46

Everyone about to leave the academy stood in a sea of gray uniformed bodies in a large field. Michael and the other Penitents were all in the back corner, far from the podium in front of everyone on which stood General Achen. The sky was overcast, and a light breeze with the final chill of a long spring made a few of the recruits shiver as it blew through their orderly rows.

The general took a deep breath, and when he spoke, his voice carried across the field with ease, aided by a mage standing a few yards behind him.

“Recruits, this is the day I look forward to the most as the dean of this academy. The day I unleash the strength that I have helped to grow and cultivate here and point it at the enemies of Stent. I have watched all of you grow strong—grow disciplined. Your shoulders have broadened, and your backs strengthened to carry your home on your back, to act as the foundation of this country.” He paused for a moment, and Michael could see gold lettering starting to float around him. He looked around and saw that no one else was reacting to it. “It is my great honor as a general granted his Title by King Matthias to grant all of you the Title of Soldier of Stent.”

Michael watched as the gold lettering that had been gathered around him shot out, a piece of it embedding itself on each and every recruit that was gathered, including the irregulars. “It is also my honor to grant most of you the title of Knight as well.” More lettering flew out, this time marking everyone except the Penitents. “There are even a select few of you I will be granting the elite rank of Knight-Sergeant.” More lettering flew out, this time to only a few of the students in the front row. “Finally, there is one particular recruit here I wish to grant a Title reserved to only one graduate a year.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Squire Lance Kreg, approach.”

Lance did so. He was wearing a full suit of armor that had been polished to perfection with a sword at his waist and a shield at his back. He approached the general and kneeled.

The general placed his fist on his chest in salute and looked down at him. “Lance Kreg, I give you the title of Knight-Lieutenant.”

A final wisp of gold moved and settled on Lance.

“I grant you command of everyone assembled here with the responsibility of getting them to their designated assignments on the front.” The general gestured to the group. “They are yours.”

Lance straightened his back, standing a little taller than he had been before, and for someone that Michael had been certain already had perfect posture, that was very impressive.

Lance slammed his fist against his armored chest, and the assembled crowd returned the gesture with enthusiasm. “Report to your instructors for duty assignments. Those heading to the Western tower will report to Rein. Those reporting to the Eastern tower will be with Elias. The rest of you will report to me. We’ll be travelling together on the grand road northwest before it forks. I want everyone ready to move in thirty. Dismissed!”

There was an additional salute in acknowledgment, and then everyone left to go collect their things and report to their instructors. All the Penitents moved to their barracks together.

“It would’ve been nice to be a knight,” said Pyotr as they walked.

“We only got the same training as them because we’re special cases, and this is the only place in Stent that can handle us,” said Marcus. “I heard from one of the recruits I slipped hooch to that regular criminal Penitents get three months of training before they’re sent off on suicide missions.”

“They invest a lot in us. Kline himself said that Takers tend to have advantages that make them more useful than regular soldiers,” added Michael.

“Hell, maybe we’ll be lucky and make it to retirement,” said Ollie. “Though given how things have gone so far my guess is that we’ll all die the day before and be reborn again in another world and have to do this all over again.”

When they reached the barracks, Michael looked in the mirror to confirm the suspicion he had during the deployment speech. He was right—he had a new Title that he guessed everyone else had as well.

He focused on it.

Soldier of Stent

Grants:

Very Minor Strength

Very Minor Speed

Very Minor Durability

Very Minor Recovery

It was a more impressive gain than he’d expected, and the fact that the general could grant it so broadly across everyone at the academy surprised him. The delegating power of kings was much more significant than he’d initially anticipated. He remembered from what Kline had revealed during a few question-and-answer sessions that all of the Humelands used to be one single united kingdom. If a general of a fraction of that old kingdom was capable of granting this kind of strength, how powerful had the old kings of Hume been?

He thought about that as he moved to his footlocker. He’d already had everything packed and ready, along with a few extra things he’d gotten from Dugan with the small bit of silver he’d kept for himself rather than sending to his body’s family. His last meeting with Dugan had seemed much like any other day of helping him, but at the end of it the dwarf had surprised him by placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t die,” he’d said simply, and Michael planned to take that request to heart.

Michael put on his armor as he thought of his bearded friend. Even though they were marching through friendly territory, they were expected to be wearing it as they marched. He tightened the straps with mutterings of “corto” and placed his helmet over his head. He took a final look around the barracks before he walked out of them. He’d spent the majority of his new life living out of the small trunk at the foot of his bed. He doubted he’d feel nostalgic about it, but he certainly wouldn’t forget it.

He walked out of the barracks, falling in line just a bit behind the rest of the group that hadn’t cared to take the time to do any divining. They were all escorted by other soldiers to a classroom where Kline was waiting to give everyone their assignments.

When Michael arrived, he gestured for him to come to the front of the line.

“You, Pyotr, Marcus, Davi, and Ollie are all being sent to the northern front… I had asked them to have you separated as much as possible, but it looks like that recommendation has been ignored.”

Michael looked at him and smiled. “I guess we got lucky.”

Kline frowned at him. “The northern front is a most brutal one. Tusynians and their mercenaries are gathering there in force. I don’t know that I’d consider it luck that you and your friends have an increased chance of death.” He paused for a moment and pulled a piece of paper and a small bag from his coat and handed it to him. “This is for you. Before you read it, I want you to know that you’re the only Penitent that tried to do what you did. I respect the attempt.”

Michael frowned and took the small bag of coin and the letter. It had already been opened, which didn’t surprise him. He stepped to the corner of the room and unraveled it.

Lifetaker,

You stole my son from me. You killed a man I once called brother. No money you send to us will make us forgive you. Their blood has more value than any amount of coin can measure up to. Whether it was offered in kindness or cruelty does not matter to me. I wish you a short life of agony and misery.

May you die disrespected and unloved by your country and family,

-The man whose blood you’ve stolen. Whose pride and joy you wear as a skin.

Michael let out a long breath as he finished reading it and slipped it carefully into his pocket. He took his helmet in both hands and placed it over his head. He started walking to meet up with the rest of the newly minted soldiers getting prepared to march out. He remembered viscerally going to the first parole hearing of the man who had killed his son driving drunk. He remembered the hate he felt watching that man say that he’d served his time, that he’d done his best to atone. He knew a little about how his body’s parents felt. He’d tried to make up for it in whatever way he could, but he wound up hurting them more unnecessarily. That was not even mentioning the fact he’d had to kill a man in self-defense, who, it seemed, had been dear to them.

He kept walking, vaguely aware of his friends talking shit to one another as they moved. When his children were little and had done something bad or had a bad day, he would tell them that it wasn’t too late. The day wasn’t over yet. They could choose to be better and do better anytime they wanted—they just had to make that choice. Michael wouldn’t bother his body’s family again. They wouldn’t absolve him of his guilt, and that was fine. He’d do his best to live a good life in the body he was lucky enough to have. That’s how he would honor it.