A New Beginning

Year 382 After the Awakening of the Werrens, 5th day of Colddays

PRIM DEFENSE CORPS: Code of Conduct – Article 1: Every recruit is required to obey the laws of Prim and follow the orders of their superiors. Disobedience or desertion is punishable by death.

Reng, Southern Shore

Fear fell from the leaden clouds along with the heavy rain, settling into the thin mud at the bottom of the trenches—sticky, inescapable. The southern wind carried the stench of decaying bodies, and despair soaked the land torn open by explosions, as well as the eyes of those who crouched in hope of living to see the morning.

He had long since stopped counting the days, as they all blurred into one endless torment. During training, the instructor had told them that they would either die in the first few days—or get used to it and die later. In those early days, he had survived with the constant dread that every breath might be his last, unable to imagine ever getting used to such a thing. How do you convince your own mind not to feel the horror around you?

The sounds of war were a constant reminder that the world had descended into chaos. But inside? Inside, everything slowed down. Every thought dragged, every memory hurt, every decision felt impossible. Outside, a storm raged; inside, he was trapped in a quiet, hopeless bubble with no way out. So he went numb. Shutting himself off from the horror turned out to be the only way to hold on to even a shred of sanity. The instructor would have said he had adapted.

From then on, he simply waited for the final words to come true and for death to finally claim him. But for now, it avoided him, as if it were amused by his desperate attempts to survive until all this ended.

Sometimes he wondered if it had been worth it. He had joined the PDC with a heavy mark on his record, after dodging Loan’s hired killers. Escaping the brutal Rippers might have felt like a victory at the time, but here, in mud filled with explosions, he would have rather been buried deep underground.

With a sigh, he thought of Borin, whom he hadn’t seen since signing the contract. In the first few days, he’d received short updates saying Borin was recovering, but then the messages stopped. Now and then, Reng caught himself envying him—envying that Borin, unlike him, was lying somewhere safe, while he himself was trudging through mud and death. And then he hated himself for it, jealous of someone who had been severely wounded, which only deepened his guilt. Besides, he knew that once Borin was patched up, he’d end up here too—just like him. The South was insatiable when it came to human lives.

“I’ll never get used to this… by the filthy whiptail…”

Tinor slid into the dugout next to Reng, managing to land on his feet at the last second. Not that it would’ve mattered— the mud that splashed up around his boots was hardly going to hurt him. With his unshaven face and hair matted with grime and sweat, he looked like someone who might have been born straight out of the trench sludge. His age was impossible to guess—conditions like these added decades to anyone’s face. His earthy look and rough voice gave the impression that he could survive just about anywhere, even in the harshest environments.

“Shit, Tinor!” Reng tried to calm himself after the initial jolt of surprise—he hadn’t been sure who’d just fallen into their pit. “We thought you were done for. You’ve been gone for hours! Where the fuck were you?”

“You wouldn’t believe me,” the bearded man grinned, then reached behind his coat and pulled out a hidden can.

“Here you go!”

Tinor handed it over, and Reng recognized it instantly, even though the label was torn and caked in mud.

“Meat blend.”

It sounded promising, but in truth it was a sour-smelling mush, indistinguishable in color from the mud around them. The can was slightly dented, suggesting it had already seen some action—but it was warm to the touch. Tinor had clearly figured out a way to heat the food, despite them losing their cooker during a forced retreat a few days back.

“How’d you pull that off?”

The question hung in the air for a moment while Tinor glanced around with a sly smirk, clearly weighing whether to share his secret.

Finally, he boasted:

“Swung by the artillery boys and shoved it under their engine hood.”

“Genius…” murmured Miny, mouth full of food. He paused, savoring the warm bite. He was eating the contents so fast that Reng suspected he’d have downed it cold just the same.

“Still tastes like crap,” sneered Astin—a young kid who, not long ago, had been flicking marbles into carved-out holes on the streets of his home oasis.

