Not enough people talk about the outside. Yes, there is bad. Bad like Whisperwood. But I love flowers and trees. I love the good that comes with the bad. It seems like I'm the only one, though.
Milo's stomach grumbled.
Dirt shifted beneath his shoes as he stepped back into the partifold. He lifted his gaze to the sun. Rays fell across his face, revealing the dirt that coated his olive skin. Blood, sweat, and tears smeared through it, carving dark lines like war paint.
A little past noon.
Men gathered in the center of the large field. Numbers had dwindled since this morning. Some looked down at the dirt, some stared at the sky, and some clasped their hands in prayer.
In the dirt lay the corpses of fallen soldiers of partifold forty-five.
The boy looked around in the crowd, but didn't see the familiar comrades he once knew. He walked over to the cadavers.
White sheets of cheap fabric draped the lower portions of their bodies, leaving their heads exposed. Only a couple were covered fully.
His eyes scanned the bodies.
No. No. No.
No one he knew was there, so he turned to the crowd once more.
Jackson's height made him stand out from the rest. Milo walked over hesitantly.
Afraid.
Piers and Conrad appeared first, and then Flio. Tucked behind them was Ralph, who clutched a small flower.
White petals fell to the sand as Milo approached.
A couple of the men turned to see the boy. To Milo's surprise, most didn't seem relieved. It wasn't apathetic. Seeing Milo return felt natural.
Flio smiled and signaled Milo over.
Suddenly, Flio's arm wrapped around the boy's shoulders.
"See! I told you."
Flio smiled brightly at the rest. Ralph scoffed and passed him a few coins. As much as Milo wanted to be disappointed, he let out a small chuckle.
They bet on me?
"It's good to see you, kid," Jackson said.
"Yeah, you guys too."
Milo continued, "Where's Brick?"
The atmosphere shifted.
"He's..." Flio trailed off.
"He's with Elias. Apparently, he was hurt pretty bad," Piers finished.
Conrad nodded in confirmation.
"Oh... I see," Milo's smile dropped from his face as he looked at the large number of bodies lying in the dirt.
"..."
Conversation suddenly seemed difficult to carry on.
"Well, let's do this and eat," Flio said.
Milo was surprised by the apathetic words, but when he looked at Flio, the expression on his face said it all. Flio's lips quivered as he clenched his fists.
Funerals were among the few times the fighters were allowed to leave the partifold for a short time. There were no burial sites for criminals, so they were forced either to bury the soldiers outside the walls or send them down a river. Most of the time, the river seemed the more accepted option, as it was accessible within the walls.
Thorns pushed into Milo's hand as long stems hung out from his grip. The sun seemed to dip quickly as dusk claimed the sky.
Milo's stomach growled.
I'm lucky, aren't I?
The long line of soldiers walked back to their rooms as Milo went to the food storage. Ralph trailed close behind.
A man stood outside the door.
"What do you want?"
"Um, just food, please."
An audible growl came from the boy's stomach. The man sighed and reluctantly went into the storage.
"You're lucky. I was never so spoiled when I got here," Ralph said.
"W— What?"
"Everyone treats you differently because you're so young. You're spoiled. And worse?"
Ralph glared at Milo.
"You're weak."
Milo didn't know what to say. He looked down at his hands.
"..."
"You're right," Milo replied.
Ralph seemed shocked by the response.
"I'm weak. That's why people die around me. And that's exactly why I'll get strong."
His fingers curled into a fist, and his grip tightened. Disappointment shrouded the boy's face as he stared down.
The door creaked as the man exited the food storage.
"Tsk."
Ralph looked away.
Bread was tossed into Milo's hands, as well as a small amount of cheese and salted meat.
"Here you are, Ralph."
The man handed Ralph a slightly larger quantity of food. Ralph flicked him a coin, and the man responded by tossing him another loaf of bread.
Before leaving, Ralph nodded to the man and shot Milo a glance.
Milo returned to his room. He set down his food on the pile of straw and began shoveling what he could into his mouth.
Somehow, the satisfaction of eating made him forget the horrors of the day.
Each bite felt like more than just food. Around his body, wounds closed a little faster. He noticed himself feeling stronger and more energetic.
Wow. Food is magic.
After eating all he had, he went down to a well placed beside his stairwell entrance. Milo cupped the water as he pulled it to his mouth.
The pallet he lay on felt the most comfortable it had in days. It was less itchy and a little softer. It didn't take long for his mind to drift off to sleep.
He opened his eyes to find the sun still hidden behind the walls.
Water.
Rested, but parched, Milo readied himself and went downstairs. As he drank water from the well, he used his fingers to scratch the muck off his teeth.
