The Runic Alchemist

"Yovan, Unit 3 – 205766."

"Jorven, Unit 4 – 207234."

"Geldric, Unit 4 – 207419."

Sam stood straight, showing no reaction when his name was called, repeating his unit and official army ID in his head. The ID had been assigned to all those selected into the Eldoris army, who were now being dispatched to fight the invading Ashenvale forces.

The process lasted for an hour, with Valoris and the two captains continuously observing as the recruits were called out one by one and handed their army badges. These badges were runic devices that somehow tracked the number of soldiers each had killed and of what rank. Sam could imagine Maximus messing with the device if he was here, inspecting it from all angles to figure out how it worked.

The guy was crazy about those weird runes and big circles he constantly drew on expensive parchments and papers, which Sam could have bought plenty of quality meat with instead of being wasted on scribbles.

Finally, the ceremony of sorts ended, and they were dismissed for the day. After the final exam, in which they had fought the captains once again, most of them had passed the six-month training camp. Sam had been worried. Without magic or Maximus to trick the captains into believing he could use it, he thought for sure he wouldn\'t be selected. But somehow, he had made it.

His swordsmanship had improved leaps and bounds—there was no other way, he had to do it. For the past six months, Sam had trained for hours every single day. Even when most recruits slept, exhausted from the day\'s drills, Sam stayed up late under the dim light of the runic lamps, refining even the smallest details of his movements, mastering the forms through sheer repetition and precision.

He wasn\'t a genius like Maximus or Einar. He didn\'t pick things up quickly, and he had made his peace with that. Learning fast wasn\'t in his control, but perfection was. He couldn\'t invent new techniques or grasp the complex details behind them, but he could master what Valoris had taught him to its absolute limits. He didn\'t want to be just another soldier on the battlefield. He couldn\'t afford to be.

He had to learn how to fight and kill—that was the only way he could survive long enough to find Maximus. It was his fault Maximus had been taken. He had picked a fight he knew he shouldn\'t have. Maximus and Anthony had shielded him for so long that Sam had forgotten what real fear and helplessness felt like.

Sometimes he still had nightmares that this was all just a dream and he was still back in that dark basement in Faerunia, hanging lifeless and delirious.

"Looks like we\'re together again." Einar clapped him on the shoulder cheerfully as the recruits headed towards the sleeping tents, the dining area, or off to find friends assigned to the same unit.

"At least I won\'t be totally lost. Two are better than one," Yovan added, joining Sam on his other side. Sam smiled and glanced at the army badge in his hand, pushing away his negative thoughts.

Jorven and Geldric, despite being in a different unit, joined them as well. They were all going to the same place after deployment, unless their commanding captain was assigned elsewhere or given a different order.

"Just you wait," Sam muttered under his breath. His companions looked at him with hopeful smiles, even though none of them knew exactly what had happened to Maximus. They all hoped they would find him again, and if not repay him, then at least help him in some way for everything he had done for them.

"I wonder who\'ll be assigned to lead our unit," Yovan mused aloud.

"There are nine units and barely three or four second-rankers left. They\'ve already sent most of the good fighters to Dreaded Lands. Maybe they won\'t follow the old rule about captain\'s ranks anymore," Geldric suggested.

"No, the unit captain isn\'t just any post. It has to be someone powerful enough that no one will question their authority. It has to be a second-ranker," Einar said, studying his army badge.

"What if they bring in outsiders? The backup request went out to the whole city, right? Lords and knights might send their own men," Jorven pointed out.

"That could be both good and bad, depending on who we get," Yovan replied thoughtfully. "Personally, I\'m hoping for Mira or Valoris. Royce would be perfect, though. Maybe he\'ll show me some more cool spells when we fight those bastards."

"You\'ll be too busy running or screaming to notice," Geldric jabbed, and the group laughed at Yovan\'s expense. He deserved it though—if there was one thing consistent about Yovan, it was his endless whining about everything.

The next day, 5,000 men were prepared to march into the forest that stretched all the way to the entrance of the Dreaded Lands. Over the last six months, Valoris and the other officers had recruited every able-bodied man and child above 13 they could find in the city, even sending word to the docks and inviting mercenaries to join.

Valoris had been tasked by the higher-ups to gather as many soldiers as possible and march to the entrance of the Dreaded Lands, where the new camp had been overwhelmed and the defense line was broken.

It had taken time, but Ashenvale finally realized that Lady Vidalia had mysteriously left the camp, leaving it undefended by any third-ranker. Though Bonecrusher had arrived in time, so had Ashenvale\'s reinforcements, including another third-ranker in their ranks.

Once the full-scale attacks began, several checkpoints fell to Ashenvale, and their forces entered the forest region near the Dreaded Lands. This made life even more difficult for Eldoris, as they had to spread their already thin forces to protect the towns and villages in the area, not knowing how far Ashenvale\'s soldiers had advanced.

Villages were burned, and the unfortunate villagers were either taken prisoner, killed or treated as toys by the enemy soldiers.

The situation looked bleak for Eldoris, but Ashenvale was suffering as well. Dawnstar had taken advantage of Ashenvale\'s struggles, launching attacks at their borders on the opposite side of the kingdom breaking years old peace treaties.