The trumpets sounded the wake up call, and Brin started his count, a soft tapping once per second, audible only to the members of his Lance. Normally, this would be a time that everyone donned their armor before leaving the tents, but he’d heard they got points for doing maintenance on their armor out in the open, so of course that’s what they’d be doing.

After exactly fifteen seconds, they left their tents and lined up, each carrying their armor. Normally, the under-armor clothes would be creased and crumpled, but Brin didn’t think the [Watchful Knights] examining them would mind that today they were all freshly laundered and pressed.

“Prepare armor!” Brin shouted, and the men moved as one. This was a routing Brin had worked out after remembering seeing the rifle inspection at the tomb of the unknown soldier. Instead of just checking the straps, he had them reach the straps all the way out and physically move their head to show they were checking it carefully. If only one person did their armor like this, it would be clearly practiced and ceremonial, but with all of them doing it together, perfectly synchronized, it made quite an impression. They brushed their armor exactly on beat, and when they polished, their rags moved to the time.

“Knights! Decamp!” Brin had gone back and forth a long time over what exact orders he should shout, and had decided to keep it short and simple. The point of him shouting wasn’t actually to give orders, it was just to call attention to the fact that him giving orders at all was a pure formality. The men knew what to do.

They tore the tents down with quick, mechanical precision. The men running to fetch the horses still kept the beat, though they ran five steps for every tap.

Through it all, Hedrek carefully, reverently lined all their weapons up on a blanket they’d folded up on the ground, making a big show of being in no hurry at all. He really wasn’t in a hurry, because they’d learned that hurrying Hedrek meant that he’d break something or trip someone, but it worked like this, too.

When everyone was done, they took their weapons, and each of them sharpened their blades, again moving as one to the beat. Brin had splurged and bought everyone their own sharpening stone so they could do it together like this; their grand finale. Then they sheathed their weapons, Cowl rolled up the last blanket, and they mounted up and rode out to find their place on the line.

Only then, did Brin check all his threads to see how everyone else was doing. When he saw the results, he felt an anxious mixture of cheer and worry. Fifth; they’d finished in fifth place, with only four Lances faster than them. The all-stars from the Luminous Serpent and the ladies from the Order of Nasciment had predictably taken first and second, and it was a photo finish. Brin didn’t know who the [Watchful Knights] would pick as the fastest, but his Lance had been a full seventeen seconds slower than them.

Still, speed was only one element they’d be graded on. There was also adherence to the codes, and while none of the senior Lances would miss anything there, bearing and efficiency mattered too. Brin thought that he could make up some points there. The Lance from Nasciment had been scurrying around chaotically, and while the Luminous Serpent guys had looked a lot more dignified, there’d been a point where two of them had actually run into each other.

They wouldn’t get the results until later and Brin was sure he’d be a nervous wreck in the meantime, there was no reason to inflict that on the rest of the Lance.

He used the helmet’s Lance-only spell to say, “Excellent work gentlemen. We crushed it. We’ll take the first spot for sure.”

They waited, as more and more Lances found their positions and lined up. This time, three hundred and twenty Lances had joined the field for these exercises. That was more than double from the joint exercises back in Prinnash, and this was only one of at least three armies. It had to be the biggest, right? Even so, the nations that had joined this war had well and truly emptied their countries of knights for there to be so many.

And this time, they weren’t alone. Even though the knights-at-arms were mounted and in a line at the front, the bulk of the army was made up of commoners who stood in rows behind them to watch.

Just like last time, no one seemed to be in any hurry to give them something to do, so they waited, on the barren, dusty, ash-covered earth.

Brin took his time to spy, though there wasn’t much to look at that he hadn’t already seen for the last several weeks. He knew who the commanders were, although he didn’t see Galan and Lyssa around anywhere. Even though the war had actually started, all the other generals and commanders of Orders still had Galan running around acting as their errand boy. He rarely visited his own Order of the Long Sleep, and when he did, he never stayed for long.

“On my order, you will charge!” the call came out, surprising Brin out of his introspection. Already? He wasn’t really prepared to…

“[Charge]!”