Across the large field of sand and dirt, Milo spotted the satchel he had thrown aside before going to battle. As he jogged over, he saw Kael descending one of the spiral staircases to the third floor.
He rummaged through the satchel, only to see that the two items he had left were still where he had left them. Milo grabbed hold of the piece of paper.
I forgot about this.
Without thinking much of it, Milo tucked the letter back into his pouch and ran back to his side of the field. Vice-Captain Kael walked over.
"What are you doing up?"
Milo turned at the sound of his voice.
"Uh, about to start training, Vice-Captain!"
His fist rose to his chest as he performed a salute.
"Will you stop with that silly greeting? It's an insult that you've been allowed to do it for so long. Do you even know the significance of it?"
Slowly, Milo dropped his hand. Hot tingles ran across his cheeks. He didn't bother to hide the embarrassment on his face.
"N— No, sir. I'm sorry."
"You want to do that salute? Have yourself knighted. Before then, use the correct gesture."
As an example, Kael crossed his arms over his chest and dipped his chin.
"Loyalty. Respect. A willingness to lay down arms. That is the salute of a soldier."
Milo nodded, immediately practicing the gesture he had just seen.
Right hand over left. Slight nod. Eyes closed.
Kael smiled.
"Good. You learn quick."
The man continued, "We're speeding up our training. Captain Fowler has asked me to begin teaching you basic hand-to-hand combat as we gradually introduce weapons. He didn't say which, so I suppose it's up to my discretion..."
His voice trailed off. With his fist raised to his chin, thoughts of routines and training programs flipped through his mind. His eyes practically reflected the movements themselves.
He looked at the boy.
"What do you prefer?"
"W— What?"
Kael's eyes sharpened.
"Sir!"
"What weapons would you like to master?"
Milo's face lit up.
Finally.
"W— What can you teach, sir?"
Kael laughed.
"Kid, you don't reach Vice-Captain without a little bit of experience in everything you can think of."
What weapons...
"Oh!"
Milo turned and ran up the stairs. He returned quickly with a sword in hand.
"Captain Fowler gave this to me."
The vice-captain inspected it and nodded.
"Very well, what else?"
"How many should I know?"
"For now?..."
His fist raised again as he pondered. It didn't take long for him to raise his fingers. Three extended out from his hand.
"Three."
So two more—
"Augh!"
Milo fell to his knees.
Extreme pain flashed through his head.
"..at's..ong?"
Milo could hardly hear.
Milo's pupils expanded and pulled into the back of his head. Images of black metal seared themselves into his mind.
Milo clawed at his hair, but it did nothing. Blood dripped from his ears. Drums thundered. Each pound grew louder and louder.
Suddenly, the pain stopped.
"What's wrong?!" The vice-captain shouted as spit flew from his mouth.
Kael held Milo's head in his arms. Milo's chest rose and fell violently as he gasped for air.
"I—"
"I'm okay now," Milo finished.
He pushed himself from Kael's hold as he held his head. Digging his fingers into his temples, Milo spoke once more.
"I— I don't know what that was, but it's gone, I think."
Kael sighed.
"You get more and more complicated the more we talk."
Black metal...
Silence didn't last long as Milo spoke out.
"Could you teach me... how to wield a spear?"
"A spear," Kael whispered.
"Alright."
"Based on your two answers, longsword will be the last."
His conclusion only made Milo's brow furrow.
"Longsword? Why not something more... ranged?"
Kael gestured for the boy to follow behind him. The two started toward the area where Milo had been training alone.
"When trying to figure out what weapons best suit their arsenal, most people choose three things. Short range, mid range, and long range. They try to balance distance. This is wrong."
He looked at the boy. Milo stared back.
"Oh! Mhm," Milo nodded.
Kael continued, "The weapons you choose need to play off one another."
*Shing*
Kael unsheathed Milo's shortsword.
"Shortsword and longsword techniques can cross over."
Slow and controlled. Kael wove the shortsword around, grazing the hair on his arms. Every movement was like a dance performed in the palace towers. Elegance enveloped the vice-captain, and Milo looked on in awe.
"They help you learn jabs, slashes, and parries. The spear teaches you vision, momentum, and range control. All of which stack and contribute to melee techniques."
Reflected in the boy's eyes, the sun peered over the partifold wall. Warmth hugged the boy's face as he stared at the vice-captain.
So cool.
"You will rarely use a bow. You will rarely face a bow. So you will master melee before ever stepping into the realm of long range, understand?"
Milo nodded.
"Use your words."
"Yes, sir!"
Kael tossed the shortsword at Milo's feet while unsheathing his own longsword.
"Good."
Oh no...
"Now we fight."