Now, by some strange misfortune, he’d ended up here in the South. He was smaller than the others, but his speed and agility made him the ideal runner whenever the comms failed. Reng liked seeing him around, even if the kid didn’t always bring good news. But now he’d been stuck with them for two days, flinching at every loud sound.

“You seriously call this food?” he tried again, putting the spoon aside.

“You don’t even want to know what it looks like before they cram it into the can,” Reng chuckled and took his first bite.

Instantly, he felt that familiar sensation of sticky mush clinging to his tongue. The bitter-salty taste mixed with the metallic tang of the can itself, but his stomach was so empty he took it in with surprising ease.

“What does it look like?” Astin asked, even though he already had a feeling he wouldn’t like the answer.

“Grubs. As big as your palm,” Reng replied with his mouth full.

“Grubs?” Astin echoed, confused. “What’s that?”

“Big fat worms,” Tinor explained.

Astin looked like he might spit out what was already in his mouth.

“You’re messing with me.” His eyes widened in disgust as he struggled to swallow. A quiet gagging sound rose from his throat, followed by a loud gulp. The others burst into laughter.

“Nope, not messing with you,” Reng said with a serious face.

“Believe me—they’re ground-up, boiled-to-death grubs.”

Astin turned pale, got up, and staggered a few steps away before doubling over and retching up what he’d already eaten. His loud vomiting was met with jeering from the rest of the group.

“I’ve eaten worse,” Miny said flatly.

There wasn’t a hint of disgust in his voice—just the raw pragmatism of someone who’d long ago accepted that survival sometimes meant forgetting taste, morals, or fear. Without hesitation, he reached for the can Astin had abandoned to finish it off.

“Don’t you dare,” Tinor smacked his fingers with a spoon, making Miny yelp in pain.

“The kid’s not finishing it anyway,” Miny protested, but when he realized he wasn’t going to win this one, he sat back down with a disappointed grunt.

“Remember, Tinor, back when we used to bet on what they stuffed in those cans? None of us guessed worms,” Kamek laughed while Tinor licked his fingers like he’d just finished some gourmet delicacy.

“Yeah, we never would’ve believed it back then. But now?” Tinor snorted and waved the empty can.

“Now it’s just fuel, no matter how it tastes. Besides—maybe Reng’s full of shit.”

“I’m not,” Reng replied, grinning. “Swear I’m telling the truth.”

“And how do you know that? You seen it yourself?”

“Yeah. Worked on a farm that raised those clawbacks,” Reng admitted.

The memory felt distant, like it belonged to someone else—someone who still believed there was such a thing as a normal life. He reached to his belt, pulled out a small pouch filled with fermented leaves, slipped one into his mouth and began to chew. The bitter taste numbed his tongue for a moment, but he knew he’d soon feel better—less tired, maybe even ready for another sleepless night.

“You’re from the West?” Tinor asked in surprise, and Reng nodded.

“How the curled hell did you end up all the way out here? You could’ve just stayed home and been fine.”

“I didn’t stay home,” Reng replied dryly.

“They say you turned a whole oasis upside down,” Miny muttered.

“Oko Lahab. That why you’re here?”

“Hmmm,” Reng grunted and stretched his legs, trying to get some blood flowing. Sitting in this pit had left him stiff all over.

“So what did you do?” Astin burst out, wound tighter than a spring.

Reng smirked.

“Lost my hat.”

There was a trace of bitterness in his voice, as if the words carried the weight of much heavier memories—memories he wasn’t willing to share. It was his way of shielding himself from prying questions.

“Lost your hat?” Astin shook his head in disbelief.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Just lost it,” Reng said, firmly decided not to open up about his past. Even if the guys here had each other’s backs, most of them were running from something. Once they got out of this place, the last thing he needed was someone selling his name to Loan Grun for a few credits.

“You’re seriously weird,” Miny grumbled, tossing aside his empty can. “Nobody gets dumped in the South over a damn hat.”

“If you say so,” Reng replied indifferently, but something flickered in his eyes—something that hinted he might care, just a little, what they thought. Still, he didn’t offer any more. Instead, he reached for his weapon, which, unlike himself, he’d managed to keep dry.

