Lined up in straight rows under the dawning light are the boys of this village. I suppose when you’re as old as Morgana, anyone is young. Many of these men are farmers who have tilled their fields as long as I’ve been alive.

They are gathered in the barracks... which is directly behind the strange wall where Shasta was dangled over the fire.

We are in a large courtyard with a brick wall one story high between us and the bustling market. A large king drake could easily fit its bulk in here.

On one end of the barracks are offices and officers' quarters. There are two other buildings caging us in, one containing grunt quarters and the other a stark white building that stinks of rats and unwashed bodies. I would guess it to be the jail.

The farmers, in their well-worn but also lovingly mended earthy colored tunics and leggings, stay to one side of the courtyard. The soldiers, in light leather padding and swords strapped to their hips, mill around the other end. A dragon could fit in the gap between the two.

The confidence within the two groups is telling. The soldiers joke and cut up, looking right at home amid upper-tier leaders—who congregate together with red feathered helms held casually beneath elbows. Their red and silver capes flow behind them like generals out of legend. They watch me, a mix of respect and casual suspicion marking their body language as they glance to the Kursk lurking in the shadows.

Half-glances and challenging stares are sent at me from the majority of the soldiers, even if I fought beside them. What you don't understand, you fear.

The farmers are quite the opposite of the self-assured soldiers, shuffling their feet and darting glances to the entrance, as if wondering if they still have time to get out of this idiocity. I know, because I'm feeling the same. But I have the upper hand because I'm lurking in the shadows of the entrance.

If anyone escapes this joint, I'll be first.

My empathy lies with the farmers, feeling more out of place by the moment, if not for the same reasons the farmers feel displaced. Yet I must show confidence or I'll be rabbit stew. It's the way of animals and man; It's just something Humans haven't quite realised.

Both sides watch me with varying degrees of respect, fear, and suspicion. Why David chose me to train them… it makes no sense. He hasn’t seen me fight and only knows we have a common enemy.

Whelp, speaking of the devil…

“We are yours to command, Sir,” David says, clapping me on the back.

He's dressed casually, compared to the stark silver chain mail and bright red of the soldiers, but there is something beneath it. Something says he's not as casual as he may appear.

The officers immediately straighten their backs like soldiers under a general. Most of their hands flicker, as if to salute, but they stop themselves before making it to their brow. Interesting indeed.

I glance back at David with a raised brow, but he only watches me with a measured gaze.

“I have a few choice words for this… but fine. But absolutely no more of this sir stuff,” I eventually respond.

“As you wish, Roland,” David says lightly. “Where would you like to begin?”

I'm already wishing I hadn’t signed up for this.

"What are normal drills?" I ask.

"We have the dummies for swords, moving targets for archers, group sparring, jousting, and mock battles." The speed of his answer tells me much.

"Let me see the usual dummy drills for now, then we will progress to sparring tomorrow."

"What about the townsmen?"

“Form up into groups of four for the townsmen. What weapons do we have to deal with?” I ask.

“The city guardsmen has two companies of pikemen, five companies of swordsmen, and three of archers." With a company being one hundred men apiece, this is a decent little army, but it would be hard-pressed to defend a city this size. "From the other end, we have eleven huntsmen and fifteen women who are skilled with a bow. Five men can handle a bow staff. Jace, Tim, and I are master swordsmen. The rest are blank slates,” he replies.

This just gets better and better. Might as well make the most of it.

“Groups of four for anyone without weapons knowledge, but I want the rest in groups together, keep the companies grouped as they are used to,” I command, thinking through the implications of these blank slates.

He snaps off a smart salute that leaves me shaking my head.

For the rest of the day, I put the ones with no weapons training through hand to hand forms. Basic of the basic, and still some of them fell on their tailbones more than once, trying to make their bodies move in ways never attempted. I weeded through those and moved groups around until satisfied.

The staff proved more of a challenge. They knew just enough with a staff to be dangerous, but not enough to be dangerous to anyone but themselves… if they were lucky.

Jace, Tim, and David are skilled. I named them as my helpers for training the rest of the rabble. Somehow they got to calling themselves lieutenants and me captain. If The Masters could see me now, they’d strangle themselves on their own tongues.

Watching the farmers and small business owners fight with grit and determination even as some falter or even fall on some of the more simple drills... it's enough to draw my respect. I haven’t seen this kind of resolve since the mother of one of my targets called me out for what I was and dared me to kill her. Spoiler alert—I didn’t. Even if sometimes I think I should have. She's also the one I spoke that pesky promise to, one I have labored to uphold with every breath.

These brave men and women before me are here to protect their friends and loved ones, just like that mother did… even if they know it is pointless. If—no, when—the jingoist return, it will be to wipe this town from the face of the earth for daring to stand against the Big Guy himself. Another fifty strong fighting men added to the city guard won't make a difference unless the Empire decides to let them away with it.

I doubt the Emperor will let a small city such as this make a mockery of his pride.

“Form up!” David shouts.

They again line up into lines of twenty-five each. The soldiers snap into a smart salute while the farmers bustle into their spaces with a little more... difference. A few of the groups have over twenty-five, one only has ten.

I struggle to keep in a sigh.

The guard is good, but there are many holes in both their drills and their techniques. I almost prefer the blank slates to the bad habits ingrained in some of these soldiers.

“Dismissed!” David says.

The townsmen relax, breaking into small groupings. The soldiers snicker at the farmers, all the while watching me with the gaze of peers sizing up competition. I have done little to earn their respect, and they are loath to give it, despite my talent with weaponry.

Besides, I didn't show off today. It's not time. Not yet.

That's going to be fun, my subconscious comments, somehow both smug and happy.

I grin. Despite the voice's slight pride, I do have to agree that showing how better gear and training doesn't always make the fighter... that is going to be quite fun indeed. Having better and sharper swords, straighter arrows, and hardier metal is important, but heart goes much farther when you have something to fight for. Heart wins battles, not drills and not armor. Now, sometimes numbers win in the end without a miracle, but heart is an important factor even in the face of grave odds.

Some farmers clap each other on the back for making it through the first day; others collapse on the ground; and a few others disperse as if the hounds of the abyss are on their tails.

Those make me outwardly chuckle and inwardly wince. They won't last unless they can find some kind of deeper gumption than that. Tomorrow is going to be worse.

“Roland, what do you think?” Jace asks with a proud smile on his face.

I resist the urge to wince. “They are brave to fight for their loved ones against the Empire,” I finally say.

His grin widens. “That they are.”

“Son, come to my place for dinner. Little bit has been begging for you to come play with her dolls,” David says with a slight smile.

“D-Dolls?” I stammer.

Tim and Jace gape at him as I wonder when the world ended. Doesn’t this man know I’m a strange Kursk who knows a hundred ways to kill someone without them uttering a single sound? And he's inviting me home to play dolls with his granddaughter?

His eyes crease at the side as he finally gives way to a grin. He winks. “Gotcha.”

He walks away. Jace slaps his knee and Tim's loud laughter booms throughout the courtyard.

The kind eyed man turns back. “Wasn’t kidding about the dinner. Jace will show you the way.”

Jace groans through his chuckles. "Just what I needed. More babysitting duty!"