Rico had been a footsoldier for twelve years.
Twelve years of mud in his boots, rust on his blade, and orders shouted by men who had never held a shield in the rain. He joined at seventeen because he thought war meant glory. At twenty-nine, he knew it mostly meant guard duty and polishing someone else's armor.
Across the courtyard, a fresh recruit barely old enough to grow a beard was being congratulated by the captain.
"Corporal," the captain announced proudly.
Rico stared.
The boy had arrived three months ago. Three.
Rico adjusted the dent in his helmet, the same one he'd been wearing for six years. No promotion. No commendation. Just another shift on the north wall where nothing ever happened except wind.
A fellow soldier nudged him. "You hear? The corporal's uncle serves in the treasury."
"Of course he does," Rico muttered.
Somewhere between watching that boy salute awkwardly and being told to scrub the mess hall floor again, Rico felt something inside him quietly snap.
He had survived border skirmishes. He had marched through winter. He had carried wounded men twice his size. And yet here he was, outranked by a child with influential relatives.
By sunset, Rico had made a decision.
If the army wouldn't value him, someone else would.
Preferably someone paying in actual coin.
Rico did not storm into the captain's office. He did not make a speech.
He waited until evening rations were handed out, until the courtyard emptied, until the newly promoted corporal stopped grinning long enough to disappear into the barracks.
Then he walked to the captain's door and knocked.
"Enter."
The captain barely looked up from his ledger. "What is it?"
Rico placed his sword on the desk. Not dramatically. Just firmly.
"I'm done."
The captain's quill paused. "Done with what?"
"This." Rico gestured vaguely, the fort, the walls, the mud, the endless sameness of it all. "Twelve years is enough."
The captain leaned back. "You think any other work is better?"
"I think being paid what I'm worth is better."
A long silence followed.
The captain finally shrugged. "As you wish. Leave your armor. The sword you may keep. It's seen enough service."
Rico nodded once. That was more recognition than he'd gotten in years.
When he stepped outside the gates at dusk, the air felt different. No orders. No watch rotations. No walls.
Just road.
For the first time since he was seventeen, Rico had no rank.
And strangely, that felt like promotion.