The rain was relentless, coming down in sheets, one after the other. All was pitch black except for a single lonely lantern sitting atop an uncovered wagon.

Four figures sat huddled around the light, covered by nothing but thin raincoats.

Malt sat, knees huddled to his chest. He was shivering uncontrollably, the cloak he had on did little to protect him from the shower. He had lost his sense of feeling in the last couple hours. All he felt was the constant downpour and the occasional bump whenever the wagon’s wooden wheels hit a bump in the road.

There was nothing that he could distract himself with. Anything not illuminated by the lantern was completely hidden in pitch blackness, anything that made noise was overshadowed by the sound of the rain.

He felt so vulnerable at that moment. The wagon coach, an unkempt man in his forties, insisted that his gnomish heritage (albeit extremely faint) allowed him to see through the darkness. “Nightpiercing” he called it.

It’s weird, really. He should’ve been excited by the appearance of his first non-human race, even if only a partial one. But he couldn’t feel happy in this situation. His body, especially his bottom, was aching all over from repeated travel. The cold and weather had most definitely given him more than a minor cold. And worst of all, he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast at the palace, which was more than a full day ago.

He did have rations in his pack, but he wasn’t sure if he could even open the latches, considering how numb his fingers were.

And plus, having to relieve himself in this weather would be truly horrific.

So he sat there, thoroughly regretting his decision to join the army. He’d felt so sure, so proud of the fact that he’d be serving his new country. Only now did he realise that it was nothing more than a whim, fueled by a naive want to become some kind of hero to match his classmates.

As he was engrossed in his thoughts, one of the other figures in the wagon lifted their hooded head, stretching their shoulders. His body language suggested an air of laxness. One leg was stretched forward, the other tucked underneath it. His arm was resting on top of his outstretched leg while the other was feeling playing with a stray thread from his cloak.

“This is getting a little boring, wouldn’t you say?”

His voice was relaxed, but a certain slyness hid behind that laid back demeanor. His sharp features were handsome, if not a little rugged. Stubble grew from his chin and his hair, if it wasn’t slick with rain, would’ve probably been long and unkempt, much like his appearance. His grinning expression was overbrimming with confidence. He reminded Malt of some kind of outlaw, or vagabond.

“Let's introduce ourselves, since we’ll all be comrades, more or less.”

Everyone turned their heads towards him.

“The name’s Geldfre. Geldfre Kharus. I just go by Geld.”

One of the figures, slightly larger in structure, spoke in a lower, more powerful voice.

“Stromund Gradfort. Stromund is fine.”

His face was rough and robust, but he looked dignified. Like some kind of fallen noble. He was obviously muscular, that much could be discerned even through his cloak.

Next was a slightly smaller figure beside Malt.

His voice sounded rather young, maybe Malt’s age. His voice was unrelaxed and stern, as if he were a soldier talking to a general.

“My name is Henry Rockwell. Please just call me Henry.”

He resembled the average village boy more than anything. He couldn’t be more than sixteen, but his eyes were the most determined Malt had ever seen. His gaze, even though it probably didn’t mean it to, was overly serious and a little intense.

Everyone faced Malt expectantly.

“... Malt. Just Malts’ fine.”

Geldfre, sensing that the conversation would probably end there if he’d stopped now, spoke again.

“So, why’re you all going to the front? Only a certain kind of person joins a war that’s expected to go badly.”

Stromund placed a hand on his chin.

“I was kicked from the northern front for disobeying orders. I still had to fulfill my duty as a soldier though, so I decided to come here.”

“... isn’t the usual punishment for disobeying orders death?”

“Well, usually. I used to be pretty high up on the food chain, so I can get away with lax punishment.”

Henry’s eyes widened.

“Say… could you be the Captain Gradfort? The one that killed an archdemon in a one on one duel? Fiendslayer Gradfort?”

“Ahh, that name’s a little embarrassing to be honest.”

“That’s amazing! I’m honored to meet you, Sir Gradfort.”

Stromund waved one of his hands in front of him,

“Drop the sir, Stromund is fine. Just treat me like you would a comrade.”

“... if you insist, sir.”

Geld looked at him, smirking.

“Hoh… we’ve got someone pretty strong coming to the frontline haven’t we?”

Stromsund looked back at Geld, smiling slyly.

“I could say the same to you, Geld.”

“Damn, never thought anybody would recognize me on this end of the kingdom. Guess that's expected, considering you used to be a general and all.”

Malt and Henry both tilted their heads questioningly.

… I am pretty curious. But I dunno if I’m confident enough to ask...

“Could you be someone important too, Sir Geld?”

Perfect.

“I’m just a traveling swordsman from the east. Being a mercenary sounded fun, so here I am.”

“Ahh… that's an awful lot of humility, Geld.”

Stromund looked at the two greenhorns,

“Geld here used to be the most dangerous swordsman in the eastern provinces, he’s also the most wanted person in the eastern provinces.”

“... I can’t deny that. Thank god they’re not pursuing me here in Astoundria, though. They’re too scared to come now that the heroes are here.”

