Chapter 4

“What do you want from life, Flint?” The senior-most officer asked.

“I don’t know, sir,” Flint answered honestly. “I’d very much like to find a remote town or village far from the war. Perhaps find work as a builder or a guard, make a home and live my life in peace.”

The smiles disappeared from the officers’ faces as they looked at one another. Flint guessed that’s not the answer they wanted. He didn’t see any point in lying. He had joined the army to fill his nodes and gain the skills to make a living.

“What about your family?” The seated officer asked. “You do realise that by leaving the Iron Army, you’ll cost them security, schooling for children, and subsidised medical costs.”

“Not to forget your pension,” the other said. “If you serve one more term with us, you won’t just fill your final node but also get the army pension once you’re fifty or after the war ends—whichever comes first.”

“I don’t have any family, sirs,” Flint answered. “I grew up in the Red City, mostly on the streets.”

“The orphanages didn’t take you in?” The seated officer furrowed his brow, leaning forward in his chair.

“After the war starter, sir, they lost funding while the number of orphans coming to the city increased. There weren’t always enough beds or food.”

“How did you survive?” The man asked.

“Dogs, sir.” Flint smiled. His fingers wandered to Maya’s head. It was an almost involuntary reaction. Then he noticed the mixture of confusion and disgust on the officers’ faces and burst into laughter. “I should’ve phrased that better. I just get along with dogs better than people. The strays and I looked out for one another, and they ensured I was always fed.”

“Of course. You’re a Woodson.” It was the third officer. He hadn’t spoken until now, and the man’s deep voice took Flint by surprise. His tone didn’t carry the usual loathing that accompanied the title. The officer stood tall and skinny with a straight back. “Do you know which side of your family was fay?”

“No, sirs,” Flint replied, shaking his head. “The orphanage said a fae caravan was passing through the city when the war started. They were leaving after the Iron Lords ordered their exile. Apparently, I looked too human and didn’t have any gifts to survive the Wyldlands.”

“What did the orphanage’s doctor say?”

“They believe I might be a second-generation Greenson. The traces of fae in my blood aren’t enough for me to have pure parents.”

“Well, that explains why you’ve not grown in rank after twelve years of service.” The others glared at the man, but he ignored them. He walked to the wall and opened the trunk sitting against it.

Flint’s eyes widened as he saw its contents. It housed rows of labelled skill stones. Their shine and colours suggested not all of them were as common as [Building] or [Marksmanship]. Flint’s eyes widened as he didn’t just spot [First Aid] but the magical skill of [Vivomancy] too. “What if we let you pick whatever stone you want? Would you that make you want to commit to the Iron Army in the long term?”

“That’s a generous offer,” the seated officer said. “You could pick a second-tier skill stone, Flint. When you finish your term, you’ll be set for life.”

“I appreciate the offer, sirs.” Flint bowed his head, giving the men the respect they were due. “Will this incentive come with a rank, though?”

“No,” the seated officer answered. He looked at the others, and they shared a collective sigh. “It goes without saying that you deserve a promotion, Flint. We know it, and you know it—” He paused, looking at the man that had handed Flint [Canine Friend]. “Most of us anyway. As much as we’d like you to sign up for another term, I’d rather not lie. While you were asleep, we spoke to the builders and guards that vouched for you. It’s sad, but more than half changed their mind once they found out you’re a Woodson.”

“That’s the thing, sirs,” Flint said. “I’ve spent twelve years serving under fools like Captain Ironheart. We both know I can do a much better job than him. I know my last name is a deal-breaker, but we both know that I can get the job done.”

“That might be true, but we’re at war with the fae, son,” said the formerly silent man. He didn’t look too old. “We can’t expect the men to respect and follow someone with the enemy’s blood running through their veins. You’d need a hell of a family name to pull that off.” It was then Flint noticed the man’s pointed ears. He was a Woodson too. He didn’t sympathise with the man, though. The revelation lit a fire inside Flint’s chest. People like him didn’t go by Woodson. They called themselves Greenfinger or a variation of the kind. They were the same as Flint but wealthy and connected. “However, we’re willing to let you have your pick of skill stones. There are few tier threes in the chest too.”

“I’ll sweeten the deal by approving a captain’s salary for your final term, too,” said the seated officer. “Think about it. A tier-three skill stone and captain’s salary, without the responsibility.” He sighed. “My son will receive appropriate punishment for his behaviour as well. He’s a shame to the Ironheart name, and I thank you for putting him in his place.”

Flint wasn’t sure how to respond. The offer was tempting. If he survived his final term, a tier-three skill stone and six years of captain salary would let him live in luxury for his remaining days—luxurious by his standards. However, after his recent experiences, Flint wasn’t sure.

“I’m curious, sirs. Why me? The Iron Army has more experienced builders. There are a couple of sixth and seventh rank builders in my company alone. Why would you make a Woodson such an offer?”

The seated officer unfurled the map sitting on his desk. It showed the entire Iron Disk and the surrounding emptiness of space. It marked the several land and water bridges connecting to neighbouring disks too, but they cut off at the map’s edges. It highlighted a couple of tunnels inland too, but most of them were in Wyld territories. Flint had seen maps of the kind before, but none of them was as well annotated as the one before him. The officer ran a finger down a recently drawn line.

“That’s our defensive line,” he said before outline the felt behind it, around the green expanse beyond. “This is the Wyld’s forces.” Then he pointed to a spot far behind the defensive line in the Iron Lands. “This is us. We don’t know how they did it, but the Wyld bastards managed to get past the defensive line and deep into our lands without us finding out. We’re not sure how they’re doing it, but we need to prepare. The Iron Council has decided to build an elite force within the Building Division. They would travel between the outposts, securing our defences and focusing on valuable at-risk settlements.”