His movements were careful and deliberate. A reflex honed in this place, where silence always came before the storm.

He felt the cold metal of the long barrel in his palms, faintly gleaming in the dim trench light, and ran his fingers over every scratch and deep groove along the stock. A barely audible click accompanied the removal of the spongus capsule, which he inspected before snapping it back in. Holding the weapon steadied him.

As long as it was functional and ready, he had a chance.

The war outside never let them forget it was still there.

The front had frozen last year, and in this weather, it hadn’t budged an inch. Reng didn’t mind. Sure, they were freezing, constantly numb, reeking of grime and mud—but they were alive.

He could still taste the tinny mush of the can, barely edible, yet even that reminded him that anything was better than being forced to move—forward or back.

He flinched, as if some instinct had warned him…

Heavy boots landed in their trench.

They were filthy, caked in layers of mud and dust—just like those of his men.

Vanys Rejvan was the kind of man you either admired or hated. Sometimes both. But the important thing was—everyone trusted him.

Tinor, who had seen more than a few commanding officers come and go, had named him the best of them without hesitation. Rejvan used his head. He didn’t throw lives away on pointless risks. But his arrival at this hour was no good sign.

“We’ve got orders,” he grumbled grimly, scanning the faces of his men as if trying to memorize them—just in case some didn’t make it back.

“I felt it in my bones,” Tinor growled.

“We’re off to see how long our luck holds out again.”

“We leave shortly.”

A heavy silence fell before Astin, throat tight, managed to ask:

“Where to this time?”

“Forward,” Rejvan muttered, as if the word carried its own weight. Then he just gave a nod.

They all knew what was expected of them.

The silence was crushing—only the mist from their breath proved they were still alive.

One by one, they rose and picked up their weapons.

“Then may Fate watch over us,” Miny whispered.

The others repeated it quietly, but their voices were hollow, full of doubt that Fate had anything left to give them.

***

Tonight was one of those nights when darkness was absolute.

Both moons were hidden behind thick clouds, and the rain had begun to fall. Wet clothes clung to his body, making every step harder. The sound of raindrops hitting his helmet drummed steadily, broken only by the light tapping of the weapon slung over his shoulder and the squelch of mud beneath his boots.

With each breath, he smelled rot and decay—a constant reminder that nothing truly lived in this land anymore.

Now and then, the sky lit up with a distant explosion, and for a heartbeat, he glimpsed the ever-present mud slowly consuming the decomposing bodies. From what little he saw, some of the remains barely resembled human beings anymore.

There had been a time when Reng wondered if he’d end up the same way—soaked in mud, bleeding, dying.

But he had learned to silence those thoughts. They were killers all on their own. Now, it was about one thing only: keep moving forward. Focus on what waited ahead.

Tonight’s mission wasn’t easy. Then again, easy didn’t exist here.

“Intel says there's a relay station here,” Vanys jabbed a finger at the map, “used by Letras to coordinate their units. Because of it, they’re kicking our asses at Sristava—they’re pressing us from three sides already. If a miracle doesn’t happen soon, we lose that supply hub and our people get trapped in a pocket.”

A nervous murmur spread among the men. It was clear they were all thinking the same thing—that it could’ve been them surrounded, praying some brave idiots would come save their skins.

“Let me guess—we’re the miracle,” Tinor said with a bitter smirk.

“We’re the closest,” Vanys nodded.

“And without blowing that thing up, we don’t win at Sristava.”

“All this bad luck in a single day—impressive,” Miny spat angrily.

His voice dripped with cynicism, a thin veil barely covering his fear.

Reng noticed how tightly he clutched his weapon, as if it were the only solid thing left in a crumbling world. Astin, standing nearby, shifted uneasily, his gaze fixed on the ground like he was searching for an escape from this waking nightmare.

“What’s the plan?” Reng asked calmly, unwilling to give in to the gloom like the others.

