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FDS Ch1
🕑 Added 2025-07-09 14:33:20 +0000 UTCIf he thought life in a barracks far away would be simple, the old knight just had to think of his first day.
When he met him for the first time.
In the squire's barracks, Arlak Malen slept, dreaming and at peace with Morphius, when he heard it. A bell, ringing like many other times. He had transferred from the capital to barracks where they had to train under a knight.
He jumped out of his bed and rushed out of the barracks room. He stumbled over his boots, then caught himself in the door frame and made his way out of the small room.
He rushed into the barracks compound where the bell was ringing.
I hope the captain isn’t another asshole, he thought, standing still and looking ahead in a knight's pose.
The girls who were in the barracks compound and opposite him looked up in his direction, giggled, and laughed.
His eyes shifted from the newly built wooden barracks to them.
“Hey, what’s going on?” he asked, looking around for the knight captain. “I heard the bell ringing.”
"Was it?"
One of the girls looked up at him and pointed at the building next to theirs. This was the Knight Captain's home, and the man was nowhere near the bell.
So it wasn’t the Knight Captain.
He looked at them then. The first girl was tall with blonde hair. She wore a steel ring on her finger.
The second girl had red hair, not the tallest or the shortest of the trio.
The last had turned skin. Sun-kissed, you could have called it.
“It was a prank.” They giggled, “the boys were pranking you.”
He should have known.
I should have known.
Of course, he was being pranked. Put a bunch of young adults together—what do you expect? Arlak thought and turned to leave.
He turned to head back to the barracks, but the bell rang again.
He froze. This time, he thought he knew who it was.
So Arlak turned back and stood as straight as a log and put his right hand on his chest.
The girls did the same, raising and saluting.
“What’s making all the noise?” the knight captain asked, letting go of the bell.
Seems like I wasn't the only one woken by the bell.
The knight captain was old—not too old, but old.
The man was stooped over, a worn back clearly from war.
Arlak thought that if it wasn’t for the armour plate over his chest, he doubted the man would have the air of a knight.
His armour was a steel silver with edges of white. There were no folds of welding.
It was soul metal.
“Form up.” He paused, scratching at his eyes. He looked around the small, sandy barracks compound.
Then his eyes landed on the four. “Where are the others?”
His hand went up to the bell, and he rang it again.
And there it was again.
The ringing bell. He did not hate the bell—he hated what it stood for. Sometimes it was there during his time at the imperial academy. Then, at the dorms in the orphanage. And then it was that night when they came. When monsters came, and it all went wrong.
“You have a minute to show yourselves!” he yelled with a gravelly tone in his voice, looking around at the barracks.
He did not wait long for the other squires assigned to him to show themselves.
The door to the third barracks opened, and two more figures appeared.
Two young men dressed in leather armour with dark grey chest plates, all of different designs and weaves.
Like that of the old man, they had no workings of welding or a smith's hammer. They were smooth and plain all the way.
The last of the young men had a towel around his waist as he rushed out from the back.
The half-naked young man in the towel stood straight-backed and tense.
“Uhh…,” the old man sighed as he paused and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“So you’re the group sent to me?” His eyes moved over the four boys and three girls.
The old man’s eyes lingered on the young man.
He sighed again.
At least they look capable.
Not that he was expecting too much trouble out here.
“You will call me Knight Captain Nils Harstad,” he said, walking among them. Then he stopped.
Knight Captain Harstad turned to the half-naked young man.
He pinched his face and let his shoulders sag an inch.
The sight of the boy standing straight-backed and half-naked had him feeling older than he was.
He knew he was old. But not that old. Still, he missed his younger years.
He looked at the young man’s face, and the boy did as much as he could to ignore his frown.
“Uhh… Go get dressed,” he waved. “I’ll wait.”
Arlak did not move. He stayed rigid, along with the others.
When the other boy came back, he was dressed in the blue leather uniform of the Empire.
“Good.” Harstad turned to face his new officers.
He had asked for this. A simple job on the border where he wouldn’t have to fight men anymore.
Monsters were better than men.
Killing them was better than killing fellow men. His fingers started to shake, but he caught himself.