“I heard you accidentally killed a noble in a duel. The bards say his head hit the ground before his sword left his sheath. Is all that true?”

“That story’s been blown waaay out of proportion. We clashed a couple times before he kicked the bucket. It took at least… seven seconds I think? Well anyway, moving on to those two.”

The difference was obvious now. Geld and Stromund were in a different league than Malt and Henry were. They had an air of maturity, like they’d lived through countless battles. It almost felt as if they were always in control of the situation, considering how they always seemed calm.

The two veterans looked at Henry expectantly.

“I’m just a village boy from around the western pines. I joined because well… I have someone I want to protect.”

“What’s this? A girl eh?”

His cheeks reddened slightly, a sight that didn’t really match his serious face.

The two older men were laughing to themselves. Stromund slicked his hair back from under his hood.

“Ahh, the sweetness of youth! I remember when I was just a village boy.”

“You can say that again… now that I think back I became a swordsman back in the east because I wanted to impress a girl.”

“Well we all need a reason to start somewhere.”

All three pairs of eyes were now locked on Malt.

“... I’m actually one of the four heroes that the king summon-”

“Huh?!”

Henry’s outburst wasn’t unwarranted. The fact that they’d been traveling alongside a hero for the past day without even knowing was mind boggling.

Both Geld and Stromund were also surprised, their mouths agape in shock. Stromund was the first to recover from the initial shock.

“If you’re a hero then you must be pretty strong huh?”

“No not necess-”

“What’s a hero doing going to the southern front?”

Geld had jumped in this time. Everyone was slowly inched toward Malt, cornering him. Even the wagon coach was looking at him now.

Being able to speak would be nice.

Stromund looked relieved, more so than the others.

“So the southern fronts’ not screwed after all! I thought the nobles didn’t care much for this war, to think they’d send one of the heroes here.”

“... so you know how there was that one hero that turned out to be a dud?”

“Mhm, there aren’t many details, the people only really know that he isn’t strong. Why?”

“Well… ”

Malt let out a nervous laugh.

“I’m that dud.”

It took a moment to process, but everyone’s face slowly fell into disappointment and slight pity. Geld scratched the back of his head,

“Well I should’ve known not to get my hopes up in the first place… Nevermind that, I guess we're back to square one.”

Stromund’s face scrunched up in worry,

“But to think that the king just threw you out to the southern front after hearing you had no powers… maybe the nobles would do something like that, but the King is a reasonable man.”

“I wasn’t kicked out of the palace or anything, in fact they gave me an offer to stay at the palace with food and lodging."

“So why’d you come here of all places.”

Malt sighed, the regret clearly showing on his face.

“I really dunno myself, some dumb whim that I decided to act on.”

“Hoh… ”

Geld smirked confidently, like he knew exactly what Malt was thinking.

“You only get smarter through making stupid decisions like that. What’re your stats like by the way?”

“A little less than ten around the board, no magic ability.”

The three of them looked instantly concerned.

Stromund placed his hand on his chin, thinking.

“... I suppose you’d be able to hold a spear with those stats, not sure how well you’d be able to use it though… ”

“... what are your guys’ stats like?”

Henry spoke first,

“Around fifty for combat related stats, thirty for intellectual. Also no magic ability.”

Stromund was next to speak,

“A little over two-hundred strength and endurance, one-fifties for the rest. No magic either.”

Lastly was Geld,

“Two-fifty for agility, one-fifty for the rest. No magic.”

Aren’t these stats like, disgustingly high? Even Henry, I thought he was just a kid like me but I guess he had some kind of training…

“Is magic rare in this world or something?”

“Ah, you were new to this world, weren’t you? Magic is very rare. Only one person in every thousand can manipulate their mana.”

“I see… Is mana some kind of energy in this world?”

Stromund, who most likely had the most knowledge on the subject, interjected.

“I don’t know the specifics, but people have different beliefs. The church says it’s the power of the holy one; hermits believe it to be the work of primeval sprites and fairies; but the most widely accepted is the Wizard’s college’s thesis. They found that magic is a source of energy, just like stamina, that resides inside the soul. Every living thing has some, but only a select few can manipulate it. Those people are called mages.”

“Mhmm, I see. I’m really sorry, but can you fill me out the basics of this world? I feel like going into a battlefield without knowing this place’s common sense isn’t such a great idea… ”

Stromund chuckled, patting his back with a little too much force.

“Don’t worry about it kid! Us four’ll be stuck together for a while anyway.”

“Yeah, it’s not like we have anything better to do.”

“It seems preferable to sitting in silence.”

The rain had mostly cleared by now and the wagon’s passengers had shed their cloaks. They sat around the lantern, exchanging jolly laughter and banter. They told each other jokes, stories, advice, anything that came to mind really. They’d even brought out their rations, picking at each other’s jerky and crackers. It was comfortable and some might say even cozy, despite the biting cold and uncomfortable travel. Malt loosened up a bit now knowing the soldiers going to war alongside him were good people.