Chương 37: The Castle's Amenities

The Drillmaster's office was barren save for a single window and a few empty wall sconces. A desk sat in the very center, covered in letters and maps, and a few plain wooden chairs sat on either side of it.

"Don't bother taking a seat; we won't be long," the Drillmaster said.

"First things first—and this is a speech I gave everyone, all our early recruits—you might be the best of your battalion. You might be some hotshot straight out of Homecamp, but here, you're among the best. We're training you to become the best of the best." I just nodded.

"Let's see…" the Drillmaster began.

"We'll begin with an assessment of your attributes. You've used a reading slate before? You never know with some of these fringe battalions…"

"Correct," I replied.

"I have used one, at least."

"Then here you go." The Drillmaster reached into a drawer of his desk and withdrew a slate, then passed it to Levi.

"If you make the cut, you'll get one of those to keep for yourself." My eyes widened.

"Really? A slate all to myself?"

"Truly," the Drillmaster said with an exasperated tone.

"What battalion is he from?"

"The 294th," one of the sappers who had brought me here said. The Drillmaster raised his eyebrows.

"He performed poorly at Homecamp, so they sent him to the 294th? But then, miraculously, two months after shipping to the front lines, he suddenly pulls up his trousers and draws and performs well enough to draw our attention?"

"Not exactly," one of the sappers said.

"He is an Atoning."

"Ah." The Drillmaster nodded.

"That would explain a few things. But you'd best keep that to yourself, right lad?" I nodded.

"And come up with a story for how you got your name. If you can't explain it, they'll be suspicious." Then, he glanced back at the two sappers.

"Perhaps I'm mistaken, but the 294th is the only battalion that held the line in on the last attack."

"Sir Aldhelm attributes their success partially to him," said the sapper with a sword.

"Hm." The Drillmaster turned his gaze back to me.

"Don't get cocky, lad."

"I won't," I replied.

"Now, have the others explained how the entrance exam works to you?"

"Yes, they have. Mostly."

"Very good. What about our ranking system?"

"They have not."

"Well, son, everyone here receives a ranking. At the moment, it's simply a guide to how you compare to the others in the squads. Our lieutenants and other observers decide it, and it updates regularly. You're more likely to find a squad if you have a good ranking—you need a team of four to even be considered for the exam, and we want you to find your squads on your own. It aids in team cohesion we find." He paused.

"Now, let's see your slate." I handed it back to him. He glanced over it, nodded, and when his eyes reached my Skills, he pressed his lips together.

"Is something wrong?" I asked, resisting the urge to add 'sir.'

"It's rare to have two merged Skills at this point in your career," one of the sappers whispered.

"Hush," the Drillmaster replied.

"Regardless, everyone here is rare in some way or another. Don't go thinking you're rarer than anyone else."

"I won't," I replied. The Drillmaster opened a drawer and put away the slate, then slid open a different drawer and withdrew a necklace with an iron pendant at its tip. The pendants didn't seem to have a set shape—it was just whatever chunk of iron they could find. He said, "Wear this at all times. It's your tier identification. Understood?"

"I understand." I took the necklace and pulled it on.

"If you're admitted—which, your odds aren't great, considering how late you are, no matter how many Skills you've merged—you'll carve your name and identification code into the back of the pendant. That way, if a Black Captain rots away your body with a dark Art, we'll still know who died." I gulped, then nodded.

"That's all for now," the Drillmaster said.

"No matter what happens, I'll be seeing you shortly. Go find a room in the barracks." The two sappers led me back out of the keep, and we descended to the ring of grass between the inner wall and the keep. After a few seconds of walking down the cobblestone path, we turned to a wood and daub building with a thatched roof. It was three storeys tall, and it had seen better days, given the chipped paint and rotting timbers. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent.

Report any appearances on Amazon. These were the barracks for the new recruits. There were barracks in the outer wall, too, but they were for other staff members and sappers who were needed to operate the facility. They wanted to keep the newbies closer.

"These are your barracks," one of the sappers said.

"The bath is just across the way." He motioned to a building that was almost identical to the barracks, just shorter, and chuffing steam out its chimney.

"The mess hall is at the bottom of the keep, where you'll take all your meals and where the Drillmaster will deliver his announcements." I nodded, then opened my mouth, but before I could ask anything, the sapper added, "It's almost dinner. They'll ring a bell. Put your equipment in your room, then bathe. You smell like horse." I walked to the barracks, where a young non-Dupe boy who was part of the general staff checked for open rooms.

There was a spot on the third floor in the far corner, which I gladly raced off toward. When I arrived, I found a room with four bunks in it. There was no other furniture, aside from a holder with an unlit rushlight. I picked the only cot whose sheets hadn't been ruffled in a while, then tossed my kit bag and armour under it. After I'd stowed most of my equipment, I rushed to the bathhouse, where the staff took my clothes with a wrinkle of their noses and promised to clean them.