“Get there, burn it down, get out. In and out. No delays. We have to be back by morning, or we’ll be moving targets at a damn shooting range.”

Reng leaned over the map, frowning as he studied it. His fingers traced the terrain they’d have to cross. Just another mission, just another target on an endless list. Still, he couldn’t help wondering what the point of it all was. 

When would this endless war end, where they were nothing but pawns?

Every step forward brought new enemies, new corpses. Every retreat ended the same—or worse. Doing nothing might’ve been best… but that wasn’t his choice to make. There was nothing left but to surrender to Fate and hope they all made it back.

No one spoke.

Reng moved in the middle of the group. In the darkness, he could make out Tinor’s broad shoulders ahead of him and, to his right, Astin’s smaller frame. The rain had stopped for a while, and in the silence he could hear the others' labored breathing. The strain and tension were practically dripping off them.

They panted, but no one dared slow down—not even for a moment.

Better to collapse from exhaustion than risk not making it back.

A sudden blast lit up the terrain, and the whole group dropped instantly to the ground, avoiding detection. Silhouettes against a burning sky could attract unwanted eyes—especially now, with their target so close.

As the fire in the sky slowly faded, Reng saw Vanys gesturing in one direction.

He propped himself up on his elbows and, while there was still some light, tried to figure out what their commander was pointing at.

The pit ahead must have been like the ones they’d dug themselves—but this one was much larger. Hidden among massive boulders, it would’ve remained invisible, if not for the faint blink of a small indicator on the raised antenna. It was a detail easy to miss—if Vanys hadn’t pointed it out. For them, it meant one thing: They’d found their target.

His heart was pounding.

Every step to get here had been grueling, draining. And now? Now came the confrontation. Unavoidable.He knew their enemies were in there—sheltered in the illusion of safety, unaware of what was coming.

But Reng knew.

And he also knew: this night would be someone’s last.

Vanys handed out assignments with the calm certainty of someone who’d done this many times before. His quick gestures went unquestioned. He sent Astin ahead with a simple task—get as close as possible and find out what was waiting for them. Reng watched as the small boy vanished into the dark, his movements so smooth and silent he was barely visible.

Time stretched like an eternity.

They lay there, pressed into the ground, nerves tight, ears straining to catch every sound. Reng felt the pounding of blood in his temples as, finally, Astin reappeared out of the black.

“Four guys. Armed. Only two on watch. The relay’s there—it's working,” he whispered, and Reng silently begged Fate that the kid wasn’t wrong.

The number of enemies seemed suspiciously low—but maybe, just maybe, it was the break they needed. Vanys assigned roles, placing Reng at his right. They crawled toward the station and finally saw what Astin had described. The hideout they reached was far better built than their own. Dug deep and cleverly tucked between rocky outcrops, it gave its occupants a much sturdier base. Reng noticed a makeshift shelter—a tarp stretched between rocks, offering them some protection from the rain. Even the relay itself—their target—was sheltered, hidden under a small awning just below.

Two figures stood watch, passing the time with a game. Reng heard the clatter of three dice in a tin cup, shaken with excitement by one of the guards—completely unaware that his time was almost up.

Vanys divided the men with swift gestures.He and Tinor would deal with the two dice players at the relay; Reng and Miny would take care of the others under the tarp. Kamek, the tech specialist, stayed up top with Astin—to keep watch and, when the time came, handle the relay.

The action itself unfolded quickly.

Reng slid down the small slope without a sound, landing softly at the bottom. Vanys and Tinor followed close behind, just as silent, just as fast. Miny landed beside him with a muffled thud. So far, no one had noticed their presence. Every nerve in Reng’s body was taut, listening for the slightest sound that might alert their unsuspecting targets.

He drew the knife from his belt—the same one he’d used back in Karhen Rouz. Tonight he was hunting again, but his prey still slept, lulled by the false sense of safety their two guards were supposed to provide.

Two heavy thuds broke the stillness as the sentries collapsed. Vanys was quick, and Tinor didn’t lag behind. Reng took the last two steps toward the sleeping figures and gripped the knife’s handle tightly.

