Chương 7: Prelude To Battle

True to Roland's claim, the next two weeks went by with little to no development. More militia recruits from the kingdom's heartlands were brought into the freezing north and shuffled into the various Irregular companies as the days passed. Wide-eyed youths, indentured lowborns, and conscripted peasants filled the holes in their ranks. The 3rd Irregulars' numbers were restored to full, though the quality of the troops was questionable.

Alcyr supposed the nobles would not care, so long as the Irregulars continued to serve as functional meat shields for the Regulars. As for himself, he continued his brutal training regime, practising his swordplay each morning in the pre-dawn frost. Unfortunately, the gains granted by his hard work over the past month were close to negligible.

[Status Screen] Alcyr Rivers — Age 18 Titles: Godless High Journeyman Sword Fanatic Combat Skills: Sword Discipline 32 (Common) Unarmed Discipline 24 (Common) Dagger Discipline 21 (Common) Shield Discipline 24 (Common) Armour Discipline 21 (Common) Throwing Weapon Discipline 18 (Common) Combat Sense 18 (Uncommon) Paired Blade Mastery 4 (Rare) Life Skills: Physical Conditioning 29 (Common) Pain Tolerance 26 (Common) Movement 25 (Common) Natural Resistance 23 (Common) Leadership 10 (Common) Presence 2 (Uncommon) Mortal Defiance 11 (Rare) [End Screen] Alcyr studied his Status Screen, dissatisfied with the results.

Over the course of the last month, he had gained only a handful of levels, spread across multiple skills. His newest Rare-tier combat skill, Paired Blade Mastery, was the only skill that made a noticeable jump, but that was solely attributed to the fact that lower-level skills climb at a much faster rate than higher-level ones. Even Presence gained a level, despite him not doing much to improve the charisma-focused skill beyond interacting with his fellow soldiers. Still, a small gain was better than none at all.

Even without the time loops, Alcyr was still improving faster than the rest of his company did through sheer dint of hard work and determination. That alone was commendable, even if he did not feel it to be so. He missed the time loops, he realised. Despite the deaths and agony he had suffered, the constant adrenaline rush of life-or-death slaughter had been addicting. There was the physical thrill in levelling up his skill as well that he craved.

The ecstasy that came with growth wasn't just mental; each time the level-up System notification presented itself, it was accompanied by a deep rush of power rising from his sleeping soul, flooding his veins with a lightning wave of dopamine-fuelled pleasure. Now he was left with a hollow absence, and the need for more was ever-present. I'll have to learn to control this hunger, lest it start to cloud my mind, he cautiously thought to himself.

The threshold needed to reach new levels will increase over time, and the stronger I am compared to my foes, the greater the experience penalty will be. It was partially why he saw little reason to keep repeating the Battle of the Red Rime over and over again once he reached a certain level of strength. With the thrill waning and the deluge of experience guttering to dregs, it spurred him to seek greater battles. It's a problem everyone faced. When you're weak, every kill seems profitable.

But all Wells run dry eventually, and when they do, you have to climb out of it and move on. To distract himself, he had been experimenting with the recent gains of the previous battle. Paired Blade Mastery was an interesting skill, doubly so given its high rarity. Dual-wielding was a wildly impractical style of fighting on most battlefields. Because of how the human body and mind worked, having two blades did not necessarily mean one could meaningfully deal out twice as much offensive power.

The reach of the swords often interfered with one another, and the division of the fighter's attention could easily lead to fatal mistakes. But having a System-given skill in dual-wielding changed things, especially since it was a Rare-tier one. Presumably, once Alcyr had it levelled properly, the skill would compensate for the fighting style's weaknesses, and his lethality would reach a point far greater than whatever his Common-tier Sword or Shield Discipline could grant him at equivalent levels.

Levelling it in actual combat would be highly risky — some might even call it suicidal — but Alcyr was determined to make it work. In contrast, his other newest skill, Presence, seemed rather straightforward. From its name and through some experimenting, Alcyr deduced it was a leadership or charisma skill that increased his ability to project authority, making allies more receptive to his orders and causing weaker-willed opponents to hesitate when facing him.

He did not care much for it since he lacked the opportunities to meaningfully use or train the skill — his military rank was still just Private, after all — but he could see how it might aid him on the battlefield if he ever got it to an appreciably high level. The last and most baffling of his gains from the Battle of the Red Rime was his new title: Sword Fanatic. Unlike skills or even Mysteries, there was no set rule on how a title could be earned or how it might function.

Most people only carried two titles throughout their entire lives. The first was their chosen Path title — such as 'Follower of Authority' or, in Alcyr's case, 'Godless'. The second was their skill level title — such as 'High Initiate' or 'Low Journeyman'. While gaining a third or even fourth title was not unheard of, they were certainly rare, and the conditions for triggering them were known to be highly inconsistent or sometimes even downright bizarre.