Meanwhile, I had to take a slight cut to my monthly pay to afford the scented soap. I promised myself that it was just for today—I was going to need to start making friends quickly, and I couldn't do that if I smelled like hell. For a few minutes, I settled into the lukewarm water. There was no one else here, save for a few staff, and I wasn't sure whether they counted. This bath seemed reserved for Dupes' use. The conditions were far better than I'd been expecting, and I wasn't sure if I wanted to get used to it.

But while I was here, I may as well enjoy it. I didn't know when I was going to die, but there was a high chance of it. I had to enjoy what I could while I could. I may have relaxed too much, though, because when a distant bell began tolling, I had to rush to finish up, scrubbing myself clean with the soap before rinsing off and racing to get my old clothes. They were still slightly damp, but there was no way I was missing dinner—or going naked. I rushed to the mess hall as quickly as I could.

There was no sign of the sappers who had brought me here anymore, but that didn't matter. This was a training facility, not a headquarters. The mess hall was located on the bottom level of the keep. Its gates were open, revealing a long hall with an arched ceiling and long tables stretching its entire length. There were benches on the sides, and Dupes packed into them.

Everyone looked about the same age as me—anywhere from eighteen to twenty-two, like we were all college or university students, but the atmosphere was far less academic. They wore tunics—some shade of brown, white, or orange—and pants designed for mobility. At least I fit in visually. The clothes that Lemming owned seemed to be a standard-issue item for Dupes. There weren't only Dupes sitting at the tables. About one-in-four were druids. I didn't know for sure but judging by their general attire, it seemed right.

They wore formal greens and whites. Some of the female druids wore loose-fitting brown corsets, and most of them had a green poncho with golden leaf embroidery along the edges. But all of them wore a white armband with a red leaf stitched onto it. Most of the druids were probably nobles of some kind, considering the escort mission we'd had to go on early in my career. I'd been expecting a lot more distance between us and them, but most seemed to be sitting and eating with the rest of the Dupes, talking warmly.

There was a service line along one wall, where clay dishware awaited us. I fell into line with the people who hadn't yet gotten food, but before I could grab a plate, a hand clasped my shoulder. A non-Dupe in a white apron stood behind me. She held a cooking knife and said, "I've not seen you around here before."

"Apologies, ma—" I cut myself off before I emberassed myself by calling her ma'am, then coughed into my fist and said, "I'm a late admission. Check with the Drillmaster if you want. But I have my pendant." She shook her head, then disappeared behind the counter of the serving line. At first, I wondered how she identified me, but most of the other Dupes had much longer hair than me, and the cook had probably gotten pretty good at picking out the very slight differences in our faces.

I continued down the way, looking over the counter. Cooks placed pots of food on the counter. It was mostly stewed meat and mashed potatoes— Huh. Potatoes. They had potatoes here. I hadn't thought about that before, but those were a New World crop, weren't they? Maybe this world worked differently. Or maybe its people had explored distant lands to find unusual crops. Either way, I wasn't complaining. I was starving, and I could use some starch. Once I filled my plate, I looked for an open spot.

Already, the other Dupes were looking at me, whispering in hushed tones, and I wasn't sure what to make of it. Until, of course, I sat down at the edge of a table, and they all shifted away from me. Someone whispered, "I heard he's an Atoning." Great, I thought. Just great. Somehow, they've figured it out already. Hiding my identity didn't last long at all. But at least it was just a rumour. It didn't change the fact that everyone shifted away from me.

"What?" I muttered sarcastically.

"Do I still smell like horses?" I didn't know what the entrance examination was actually going to be, but if I needed to work in a team to actually pass, and we had to make our own teams of four, this wasn't a good start. For a few minutes, I let my predicament fade to the back of my mind, stuffing my face with as much food as I could. What could I actually do to try to insert myself into a friend group? I would bet any money everyone here already had their friend groups.

But I didn't even know what the general schedule or expectations for the next two days were going to be. Before I could try anything, though, a cheerful voice rang out behind me.

"Brother! I am DD-875, known to my batch as Brawl. You shall duel me, or else you will seem a coward."

"Oh shit…" I muttered. I turned myself around on the bench to see a tall Dupe. He was nearly a head taller than the rest of us, and probably a foot broader at the shoulders. Needless to say, his shirt barely fit him. His head had gone bald, but his eyes sparkled with light, and he was grinning.

"Pardon?" I asked louder—just in case he wanted to change his mind. The giant Dupe's grin grew broad enough that I could see his teeth. He repeated, almost in the exact same cadence, "Brother! I am DD-875, known to my batch as Brawl. You shall duel me, or else you will seem a coward."