Chapter 3: Group 32
If one was to walk one league to the south of Flanar, the capital and heart of the Fallen Kingdom, they would find the Crimson Front. It was named as such due to the overwhelmingly absurd amounts of soldiers sent there. They were no more than cannon fodder, sent there to keep up a ridiculously wide defensive line, spanning from the East of The Eternal Forest to the West of The Desolate Swamps. The defensive line on paper was supposed to be almost 2 leagues in length but the real defensive measures came in closer to the inner regions of the Fallen Empire. Minefields, Traps, Trenches, the rare Arcane Guns and the even rarer Arcane Constructs. It formed layers upon layers of defensive measures with the so called battlefield as the outermost and most superficial layer. In reality it was the proving ground for the recruits. The ones who lived would be sent to either for further training or sent to other battlefields to determine their potential accurately. In an era where new wars begun before old ones had been finished, resources and safety were the most precious commodities. Yes, lives might be lost, but with the amount of people each Empire had, talent was relatively common. It was the geniuses that were to be protected.
As hundreds of troops retreated from the Crimson Front, thousands more replaced them, rotating the troops, bringing the hardened warriors back and sending in fresh blood.
"Thalar and Raas, go out and scout. Meet up with the rearguards of the 31st Group and get the information from the battlefield. Their scouts should have come back by now. We hitch camp in two hours, so better make it back before sunset or sleep outside." A burly man in armour said to two somewhat lanky and thin men. The man had a long gash from one side of his cheek to dark brown eyes. He sat on a black warhorse, almost 14 hands tall.
"I wonder how it feels to boss around? You're lucky you managed to save one of the Thirteen and became a captain..." One of lanky man said, grumbling and waiting for his colleague to support him. The other man said nothing, his black eyes cold and indifferent, looking at the grumbling man with disdain as if he were a crying child.
"Now, now. If you want to become Captain all you need to do is protect one of the most valued targets of the Stashlians. Do that and I'll readily give my position up." The Captain said with a small smile on his face. These three had been in one squad before he had been cut off and isolated from his comrades during an intense struggle. One thing led to another and now he was the Captain of the 32nd Group.
Each group consisted of 5 veterans and 45 recruits. The numbering of the Group's was also a ranking system which was determined by a group under the Wartime Council. It was supposed to encourage soldiers to give their all in battle and earn rewards as their groups ranking rose. Each Group's ranking was determined on a soldiers personal performance as well as overall performance. As for how the Wartime Council managed to keep track of almost 10s of thousands soldiers was quite they mystery. Due to this each Group could let go of soldiers and recruit soldiers who had proven themselves. Being the 32nd Group out of the 280 Groups was already enough to be classed as Top-Elite. But it still wasn't enough to get the ultimate recognition, achieving a place in the Hall of Merits. The top 5 groups would automatically gain a place in the Hall of Merits and having a place meant advantages for the entire family. Special discounts, honorary title of Baron, opportunity to join the Tower of Knights and being allocated land ; the benefits were endless. And where there were endless opportunities, there was endless danger. The top 10 Groups were almost always comprised of entirely veterans or people with special abilities in a time when 'special' was the norm. If one somehow managed to breach the top 10 and din't have someone of considerable power backing them up or supporting them then the squads in the Top 10 excluding the ones at the very top would join together and fight out the unlucky Group.
"Sure. I might as well give my life up. I swear that you~"The man started once more before being interrupted by the one beside him.
"Enough. Let's get on with our mission." The person said, looking coldly at his arguing friend.
"You were never the one for words. The eloquence of words will always be out of your reach, unlike me, a master of the art of elegance and courteous behaviour." The man said, sighing loudly in an exaggerated manner.
The burly man's face broke into a full smile, before he shook his head slightly. "Very well. Both of you might as well go. And remember, back before sunset or you sleep outside."
The man who proclaimed himself to be the master in terms of elegance of courteous behaviour was about to give on last snide remark before being half-dragged by his friend. He seemed to want to protest before the other's words shut him up.
"We'll be back. And if you want to showcase your eloquent speech, I will introduce your tongue to my knife. Trust me, you won't have the words to display your proficiency after that."
The man seemed shaken before plastering on a bright smile before nodding in what he deemed as a noble and elegant manner. I would've if it wasn't for his nervousness which made him look more like a quivering rabbit.
After the two left, the Captain finally relaxed and let out a small chuckle as he recounted the banter between them. But no matter how much they joked, he knew that in the end they would reach before the sun would set. The thought that they would be late didn't even cross his mind. Nor did the thought that maybe one of them would die while the other would never speak in the same jovial manner again, that they wouldn't reach before not only the sunset but even after one whole week.
Oblivious to these thoughts, the Captain rode his horse forwards, not knowing that this would be the last time he ever would banter cheerfully with the people he called his friends.
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