The first few days with the mercenary company saw Corwin completing all manner of tasks. Although Keen had specifically warned Corwin not to listen to the other mercenary's, besides those in power, he found it very hard to refuse their requests.

But it was not until the fourth day after he had woken up at the camp that they found his true calling: plucking chickens. Or more specifically, helping in the preparations for the chef.

Used to it, from his background in the forest, he was already quite skilled in the art of preparing basic dishes, as well as preparing raw meat such as fish and birds.

His position afforded him a lot of respect and power, which Corwin found quite surprising. He was used to the taunting and teasing when it was inevitably revealed that he helped his mother cook dinner in Weston.

However, it seemed these men appreciated the value of good food. When he had asked about why there were so pleased that he had these skills, they had all shivered and said one word: Scully.

After a little bit of further prodding, the story came together. ‘Scully’ referred to the scar faced mercenary that had been involved in the bantering upon Corwin's awakening. Scully, when delegated the role of cooking preparation, had somehow managed to spoil, or otherwise ruin, every single dish that had been fed to the others that night.

Since then, there had been an abundance of people willing to trade roles Scully whenever his duty was rostered to be preparation chef.

It wasn't a very popular job at all, and thus, Corwin was permanently placed in the role of preparation chef- which he didn't mind at all.

For one, he was already used to helping out at dinner back in Solum. And two, it allowed him a lot of personal freedom and spare time around camp which could be used for training with Keen.

Training, that was simultaneously inspiring feelings of frustration, pain, and anger, and only the slightest bit of hope.

***

Not for the first time, Corwin recoiled as the bō painfully struck his wrist, knocking the training sword to the ground once again.

Keen didn’t say anything this time.

Corwin ground his teeth and retrieved the wooden sword before settling back into the stance he had been taught.

Without any indication to start the bout, Keen lunged out with the bō.

The swipe came wide to the right side, at hip height. Corwin had learnt after the first few bouts that trying to block or take the hit only ended in him lying on the ground. So instead of blocking, he kicked back off the ground to make space between them.

“Distance against a staff user?” Came Keen’s frustratingly calm question.

Fighting the urge to growl back at him, Corwin warily returned into the bō’s range.

Deciding to take the initiative this time, he charged forward, aiming to get in close before he could be hit with any of Keen’s sweeping blows.

Predictably, Keane was ready for this move, and had already shifted his grip on the staff.

Angling his training blade, he altered the trajectory of the incoming downwards swipe with a strike of the blade, and continued circular momentum- transitioning into a turning kick aimed at Keen's hips.

Stepping back, Keen brought his staff into a vertical guard to protect himself from Corwin's kick and was rewarded with a yelp of pain when the collision between instead and shin occurred.

Clearly seeing the anger in his pupil's eyes, he sighed and placed the staff on the ground, motioning for Corwin to stretch out his leg on the ground.

"You haven't taught me anything!" Angrily accused Corwin. "All I've learnt is that you have an obvious desire to show off and inflict pain!"

Keane waited for his student to calm down, and said nothing as he placed his open palms over the already swelling shin. Sensing that his student's tirade had halted, he tried to answer the furious accusations.

"But you can tell me what I'm doing, can't you?" he rebutted, slowly. "You know that I'm using my sect's weaving to increase the natural healing speed of your wounds. And you also know the sect that you belong to."

The twitch of his pupil's expression told him that his pointed been made, but was not enough to quell the anger.

"I can't teach you how to improve your hand-to-hand capabilities-I don't know the style that you were taught. But I do know that you will be facing opponents who aren't going to respect your desire to fight hand-to-hand."

"Yeah, I'm not obtuse, I can understand that I'm not going to be fighting unarmed opponents the majority of the time- my main problem is the fact that you're fighting my sword with a staff! And not even holding back! Do you really have to hit me every single time I've been disarmed?"

"You're never going to get a fair fight, that's just how it goes. And if you even think to fight fair with your opponent, I'd whack you over the head as well! Fighting, unless it's in a sanctioned duel, is never an occasion for you to exercise fairness. You either win and learn, or lose and you don't learn anything else."

Corwin let out an annoyed snort and turned his head away from Keen.

Again, Keen sighed. He placed a hand on Corwin's shoulder.

