The morning of the march dawned grey and damp, a fitting aesthetic for House Falken's contribution to Count Vollmar's "grand muster." In the muddy courtyard, the full extent of their military might stood assembled: twenty-three souls.
Kaelen surveyed his "army" from the back of a sway-backed mare that smelled faintly of rot. His shoulder still ached from Jannik's blow, a persistent, dull throb that his new AGI: 6 did nothing to soothe.
At the front, on a proper destrier, sat Jannik in polished, if slightly outdated, plate armor over chainmail. He was attended by four household guards in worn brigandines—the professional core. Behind them were eighteen levies: village men and boys, armed with a motley assortment of spears, rusty bills, and fear. Their padded jacks were thin, their shoes were leather wrapped in rags. They were not soldiers. They were tax payments rendered in flesh.
Baron Gerold Falken stood on the tower steps, a gaunt silhouette against the damp stone. He didn't offer a rousing speech. His voice was as dry as old parchment. "Serve with obedience. Uphold the name." His eyes flicked to Kaelen, lingered for a cold moment on his second son's simple tunic and lack of armor, and then away. The dismissal was absolute.
Jannik raised a gauntleted hand. "Column! Forward!"
The procession began its slog out of Mournhold, a sorry snake of misery winding onto the muddy track that led east toward Count Vollmar's keep. Kaelen's mount, whom he'd privately dubbed Despair, plodded along at the rear.
[ NEW QUEST: THE MARCH OF THE DAMNED ]
OBJECTIVE: Reach Count Vollmar's muster point at Schwarzwald Keep alive.
SECONDARY: Ensure more than 50% of Falken levies survive the journey.
REWARD: 300 XP, Title: [Logistician Novice], Increased Reputation with House Falken Levies.
FAILURE: Death of the host. Or divine disappointment.
VALERIUS'S NOTE: "AN ARMY MARCHES ON ITS STOMACH. YOURS MARCHES ON MISERY. IMPROVE THE MENU."
The system was right. By noon, the misery was quantifiable. The pace Jannik set was brutal for armored men on horses, and murderous for underfed peasants carrying gear. Kaelen watched, his IQ: 14 parsing the data of their suffering.
[ PARTY STATUS - FALKEN LEVIES ]
Morale: Low (And Falling)
Fatigue: High
Nutrition: Poor
Observed Aliments: Blisters (x6), Lingering Cough (x3), Probable Sprain (x1)
Predicted Attrition Rate Before Destination: 15-20%
A man near him, grey-haired with a face like cracked leather, stumbled over a root and went down hard, his spear clattering. He lay for a moment, breath knocked out. Jannik, twenty yards ahead, didn't look back.
Kaelen nudged Despair over. "Get up."
The man, Old Thom from the village, glared up, shame and pain in his eyes. "Leave me, milord. I'll catch up."
He won't, Kaelen's mind supplied. He'll sit down, realize how tired he is, and then he'll either desert or die. A 1% attrition event, about to happen.
This wasn't about compassion. It was about asset management. The quest required survival above 50%. This man was a statistic about to become a liability.
"Your spear," Kaelen said, his voice flat. "Tie it to my saddle. Use the strap. Hold onto the stirrup. We'll match your pace."
Old Thom stared as if Kaelen had spoken in another tongue. A noble? Offering… aid?
[ SOCIAL CHECK: DIFFICULT - TARGET: Suspicious Peasant ]
[ ROLLING… MODIFIERS: SOC 2 (-5), Title: Pragmatic Survivor (+3), Unconventional Action (+2)… ]
[ RESULT: Marginal Success ]
Grudgingly, muttering thanks to the Saints, Old Thom did as instructed. The column moved on, now with Kaelen and his human anchor at the very rear, moving slightly slower.
[ PARTY STATUS UPDATED ]
Morale: Low (Stabilized)
Fatigue: High (Stabilizing for 1 unit)
Attrition Prediction: Reduced by 0.5%
It was a pittance. But it was a change in the data. An hour later, a younger levy, red-faced and wheezing, began to lag. Kaelen saw the pattern. He didn't wait for him to fall.
"You. Swap with Thom. Ten minutes each. Rotate."
The system pinged.
