[Chapter 14 - Beyond the Wall]


    Fort Greywatch was a castrum legionis, or a legionary fortress as Ante had explained.


    For an encampment that was “more for staging attacks and consolidating territorial control”, it boasted an impressive array of defenses.


    Its stone wall, although nowhere near as imposing as the Northgaardian pass we had left that morning, stretched out for several hundred metres atop a huge earthen mound that had clearly been raised by Atreian hands.


    A moat also lined its front, whereas the two pairs of thick wooden doors that stood open were set into a bulky stone gatehouse.


    This was the home of the ninety-sixth legion, one that had been rendered by its location beyond the wall.


    Ante had drawn it out during one of the few rest breaks we were granted, a small map that he etched into the dirt of the floor to help explain the nearby area to me.


    From the small circle he scratched into the dirt, he traced crude lines outwards with the stick he had found.


    “So this is Fort Greywatch,” he tapped at the circle with the branch, “which is around twenty miles from Northgaard as the officer said.”


    I noted the long line below it, one that had been unevenly etched into the floor.


    And then he continued by marking several smaller circles some distance away from the first.


    “Whereas these are the Silversong mines, the reason Atreia built this outpost in the first place. Over here,” he dotted a few cross marks that formed a loose perimeter around the shapes he had drawn, “well… around this area at least, they''ve set up a bunch of watchtowers to keep an eye out for anything that might come close.”


    “Monsters.” Roxas reminded. “That’s the only thing out here.”


    From the way they spoke, it seemed to be common knowledge, and I looked at the distance between the fort and the pass.


    Despite its short length on the map it had taken us over six hours to arrive.


    Twenty miles just as Ante had reiterated, or twenty thousand paces as the officer had also referred to it as.


    I was not certain that the miles in Arithea corresponded to those back on Earth, but the exhaustion I had felt rid me of my ability to properly determine whether that was the case.


    My journey to Northgaard, whilst much longer, had been nowhere near as tiring, and any marvel I had at the scenery, at the ridiculous enormity of the stone wall that had spanned the pass above me as I left, quickly vanished beneath the fatigue that built up.


    Crushed by the pack that weighed down upon my shoulder, held aloft only by the long wooden pole in my hand.


    The furca as it had been called.


    The use of Latin by the Atreians as well had not been lost on me.


    It had been the same as we marched, a chorus of “dex, sin, dex, sin” chanted in rhythmic unison as we placed one foot in front of the other.


    Its presence was fascinating, and it made me wonder what links with Earth Arithea had in the first place.


    What links had lead to the presence of the language here, and whether that was related to why the doors existed as portals between the two realities.


    A quiet chime disrupted me from these thoughts.


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    A gentle sound, but one which was at odds with the woodland and sweaty panting that was all I could hear around me.


    Accompanied along with it by a glow which emanated from my pouch.


    I shifted the pilum from my left hand to my right, struggling to grasp both handles at once as I balanced the pack perched upon my shoulder.


    With my now-free hand I reached in, pulling out the culprit from the pouch at my waist.


    It was my military identification document, my signaculum.


    I just about managed to catch the fading glow of the fresh tally, rendering the number by my [Stamina] category to be a slightly more satisfying XXXIII.


    And if Vin’s words were anything to go by, that meant I had only just exceeded the standard of a professional soldier in this world.


    At least when it came to stamina.


    Even after all that heavy marching.


    “Underestimating me much, Vin?” I muttered as a small smile formed upon my mouth.


    I had managed to glean some more information from Ante as we marched.


    Afterall part from trees, mud and mountains, there was nothing else out here that we encountered.


    “Outworlders. You said that they go crazy, that they can’t resist the urge to kill in order to ascend. Ascend to what exactly?”


    Another question that was encountered by a confused look, one that Ante just about made as he struggled under his bag.


    “I know you’re not from here,” he paused to take a deep gasp of air, “but I’m surprised you don’t even know about that.”


    “They’re not as…” I paused, trying to think of a convincing response, “common from where I’m from. Outworlders, I mean. We don’t deal with them very much.”


    That was not exactly a lie, to be fair.


    “Demonhood.” he said. “Outworlders kill as offerings to the kings. Kill enough, or be deemed worthy enough, and they can become demons themselves.”


    “But the False Hero killed the demon king first. How could he ascend by killing Illirion if the king was already dead?”


    Ante shrugged.


    “Perhaps he wanted the throne?”


    I stopped myself from prying further.


    There was much more I wanted to know, but I did not want to underscore my ignorance, nor be so eager to draw suspicion, even if it was from the twins.


    Still…


    What would make Outworlders want to become demons?


    And why would my brother want the same?


    His diary had made no mention of this desire.


    The boy is not entirely wrong. The wolf seemed to stifle a yawn. But you do not need to fear the curse.


    Did that curse take my brother?


    It takes all Outworlders.


    So why not me?


    Because I’m here. Another smirk. It seemed to almost characterise his damn voice.


    ***


    When we finally stopped, exhausted panting prohibited even any exclamations of relief we could muster.


    All we could focus on was our breathing, but the same attitude could not have been said for our officer who stood at the front.


    He watched us all with a grin, an expression I had grown tired of from my constant dealings with the wolf.


    “You have one hour for lunch,” he exclaimed, “be late and I’ll make you walk laps when we get back.”


    “When we get… back?” The uncertainty was spoken out by one of the recruits. He was young, his hands on his knees to help relieve his fatigue but his head was raised high with a concerned look plastered across his face.


    The officer’s smile only broadened further.


    “We’ll be marching back to Northgaard for dinner.”


    Those words brought several recruits to the floor. I could almost hear the tears that it evoked.


    “You’re fucking kidding me” Roxas groaned. Her frustration was audible, she did nothing to hide it. “And we have to do this shit for… how long?”


    “Four months.” The officer’s smile now reached his eyes, as if deaf to the cries that were almost shed by the soldiers-in-training.


    I hid a smile.


    I was tired, I could not deny that, but the similarity of the reactions of the recruits to when I had first started on Earth was all too uncanny to not find amusing.


    Boredom and exhaustion from drills comprised the majority of military life. Here it did not seem to be any different, likely explaining one of the reasons why the Atreians had been so successful.


    Yet the recruits would be thankful for it when the time came for combat, the training they undertook saving their life more times than they would know.


    Not that even I would had known at that time, that war would come as soon as it did.


    Or that the incident which would ignite it would only be a few days away.