"Look, I can't teach you like a proper master. My teacher called it subtlety, I called the flourishing, but whatever it is, I don't got it. I can only teach you the quick and dirty tricks- and how to not flip your shit when you start to face opponents with exotic and unusual weapons in their hands."

Corwin shrugged off the hand from his shoulder.

"But do you really have to hit me when I've clearly lost?!"

"Kid, you need to learn that losing has consequences, otherwise you start to get lax. It's much better to develop a hatred of getting hit rather than an acceptance of a loss."

Corwin remained facing away from Keen.

"It's only been a few days, Corwin. You don't get better in that time- it's the long-term that counts. But let's finish up here, the boss has something to announce back at camp."

That got Corwin's attention. He'd heard all the men talk about the boss, but he'd assumed that the man wasn't with them at present.

Grudgingly, he stood and followed Keen back to camp.

* * *

When they got there, the mercenaries were already seated, facing a roaring campfire.

The two quickly found a spot near to Scully and Nigel, and sat down facing the fire. Despite the teasing that Corwin had witnessed on the first day, he had quickly discovered that they were actually very close mates.

"Oy newbie! Why ain't dinner ready? We been waiting here for ages!" complained Scully, with a grin on his scarred face.

Nigel joined in.

“He’s right, I feel like I’m going to starve, kid! We’ve been all sitting down here, waiting on you for so long!”

Corwin blushed furiously and rose off the ground to go find the cook, but was stopped by Keen placing a hand on his back.

This, of course, sent the duo into peels of laughter. Corwin gave an awkward smile and tried to see the funny side, but in truth, he was embarrassed that he had fallen for it. He just didn’t know the pair well enough to see through their jokes yet.

“Have you got… some relation to a tomato… newbie?” wheezed out Scully, through fits of laughter.

“His face! I’ve never seen someone get so red!” laughed Nigel.

Corwin opened his mouth to respond to the pair of immature fools, but abruptly closed it when the light from the fire flickered.

In front of the fire now stood what appeared to be a man in dishevelled clothing. He had a peg leg and wore a long thin sword in a sheath on his waist. The wide hat he wore, in combination with the darkness, obscured all his facial features except for the ragged beard.

And he wasn’t the only one to notice that someone now stood in front of them all. Quickly, and more amazingly, the rowdy bunch of mercenaries went silent with no prompting at all. Even Scully and Nigel, who- only a moment ago- had been convulsing in laughter, respectfully waited for the boss to speak.

And when he spoke, the depth in his tone was met with complete silence.

“We’ve got our assignment. Tomorrow, we return to the road. Drink and be merry tonight, for the days coming will be tough. Tomorrow, we guard the roads to the capital!”

The crowd rose to their feet as one and erupted into furious cheers and yells. Taken by surprise, Corwin quickly rose with them, but when he found a gap in the throng of bodies, he saw the boss no longer.

Keen noticed his searching and bent down to speak into his ears amidst the cheers.

“That’s just how he is- and take it from me, that was a lot of words from the boss. He demands respect, but requires only little of it. Stay on his good side and you’ll be right as rain. But one foot out o’ line, and you better be able to stand on your remaining foot- cos it’s the only one you’ll have.”

That peg-legged man was dangerous? The only indication that he could even fight was in the sword hanging by his waist, and if he hadn’t been told by Keen, he’d think it was merely a prop.

Keen smiled as he saw the kid reshaping his perceptions of the boss. The boy was good at hand-to-hand, actually far superior to good, but he still had much to learn about fighting. Why the boy’s father had never properly taught him weaving was still mostly a mystery to him. He had pretended to accept the kid’s explanation, but only because it was clear that he didn’t want to talk about it.

After all, he hadn’t even offered an explanation as to why he was in the Republic either, so how could he expect the boy to trust him?

***

Mid-Way Between Triticum and Requila, Western Realm, Animar

The Pathfinder’s Bridge

Bodies lay strewn across the rocky ground- on both sides of the river. There was no formality to this war, there was no collecting of the bodies. This wasn’t because neither side had the time or inclination, instead, it was the fact that both of them had access to long distance area of effect weaving.

The few bodies that lay strewn across the bridge were a testament to the furthest that either side had advanced.

And so those that remained watched in the trees, plotting, planning their next move.

But supplies were scarce now, and both sides knew it. It was only a matter of time before the last resort option was used.