[ SKILL UNLOCK PROGRESS: LOGISTICS I - 15% ]
Understanding of supply lines, fatigue distribution, and basic troop management.
By the time Jannik called a halt at a stony creek for a wretched midday meal of hardtack and salt pork, the dynamic at the rear had subtly shifted. Four of the most struggling levies were now in a slow, rotating system of support, tied to Kaelen's saddle or sharing the burden of their gear. They didn't look at him with gratitude—these were men who knew the nobility's indifference intimately—but with a wary, confused curiosity.
Jannik finally noticed during the stop. He strode back through the resting men, his face like a thunderhead. "You are slowing the column, brother. We have a schedule to keep for our Liege Lord."
Kaelen took a sip from his waterskin. "We'll arrive with more men able to hold a spear. A count's general should care about effective troop strength, shouldn't he?"
It was the wrong thing to say. Jannik's hand shot out and grabbed the front of Kaelen's tunic, hauling him up. "You speak to me of generals? You, who fights like a cutpurse and coddles peasants? My effective strength is my arm and my honor, not this rabble!"
[ TROPE FORECAST UPDATED ]
Incoming: "Public Humiliation to Assert Dominance" – Probability 95%.
The levies watched, eyes downcast. Old Thom looked at his feet. Jannik's voice rose, for the benefit of all. "You are a shadow on our house. On the march, you will keep pace or be left for the crows. Is that understood, boy?"
Kaelen met his brother's gaze. The anger was hot, but beneath it, his mind was cold, calculating. SOC: 2 meant he couldn't charm his way out. STR: 4 meant he couldn't fight. But he had something else.
"Understood," Kaelen said, his voice devoid of emotion. "But if you leave them behind, brother, who will carry your tent? Who will clean your armor? Who will stand between your glorious honor and the enemy's arrows?" He paused, letting the pragmatic, ugly truth hang in the air. "You need the rabble. You just don't like to think about it."
Jannik's jaw tightened. He had no retort that wouldn't sound foolish. He shoved Kaelen backward. "Keep up. Or be counted a deserter."
He stormed back to the front.
[ QUEST PROGRESS: THE MARCH OF THE DAMNED ]
Secondary Objective Status: Levy Survival - 18/18 (100%)
Note: Morale has stabilized. Covert leadership recognition among levies: +5%.
Kaelen straightened his tunic. No one spoke to him. But as they formed up to move again, Old Thom silently took his position by Despair's stirrup without being asked. Another man, the one with the cough, fell in on the other side.
They weren't a loyal following. They were a mutual survival pact, recognized in silence. He had made his first, tiny command decision: to view men not as honor, but as logistics. As numbers that needed to stay in the positive.
That night, as they made a cold camp in a dripping forest, Kaelen finally spent his hard-earned XP.
[ 100 XP CONSUMED. 1 SKILL POINT ACQUIRED ]
[ ACCESSING SKILL TREE: KNOWLEDGE BRANCH ]
Available Skills:
· Tactical Appraisal (Cost: 1 SP): Gain deeper insight into enemy and terrain weaknesses during combat.
· Logistics I (Cost: 1 SP): Formalize intuitive understanding of supply and fatigue. +10% to party movement efficiency, -5% to attrition on marches.
He didn't hesitate. The path of the greatest general, he suspected, was not paved with glorious charges, but with saved steps, preserved rations, and men who arrived able to fight.
[ SKILL LEARNED: LOGISTICS I ]
You see the army as a mechanism. You begin to understand its stresses, its fuel, its points of failure. You can now view a detailed Supply & Fatigue sub-menu for any group you are associated with.
A new layer of data unfolded in his vision, overlaying the huddled levies: caloric debt, boot integrity percentages, sleep deficit. It was horrifying. It was perfect.
High above, where mortal campfires were mere embers in the vast dark, Valerius watched his underdog invest not in a flashy sword skill, but in the mathematics of misery management. The god of war chuckled, a sound like grinding tectonic plates. His project was progressing. Not with a roar, but with the quiet, relentless efficiency of a man who knew how to endure.
The march continued at dawn. Kaelen Falken, son of a count, future general, rode at the back of a sorry column. And for the first time, he began to truly see the army he would one day have to lead.