Chương 2: A Choice at the Gate

I walked for what must have been two hours, maybe more. Most of it was in circles, around the same cracked walls and the same filthy alleys. With everything racing through my head, no one could blame me. At least the clothes had dried. And I'd become numb to the pain. All these memories, this strange blend of lives, swirled in my skull. It's weird. I feel closer to fifteen-year-old Ed than the engineering student I used to be. And yet, none of it makes full sense.

Living and reading about the medieval period are very different things. But more bizarre than any sword or stone wall were the memories of carriages without horses, called cars, and spending an entire day staring at a glowing box called a mobile. Who does that? Just then, the sound of wooden wheels and snorting horses snapped me out of my existential spiral. A carriage sped toward the area where I stood.

Nothing fancy, just a standard four-wheeled wooden coach, pulled by a pair of horses and flanked by two guards on horseback. But something about the way the crowd parted made it clear this wasn't just any traveler. I froze in place, until reflex kicked in. A buried memory surfaced: the courtesy one must show to a noble. My body moved before my brain did, dropping to one knee and bowing my head just as the carriage passed. Too slow. Pain lanced through my shoulder as something struck me from the side.

I looked up, dazed, just in time to see a pair of soldiers passing through the crowd, thin rods in hand. Were they... enforcing manners? Before I could process it, a hand gently patted my uninjured shoulder. I turned to see a man, older, maybe in his twenties, give me a sympathetic glance.

"Don't worry. That's just how nobles are," he said.

"Next time, don't stare at their carriage from the front. And kneel faster. You're lucky they were in a hurry. Otherwise, they might've demanded five or ten lashes in public, just to make an example." He shrugged and walked away.

"Your parents should've taught you that." I stood there silently, watching him disappear into the crowd. My father did teach me... I thought bitterly. That brief moment said more than all my hours of wandering. Between yesterday's brush with death and this morning's reminder of how powerless I was, it became painfully clear, I wouldn't survive the year at this rate. No Class. No survival skills. I couldn't hunt. I couldn't fight. Aside from reading and writing, I had no valuable talents.

Worst of all was the bitter seed of rebellion growing inside me, this resentment toward kneeling, toward obedience, toward helplessness. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. That emotion, I knew, didn't come from me. It came from new memories. And that was probably going to get me killed. Mouthing off to the wrong merchant or noble would get me whipped, or worse.

I could already picture myself bleeding in some alley again, all because I didn't show proper respect to someone richer or better dressed. Call it fate, or just timing, but that's when I saw the signboard: ROYAL ARMY – RECRUITS NEEDED – NORTHERN FRONT Enlistment Bonus: 10 Silver. Food & Training Provided. Age: 14 to 33 I stopped. Normally, neither I nor the Edward whose memories I had just received would have given that board more than a glance. Even the poorest slum rats avoided enlisting for the northern front.

Everyone knew the stories. A death rate over 50%. Avalon was at war with its northern neighbor again. Some old grudge, territory, or resource, who knows. But what mattered was this: soldiers sent north rarely returned whole. If they returned at all. And yet... I kept staring at the board. The Kingdom of Avalon wasn't just some backwater. It was one of the most powerful kingdoms on the continent. Its military had held the borders for over 3, 000 years.

Stories floated through the streets like smoke: one of the current Dukes had started as a commoner, joined the army, and was granted his title after turning the tide of a beast tide in the west. I wasn't trying to become a hero. I wasn't dreaming of glory or titles. But I needed training. A roof. A way to survive. School had already kicked me out for unpaid fees. The city had no programs for orphaned teenagers. No safety nets. I had no skills. No allies. No future. I was training to become a scribe.

In my new memories, I was supposed to be an engineer. Those memories included some exercise from high school, mostly treadmill work and endurance running, but I still knew nothing about fighting. Nothing about blades, spears, or spells. But this... this was an option. I took a deep breath and walked toward the booth. A bored-looking soldier manned the post, flipping through a parchment register.

"I'd like to enroll," I said. The soldier looked up.

"Name? Skills? Age?"

"Edward. Trained as a scribe. I'm fifteen." He frowned, and my stomach twisted. Was I too young? Was being unawakened a problem? Would he turn me away? They did forced recruitment, didn't they? Surely someone like me could volunteer. The soldier muttered under his breath, "What's a scribe in training doing going to the front... but that's not my job. City department will handle the background check." He looked me over again, this time more thoughtfully.

"According to kingdom law, unawakened individuals can't be deployed to active battle. You're not sixteen either. But..." he paused, tapping the hilt of his blade, "there's a special training program. For kids aged 14 to 15. It's not glamorous. You'll be sent to Stonegate City."

"Stonegate?" I asked.

"About four days from here. You'll train with the city guard for six months. If you show promise, you might be allowed to specialize, scouting, logistics, ranged support. Until your Class Awakening. After that, you'll be deployed." I stayed silent for a moment. That wasn't a terrible offer. In fact, it was the best I could hope for. The soldier looked at me expectantly.

"So? What'll it be?" I nodded, firm.

"I'll apply to the training program." He gave me a sharp nod and dipped his quill in ink.

"Alright, Ed. Welcome to the first day of the rest of your life. Let's hope it's longer than the last guy who walked up here smiling."