."
Yes he was. Marcus sucked at this, and Pier knew that. He'd been training for weeks, weeks and weeks, and he was barely able to defend himself. Even with the advantage of his wounds healing every few days, even with all the real experience he was getting fighting during the assault, swords and he just did not mix.
Neither did hammers, axes or shields. In fact, the only thing that was going smoothly was getting to know his squad members.
Fake or not, they were real enough to count. Copies or not, they reacted like real people. And frankly, Marcus was lonely. Had been lonely even before this, but only now did he really begin to appreciate that fact.
The sergeant wanted him not to be a problem. Easy enough. Krasus was a bit of a sadist but did seem to genuinely care if he survived the battle. The man calmed some if Marcus showed a cautious nature. Also easy enough, and something Marcus was learning all on his own.
Elmus didn't want anything but silence and Pier was lonely. And loneliness was by far the easiest to take advantage of, even if doing so made him feel like a bastard.
"The captain agreed to speak with the commander, by the way." Pier spoke up. The man handed him a waterskin, which Marcus drank from greedily. "They might want to hear your description themselves."
"Might?"
"Well, they don't usually send an Orc squad to deliver messages."
Marcus looked behind him, seven of the looming slabs of muscle coming into the small clearing. It wasn't a private place, not really, but certainly more so than the middle of camp. The Orc sergeant barked an order, Marcus already moving to join them.
This wasn't the first time he'd tried to talk with the illustrious commander Rain, but nothing ever came of it. He wondered what he'd said to make the man interested.
It wasn't long before they arrived, the commander's tent larger but similar to all the others around it. A low wooden palisade had been constructed around the place, a dozen guards patrolling inside and out. The man took his security seriously, it seemed.
All but the sergeant peeled off, and he wondered why the man would send an entire group to do one man's job. Afraid he was going to run off?
Marcus almost snorted at the thought. He knew better than to try again. It never quite worked out even before he ran into the literal end of the world.
The Orc sergeant led him inside, a large table dominating much of the room. Four people were around it, three captains and the commander himself, and Marcus saluted. His pride didn't complain as loudly as it had even a week ago.
"Ah, private Lannoy. From the Lannoy nobility, a fairly prominent northern house if I'm not mistaken."
Offering a nod, and hoping the commander wouldn't get too curious, Marcus said nothing. He didn't know much about who he was supposed to be, really, and few people actually answered questions like 'what year is it?' and 'what's the name of the Empire?'.
Apparently Marcus came off as insulting.
"No matter. You speak of siege mages in the castle, yes?" The commander continued. Marcus nodded again, ignoring the half-glare of the Elven captain. She was the only non-Human present, which seemed odd. Humans were outnumbered almost three to one outside the tent. "What did it smell like?"
"Rotting corpses, commander."
The male captain nodded when the commander glanced at him, though Marcus couldn't tell if the man was a mage. Not unless he performed magic, at which point it would be self-evident anyway. "You realize how unlikely that is? Mages of that caliber are rare. Too rare to waste on a border outpost."
"It's what I feel, sir."
Rain looked at him, then at the captain and sighed. "Very well. I've already sent scouts to confirm it, and though they've found no evidence of siege mages, they did find several last-minute alterations to the enemy fortifications. I'm postponing the assault by a week to gauge their reaction. If they truly have siege mages, they'll come ou-"
"Get up." Bobe barked. Marcus shot up, staring at the sergeant. Postponing the assault caused a reset? What the fuck? "Drag him if he refuses to walk."
Marcus followed as he hissed curses under his breath, calming himself after a few minutes. Nothing of value had been lost, and now he knew not to try and delay or even cancel the assault. And, assuming Balthazar wasn't completely mad, he must have designed some way to pass the scenario. Most likely taking the castle.
How in all the Hells was he supposed to do that?
The moment they came to camp he singled out Pier, moving towards the man. Pier backed up a little, which was weird, but nothing for it. "We need to talk."
"I don't know you." Pier pointed out. Which sounded reasonable, though Marcus felt himself flinch. No, he supposed Pier didn't know him at all. "But you look lost, friend. I know what that's like. I've got him, Krasus."
They went to the same clearing again, it seemed to be Pier's favorite spot, and the soldier turned. Marcus didn't really know how to start, so just kind of ended up staring at the man.
"Just ask what you're going to ask."
"What year is this?"
He'd asked that before, of course. Asked Pier and Elmus and the sergeant. Lots of people. Not one of them really answered it. It was kind of weird, actually. Surely someone would humor the apparent joke?
"The year of Dust, eighteen seventy seven." Pier answered. Marcus blinked. The year of Dust? "You don't know what that means, do you?"
"No. No I do not. It's the summer of six hundred and nineteen. Also, who are we fighting?"
"The Empire."
"Which Empire?"
"The Abilonian Empire." The man replied in a tone that said 'obviously'. "Do you know of any other Empires?"
None on this continent, no. "And why are we fighting the Empire?"
Pier sighed. "Now that's a more difficult answer. I'm not entirely sure about all the politics involved, but there's essentially two mindsets. Those that see it as a necessary step towards combating the dungeon and those who don't wish to be conquered."
Marcus blinked. The dungeon? What did the dungeon have to do with this? No, wait. Marcus blinked again. The Empire was founded to organize and combat the dungeon breaks, but that was six hundred years ago. They ruled much of the continent now.
In fact, there were only two nations that weren't ruled by them. The Mirranian Kingdom, of which he was the Crown Prince, and the Merchant Princes.
"And who's Archmage Balthazar?"
"An Archmage." Pier answered, holding up a hand. "I know, not particularly descriptive. He's part of the Empire but mostly keeps to himself. Not a combat Archmage, thank the Gods, but even so. He is always seeking to train more apprentices. Rumor has it that he struck a deal with the Emperor and can have as many of them as he wants."
Marcus groaned. "To which end he created the School of Life."
"Pardon?"
Marcus shook his head, reluctantly nodding towards the wooden swords Pier carried. Not like he didn't need to be much better at fighting if he wanted to stand any hope of taking the castle anyway. "Nothing, and thanks. Care for a spar? I promise I'm horribly incompetent."
Afterword
Discord (The first four chapters are on it, I guess?) [Check author profile or pinned comment on the chapter.]