My eyes couldn't turn away from the battlefield on that first day. Tom had been right—it was horrific—but rather than deter me, the violence fascinated me. He and I were fundamentally different in how we responded to conflict. Tom shrank away, searching for any path to escape it. I had come to appreciate that line of thinking in him, or at least I had stopped losing respect for him because of it. But that approach wasn't mine. It wasn't who I was. With each violent encounter, I was beginning to realise that I wasn't repulsed, I didn't shy away. If anything, I was starting to think I was drawn to it. Witnessing men stand their ground against an endless wave of monsters was captivating in a raw, brutal way.

That wasn't to say it was easy to watch. Each lull in the battle brought another grim moment of anticipation, as teams desperately tried to clear away bodies from the Demon's Bane field. Inevitably, some would linger too long, caught in the open when the next wave struck. Either too slow to get their quota or stuck with a particularly unlucky patch. Those deaths felt especially personal in how they occurred. Each of them were isolated tragedies that played out before everyone's eyes, magnified by the relative silence of the pause.

Each of these deaths hit harder than any in the front lines. A thought I ruminated on as the fight went on. After analysing my feelings to search for the reason why I felt that way, I came to the conclusion it was twofold. Firstly, it was expected of the front line to die. It wasn't that I wanted them to, or thought every single one would fall, but it was their duty to stand and risk their life. Whereas the retrievers were mostly meant to be safe as they cleared dead bodies. Secondly, there wasn't a chance to connect with the front liners. They were just another body in the line with their armour uniform and their expressions hidden, and when they died, they did so in tandem with others around them. That conclusion helped me rationalise what I was seeing and the emotions I was experiencing, which I was grateful for because it allowed me to keep watching without flinching away, a stark contrast to Tom.

Every time the alarm rang for another retrieval, he seemed to shrink even further into himself, reliving past horrors he'd clearly hoped to forget. I understood why after seeing it on that first day. The more I watched, the more I appreciated the relentless terror these men faced. Waves of Gharounds attacking them with suicidal rage, snatching away their compatriots and doing everything they could to get them as well. It was terrifying enough seeing it from my position, safe in the fort, I couldn't imagine what they must be feeling as it happened. But I wanted to.

As the sun began to dip towards the horizon, casting long shadows across the blood-soaked field, Tom finally convinced me to abandon my position. My mind, however, was still entrenched in the battle. Even as we walked back to our cell, I replayed scenes from the day, imagining myself standing firm against the monstrous horde. The idea of fighting with my life on the line, knowing that the fate of an entire kingdom rested on my actions, was intoxicating. It represented the highest stakes possible, a challenge unlike anything I'd ever faced before. I was convinced the rush would be beyond anything else.

Yet, for all my excitement, I couldn't ignore the grim reality I'd witnessed. The conscripts had been shockingly ill-equipped for the horrors they faced. Their tactics were barely passable, their formations basic and easily bypassed, their morale quickly broken. It was clear they had been sent out as nothing more than meat for the grinder. A stopping point to slow the enemy down rather than defeat them. The army's approach seemed rudimentary and callous, guided less by strategy than by brute sacrifice. The Wallowhackers, skilled as they undoubtedly were, allowed so many lives to be wasted that I felt disgusted by their casual disregard. They could utilise the bodies at their disposal with much more efficiency if they cared even a smidgen more about the lives of those around them. It was frustrating and anger inducing in equal measure.

The stark contrast between their lack of ability and my own growing strength became clear to me. Billy's training had transformed me, pushing me far beyond what I'd seen from any conscript on that battlefield despite the short time I had dedicated to it. I had confidence that, given the chance to fight, I'd not only survive but excel. Yet, my excitement was tempered by the bitter truth: no matter how skilled I was, fighting alongside such ill-prepared comrades would be suicidal. Glory might be achievable but survival and meaningful victory would be almost impossible, and I didn't see the point in fighting without it.

As I lay awake that night listening to the distant sounds of battle, my mind was torn between thrilling fantasies of combat and sobering thoughts of strategy and companionship. That battlefield wasn't a place for solitary heroes. At least not with the skill I possessed. True success required skilled, disciplined allies at my side and not terrified, untrained men thrown carelessly to their deaths by a psychopathic leader. It was this sobering thought that finally tempered my burning desire. Until I found capable comrades, until I stood shoulder-to-shoulder with true warriors, joining the fray would mean little more than dying senselessly, another wasted life on an unforgiving field, and no small glory was worth that.