It should’ve been easy—but he knew better.

Killing was never easy. In real combat, at least it felt fair.

This?

This was murder—cold and cowardly, with no chance to fight back. Each breath burned in his throat, every heartbeat pounded like a hammer. His mind slipped to thoughts of what it would be like if the roles were reversed. Maybe one day soon, a group just like theirs would come for them. And this time, he’d be the one sleeping… when someone crept up to cut his throat.

Miny, crouched to his right, gestured at him—confused by the hesitation. Reng clenched his teeth, shoved the thoughts away, and did what he had to do. The self-disgust nearly knocked the air out of his lungs as he wiped the blade clean on the blanket covering the now-limp body, twitching in its final spasms.He turned, thinking it was done.

The blood in his veins froze.Time stopped.

His eyes locked with a fifth man—unexpected, emerging from a narrow gap in the rocks.

Reng could swear his heart was beating so loud it would give them all away. Panic clawed its way into his thoughts. One mistake now could cost lives. The man, still casually fastening his pants, went wide-eyed in terror as he realized he was staring down a squad of heavily armed enemies. His gaze flicked to the dead, then landed on Reng—closest to him, still holding the knife. He could have done anything. 

Run. Yelled. Attacked.

But instead, he made a different choice.

His hands shot up, and he dropped to his knees. Words spilled out of his mouth—fast, garbled nonsense that probably meant he was surrendering. Reng hesitated. He wasn’t sure what the right move was, so he looked back at the others.

Miny, only a few steps away, sneered.

“Just what we needed. Anyone understand what this guy’s babbling about?”

The man’s eyes darted from one face to the next, clearly searching for a shred of hope—some sign that he might make it out alive.

“I’d slit his throat and toss him on the pile,” Miny spat with disgust, glancing toward their commander—ready to act the moment he got the go-ahead.

Commander Vanys approached with the quiet, relentless certainty that instantly silenced everyone. He looked down at the kneeling man with a dark, assessing gaze, as if trying to peer straight into his mind.

“Officer,” he finally stated coldly, and the man trembled even harder with fear.

It was clear he understood them about as well as they understood him, and so he tried to gauge his fate by the expressions and gestures of those around him. And none of them were particularly friendly.

“So what?” Miny shrugged indifferently.

“Officers bleed too.”

“Right, Miny—slitting every living thing’s your answer to everything,” Tinor chimed in, stepping toward the kneeling man.

There was a flicker of irritation in his voice, masked under a pragmatic tone.He crouched and said something to the trembling man in Letrasan—a string of words he’d picked up during their time in the South. The prisoner, hearing someone speak his own language without immediate malice, clung to Tinor in desperate hope, babbling a flood of raspy-sounding words. Tinor shook him off with a disgusted expression, as if the man were mud on his sleeve.

“Didn’t understand a damn word,” he muttered, scratching his chin.“I only know a few phrases anyway.”

“Fine. Let someone else deal with him,” Vanys nodded, then pointed at Reng. “Bag him and take him with us. He’s your responsibility now.”

“Why me?!” Reng protested angrily—babysitting a prisoner was the last thing he wanted.

“You saw him first, didn’t you? He’s yours,” Vanys cut him off sharply, and Reng had no choice but to obey.

While Reng tied the prisoner’s hands behind his back, preparing him for the return trip, he listened to what was going on at the relay station. At Vanys’s command, Kamek slid down to join them and got to work. As he removed the panel from the relay, he had to elbow Astin aside—curious as always, leaning over his shoulder and getting in the way.

“This... this is something completely new,” Kamek said, turning to Vanys with a worried crease in his brow.

“How new?” the commander frowned, leaning in to take a closer look.

“It’s got totally different guts than the usual ones. Look here—and here,” he pointed to the unexpected parts. “See these links? In a standard relay, this would go straight to the power unit, but this thing has two routers. That could mean it’s broadcasting on multiple frequencies at once—or worse, that it can change encryption on the fly.”