He turned to the rough recruits. “So you want to be knights. I won't rank you as such until I find you fit.”
That's if he found them fit. He looked at each of them, meeting their eyes.
The seven straightened. He had seen men die in battle before. At least these fools would not have to deal with that.
He would have to train them. And if they were lucky, the worst they would face would be an ogre.
Or a beast wave. That was it.
His mission was to protect this border. The outpost was next to a mountain pass, a forest, and a small farming village. Nothing so terrifying—at least, he hoped.
“I hope you can all weave metal,” he said as he walked between them and turned, looking at their faces. He hoped the imperial capital had sent him capable squires. “Show me.”
Weaving metal was about expanding and compressing the metal.
For a man like him, he could compress his metal from a wall of bronze to a ring of gold he rarely wore on his finger.
Any soldier like him could work weaving similarly.
What of gold and silver? They had their uses.
Arlak did not weave his metal because he was already wearing his schematic. Therefore, he found there was no reason to weave it into another form.
Harstad walked towards them.
He stopped in front of the girl with black hair. He looked down at her hands.
“Your name?”
“Nilri.”
“A chain,” he scratched his short, whitish beard.
“Yes, Knight Captain.”
“Uhh… ‘Captain’ will do,” he raised his hand and interrupted her.
His hand went over the metal as he sensed its properties.
“Iron and Steel. Good. But it’s thin and useless at the first step of steel. Make it thinner and push yourself to the rank of silver. It may be useful.”
He walked towards the next girl.
“Selina.” In her hands, she held a helm of iron with a shifting of steel. It had a round top and an open face covering with two wide vertical slits that left her nose protected and let her see clearly.
He moved on from her.
“Abitha,” the redhead said.
She had grey iron bracers. Those were thin with interlocking hexagon plates. Imperial standard. He nodded.
“Name?” he asked the clean-looking boy with blond hair and an upturned chin.
“Mirard Fabbri.”
The knight captain looked at him. Truly looked at him. He hoped this boy was wise enough not to question his command.
“A dagger. Nearly steel, but too small. Uhh, to be expected.” he said lazily.
He moved on.
“Ovek.”
The old man tapped a finger on the breastplate with circular plates running out from the centre like a disturbed pond.
“Iron and steel is a good start.”
If the blonde is the clean and smart one. This guy had to be the dumb one. No doubt they were the ones who rang the captain's bell the first time.
“Gereon.”
Harstad paused. At least the boy was dressed this time around.
“What can you do?” He looked down. “Greaves.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Harstad moved to the last member of his squad. The boy was wearing his iron frame for a breastplate. He had seen it, and the boy had not woven any new forms with his metal.
A chest plate. No weapon form.
The chest plate looked like it had scales, but they were more like ridges with horizontal interlocking plates running down. It looked light.
The boy was almost taller than him. Taller than the others, certainly.
“Name?”
“Arlak.”
Harstad narrowed his eyes,
“You haven’t woven a full breast plate yet? Don’t you have a complete schematic?” he looked up.
“I don't.”
But this is my soul armour. I forged it myself. He didn’t say this out loud.
“Hmm… ” He looked up and down at the boy. “Your armour must be on of those.”
Arlak nodded. Because it was. And he didn't know why he felt there was something he was missing about his frame.
The captain narrowed his eyes. He looked up and down at the chest plate.
“Yes, incomplete indeed.” he muttered.
This could be interesting.
It wasn’t the full schematic. Whatever it was, a schematic like this meant that it was a part of a larger whole. Part of a greater goal.
This was a work to be built. He had seen this before. People like the boy often died early, or he shook his head.
But first, the boy would need to refine his soul metal to one of a higher rank.
It was a chest plate that was thin and well-formed to hug his torso. The back had missing parts.
And he could see where the rest of the frame would form.
He tapped it, "made with iron and steel. No... there is more iron than steel." he stepped back, narrowing his eyes at the chest plate.
Odd, where is all the steel hiding?
At least they all had their first weaving skills.
“Your schematics are good. But That's the first thing they teach you before you are assigned. However I’ll be teaching you to be knights,” he looked at all of them.
