Orphan [LitRPG Adventure] - Book One Complete!

Book Two - Chapter Three


An oft-overlooked perk of being thrown in a cell was that it was quiet. Peaceful. Private.

That luxury came to an end as Alarion emerged into a courtyard that pulsed with activity.

Rank upon rank of soldiers drilled in precise formations on the parade ground, their synchronized movements creating a hypnotic rhythm. Further afield, a group of mages performed equipment inspections, their hands glowing faintly as they checked enchantments on weapons and armor. The engineers nearby shouted orders as supply wagons were loaded and unloaded, while messengers darted between buildings with urgent dispatches.

Alarion watched the orchestrated mayhem with detached fascination. Whatever his thoughts on the empire, moments like this were enough to drill home why they were as powerful as they were. It wasn't just their high Aptitude, though that certainly played a part, but their mastery of logistics. Life in the military was controlled chaos, ten thousand spinning plates kept aloft by men like Williams.

Williams led him through that chaos with the confidence of someone accustomed to his authority. Soldiers parted before them, some offering salutes, others merely stepping aside with wary glances at Alarion.

A squad of fresh recruits marched past, their uniforms still stiff at the seams, eyes forward but darting nervously at the veterans who lounged with practiced nonchalance against the barracks walls. Some of those same veterans turned their eyes toward Alarion as he passed, and the young man heard the telltale whispers of gossip.

Though he couldn't make out all the words, he'd heard enough. Two-thirty-eight. Pierce. Pay up.

Someone had lost a bet, likely on his execution. He really needed to find a way in on those betting pools before the next time he did something stupid.

If Williams had overheard the exchange, he made no sign of it as he continued unabated. Gambling was banned within the Auxilia, but then so was drinking and whoring, despite what the number of brothels in Ilvan-Shad would have one believe. It was one more thing that Vitrians overlooked until they wanted to punish you.

"This must be a joke!"

The enraged exclamation was loud enough to carry over the cacophony of activity. Its source was a short man in a freshly pressed gold-trimmed blue dress uniform. The cloth pauldron on his left shoulder carried the emblem of the House of Wounds, while the three ties that held it in place on the right marked him as a lieutenant.

"Ah. Lieutenant Pierce. You have saved me a summons." Williams didn't turn to look at the source of the outburst, nor did he stop his stride through the plaza as he spoke. "Walk with us."

"What is he doing out of a cell?!" Pierce demanded. "I do not care who his patron is-"

"Lieutenant," Williams said calmly.

"I… Sir. I would like to know why this criminal is not in a cuff." The fire was gone from Pierce's voice but not his eyes as he glared at Alarion. He fell into step beside Williams as instructed, and Alarion took special delight at how Pierce paced himself to keep Williams between himself and Alarion. "Or on the gallows, for that matter."

"You are shouting at me over a personnel issue?" Williams asked.

"No, Sir. I am just inquiring-"

"Specialist Orphan has been reassigned. He is no longer your concern."

"With respect, the specialist struck me." Pierce's voice was filled with anything but respect as he stepped in front of Williams. "So I will ask again. Why is he being released?"

"Do you wish to do this here?"

"The law clearly-"

Williams turned away from Pierce and caught the attention of a nearby cadre with a snap and a gesture. "Arrest this man."

"Excuse me?!"

"I had hoped to save the House of Wounds the embarrassment of a public arrest, but you really are insufferable."

"Do not touch me!" Pierce shouted at one of the approaching men, his hand on the hilt of his saber as he appealed to Williams. "I do not understand, what are you-"

"You ordered a massacre because you got hit by a rock, you witless dullard!" Williams stepped into Pierce's face as two men seized the officer by the arms. "It is a small miracle that half the city was not burned down through your actions."

Williams ignored Pierce's protestations as he turned to face the bulk of the assembled soldiers, shouting loud enough for his voice to be heard over the excited din of the crowd.

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"The southern reaches are underequipped, understaffed, and underlevelled. We have more than enough problems without antagonizing the provincial citizens. My predecessor took a loose hand with this sort of behavior. I will not. Any soldier under my command will act professionally and in keeping with the relevant Structures. Am I making myself clear?"

A chorus of assent met his words, but Williams still studied the crowd, looking for anyone with a less than enthusiastic reply. Satisfied with what he saw, he turned his attention to Alarion.

"Unfortunately, dealing with the lieutenant will take up much of my evening, so I will take my leave." He pushed the clipboard with Alarion's information into his chest. "The 68th. Do not disappoint me."

"Sir," Alarion replied, slapping his fist against his chest in salute.

"Good lad," Williams said as he turned away, following a few steps behind the thrashing, screaming form of Lieutenant Pierce.

Alarion watched them go, doing his best to stifle the smug look that threatened to boil over onto his features. Pierce was the worst of Vitria, arrogant, stupid, self-entitled, but Alarion was under no illusions about Williams.