Flint’s attention drifted to a big ‘X’ marked on the map. It sat far from the defensive line, and the cursive letters next to it read ‘Lea’s Slumber’. The notes scribbled into the map showed forces pulling away from there. The officer continued to speak while Flint studied the surrounding scribbles.

“We’re reinforcing the mines and farms, while all non-essential towns, villages, and settlements are being evacuated—"

“What about this one, sir?” Flint asked, pointing at Lea’s Slumber. “It’s not my place to question you, of course, but why does it say ‘In God’s Hands’?”

“I didn’t realise you could read,” said the Greenfinger officer, looking away.

“We tried evacuating them, but they refused.” The seated officer ran a finger along the mountains surrounding Lea’s Slumber. He stopped at a spot just outside the village. “Lea’s Slumber was near the front lines during the last war. The mountains around there are impossible to cross except through this pass. We don’t mark it on the maps anymore, but there’s an old stronghold there.” He tapped the narrow valley connecting Lea’s Slumber to the Verdant Hills. “It’s the only way in and out of.”

“The locals believe they’re untouchable,” the Greenfinger officer said. “They left us no choice but to pull back.”

Flint wasn’t sure why his eyes kept drifting to the location. It sat in the middle of nowhere and had no protection. However, when Flint thought about getting away from the war and starting afresh away from everything, he dreamed of a remote location like Lea’s Slumber. Just as the thought crossed his mind, the Heartstone chimed.

The officers’ eyes widened as they looked at one another. None of them spoke. The Greenfinger rushed to the monolith and pressed his hands to it. He pulled away five seconds later, shaking his head. The other two checked too, but they pulled away from the Hearstone with disappointed expressions on their face. Then all eyes were on Flint. He didn’t need to be told. Flint marched up to the Heartstone and interacted with the ancient arcane machine once again.

[Life Quest: Saving the Saviour]
Not every heroic deed is destined for the stories. Some jobs are long and arduous and don’t come with enough excitement to become legends. Everyone talks about heroes, but rarely about the souls that help get them there.
-Restore the fort
-Protect the village of Lea’s Slumber
-Give the Champion of Equilibrium time to grow

[Objective 1]
Commune with the Heartstone in the Slumbering Fort’s outer defences.
Reward: A class stone relevant to your skills.

A smile spread across Flint’s lips as he stepped away from the Heartstone. The ancient structure had recognised his desire and used it to fill one of the Iron Disk’s needs. He couldn’t believe his luck. He turned around to face the officers with his heart racing. The seated man smiled at him, and the Greenfinger appeared furious.

“Has your quest have anything to do with the Iron Army?” The third man asked. Flint shook his head, struggling to find words. He felt Maya’s tail swishing against his leg, and he struggled not to lavish her with attention. “It’s going something to do with Lea’s Slumber, doesn’t it?”

“Yes—” Flint’s voice cracked, forcing him to clear his throat. “Yes, sir. I’ve been tasked with rebuilding the fort outside Lea’s Slumber.” He thought it best to leave out the remaining information. Flint wasn’t sure how the men would react. Given the ambient aura, he believed mention of a ‘Champion’ would raise too many questions. The Iron Army would want to get involved with the quest and probably try to claim the rewards too. “It requires me to rebuild the fort and the defences alone. I’m not sure how the quest will work, but it sounds like a noble direction.”

“What kind of life quest is that?” The Greenfinger snorted, rolling his eyes. “You’re not going actually to take it, are you? Lea’s Slumber is in the middle of nowhere and has no defences. You might get a class and a couple of stones out of it, but when the Wyld armies get there, you’ll die. It’s a suicide quest.”

They stood in silence as Flint took his words in. The man wasn’t wrong. His chances of survival were low. However, his life would be as in danger if he stayed with the Iron Army. They didn’t intend to keep him safe and far away from the battles but hopping between them. Flint knew that it was a noble cause. However, if he got stuck under another incompetent, silver-spoon-raised oaf, he’d go crazy. It would end in one of two ways. A moronic order would get him killed, or he’d end up in military prison for punching another commanding officer in the stomach. A captain’s salary didn’t count for much if he had to spend another six years working under someone with less experience and training than him.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Flint said. “Suicide or not, I intend to see the life quest through. If it leads to my death, so be it. I’d rather die on my own terms and not some spoilt—” He caught himself mid-sentence and looked the seated officer in the eye. “I apologise for stepping out of line, Lord Ironheart, but my decision is final. My time with the Iron Army has come to an end.” Flint bowed. He didn’t need to, but it felt appropriate to leave the matter respectfully and on good terms. “Thank you for the offer and training you’ve given me over the last twelve years. The Iron Army moulded me into the man I am today and helped me realise what I want from life. Unfortunately, it involves leaving the military life behind and finding my own way.”

Lord Ironheart smiled and nodded at Flint, but the other two didn’t make any such gesture. He marched past the men, around their desk and exited the office. Maya stuck close to his side. He reported to the administration centre to deal with the exit paperwork and collect his accumulated pay. It took a while since several men and women were exiting the service. Double their numbers—mostly civilian survivors—were signing up for the Iron Army too. The process took a couple of hours, but he was glad to exit the stronghold finally.

“Things are going to change, Maya.” Flint knelt next to her, looking over the sea of tents. “I don’t know whether it’s going to be for better or worse.” She met his eyes, with her tongue hanging out and tail wagging. “Let’s find out, together shall we?”

A wave of contentment and happiness radiated off Maya as she hopped up, placing her front paws on his shoulder. She licked at his face before, looking in the same direction as him. Flint laughed. He couldn’t think of a better companion for the coming adventure.