The effects of the titles were also not explained by the System. Some titles provided positive boons, others negative drawbacks, and some did nothing at all. Unless he spontaneously developed a divination-type skill, Alcyr would need to have his title appraised by an expert in order to fully discover its effects. For the moment, the title didn't seem to affect his growth or combat ability in any noticeable manner, so he opted to just ignore it for now.

Maybe once he had an opportunity to return to the Kingdom's capital, he could seek out a licensed Diviner to investigate its effects, but until then, there was little else he could do. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Time marched on relentlessly, and the days passed by fruitlessly. Alcyr kept his frustrations and desires in check, but there was no denying that a certain hunger for conflict and skill growth was slowly building up within him.

Eventually, he told himself that if death and bloodshed would not seek him out soon, then he would find it himself.

Thankfully, it did not take much longer before conflict reigned in the north once more. On the 30th day after the Battle of the Red Rime, in the paling hours before dawn, Alcyr noticed a small commotion coming from the front of the camp. Deciding to pause his morning sword practice for a moment, he sheathed his weapon and walked over to the gate. The sentry yawned as they opened the way for a convoy of weary horses dragging laden carts, as well as the shivering guards around them.

One of them — the convoy lieutenant, judging by the quality of his attire — was already in conversation with the gate sergeant. Is that a Regular? Alcyr thought as he looked at the lieutenant. What's an officer doing here? One of the gate sentries spotted him and waved.

"Alcyr! You're up early. Don't suppose you're here to take my shift?"

"I was training," Alcyr said. He frowned at the newcomers.

"Supply waggons, at this hour? Travelling through the night couldn't be easy."

"It was a pain," one of the convoy soldiers complained as they warmed themselves on a nearby burning brazier.

"Snow was thick as sin. Blightwolves won't stop hounding us the entire time, either." That explained the eerie howling around the camp each morning, at least.

"Any barbarians?" Alcyr asked hopefully.

"This far from the frontline? There'd better not be," another soldier snorted.

"Nobles wouldn't have risked us running supplies if any of the northmen were in the area." The gate sergeant noticed them.

"Alcyr, what are you doing here? Go back to sleep! The rest of you newbloods, help the lieutenant move the crates! I want everything in the quartermaster's store before sunrise!" Alcyr's gaze lingered on the waggons. Lumber. Iron fittings. Coal stacked in blackened sacks. He saw the convoy guards and gate sentries struggle with the load.

"I'll help unload the cargo," he offered.

"Here, give it to me."

"T-thanks— Woah!" The soldiers stared as Alcyr lifted an entire stack of lumber with little exertion. He then grabbed three additional sacks of coal as well — adding enough weight to strain his muscles for strength training — before moving towards the quartermaster's storage. His Physical Conditioning level of 29, combined with his sturdy build and height, made him a powerhouse among the Irregular recruits.

At his current strength, he could even lift an entire waggon by himself, although moving it was another matter. Alcyr hoped he could reach Physical Conditioning 31 soon. Having two skills at the High Journeyman tier would put him in prime position for a promotion. Despite being of equal martial prowess to most sergeants, the company captain was hesitant to increase his rank, likely due to his age. Regardless, Alcyr was optimistic.

If he managed to get the rank of platoon sergeant before reaching twenty years old, it might catch the higher-ups' eyes and get him a permanent place within the Regular Companies. He would then become part of Morwyn's professional soldiery, mixed in with other talented commoners and lesser bluebloods. It would give him greater opportunities for training, battles, and levelling skills. And after that… One step at a time, Alcyr chided himself. He reined his thoughts in.

It would not do to think too far ahead, especially now that the barbarians were finally attacking. The supplies he was carrying were for heavy fortifications. And there was only one reason the higher-ups would deliver such supplies to an Irregular base. Things here are about to get a lot more dangerous, he thought with a small smile. Once he finished unloading the waggons, he made some small talk with the caravan guards, then returned to the training dummies.

The sergeant sighed after failing to get Alcyr to rest, while the sentries chuckled good-naturedly about their resident 'sword fanatic' as they swapped their shifts. Alcyr resumed swinging his sword, intent on squeezing every last bit of training until the morning bell came.

As the weak northern sun shone upon the musterfield through grey clouds, the sergeant ran the roll call. It ended once it covered the entire 3rd Irregular Company — five hundred soldiers of varying backgrounds and competence, with thirty additional support staff such as the quartermaster and the blacksmith. Once he was done, the sergeant made way for the company captain. Captain Halmon was the only Elite-tier soldier in the company. Unlike most of them, he was a proper blue-blooded noble.