He paused, pointing to a small component. 

“I’ve never seen this before. Looks like some kind of filter or booster. If it’s what I think it is, they could be amplifying the signal to reach long-distance targets—even in this weather.”

He ran his fingers over the relay’s inner workings for a moment, then looked up at Vanys.

“If they start deploying these on a larger scale, we won’t even be able to detect their network—let alone crack it.”

He tapped the metal casing and lowered his voice:

“And if this isn’t just a relay, but something more… like a control node or even a beacon, it could mean they’re planning a larger operation.”

Vanys’s gaze hardened. The original order had been clear—destroy the relay. But everyone knew that if something new showed up on the enemy’s side, it had to be assessed for the threat it posed. Changing the mission was inevitable.

“We’re taking it with us,” Vanys decided without hesitation.

“What?!” Miny blurted out, forgetting himself and raising his voice—earning angry stares from everyone around him.

“That thing’s heavy! We’ll be dragging it ‘til dawn,” he tried to justify his outburst, but it was obvious he had no chance of overturning the commander’s decision.

New tech meant it had to be dismantled and analyzed by experts.They needed to squeeze every bit of information out of it—anything that could help improve their own systems and maybe, if not gain an edge, at least level the playing field.

Kamek didn’t waste time arguing. He tore out wires, stripped the relay of everything non-essential or replaceable from their own gear, and rigged it with makeshift straps onto his back. It was clear from the way he buckled under the weight that it wasn’t going to be a light walk back.

Right then, the prisoner—until now quiet and resigned—locked his eyes on the box strapped to Kamek’s back and started shouting something in his garbled tongue.

“You might want to shut him up before I do,” Tinor suggested to Reng, and the dangerous glint in his mud-smeared face made it clear he wasn’t joking.

Reng obeyed. He shoved the prisoner hard in the back, knocking him to the ground, then dragged him roughly upright again and growled in his ear: “One more word and it gets a whole lot worse. Quiet. Got it?”

He put a finger to his lips, signaling what he meant. The prisoner seemed to understand, though he continued mumbling under his breath, eyes flicking constantly toward Kamek and the relay on his back.

“Maybe he knows something about that relay,” Reng thought, eyeing the prisoner with growing suspicion.

“All the more reason to take him with us,” Vanys ordered, and turned to lead them back.

***

He woke shortly after noon.

Even before opening his eyes, he knew his whole body would be aching again—as if someone had given him a proper beating. Pain and exhaustion crept into his awareness alongside the heavy memories of the previous night, now buried deep beneath his skin. He sat up slowly, trying to push the dark thoughts from his mind. Though the rain had stopped, the air felt like a blanket soaked in mold and rot.

When he looked at the gray sky reflected in the puddles, it felt like staring straight into the depths of his own worn-out mind.

There was nothing clean left here.

Not in the earth. Not in the people.

At the bottom of one of those puddles, their prisoner sat slumped and shivering, soaked through, trembling from cold and fatigue. Reng stood and stretched, trying to loosen the stiffness in his limbs while keeping a watchful eye on the Letrasan man. The prisoner’s face was full of fear, but Reng noticed it wasn’t directed at them, his captors. Instead, his eyes were locked on Kamek, who was working on the opened relay across the trench.

“In the name of Fate… this is way over my head,” the technician growled, his voice low and strained like an animal cornered and baring its teeth.

He slammed a fist into the metal box as if he could force it to give him the answer to the problem eating at him. 

“If I had even halfway decent gear, maybe I could do something—but with this junk?!”

“Watch us find out you dragged that thing for nothing,” Miny muttered, kicking a still-sleeping Astin.

The boy reluctantly opened his eyes, looking completely drained. That didn’t stop Miny from trying to yank him upright.

“Hey, kid, how about you run over to the artillery boys and see if they’ve got any anak? After last night, something strong’d hit the spot.”

“Screw off, idiot. I want to sleep,” Astin snapped and rolled over, though it was obvious he wouldn’t be falling back asleep anytime soon.