Brin charged. No matter how many times he’d practiced this, which granted wasn’t very often, he was always surprised at the way it felt. The sheer power, the undeniable feeling of purpose, the sheer violent potential. His mental resistance was high enough now that he could recognize the commander’s order violating his agency; he could resist it if he wanted. He didn’t want to.

They tore across the country, and when they rode it felt like the earth was bowing beneath them, eager to speed them on their way. Then, the Skill ended, and it felt like the world ended with it.

Suddenly, every limb was thoroughly exhausted and he wanted nothing more than a cool drink and a nap in the shade. It wasn’t as bad as the first time, he thought. Either because he was expecting it, or because he was stronger than he’d been back then. Mixture of both, he assumed.

Rather than have them all head back to their camps to rest and see to their horses, however, the knights-at-arms were called back into their line.

They stood at attention, again, they waited. This time it was agony; Brin’s back burned with the effort of sitting up straight, and he felt even worse for his poor horse. He didn’t think horses were supposed to sweat that much. Cronby had given him Nobility again, which Brin thought was a good sign, but now he had to see an animal he considered a friend in distress for no good reason.

Then something happened, and Brin didn’t get it. A single [Knight] rode in front, going up and down the line, maybe so that everyone could see him. He wore beautiful golden armor that Value Sense told him was worth even more than his own armor. When Brin [Inspected] him, his eyes nearly popped out of his Skill.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Name: Sir Enderic

Class: Stark Knight of Memory

Level: 80

Enderic held a sword forward and activated [Knight’s Charge]. He zipped across the field, then he turned, unbothered, and activated it again. At the end of it, there was no sign of weariness. His back was straight, his sword still pointed forward and unwavering. Even his horse didn’t look tired. He didn’t have [Inexhaustible], either. Brin didn’t know what Order this guy was from, but it definitely wasn’t the Order of the Long Sleep. He was just that strong.

This was power. Level 80. This was a man who could tear the army behind Brin to pieces by himself. Sancta Solia, this guy could probably take on a Lance of men at Galan’s level.

Brin had known, with his brain at least, that the heroes who rescued him in Travin’s Bog weren’t the ceiling, that there were others out there even stronger than them. But knowing that and seeing it in person was a completely different matter.

And that wasn’t the end. Gualdim of Vascor, the level 70 archer that had shot the Master’s spell on the first day of the war came out next. He demonstrated a Skill where he launched a single arrow that separated into a barrage of artillery that peppered the ground with craters.

Next was Gundavald, an [Archmage of Bursting Flame] who scoured the already ashen plains with a blazing inferno, even greater than the storms of flame that he’d seen Lumina called down.

“Why? What’s this all about?” Brin asked Cid.

“Believe it or not, this is about Lothar,” said Cid.

“What?”

Cid twitched his head, maybe thinking about looking to see if anyone was eavesdropping, but of course if their helmet spells didn’t take care of that then nothing would. “The news is being suppressed here on the front, of course, but they aren’t censoring the letters from my family. Out in the kingdoms, everyone is talking about Lothar. He’s still screaming about goblin breeding camps and secret Easterling invasions. Now, don’t get me wrong, a lot of people don’t even think the Easterlings are real, but this is Lothar we’re talking about.”

“That sucks about Lothar, but what does that have to do with us here?” Brin asked.

“We’re just waiting for the start, I suppose. We’re waiting for Arcaena to bring out her elites, for the war to start in earnest. When that happens, I know everyone would feel a lot better if Lothar were on our side. Since that’s not going to happen, we need to take steps to bolster morale. Lothar isn’t the only high level warrior in the world, after all. He might not even be the strongest. Sir Enderic could likely defeat him; they say Enderic was frozen in time, and grew up in the era of ancient Nhamanshal.”

Brin nodded. “I see. This is a fancy parade.”

“Consider that we’re not the only ones watching, and it begins to make some sense,” said Cid.

Another level 80 came out, a barechested [Blade Master] named Odo. He was a hundred and thirty years old and looked his age in truth. He was covered in old-age moles and had thin, frail-looking limbs. But he moved with an easy, lithe gait and waved cheerily at the watching army.

They trotted out a couple more [Archmages], including the [Archmage of the Devouring Dark]. He was having trouble separating that one from the [Archmage of the Creeping Death]. He would snicker about [Archmages] having edgy names, but he knew from Lumina that their names tended to be understatements rather than the other way around.