Not only that, the man was a Regular of the Morwyn military as well, sent by the 4th Regular Company to take charge of the 3rd Irregulars as their primary officer. Some among the company disdain Halmon for his prestigious background, but Alcyr always thought the captain treated them fairly. At the very least, he never sneered or looked down on them for not having noble peerage or being part of the Morwyn Regulars, like everyone else.

"Alright, I see many new faces among us," the captain stated, addressing the entire company for the first time in weeks.

"Welcome to the campaign, gentlemen. This freezing hellhole is now your home for the next few years. I hope you're ready and able, because we have our work cut out for us, and I have no time to babysit any newcomers." The captain's words made some of the newer recruits shuffle uncomfortably, but he pretended not to notice and carried on.

"The more astute among you might have noticed we have received siege supplies this morning. New orders for the 3rd Irregular Company are to dig in and fortify. The barbarians had unleashed a massive offensive two days ago, hitting every front along the Frost Tooth Peaks. The 4th Regulars' Drake Cavalry drove them back, but not before our bases upon those highlands fell." Alcyr could almost physically feel the anxiety in the company double as a moment of stunned silence seized the square.

Someone finally dared to ask.

"Fell? Sir, what do you mean, fell?" The captain's reply was grim.

"I mean that the 2nd, 5th, 6th, and 10th Irregular Companies are effectively destroyed. Casualties are in the thousands, and our forces are falling back to secondary lines. The 4th Regulars are rounding up the survivors and preparing a counterattack to take back the highlands as we speak, but until then, we are on our own." The uneasy mumbling returned, more worried than ever. Someone in the musterfield stepped back.

"Damn this, this isn't what I signed up for!" The captain sighed.

"In case you're thinking of deserting, let me remind you we are encamped in the middle of nowhere, during winter, with Blightwolves and worse things all around us. You won't last a day alone out there. Shut your mouths, do your jobs, and we'll all easily make it out of this alive. You are the chosen soldiers of Morwyn; you have nothing to worry about with these uncivilised savages." That was a blatant lie. There was little chance any of these newcomers would survive against a barbarian.

Judging by the grim faces of the more seasoned soldiers, they knew this too. But for now, everyone — including the captain — was keeping their mouths shut. Let the recruits remain blissfully ignorant. There was no reason to scare them and cause morale to suffer before the real battle even began.

"The sergeants will lead you to your digging assignments. I want the foundations and gabions finished before sundown. Oh, and one other thing." The captain looked around them.

"The supply convoy that came in this morning needs an escort back to the major outpost garrisoned by the 4th Regulars. Any volunteers?" The men averted their gaze, shuffling uncomfortably. The roads were dangerous, and there wasn't any coin to be earned for volunteering. The incentives for stepping forth were effectively null. Save, of course, the combat experience one might reap in the event a battle did occur, and the valuable skill level-ups that would follow. Alcyr did not hesitate to step forward.

"I volunteer." The captain grinned slightly. The sergeant beside him snorted.

"We already knew you would, you battle addict. You volunteer every damn time we ask. Your name is already permanently on the list!" Alcyr stepped back, somewhat sheepish, as the company laughed. With their spirits lifted, when the captain asked for volunteers again, a few of the braver soldiers stepped forth. The captain took them aside later as the others were assigned to their posts for the day. Captain Halmon looked relieved at their numbers: Five soldiers total, Alcyr included — all in the Journeyman tier.

As far as squad strength went, it was the best they could expect. For some reason, Roland was there as well. Alcyr frowned when he saw him volunteer, but said nothing.

"Alright, listen," Halmon began.

"I know none of you are fools, but to be clear, in the event of an attack, follow the convoy lieutenant's orders. If he tells you to abandon the supply waggons and run, you do it. Several barbarian warbands have broken through the perimeter in their last assault. Leading those packs are chieftains and warlords — Elite -tier fighters that could take down men like you in seconds. Absolutely do not engage unless you are left with no other choice." Alcyr frowned. The captain continued before he could protest.

"Another thing," Halmon continued.

"When you reach the 4th Regulars' camp, try to interact with them as little as possible. The Regular Companies mostly made up of blue-blooded officers or cadets, and I can promise you they won't be as patient as me. Do not get in their way or bother them, especially the Drake Cavalry riders. If they give you trouble, suck it up and walk away. And another thing! There will be female officers there as well, but for the love of the Twelve Saints, do not even look at them!

If you value your lives, you will stay far away, and—" Alcyr tuned out the rest of Captain Halmon's words as he mused over what he had just learned. The escort mission would be dangerous, but not exactly the good kind. Alcyr had secretly hoped to face barbarians, but if the opposing group had Elite-tier warriors with them… Resistance would be futile, given their group's current strength. And that was if the convoy would even meet them in the first place.

It appears today's going to be more of the same, he sighed internally. Another day of painfully slow progress where nothing ever changed. In the countless days to come, he would occasionally look back on this moment and laugh. He could not have been more wrong.