“You hear that?” Miny turned to Tinor with a crooked grin.

“Kid’s getting too cocky. That’s ‘cause you’re too soft on him. Now he’s showing his claws,” he said with a tone somewhere between mockery and grudging respect.

“Leave him be,” Tinor growled, reaching under his coat and pulling out a small bottle.

He tossed it to Miny.

“Try not to drink all of it. I’m saving that for when there’s something worth celebrating. If we ever live that long.”

Miny let out a laugh, but there was something hollow in the sound.

“Waste to save it. By the time you get the chance, you’ll be dead—and regretting you didn’t drink it while you could.”

He took a swig and tossed the bottle back in a lazy arc.

Tinor stayed quiet for a while, as if weighing every word. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady:

“Your talk’s always shit, Miny. But say what you want. I’ll keep believing there’s an end coming—and I’ll raise a glass when it does.”

Miny gave him a sidelong glance and the faintest hint of a smile, but in the end, he just shrugged. He had his own thoughts.

Reng stepped toward the prisoner, who was still huddled in the puddle. For a moment, their eyes met. The man gave a slight nod toward the relay and mumbled something unintelligible. Reng turned in that direction and frowned. It was clear the device was the source of the prisoner’s unease—which meant they’d likely stumbled onto something big.

“Bothers you a lot, doesn’t it?” Reng muttered.

Miny, noticing Reng’s interest in the prisoner, sidled up beside him.

“I hope he ends up being useful—since we dragged him all the way here.”

“I dragged him,” Reng reminded him, and Miny just laughed.

“Sure you did.”

Then he grinned at the prisoner and gave him a sharp jab with the toe of his boot. The man flinched, and Miny spat in disgust.

“And this is what’s crushing us at Sristava? Pathetic.”

“You should get lost,” Reng growled.

To him, Miny’s behavior was nothing more than sadistic. Miny shrugged indifferently and walked away.

“Idiot,” Reng muttered to himself and studied the trembling man again.

But the prisoner had lowered his gaze to the ground and seemed to have sunk back into resignation.

At that moment, Commander Vanys slid quietly into the trench. His presence drew every eye. They all knew he was returning from the third outpost, where he’d gone after their return to report the outcome of their night raid. Vanys’s face was hard to read, but it was clear the conversation he’d had had been a difficult one.

“Seems like we stumbled onto something bigger than expected,” Vanys took a deep breath and looked at his men. “Command is pulling us out immediately. They want to see us.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Tinor grumbled. “So now we’re dragging ourselves to headquarters instead?”

“It’s not ideal, I know. But it looks like we found something that matters.”

“‘We’? All we ever do is what they tell us to!” Reng protested—but he knew it was pointless.

Whatever they’d done, orders were orders. Time to move again. The 130th will relieve us today,” Vanys continued.

“So pack up and get ready. And hey—maybe this’ll cheer you up. You’re all getting three days’ leave in Sindar Lad.”

Reng looked at him, surprised. He realized then that Vanys’s stern expression had been just an act. Judging by the cheers that broke out, the others had figured it out too.

“And Reng?” Vanys turned to him and pointed at the prisoner.

“Make sure that man gets fed and watered. He’s coming with us. Command wants to see him.”

“He’ll slow us down,” Reng muttered, not thrilled about dragging a bound man across the landscape.

“Then feed him. He’ll walk on his own, or we’ll have to carry him—and that’d be worse for everyone, including him.”

Reng sighed and approached the prisoner. The man looked up at him, fear in his eyes. He could sense something had changed—and was clearly afraid of what came next. But relief softened his expression when Reng handed him a handful of hardtack. He took it uncertainly, then tore into it hungrily. Reng sat down across from him and ate his own share in silence.

When it was time to go, he pulled himself up—and hauled the prisoner to his feet too.

The man gave a faint protest, but Reng snapped at him with a warning hiss, a reminder that he didn’t get to decide anything.

And then, finally, they moved out.