Chương 30: New Soldier

The 59th year of the Radiant Vigor Era. The 1st day of the month of Peaches. Jordan Yu's military career began with a slap in the face.

"Wake up, Gatekeeper Yu," Tetherer Sapling called out pleasantly, even as he lightly tapped Jordan's cheek.

"There's always an inspection at first bell on Zhurong's Day. We've got to be ready before then." Jordan woke groggily to a room that was still nearly pitch-dark. It sounded as though most of the other recruits were already up. Although, judging by all the muttering and grumbling, they were just as sleepy as him. He fumbled around his bedspace until he identified two sets of clothes. The one he'd worn during the trip here, now freshly laundered, as well as a uniform for the recruits.

Simple tunic and trousers, not much different to Hatchet's hand-me-downs and perfectly identical to everyone else in the room. A pair of low-cut cloth shoes completed the outfit. To his surprise and relief, he also found his bindle, which now contained just the six items: his janitor's overalls, his Kasabian t-shirt, his boxer briefs, his dead phone, the handful of coppers from Old Sar, and of course, [Rampart's World Map]. In the tumult of last night's shower, he'd completely forgotten about them…

which could've been disastrous when it came to the [Map] especially. After a moment's consideration, he decided to slip the scroll into his sash, the better to keep it on his person at all times. Having been reunited with most of his worldly possessions, Jordan suddenly thought of the one that was still missing—inarguably the most important of them all.

"Hey, uh, Tetherer Sapling?" he turned to his neighbor.

"Have you seen my Vessel… or know what they might've done with it? Come to think of it, where's yours, or anyone else's for that matter?" Yes. As light slowly trickled into the dormitory, Jordan realized that everyone was missing their Vessel. A whole platoon's worth of [Character Sheets] designated this Gourd or that Cup, yet not a one of them was presently attached to their bearer.

"Why, they've been confiscated, of course!" Pewter was the only one in the room who looked wide awake, as cheerful as he'd been last night while standing naked in the cold.

"We'll get them back once we've completed the Fundamentals of Spellcraft module. I'm sure they've done the same with yours, Gatekeeper Yu. Although… I've heard tell that your Vessel might be a touch heavier than—""Jordan."

"Hm?"

"Just call me Jordan, dude. And I'll call you Pewter. Deal?" Pewter beamed from ear to ear. He then formalized the agreement with a palm-over-fist gesture.

"Deal." Jordan found himself feeling more awake… and smiling right alongside Pewter. Buddy had a slight case of the ol' affluenza, but not in a pompous, alienating sort of way. The man certainly seemed genuine enough in his attempts to be Jordan's friend. But let's not get too attached, yeah? This joint is just a stepping stone, and that should go for both of us." A-ttennnn-tion!" The muttering and grumbling stopped in an instant.

All recruits straightened against the kang in a neat line, each and every one adopting an identical pose. Back straight. Feet together. Hands clasped before chest in a modified version of the palm-over-fist, with the left hand held flat and rigid like the broad side of a blade. Jordan hastened to imitate Pewter beside him. Just in time, before the city bell announced the hour of the Rabbit —5 am by Earthling reckoning. In nearly the same instant, the 'inspectors' strode into the dormitory.

Heron Catchgrain and Finch Quiverwing. Of course it would be them. They both dressed in the same uniform as the recruits, with the addition of a dyed cape draped over just the one shoulder. Fancy, and no doubt meant to mark them out as higher-ranking officers. This morning, their hair had been tied up in neat topknots… which in Heron's case, probably upped the appeal for Mama Jordan. Of course, the Rangers also got to carry their Vessels on their person. That was another significant difference from the recruits.

At '5 am' in early spring, the dormitory was still too dark for an inspection under natural light. To which Heron employed the same [Fireball] trick as last night, a halo of orange light preceding every step he took. He started from the end opposite to Jordan, taking his sweet time as he sneered at each and every recruit. Even the most minor infractions garnered corporal punishment. One cane stroke for a slightly askew collar. Two strokes for a sash that had been left too loose.

Heron ordered it, and Finch executed it, the latter wordless and expressionless all the while. And if a recruit dared make a sound while getting hit by a cane? Why, that warranted an extra stroke, of course! So it went, down the line of fresh-faced and terrified young men, one by one until the least fresh-faced and most terrified of them all. Jordan gulped as he came face to face with Heron Catchgrain for the third time. Three times too many, if you ask me.

After everything that had gone down last night, there was no running from the Ranger now. He'd asked to be treated the same as any other recruit, and here was his moment of truth. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. Heron stood a while in silence, wearing that inscrutable sneer. A bird lying in wait, savoring that stillness before the hunt.

"Where to even begin?" The man spoke softly, tutting performatively. Jordan's stomach sank as he listened to his list of transgressions.

