Chương 36: Field Trip

Back home, Jordan had a buddy from high school who ended up joining the army. The guy had some wild stories whenever they got together for drinks, especially about field training exercises and the nutty things bored young people got up to when they were trapped in the wilderness for days or even weeks on end. Jordan missed that guy. They hadn't seen each other in years, and the last exchange of texts had been on New Year's Day where Jordan made up some vague crap about being busy with work. What an asshole.

He'd been an asshole to a lot of people for a long time, perhaps most of all to himself. Would he ever get a chance to make up for it? He sure hoped so… one way or another. Before that, though, he could stand to not be an asshole to the people here in Stormvast. Because he had a friend in the army here, too. A bunch of friends, in fact. And three weeks into their time together, they were off to their first field training exercise as a platoon." Form up!" The Taison bell had a different ring to it today.

A bit of nervousness, masked by some extra sternness. It matched the mood of the rest of the group almost perfectly. The platoon took to the road in two orderly lines, out through one gate and then another, all without paying a single copper in tolls. Three weeks into the training, Jordan and the rest of his platoon had finally been kitted out to look the part of soldiers.

On top of their usual tunics, they each wore a vest reinforced with steel plates along the inner linings, which became the first official 'equipment' in Jordan's playthrough: Torso Piece equipped. [Standard Issue Brigandine]: Simple, iconic, and effective. Local trivia: in the province of Featherift, the steel plates are provided courtesy of Sapling and Sons Ironworks. Additional Effect: none. Damage Resistance: 12. Durability: 150/150. Weight: 20 lbs.

Armor in Vesselia worked by some fairly straightforward homebrew logic. Attack comes in, hits the armor piece, the armor absorbs the damage up to the number indicated by [Damage Resistance]. Whatever damage had been absorbed would then subtract from the [Durability], until the armor was either repaired or destroyed. It meant that even Ranger Finch's hardest punch could be mitigated down to 0 damage, as long as Jordan received the contact with the [Standard Issue Brigandine].

20 lbs of Encumbrance in exchange for 12 points of buffer. Not too bad, all things considering.

"What are you so happy about?" Jordan presently turned to his right, noticing his marching partner's guileless smile.

"Oh it's nothing, Jordan. Maybe it's funny to say, but I just feel like my father and my brothers are marching with us today." Not funny at all, Jordan thought with a smile of his own. You're proud of going your own way, but you're also just as proud of your family. That's like… super healthy, dude. Wisdom DC 10: success Shennong:"A heartwarming sentiment, young one. Have you considered sharing it?"

"Not funny at all," Jordan said out loud, deciding that not all thoughts had to be kept to himself.

"Make sure to thank your old man for me, yeah? Maybe after his armor saves my ass from getting jumped by Jumper Rats." Or, in this case, from getting speared by one of his instructors for idle chatter while in formation. JORDAN YU's [Standard Issue Brigandine] absorbed: 2 damage. JORDAN YU lost: 0 HP. JORDAN YU's [Standard Issue Brigandine] Durability: 150/150 -> 148/150. Jordan sheepishly looked over his shoulder, to be met by Finch Quiverwing's empty stare.

The point of the Ranger's spear had merely glanced off the [Brigandine], the intent obviously not to injure but to, well, make a point. Could've made your point just fine by opening your mouth. This thought was better kept to himself, so Jordan threw Finch the friendliest smile he could manage and kept on marching. Yes, the Rangers had come armed, and so had the recruits. Each soldier carried a spear—with real blades that could deal a few more than 2 points of damage depending on the attack roll.

All part of looking the part for this here training exercise. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. Weapon equipped. [Standard Issue Spear]: Simple, iconic, and … eh, it's okay. No spellcaster ever made a name for himself just by being a really good spearman. Damage: 1d6. Modified by: STR. Weight: 3 lbs. Vesselia being what it was, Jordan couldn't expect the humble spear to be his answer to spell-lessness.

It nevertheless felt good to hold a so-called Weapon in his hand—something with which to defend himself if things really did get hairy. There was also a small part of him that had to smirk surreptitiously and wonder: what would Mom think if she could see me right now? As for the real damage-dealers in this game world? Yes, the recruits had been allowed to bring along their Vessels too. Even now, Cups and Gourds of all sorts clinked in time with their marching.

