Second Life as a Soldier

The gates of Stonegate rose ahead like a promise carved in stone.

Not the thin palisade walls of some border outpost, but a mountain of dark, fitted blocks, crowned with towers that glared out toward the horizon. Even in my exhaustion, I felt that same primal comfort I’d felt the first day I saw them, stone that would not break, walls that would not yield.

We marched through the gate in a steady column, boots dragging, uniforms dusty, packs sagging low. Spears rattled against shields, straps bit into sore shoulders, and the smell of sweat and leather hung over us like a heavy cloak.

Inside the yard, the sounds changed. No wind hissing through the grass, no sharp tang of blood. The sense of being watched finally faded as the gates closed behind us. What remained was the muted clatter of city life beyond the inner gates and the rhythmic clang of the garrison’s forges. Even the air felt different, less tense, less sharp.

We were halted in the central courtyard. Armor sagged on tired shoulders, shields dragged along the ground, and more than one recruit leaned too heavily on his spear. My legs felt like they were made of stone, but I straightened automatically when the Quartermaster stepped forward.

He didn’t shout. He didn’t need to. His voice carried across the ranks with the same clipped authority that had driven us for months.

“Recruits, listen well.”

A hush fell, boots scuffing awkwardly into silence.

“You have done your part. You’ve returned alive, and that counts for something. By order of command, you will have seven days of rest. Use them wisely. After that, results will be posted.”

The words hit like water on parched lips. The cheer that followed wasn’t loud, fatigue robbed us of that, but it was raw. A ripple of relief moved through the ranks: slumped shoulders straightening, tired grins breaking across dirty faces, laughter bubbling up like it had been waiting all week.Someone in the back muttered, “Seven days…” like he couldn’t believe it. Another exhaled a shaky laugh. Henry, two men over, let his spear drop with a clatter and whispered, “Thank the gods.”

The Quartermaster waited for the noise to settle before adding, “Dismissed. Get your gear stowed, get clean, and for once, sleep without a sword in arm’s reach.”

We broke ranks almost clumsily. No drill, no barked orders, just young recruits stumbling toward the barracks, some half-limping, some laughing too loud, some already dreaming of soft beds and hot meals.

For the first time in weeks, the tension uncoiled from my chest. We’d made it back. And for seven whole days, the only thing we had to fight was boredom.

By the time we stowed our gear and stripped off armor, the sun was a copper coin low in the sky. I ended up near a small campfire outside the barracks with Erik, Henry, Leif, and Farid. For once, no one had a helmet or spear within arm’s reach. No one was scanning the tree line. We just… sat.

The fire crackled quietly. The smell of woodsmoke was a pleasant change from the damp canvas and oiled leather of the past week.

Henry was the first to speak. He leaned back, hands behind his head, and sighed like a man twice his age.

“Nothing, no amount of armor, no formation walls, beats the security of this wall,” he said, nodding toward Stonegate’s towering battlements.

We all murmured agreement.

“Feels weird not having to look over my shoulder every two minutes,” Erik said, stretching his legs toward the fire. “I keep expecting a wolf to jump out from behind a crate.”

Farid snorted. “If a wolf got into Stonegate, we’d be in deep trouble. Probably means the world’s ending.”

“Or,” Leif added with a grin, “it means Erik forgot to close the gate behind him.”

That earned a few chuckles, even from Erik, who tossed a pebble at Leif. “I’d let the wolves in just to see them try to chew through you, Vanguard-boy.”

Leif sat up straighter at that. “Speaking of Vanguard, seven-day break. Any of you actually have plans, or are you all going to waste it sleeping?”

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Henry gave a theatrical groan. “Plans? My plan is to get roped into farm work the second I step off the carriage home. I’ll be hauling hay bales until my arms fall off. No big dreams here, any department will take me. Infantry, supply, guard duty… whatever keeps food on the table.”

“Man of ambition,” Farid said dryly.

Leif shook his head. “I’m doubling training. Still six months until my Awakening, I’m not giving up on Vanguard. If I’m going to get in, I need to be sharper, faster, and stronger than anyone else my size.”

“You mean anyone else with working knees,” Erik said. “Don’t burn yourself out before you even get there.”

“Better to burn out than fade away,” Leif replied with mock solemnity.

Erik made a face. “That’s not how the song goes.”

“Song?” I asked.

“Old marching tune from my town,” Erik said with a shrug. “Pretty sure half the words were made up to rhyme with beer.”

Henry laughed. “Sounds like my uncle’s kind of music.”