The next morning we were rudely awoken by several Wallowhackers who had been left behind at the fort. The distant roars and screams made it clear that the battle had continued through the night, the gharounds showing no respect for sleep or rest as they relentlessly assaulted the lines of conscripts.

""Wakey, wakey!" shouted one of the Wallowhackers, banging loudly against the bars of our cells. "We've got a job for you lot, so get moving and don't dawdle."

Tom and I exchanged confused looks as we scrambled to our feet. Neither of us had been expecting any tasks today. The walls had already been patched up as best we could manage, and the fighting hadn't yet reached the fort, so there was no obvious repair work that needed urgent attention.

Another sharp bang against the cell door jolted me out of my thoughts.

"I said no dallying!" the Wallowhacker barked, glaring impatiently as we quickly filed out.

Outside, the chilly air was thick with tension. The rest of our group murmured uneasily amongst themselves, clearly as perplexed as Tom and I were.

"Here's the deal," the Wallowhacker announced, raising his voice over the anxious chatter. "Since the walls aren't in need of repair right now and you lot are sitting around doing nothing, the boss has decided to put you to better use."

A wave of dread spread rapidly through the group, each of us bracing for the worst.

"Relax," he scoffed, noticing our apprehension with a dismissive wave of his hand. "We're not sending you out there to fight. You'll just be delivering food and supplies to the frontlines. Easy work."

Protests erupted immediately from the prisoners.

"What do you mean the frontlines?"

"We were told we wouldn't be anywhere near the fighting!"

"That's not our job. We're just supposed to fix things!"

The Wallowhacker rolled his eyes, clearly irritated at having to explain himself again. "Quit your whining. You'll be perfectly safe, or at least safe enough. Like I said, you're not fighting, you're just delivering food."

"What happens if the monsters break through?" a prisoner demanded, his voice shaking. "How are we supposed to defend ourselves?"

The Wallowhacker sighed deeply, as if he were addressing a group of unruly children rather than frightened prisoners. "Fine, if it makes you lot feel better, we'll give you some spears. Not that you'd know what to do with them. But really, there's nothing to be bothered about. Those probably beasts aren't getting through the lines."

His reassurances did little to settle the rising panic among us. But it was clear from his expression—annoyed, bored, and utterly unconcerned—that further arguments would be useless.

"Alright, enough talk," he snapped impatiently, motioning us toward the supply depot. "Grab the supplies, pick up a spear if you're feeling skittish, and let's get moving. The real soldiers are hungry, and it's up to you lot to feed them."

As we reluctantly moved to follow his instructions, Tom gave me a grim look. He didn't need to say anything for me to understand his feelings. We were being dragged closer to the nightmare we'd watched unfold yesterday, and one step closer to whatever haunted his dreams.

I kept quiet, but inwardly I was quite pleased about the sudden turn of events. Getting a spear handed directly to me meant I no longer needed to plot a way to sneak one out or risk drawing attention to myself while armed. Now, there was a legitimate reason for me to carry a weapon openly and unlike the other prisoners, I wasn't too worried about stray gharounds breaking through. While the risk was real, I was confident in my ability to fight one off if it came down to it.

The carts they had prepared for us were basic wooden wagons with sturdy handles for pulling, each loaded down with heavy ration packs and water. They were cumbersome, but manageable enough for any of us to pull without much trouble. Even the weakest of the prisoners had grown accustomed to daily physical labor, and this was no exception.

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I quickly realized they hadn't provided any draft animals for a reason. An ox or horse frightened by the chaos could easily wreak havoc on the backlines if they became panicked and uncontrollable. It would be a danger both to the men and the coffers should they need to put the beast down. Of course, knowing Sebastian's twisted nature, I wouldn't be surprised if he preferred watching us prisoners struggle personally.

"Are you ready for this?" I asked Tom as I grabbed hold of my cart.

His face was pale and strained, a bead of sweat already trickling down his temple. Still, he gave a shaky nod. "Might as well get it over with."

