Investiture

The campfire was still burning, but the flames had died down. A few sparks occasionally leaped up, only to go out in midair.

Walter's corpse had already been dragged aside. His finely crafted plate armor had been carefully piled nearby as spoils of war. No one bothered with his body anymore; the living had more pressing matters than the dead.

The recruits sat scattered across the beach, spears resting beside their legs and shields propped at their sides. No one spoke. Cole sat beside Miko, his thick arms resting on his knees, head lowered, his chin nearly buried in his chest.

Miko wasn't looking at him. He was looking at his own hand.

He tried to straighten his fingers, but stopped halfway. His entire right hand began to shake violently.

Ron walked over from the campfire.

Miko abruptly raised his head and straightened his back. Several recruits resting against the hull hurriedly pushed themselves to their feet.

Ron stopped in front of Miko.

Miko looked up. The campfire was behind Ron, leaving his face buried in shadow, his expression impossible to make out.

"Miko, stand up," Ron said.

Miko stood, his right hand still clenched into a fist at his side.

"Your hand."

Miko held it out. It was still shaking, bloodstains clinging to his knuckles—the marks left by driving his spear forward with all his strength.

Ron glanced down, then unfastened the sword at his waist.

It was not one of the longswords taken from the bandit camp. This one was different. Its scabbard was dark brown leather, its edges worn smooth and gleaming. An emblem Miko did not recognize was engraved on the metal fittings.

"Kneel on one knee."

Miko dropped to one knee, his right knee pressing into the sand, while his upper body remained perfectly straight.

The blade slid from its scabbard, its edge flashing for an instant in the firelight.

The blade came down and rested against Miko's right shoulder. Miko's shoulder trembled once, then steadied.

"Miko," Ron's voice descended from above him. "A man of Velen. His father was killed by Nilfgaardians, his mother died in the famine. Enlisted at twenty-one. First battle today. First to engage the enemy. Killed one man and assisted in the killing of another."

The blade lifted from his right shoulder, passed over Miko's head, and settled against his left shoulder. A few strands of his hair were pressed down by the blade against the back of his neck.

"Before all soldiers, in the name of the prince of the Calradic Empire, I invest you as my personal guard knight."

The sword left his shoulder. Ron sheathed it, then held the scabbard flat across both palms and presented it to Miko.

Cole lowered his head. Several recruits beside him did the same. No one looked at Miko, but every shoulder was tense.

Miko reached out. Both hands, palms up, received the sword.

"Rise," Ron said.

Miko stood, clutching the sword in both hands against his chest.

Ron looked at him.

"This is not merely a reward. It is a responsibility. From this day on, you are no longer a soldier who only needs to obey orders. Others will stand behind you. Whether they live or die will depend on you."

He raised his right hand, tapped Miko's forehead with one finger, then pointed toward the recruits resting against the ship on the beach.

"From today onward, what you learn will be different from what they learn.

"You will study common writing with Erwin. Military orders are not passed by word of mouth; they are written down. If you cannot read them, the men under you will die in the wrong place."

His finger shifted toward the castle. Karl was not here, but everyone knew who Ron meant.

"You will learn tactical deployments from Karl. Learn flag signals. Learn to read maps. When I am here, you follow my orders. When I am absent, you will give orders in my place. If your orders are wrong, your men will die."

His hand withdrew and fell to his side.

"You will learn everything the veterans know. Fiona's archery, the horsemanship of armored cavalry, and how infantry and cavalry fight together. Learn until you master it.

"You are no longer a soldier. You are a future officer. The force will expand, the ranks will grow, and there will be more and more battles. I cannot stand behind every formation."

Ron's voice lowered, but grew even more solemn.

"So you will stand there in my stead. That is your responsibility. Do you understand?"

Miko's Adam's apple bobbed. His eyes were red, but nothing fell from them.

"I understand." His voice was hoarse, as though scraped raw from his throat.

Ron looked into his eyes and gave a faint nod.

"Your first order."

Miko's body instantly tensed, like a sharp spear standing on the battlefield.

"Count the casualties. Make stretchers for the seriously wounded. Have the lightly wounded treat their injuries. Ask Erwin if you don't know how."

Ron turned and took two steps, then stopped.

"Squad leader."

Miko froze for a moment before realizing Ron was calling him.

"Keep hold of your sword."

The beach fell quiet again, but it was not the same silence as before. This silence felt as though something had filled it.

Cole was the first to rise. His eyes were red as well. He walked toward the recruits still sitting on the ground, bent down, and began checking their wounds one by one.

Some tore strips from the hems of their cotton garments to use as bandages. Others crouched beside the spearman with an arrow in his leg, holding his hand.

The spearman was named Pete. He had enlisted on the same day as Miko. He leaned against the hull, his wounded leg stretched out on the sand. His lips were pale and his forehead slick with sweat, but he was conscious.

Miko walked over and crouched beside him.

"Does it hurt?" he asked. It was the first question he asked as a squad leader.

Pete looked at him, his mouth twisting into a smile uglier than crying. "It hurts."

Miko nodded and gripped Pete's hand.

"Don't die," Miko said.

Pete went still for a moment, then blinked. Something seemed to slip from the corner of his eye. Only when Cole approached with wooden boards and strips of torn cloth did he turn away and wipe at his eye.

The system panel in the upper-right corner of Ron's vision was glowing.

He ignored it and watched the recruits move. No, they could no longer be called recruits...

He drew back his gaze and looked at the panel. The unit tab had already expanded.

Beside Miko's status bar was an additional line of small text. His unit type had changed from "Recruit" to "Imperial Infantry," followed by "Squad Leader" in parentheses.

Cole's status bar had changed as well. His unit type was also "Imperial Infantry."

Thomas, Imperial Infantry, Level 1 soldier.

Pete's status bar was yellow, with a red cross symbol. His unit type had already changed to "Imperial Infantry."

Beside it was the note "Recovering." He was still alive, and he had leveled up as well. Once his wound healed, he could return to the ranks.

Ron continued scanning downward.

Fifteen men. Ten Imperial Infantry, while five were still recruits, though their progress bars had only a narrow gray gap left to fill.

Two-thirds. These were the seeds of his force's future.

He dismissed the system panel from his vision.

"Erwin."

Erwin was crouching beside the ship.

"You and Miko are coming aboard with me to take inventory," Ron said, his gaze shifting to the flat-bottomed cargo ship stranded in the shallows. The sail on its mast had not been fully furled.

"Every cargo hold, every compartment. Make a list of anything useful. Ignore anything useless."

He turned to face the recruits still working on the beach.

"Those boarding the ship, leave your spears ashore. Bring shortswords and shields."

Cole had just finished tying the final loop of Pete's bandage. He looked up.

"You won't be able to turn around with spears inside the cabins. If they get caught, you die." Ron's voice carried the patient tone of instruction. "Once inside, shields in front, shortswords behind. Watch above you, watch the sides. Do not stare only straight ahead."

Cole nodded, tightened the knot, and the recruits began pulling their spears from the sand. They drove the spearheads downward into the beach, lining them up along the hull.

Ron went first. When he stepped onto the gangplank, the board dipped beneath his weight with a muffled groan.

Erwin followed behind Miko. Three other recruits drew their shortswords, raised their shields, and advanced slowly.