"Loose strands of hair. Unshaven stubble. Sash knot in incorrect position. And worst of all, the collars. Pray tell, Recruit Yu. Whose funeral were you planning on attending today?" Jordan looked down slowly, fearfully. Only then did he realize that he'd done up his cross-collared tunic backward —right panel over left instead of the traditional left over right. He couldn't believe it. Ever since the God of Charisma had taught him how to do it, he'd done it perfectly every single time, even while he was on the road.

Oh, why oh why did he have to choose today of all days to screw up? Come on, N üwa, I thought you had my back! Charisma DC 14: failure N üwa: "Don't look at me, lordlet. I should still be asleep." Oblivious and indifferent to [Heavenly Gossip], Ranger Catchgrain went on with the sentencing.

"One stroke for the hair, another for the stubble. Two strokes for the knot… and five for the collars. It's only just for such an egregious offense. You besmirch the very gods with your impropriety, Recruit Yu." Really, guys? Jordan threw it to the subject matter experts, even as he paled several shades at the prospect of nine cane strokes in his immediate future. Do you gods actually care how we mortals wear our collars?

Intelligence DC 14: success Fuxi:"It's a practice that predates even the Wreathworn Dynasty, but… the simple answer is no. As far as I can tell, the left-over-right is a human invention, as with most other arbitrary customs." He shouldn't have even asked. The injustice made it even harder to take. But alas, this was what he'd agreed to, and he wasn't about to crack in literally his first hour as a soldier. Jordan unclasped his hands and held out both of them, palms up and ready to be caned.

"Not you," Heron spat with obvious contempt. He then turned to Pewter.

"You. Tetherer Sapling. How long have you known your fellow recruit?" Jordan stared straight ahead, vision gone blank in his mortification. Even so, he thought he could see the bob in Pewter's throat.

"S—since yesterday evening, Ranger. We first spoke at the weekly ablution."

"I see. Then would you agree that you've had plenty of time to take a new recruit under your wing? In order to, say, show him the ropes of passing an inspection?"

"… Yes, Ranger."

"Then this failure falls on you, Tetherer Sapling. Your hands, if you please."

"Hold on just a—" Jordan stopped at a kick from Pewter. Heron gazed between the two recruits, sneer creeping wider… until Pewter presented his slightly pudgy hands, palms up.

"Good. Nine strokes. Begin." Fwack! PEWTER SAPLING lost: 2 HP. Fwack! PEWTER SAPLING lost: 2 HP. Fwack! PEWTER SAPLING lost: 2 HP. … Every'fwack!' rocked the inside of Jordan's chest. He wasn't the one feeling the pain nor losing HP, yet he thought he could die from the rage, the horror, the sorrow. His eyes stung and burned, and it was all he could do to keep the tears from flowing. Lest he give Fuckface Heron the satisfaction. He was angry at Heron. But perhaps more than that, he was angry at himself.

For doing such a shoddy job of something a five-year-old could do. For allowing another to suffer for his mistakes. For ever entertaining the notion that he didn't need a friend like Pewter Sapling. Jordan understood. That the lesson had landed with perfect clarity. That this would be the last inspection he ever failed. In that sense, perhaps there was genuine method to Heron Catchgrain's madness. But Jordan would be damned if he let the Ranger pull the same shit again. Fwack! PEWTER SAPLING lost: 2 HP.

18 HP lost from nine strokes of the cane. The HP could be healed in any number of ways, and the pain would eventually go away. But the humiliation wouldn't. Jordan understood that, too. And because of it, he and Pewter were now bound by something indelible. Something far heavier than a mere stepping stone on the way to greatness. Troops inspected and punishment doled out accordingly, the two Rangers turned to leave without another word (not that Finch had spoken at all).

And as soon as he saw the back of Heron, Jordan turned to Pewter beside him, desperate to catch the man's eyes and mouth a 'sorry' while he was at it. He never got the chance. Because Pewter was determined to keep a stiff upper lip. The Tetherer with a slight case of the affluenza went right back to saluting the Rangers, his hands bleeding and trembling. His eyes welled with tears perhaps even hotter than Jordan's but he too refused to let them fall. Jordan straightened himself.

Followed his friend's example and saluted. He had to remind himself that Pewter was his own man, an NPC though he might be. The third oldest son of the Sapling clan had his own shit to deal with, his own creed to live by. In other words, he didn't exist just to make Jordan feel better about himself. And so, Jordan stared straight ahead and kept his mouth shut. Feat enhanced. [Shennong's Blessing (Lv. 1) -> (Lv. 2)]: In recognition of your emotional maturity, you've gained a permanent [2]-point upgrade to Wisdom.

WIS: 23 -> 24 (modifier: +6 -> +7) VR efficiency: 1. 23 -> 1. 24 The system could be cruel, even when it was being nice. That was just as true here in Vesselia as it was in real life. Because some of the best lessons in life just had to be learned the hard way." Form up!" Another command from one of the senior recruits. Even if Jordan wanted to stew in self-reproach, he wouldn't have the time to. Because his life as a soldier had only just begun.