Stepping out from the shelter of the fort walls toward the frontlines was a surreal experience. The closer I got, the more the fortress walls behind me seemed like a barrier against reality itself. Up close, the full chaos of battle was almost overwhelming. The noise, the smoke, the acrid stench of sweat mixed with blood and death, and something else sharp and alien from the gharounds. For a moment, I stood frozen in shock, struggling to process the sensory overload.

A sudden burst of laughter came from above on the battlements, snapping me out of my daze. I glanced up to see a familiar face in the Wallowhacker who had been delighted by Harold's violent outburst.

"Oh, you think it's bad back here?" he chuckled, leaning forward on the battlements. "Just wait until you're up close. Smells even better, don't it lads?"

His companions laughed along, mocking smiles plastered on their faces. Another soldier shouted down, joining in the jeering. "If this is enough to stop you in your tracks, you're gonna love it up close and personal!"

The laughter echoed behind me, a humiliating reminder that every move I made was being watched. Flushed with embarrassment, I tightened my grip on the cart handles and pressed forward, determined to ignore their taunts.

The ground ahead was muddy and slippery from recent rainfall and the bloodshed from the ongoing battle. Each step forward felt heavier than the last, and it wasn't just the weight of the cart. Around me, I could sense my fellow prisoners tensing up, their anxiety spiking as the clash of weapons and the shrill, piercing cries of gharounds grew louder and clearer. Glancing at Tom, I saw his knuckles turning white as he gripped his handles tightly, staring dead ahead as though hoping to avoid seeing the horror surrounding us.

Once we arrived at the designated area, we were quickly put to work unloading the carts. To me, it wasn't particularly strenuous, but several of the other prisoners began recklessly tossing supplies onto the ground, anxious to get the job over with. Their carelessness didn't last long.

""Watch what you're doing!" roared one of the Wallowhackers, his voice cutting through the commotion like a whip. He grabbed the nearest offender by the scruff, knocking him violently to the muddy ground. "You want us eating filthy, ruined rations, you idiot?"

"N-no, sir, sorry sir," the man whimpered, scrambling back onto his feet, head bowed submissively.

"Then handle it carefully!" the Wallowhacker shouted, directing his glare at the rest of us. Immediately, the frantic pace slowed as everyone became extra cautious, handling every crate and barrel as if it were delicate porcelain.

We hadn't been given instructions beyond unloading, so after we emptied the carts, Tom turned to head back, clearly relieved the job was done. However, the Wallowhacker stopped him sharply.

"Where do you think you're going?" he demanded.

"Back to the fort?" Tom asked nervously, clearly not liking the sudden attention.

"No, you aren't finished yet," the soldier growled. "Load those carts back up with the broken weapons, damaged armour, and empty barrels. All of it goes back."

Tom's shoulders slumped as he moved to obey, and it quickly became clear this was our next task. We began piling our carts high with broken spears, snapped swords, battered helmets, and countless pieces of debris from the battlefield. The job was unpleasant and harder now with the carts fully loaded, making the trek back to the fort exhausting. Still, nobody dared complain, knowing the potential consequences.

The sense of relief was overwhelming when we finally reached our starting point, with prisoners collapsing onto the ground, gasping as though they'd been underwater for an age.

"Well done! Well done indeed!" Sebastian's sinisterly smooth voice echoed around us, appearing seemingly from nowhere. Everyone froze instantly at his arrival, eyes wide with fear. "It is heartening to see all of you making such meaningful contributions to our struggle."

His gaze moved deliberately from person to person before finally settling on Tom, lingering on him with a particularly cruel smile. "It feels good, does it not? Participating in the fight, even in such a small way. Look how thrilled you all are. I think we can all agree we have found a good use of your time. Haven't we?"

The mocking sarcasm was evident in every syllable, and Tom visibly shrank under his gaze. Sebastian nodded slowly, deliberately, until the group finally understood he was expecting a reply.

"Haven't we?" he repeated softly, but dangerously.

"Yes, Sebastian," we muttered as one.

"There we go!" His cruel smile widened. "You shall be our new delivery crew. You will be ferrying supplies to the frontline and rubbish back to the fort. It will keep you busy, and you shall feel so helpful. A win-win as they say. Happy?"

We nodded weakly, knowing full well that arguing would only provoke him.

"Excellent! Now go on then, get back to work," Sebastian said cheerfully, clapping his hands together.