Farid leaned forward, eyes glinting in the firelight. “You lot are all so predictable. Henry’s going home to shovel manure, Leif’s going to run himself into the dirt, and Erik’s going to sit on his backside. Meanwhile, I’ve got actual plans.”

“Oh, this I have to hear,” I said.

“I’m spending most of the break on the archery range,” Farid said. “Before enlistment, I hunted with a bow back home, nothing fancy, just rabbits and deer. If I keep practicing, I’ll have a shot at unlocking a scout-related class when I awaken.”

“Scout Division?” Henry asked. “Isn’t that the one that gets sent out ahead of everyone else to die first?”

Farid gave him a flat look. “Yes, Henry. We run ahead, die gloriously, and leave you slowpokes behind to get eaten later.”

That got another round of chuckles.

Erik stretched again and smirked. “While you’re all breaking your backs, I’m going to enjoy my break. No training. No drills. I’ll join the Supply Division when the time comes, serve my years, then settle down in some quiet little town. House, garden, wife, kids, the whole package.”

“Boring,” Leif said.

“Peaceful,” Erik corrected.

I shrugged. “I’m closer to boring than exciting myself. I’ll split the week between the library and some light training. I’m aiming for the Intelligence & Counter-Operations Division.”

Farid gave a low whistle. “Dreaming big, huh? That place is crawling with rich snobs.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And how do you know all this?”

He grinned. “Not everyone’s a loner like you. I’ve got contacts. People talk.”

Henry looked at me. “Library? Really? We just got back from a week of marching and you want to spend your break reading?”

“Better than shoveling hay,” I said.

“Fair point,” he admitted.

“Oh,” I added, “specialization classes start after the break, four to five hours a day alongside the normal schedule. I’m thinking Rune Operations, then Field Sappers & Siege Techs. Two months basics each, then basic medic in the last month.”

“Scouting, tracking, and archery for me,” Farid said.

“I’m sticking to Polearm and Formation Warfare,” Erik said. “Might work on reading and writing too.”

“Same for me,” Henry said. “Figure it can’t hurt.”

Leif leaned forward. “Polearm, endurance drills, and advanced spear charges. Vanguard’s all about shock impact, I want to make sure I’ve got the burst strength for it.”

The firelight flickered over their faces as the conversation drifted into shared stories from the hunt, close calls, awkward missteps, and the kind of small, ridiculous moments that only mattered because we’d been there together. Erik admitted to tripping over a root mid-charge; Farid confessed he’d almost loosed an arrow at a bush that turned out to be Henry relieving himself; Henry insisted the “bush” looked suspicious from his angle.

We laughed until our sides ached, the weight of the past week’s tension bleeding away into the night. For the first time in weeks, I felt something close to peace. The wall was solid at our backs, the fire was warm, and for a little while, we were just… people. Not recruits, not soldiers, just us.

That night, in the Stonegate command office

The lamplight in the command room cast long shadows across the map-strewn table where Lieutenant Clifford, Sergeant Kestrel, and Quartermaster Hubert sat reviewing performance reports.

Clifford tapped a column of figures. “Six months before they’re posted to outer forts. I’m not sure it’s enough.”

Kestrel folded his arms. “Varik’s month pushed their physical limits, no question. They’re stronger now, but morale took a hit.”

Hubert adjusted his spectacles. “Some recruits are excelling in technical and logistics roles despite average combat stats. But a majority are still struggling with the basics, especially math and writing.”

Clifford leaned back. “How did the hunt go? Did every recruit land a kill?”

Kestrel nodded. “Most did. A few struggled, but we made sure no one came back empty-handed. Even a minor boost helps, though it won’t prepare them for what’s coming.”

Clifford’s gaze sharpened. “Good. When Awakening comes, even a Tier 1 leaves a mark. And right now, every scrap matters.”

“Who landed the final blow on the alpha?” Clifford asked.

“A kid named Edward,” Kestrel said.

Clifford’s brow rose. “How is he? Potential?”

Kestrel consulted his notes. “Reads and writes well, solid physical stats. Our evaluation puts him on track for sergeant. Depending on his class, maybe lieutenant. Best part? No noble contracts—he’s independent.”

“Good,” Clifford said with a faint smile. “At least he is someone who won’t be pulled away by the noble houses.”

His gaze swept back over the reports. “I’ll need updates from the other camps as well. Ours did well, but it’s the combined progress that matters. Every kill adds up, across every camp. And right now, they’ll need every edge they can get.”