Bog Standard Isekai

Galan groaned and leaned back in the armchair in his office, stretching out his hand. It had begun to cramp from so much writing, which was preposterous.

“I don’t understand it,” he said. “I’m above the fifth threshold in Dexterity, Vitality, and Strength. My hand shouldn’t cramp up even if I were to write for a week without ceasing.”

His adjunct, Lyssa, slammed down her own pen with a grunt, likely frustrated by the interruption. Of course she would’ve given voice to her vexation; she was always very careful to display the maximum acceptable amount of attitude, but no more. She leaned back in her chair and sighed. “It’s probably psychological.”

“Hm.” Galan immediately stopped stretching his hand. She was probably right, she usually was. He checked her work often, and still had never found a mistake or a contravention of his intentions. In the short time they’d worked together, he’d had no reason to criticize her, except in her sometimes inappropriate attitude.

He could forgive her that much, because eight months ago he’d killed her brother.

Sometimes when she met his eyes, he saw the eyes of Emul Lethonen who he could remember in startling detail, though he’d only ever met him the once.

He had slain Emul in open combat on the field near Aberquay, in a harrying action to split Prinnash’s focus and keep them from war with Frenaria. He had sent the [Knight’s] body and armor home with a note lauding the fallen’s bravery.

Two weeks later his sister Lyssa, a [Secretary], had approached his camp and asked to join his retinue. He’d never asked why.

“You know, I would be more than pleased if you were to leave this all to me,” said Lyssa.

“I cannot. I have recently become the Lord Commander of this Company of [Knights], second in the Order of the Long Sleep only to the Grand Marshall, who remained in Olland. I say this not to brag, but to demonstrate the weight of responsibility I bear. Every decision made here rests on me, even the ones I delegate.”

“Most men in your position still ride out seeking levels,” Lyssa pointed out. “If you’re doing this, then you’re not gaining power as a [Knight]. You’re staying complacent while your enemies grow stronger. Some might call that a moral quandary.”

Galan nodded. “Some might, but not I. When you follow the path of duty, moral quandaries tend to slip away. It’s simple: this is my responsibility, so honor dictates that I fulfill it. I need not distract myself with second guessing… or wishful thinking.”

Lyssa smirked and then turned back to her desk. “Then are you done for now? Because if so–”

“Perhaps you could take down a letter, before I leave you to work in peace.”

She sighed, but had a new paper and pen ready before he’d even finished speaking.

“Have I ever told you about the boy we rescued in Travin’s Bog?” Galan mused.

“Very little.”

He winced. That was by design, of course. He was a candid man by nature, so to prevent himself from accidentally giving away too many details and betraying his Oath, he had spoken as little as possible about Brin and Travin’s Bog.

To the Grand Marshall, he had spoken nothing at all. He had simply removed [Hide Status] for a moment in private, to show that he had upgraded his Class. His best Skill, the hallmark of their order [Inexhaustible] had changed to [Inextinguishable].

His Class had changed as a result. [Untiring Knight] had become [Deathless Knight].

To Lyssa, he said, “I worry about his upbringing. The [Illusionist] we traveled with agreed to take him in, but what sort of role model is that? He’s no doubt learning all kinds of unseemly habits. Although it isn’t all bad. Last I heard, he’d become a [Glasser] and was hoping to evolve it into a melee-focused fighting Class of some sort.”

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Lyssa shrugged. “Not exactly a natural progression, but stranger things have happened. Is all this going in the letter, or..?”

Galan rubbed his chin. “Perhaps if we could have left him with my great friend Lurilan, I would rest easier. Despite fighting with a bow, he’s one of the most forthright and honest men I’ve ever met. He taught me much about how guile is not always the enemy of honor. In fact, at one time he–”

“Is that how you want the letter to start? Perhaps if we could have left him with my great friend Lurilan…” She mimicked writing that down, but of course did not. A joke of some sort?