Everyone rose without another word, returning reluctantly to unload the debris from our carts. We understood clearly there would be no protests or arguments. The only option we had was to do as we were told. And that's what we did. Back and forth from the lines, transporting anything and everything that needed moving until night came and we were relieved of our duty.

Tom shuffled wearily beside me, the exhaustion clear on his face. Our grueling labor had worn him down, both physically and mentally. I could see the toll it had taken in the heavy slump of his shoulders and the vacant look in his eyes. If we continued at this pace, we'd soon collapse entirely and I was certain that was exactly what Sebastian intended. But I had no plans to let him win. Because tonight was the night I'd been waiting for.

We moved quietly through the fort, separated from the other prisoners due to our staggered duties. The fading light gave way to deep shadows, masking our movements and making it easier to slip away unnoticed. I slowed down slightly to close the gap between Tom and me, ensuring we were truly alone before I finally spoke.

"Tom," I said softly, urgency seeping into my tone. "Grab your spear."

He glanced at me, exhaustion briefly replaced by confusion. "Huh? Why?"

I shrugged nonchalantly, doing my best to keep my voice calm and unbothered. "Just in case. Wouldn't want one of those gharounds breaking through while we're unarmed, would we?"

He hesitated, clearly uncertain, but exhaustion won out over suspicion. He gripped his spear tightly, nodding wearily. My heart beat faster with anticipation. I kept my movements measured and relaxed, glancing around only casually to avoid drawing attention. The absolute worst thing we could do right now was appear suspicious.

We reached the junction, where the path split into two distinct routes. One led back to our cold, miserable cells. The other, less guarded and partially hidden by darkness, offered a direct route toward freedom. We would need to break a few stones I had spotted on the first day but that was easily doable with the condition they were in.

"Don't say anything, just walk naturally."

Tom was too tired to fully grasp what was happening at first, simply nodding along in a daze. But after we'd taken only a few steps, he abruptly stopped.

"What—what are you doing, Brandon?" he asked nervously, his voice quivering slightly.

"Don't talk, just keep moving," I urged quietly but firmly. "We're getting out of here."

His eyes widened dramatically as my words finally registered. "You mean…" he glanced around frantically. "Escaping?"

"Yes," I hissed, grabbing his arm firmly. "It's time we got out of here. Don't you want to escape? Don't you want to be free? Don't you want to get away from Sebastian?"

At Sebastian's name, Tom visibly flinched, his body stiffening. Fear filled his eyes, finally shaking off the daze, but he still refused to move another step forward. Although the nearby walls shielded us from easy view, we couldn't afford to waste precious time arguing. I knew the loose stones I'd spotted on that first day weren't far, but knocking them out would be noisy and take time we didn't have.

"Tom, come on," I urged again, more desperate. "We can't stay here."

"Where would we even go?" he asked. "Has Billy set something up for you?"

"Yes," I said impatiently. "Everything's ready. We just need to leave now."

"So Billy's in on this?" Tom asked again, his voice rising anxiously, eyes darting around as though expecting someone to appear any second.

"Yes, Tom, he is. Let's move already," I growled quietly.

"What's their name?" Tom blurted suddenly.

I paused, confused, turning to fully face him. "What?"

"What's their name?" Tom repeated, eyes flicking repeatedly over his shoulder to the way we'd come. Something about his behavior felt deeply suspicious and unnatural. He wasn't looking out for guards. He was searching for something. I know it seems the same but it isn't, and when you've been on enough jobs, you learn to spot the difference.

"Why would their name matter?" I stepped back slightly, instinctively moving so that my back was to the wall.

"I-I need to know," Tom stammered, visibly sweating. "I'm trusting you, Brandon."

His eyes kept flicking anxiously back behind us. I could sense the tension rising dangerously.

"What's really going on here, Tom?" I demanded, my voice turning cold and hard.

"N-nothing. I just need the name of Billy's friends. Do you know where they live?" His voice cracked under the pressure, desperation leaking from every word.

I laughed bitterly, the realization hitting me like a slap in the face. "I can't believe this."

A chilling laugh suddenly echoed from the shadows behind us from the exact spot Tom had been glancing towards. Tom flinched, though not from surprise, as my grip tightened instinctively around my spear.

From the darkness stepped Grian, a smug, triumphant expression on his face. "Looks like the jig is up, Tom. You did well, though. That's some useful information. My brother will be very pleased."

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