Three towns dead. Countless civilians slaughtered by fiends. Williams spoke of it with the same emotion a farmer might have when discussing the harvest. Williams could have called for help from Ashad-Vitri the moment he heard of the boil, but he'd rather try to handle it 'himself' than look weak asking for help, even if it resulted in more deaths.

The thought soured Alarion's brief moment of satisfaction. He'd fought enough fiends now to know what awaited him—the torn apart remnants of homes, the pools of blood with missing bodies, and the horrible things that shambled out of the boil after those bodies were reclaimed.

He shook his head to clear the unwanted thoughts. There was nothing for it. Sad as it was to say, fiend subjugation was still his best option. Killing fiends and crushing their homes was an unambiguous public good. Something he couldn't say for most of the other duties the Vitrians had pressed on him.

Alarion felt eyes on him as he approached the plaza's entrance. Jealous eyes. Angry eyes. Frightened eyes. It was something he was used to. Whatever hope he'd had of finding camaraderie had fallen apart with the news stories and rumors on his arrival. He was too Ashadi for the Vitrians, and too Vitrian for the Ashadi. They fought alongside him well enough, but no one trusted him enough to get close.

That suited him just fine. He wasn't staying. Eighteen more months, or rather twenty-four with the extension for striking Pierce, and he would be free. The only thing he wanted less than friends who would muster out before him were friends he'd have to leave behind.

The fortress Ilvan-Shad sprawled across the hilltop overlooking the city beneath, its ancient Ashadi architecture a stark contrast to the modern Vitrian military banners and weaponry that now adorned its walls. Its prominent position gave it a watchful air that the Vitrians happily cultivated, but it was far too small to house the southern district's full garrison. Most were housed on the east side of the river in a now half-decade-old encampment that had steadily developed into a full-on military quarter.

That was his destination, but Alarion had no intention of rushing.

After three days of that accursed chill, the afternoon sun felt like a blessing against his skin. Alarion walked with his face held high, letting warmth seep into his bones as he exited the fortress.

Alarion chose a winding route to the quarter, wandering through the city proper with no real haste. The Vitrians gave their soldiers a modest stipend, and although Alarion stashed almost every mark with Kotone, he still set aside a small fraction for special occasions.

Getting out of prison certainly qualified.

The locals were better to him than his comrades. Though he still wore the uniform of their occupiers, Ilvan-Shad was a city that relied on the Vitrians for vast swaths of its economy. They had blacksmiths, taverns, restaurants, theatres, and cobblers. Anything necessary for the life of a soldier could be found, as well as almost any vice known to man, for those who knew where to look.

In Alarion's case, that took the form of a pastry and some grapes purchased from a lovely young woman named Ilya.

"We were pretty sure you'd be alright when they didn't set up the gallows." The girl said with a giggle and a smile. "They don't tend to dawdle with that sort of thing. My cousin is up fifty marks, assuming he actually gets paid out."

"Did everyone bet on me?" Alarion grumbled as he pointed to a particularly delicious-looking strudel.

"You know how boys can be," Ilya shrugged. "Is there anything else?"

"Mm, not on my budget."

She scoffed. "You think you're paying? Are you kidding?"

"I… no?"

The girl pointed across the street to another shop. "We do better than most, but their son was at the rally. My brother's best friend was there. We know what would have happened. Your money is no good here."

"Oh," he said, a little embarrassed. "I don't want to take advantage."

Ilya rolled her eyes and plucked two more strudels from the display, adding them to his bag. "Anything else?"

"I think I am good." Alarion laughed.

"Better than, I'd say," she flicked his shoulder with a finger. "Soldiers don't usually stand up for us. Not even local ones. There was talk about storming the square if they put up the gallows. Not sure if anyone would have had the guts to do it, but I'm glad it didn't come to that."

"Me too," he said honestly. He knew exactly how a man like Williams would have responded to that. "You shouldn't talk about that sort of thing in the open."

"Ah. Right. Still a soldier, too, I suppose." Ilya bit her lower lip as she handed him the bag, then said, "Though since you survived… my dad takes over the shop just before dusk."

Alarion cocked his head, perplexed for a few heartbeats before the realization sunk in. Then he looked away, his cheeks a ruby red within moments. "Oh… I, uh…"

She laughed. "It's just an option. No pressure. I didn't know if you had a-"

"N-no! I do not. I just… " he paused, tilting his head back and taking a deep breath. "I'm being deployed. I'm on my way to the new posting now."

"Oh. Drat," she replied, the tension deflating as she shook her head ruefully. "Don't be gone too long, then."

"As if I have a choice," Alarion laughed. He tipped the bag up in salute. "Thank you again. And… uh, you too."

Alarion waited until he was a whole street down and another street over before he voiced his recriminations.

"You too?!" he groaned around a mouthful of strudel.

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