They'd yet to finish their Fundamentals of Spellcraft module, however. As such, the Rangers had expressly forbidden any use of magic except in the case of an emergency. Even Jordan's Heavenly Cauldron had made the trip, taking up some significant real estate on the supply wagon. The Jordan of three weeks ago might have found it humiliating. But the Jordan of today was determined to stay in a good mood: just out here enjoying an adventure with the boys. The first part of said adventure went off without a hitch.

Not that it had much chance of going wrong, what with the group sticking to the Highroad. Where Foxhill's backroads had been beset by rough terrain and the occasional monster encounter or two, the Highroad was wide, flat, and continually patrolled by veteran Rangers. Two hours (by Stormvaster reckoning, which Jordan had since adjusted to) of smooth marching brought the platoon to the first toll gate, which also doubled as an inn for weary travelers. The soldiers weren't weary yet, but they certainly were hungry.

They filed into the inn as they would the mess hall back in the barracks, ready to partake in some 'real food' on the Emperor's dime. The innkeeper didn't disappoint. Braised marmot —a thick, umami-rich version of Foxhill's campfire soup. The soldiers ate in complete silence, partly to observe well-drilled decorum but mostly to just savor the moment. Soon though, that inevitable picnic atmosphere started from one corner of the room and spread to the rest of the platoon.

By now, even Jordan had his own 'clique' to turn to in times of don't-be-a-loner need. He'd taken to calling this particular group of friends the Gym Rats, for obvious reasons.

"Hope you sharpened your spear, Yu," said Rowan, a young Porter who'd been one of the first to join the league of yoke-walk enjoyers.

"Don't think I won't hold you to that bet. If I slay more Jumper Rats than you, you do my laundry for a week."

"Slow your roll, young fella." Jordan had really leaned into his unc persona, even more so now that his once patchy beard had filled out. Also undeniable was the influence of some pretentious gods rattling around inside his head, who would occasionally uncork a classic like, " Empty vessels make the most noise, haven't you heard?"

"Besides," chimed Pinion, a Dendromancer and the scrawniest of the Gym Rats, "how do you know we'll even run into any Jumper Rats? Last I heard, the Garuda has flown south and taken her minions with her."

"You heard correctly." This from Taison, the de facto leader among the recruits and also the newest member of the Gym Rats. His class was Speedster, which put him in the same gate affinity as Ranger Finch.

"I've heard some of the seniors at the barracks complaining that they've had to range farther and farther for any signs of the Garuda. Which bodes well for our training exercise… and ill for your Jumper Rat hunt." Jordan had to frown at this. Not that he knew any better than his fellow soldiers, but their latest gossip went counter to his own close brush with the vaunted Garuda. It was three weeks ago, but she definitely flew north chasing after Foxhill. Also, I'm not sure about this 'minions' business…

unless something's changed since I last saw her?

"It pays to remain vigilant." This from Bramble, a rare Thaumaturge, which fairly or unfairly garnered him the reputation of being the instructors' favorite. Despite being a healer, he was the biggest dude in the platoon, already plenty swole even before he'd joined the Gym Rats.

"Outside the safety of the hub cities, we never know what could happen."

"Too right, Bramble!" Pewter rounded out the six, on a given-name basis with everyone now that Jordan had broken that first sheet of ice.

"As long as we watch each other's backs, we've got nothing to worry about. Besides, Rangers Catchgrain and Quiverwing are about as experienced as they come. We're in safe hands!" Perhaps it was the mention of his name. Heron Catchgrain chose that moment to look up from the private table he shared with Finch to glance in the Gym Rats' direction. His and Jordan's eyes met. Only briefly, but long enough for the former to flash a faint sneer. The Pyromancer had a real talent for communicating a lot with little.

I'm keeping an eye on you, Gatekeeper Yu. Let's see what you're made of. Jordan thought nothing of it, confidence buoyed by being among friends. This must be what that soldier buddy back home had tried to tell him. A special kind of camaraderie found nowhere else, forged only from enduring hardships as a group. Well, little did he know then just how soon that camaraderie would be put to the test. The platoon had been fed and watered.

Ranger Heron thanked the innkeeper with a formal address (and a pouch of jangling coins), then directed the recruits to form up outside. The clamor—highly unusual for such a disciplined group—began almost as soon as the first soldiers stepped foot outside. Starting from Taison and rolling down the ranks until it reached Jordan and Pewter at the back. The two Gym Rat OGs exchanged a bemused look, which quickly turned to amazement as they laid eyes on the source of the commotion. A twister in the northern sky.

Distant yet fast-moving. Sucking up all the grass, the dirt, the salts of the Featherift steppes… along with the ill will that had whipped it up in the first place.