Galan did not often appreciate humor, but he grinned nonetheless because it was expected and cost him nothing. “No. Write this:

My dear friend Brin the Mistaken,

Or shall I call you Aberthol Beynon? Lumina has informed me that this may in fact be your true name. She has also said much about your resilience, work ethic, and determination. For this reason, I see fit now to extend to you an offer. ȓÃꞐòВЁŜ

I once promised that should you desire it, you would have a place with me in the Order of the Long Sleep. I renew this promise. My Order has recently joined a confederation in Prinnash to contain possible outbreaks from Arcaena, in the event that negotiations break down. A new unit of young [Knights] and appropriate support Classes is formed every month, and I would have you join one of these groups.

This would give you experience with military discipline, an opportunity to increase your vigor with heavy conditioning of the body, and possibly even combat experience.

I remember well that you voiced a desire to earn the [Knight] Class. I do not guarantee that [Knight] can be earned in such a way, but I do mark it as a distinct possibility.

On a personal note, there is a man here I want you to meet. I’ve recently made the acquaintance of [Knight] after the Order of the Golden Ivory who seems to have much in common with you. He also woke up near his System Day with no memories, also alone and surrounded by undead. Perhaps by working together you might uncover the truth of your histories.

Please consider my offer quickly and travel here with all possible speed.

Your true friend and humble servant,

Galan

Lyssa finished taking down the note. “I’ll see to it that a [Messenger] takes it. I assume haste is desirable?”

“Indeed.”

She folded it and set it to the side with other correspondences for later delivery. “Are you really going to let him join a Lance? This is a [Glasser] we’re talking about. These will be real [Knights], not [Squires]. Young [Knights], but [Knights] all the same. They won’t be eager to have a member who can’t pull his weight. I don’t think you’re doing him a kindness here.”

“Kindness has little to do with it. Duty does, and I made a promise. I can’t guarantee he’ll be able to keep up, but I can give him a chance to climb or fall under his own power.”

“Very well. Can I help you with anything else, commander?” Her words were correct, but there was something in her tone that was less than desirable. She also didn’t wait for his answer before she turned back to her work. Was he meant to upbraid her here?

“No. As you were, adjunct,” said Galan.

He thought for a moment about returning to his paperwork, and then had to stifle a yawn. He knew for a fact that was psychological; he’d slept twice this month already, and could go another six months without sleep if necessary.

He left the office, and walked down the crumbling corridors of the old keep that Prinnash had given temporarily for his Order’s use. Everything was clean and tidy, but no effort had been made to make repairs. The ancient granite floors had long cracks running through them, but were otherwise polished to a mirror sheen. Here and there, vines of ivy crawled through holes in the stone walls. He rather liked it. Living in a ruin made him feel like a man out of time, like someone sent from a better, more honorable age.

The further he went from the section of the keep where he made his office, the more of a ruin it became. The [Squires] and men-at-arms lived in areas with walls but no roof. The servants and staff had pitched tents in areas where only trails of old stone on the floor told that there had been separate rooms there.

Beyond that, he could overlook the field below the hill where the keep sat, and he saw a sight that always made his heart swell.

Thousands of men in armor drilled their formation. Towering siege engines were under construction, covered with workers who climbed over them like busy ants. Kennels for war beasts, stables for the [Knights], and platforms for arcane conjurings and summonings.

An army was mustering here, and he wanted Brin to be a part of it. A Lance of new [Knights] would always remain behind the front lines, but it would be a good experience.

He regretted that he could not have told all in his letter, but this was a delicate subject. Officially, his native Olland was still negotiating Arcaena’s surrender. In reality, the terms Arcaena had suggested had been so one-sided that it may as well have been Olland surrendering to Arcaena.

The diplomats from Olland were the ones stalling for time while they built up this invasion force. They’d told everyone that they would have a final peace deal by the end of the year.

In truth, by the end of the year, four nations would march their armies together for the first time in two hundred years. The war against Arcaena was soon at hand.

The End of Book 3

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