Most surprising was when another man in a knight’s armor took the field. Not a [Knight], though. A [King]. Prinnash’s [King], specifically. His helmet had a crown built into it, and covered his face with a golden mask. [Wyrdic Inspect] told Brin that he was 36 years old, but only level 30. The Wyrd made sure to inform Brin that he wasn’t all weak, despite a relatively low level. He had an indomitable authority over what seemed to be everything, in a way that Brin found hard to describe. Even [Great Witches] had to argue and compromise with the Wyrd, but [Kings] seemed to own everything around him without needing any excuse.

Brin half expected him to turn to look straight at him the way Lothar had, even though thousands of [Inspects] must’ve been hitting him at that point. Instead, he rode in simple elegance, demonstrating no Skills.

All in all, it was sort of disappointing. He really wanted to see him do something, but he didn't. And a Class like [King] had to be hard to level, but even then level 30 seemed low.

The parade was a weird mixture of boring and life changing. The people who were trotted out were all astounding, heroic talents, people who you might never see the like of even if you lived for a hundred years. At the same time, it was hot, sweaty, and Brin was exhausted, and there was a long time to wait between when one amazing person came and the next arrived.

He also watched those strange robed figures, the ones he’d thought were fortune tellers, or maybe people with anti-Wyrd Classes. They watched the display mixed in with the commoners, but at one point of them seemed to see something because he turned and fled towards the command camps. Minutes later, the rest of them departed, though not in any hurry.

Even that minor mystery couldn’t hold Brin’s attention for long. After that, they waited for a whole forty minutes for the next person in the parade to arrive, but no one did.

When they finally dismissed them to return to their camps, Brin couldn’t help but be relieved. Even though he knew the day had been extremely valuable, he was ready to be done with it.

His throat felt dry and almost scratchy after standing all day in the sun with the ash and dust. He was sweating, and almost dizzy; a feeling he hadn’t had in a long time.

They groomed the horses, mostly because they wanted to prove they were taking good care of them in hopes that sir Cronby would let them ride again, and also because they might still be judged on their performance.

When the work was finally done, they all wanted to collapse. Hedrek and Cid volunteered to prepare supper, and it was a testament that they were all exhausted, because no one offered to help, not even Cowl.

They made a simple stew, and that did a lot to restore their energy. They were all soon chatting happily about their performance that morning, and about the amazing people they’d seen, when the page came by with their scores.

Order Of the Long Sleep Fifty-First Lance

Herein is a reporting as to your conduct and performance in the first day of joint exercises.

In your setup, position, and retirement of camp you are awarded: 20/20

You exceeded expectations as to bearing and exacting dedication to the Codes.

In your readiness you are awarded: 20/20

You exceeded expectations in your conduct and attire.

In your preparation of armor and equipment you are awarded: 20/20

You exceeded expectations in all respects. Two points were deducted for speed as you were not the first to finish, but were awarded those points again due to your outstanding performance. You have set a new standard and are to be rewarded with accolades.

Brin considered reading the whole thing out loud to build up the suspense, but decided to get out with it all at once. “Perfect score!” he yelled.

The men had been primed for good news and immediately launched into cheers. Hedrek yelled a cheery “Oooooooh!” while Rhun screamed incoherently and Cowl just laughed.

Brych cheered the longest, long after everyone else ran out of breath, he kept cheering. Then he took a breath and started cheering again, letting it hang in the air until he finally collapsed into a fit of coughing.

Brin laughed so much he almost almost launched a spray of snot out, and had to sniff a couple times to keep it in.

Brych kept coughing. Was he hamming it up to be funny? No, he was really coughing. They started to sound a bit wet.

Brin sniffed again. No, that was weird. He didn’t really get the sniffles anymore.

Brych coughed louder, trying to dislodge whatever was in his throat with one big cough. A spray of blood landed on his fist.

Brin looked around and saw that it was happening everywhere. The commoners didn’t have simple colds; at least a quarter of them were currently vomiting. He didn’t need [Wyrdic Inspect] to tell him what was happening, but it did confirm things.

A curse of sickness lay across the army.