When he looked away, the seven exhaled and stole glances at each other—some more than others.
“I will teach you how to form weapons of war. " he paused.
That was one thing he didn't like about this assignment. Training soldiers always meant there was war, and he didn't like the implications of that. He flinched then realised he had been silent.
"Any questions?” he asked, his stiff back turned away from them.
“No, Captain.”
“No, Captain,” the voices chorused.
“Since some of you were eager to start, then let's start,” he said, looking at Arlak.
Arlak gulped. He didn't want to be in the critical eye of their boss.
“There are rules. As you may all know, we will be keeping guard over this section of the border. Can anyone tell me what we are protecting?”
“We are protecting a small village, and keeping the monsters in check. And are we to see any soldiers from the Freemen or the other nation, we are to report that to a runner,” Mirard said, never looking at his captain.
“Good,” Harstad turned and looked at the young man, then back at the six others. “At least some of you read the report before being assigned.”
If Arlak could have rolled his eyes, he would have. There was just no point in it.
“No campfires near the forest. They attract monsters," he lifted one finger. "The watch and patrol must be manned. How many of you? Seven. Good. I will have three of you patrolling around the village and farms, and one watch in the village at all times. You will rotate.”
Everyone nodded.
“If you drink, don't do it in my barracks, do it at the tavern. But miss your watch, and there will be consequences,” he looked around at the rough group. “And lastly, all are welcome to the table,” he lifted the fourth finger.
He looked at each of them. All different.
After all, the Empire had conquered many nations.
And had he known what was to come, he would have stayed at the capital or hidden as a forgotten knight.
---
----
Schematic skills came in dreams or vision instances where Iron gods spoke.
It gave people the ability to form shapes in metal.
Arlak, in his time, had two of these visions. Two breakthroughs.
Weavings he could never forget. Skills of his soul metal.
Two Armament Forms…Two schematics...
The Aero Frame Chest Plate
And the Morph Blade sword.
His cultivation was barely touching the realm of steel, and that was it. That’s all you needed to join the army of the Empire.
To him, he thought it was a foolish idea. Because there were those who were stronger. Those who reached out and went beyond. And they could destroy armies of hundreds, single-handedly.
“Arlak, come with me. You three,” he gestured to Gereon, Nilri, and Ovek, “go out on patrol. The rest of you, stay here, meditate, practice your forms or whatever —but be ready in case of danger.” He waved his hand in a dismissive way.
The barracks were a simple thing, located a fine distance away from the village. It had a simple wooden wall.
A weakness, Arlak thought. Sometimes he wondered if they did it just because it was the easier way. Maybe.
But it was wrong.
The barracks were far from the farming village, and the wind that blew against the wheat felt cool on his cheeks, if not cold in the late morning.
Well, at least this was nice. He wondered what the others would be doing.
Firstly, he did not think he would get along with Mirard.
Selina… hm. He did not know how he felt about her. She was…
He shook his head.
When Arlak and the Captain approached the milling people in the village, the armour of steel and silver the old man wore morphed to a ring on his finger.
It was a golden ring, but that was it.
Harstad looked back at him and raised his eyebrow.
Arlak's eyebrows knit together, and his eye widened briefly, but he was not going to ask. He wanted to, but he was still processing the fact that Harstad was a Gold Rank.
Harstad turned back.
At least the boy understands.
The old man had worn simple clothes under the armour.
Apart from the golden ring of compressed soul metal, he would have belonged. Walked like a powerless mortal man among mortals.
“This is a small town on the Empire's borders. People here don't get new faces, and they may hesitate to welcome you,” Harstad said, licking his dry lips.
The old man could use a mug of ale right about now. There was nothing wrong with early morning drinking—especially knowing that he had squires to do all the boring work. He looked to the side and saw the tall boy not minding whatever he was doing. He arched an eyebrow.
“Come, let's go,” the old knight said, and Arlak followed. It wasnt ike he was going to say no.
Arlak drew a lot of attention as they walked the streets of the small town. Rather, his chest plate did.
Eyes followed him.
He guessed many of them weren’t used to seeing a face like his, and metal weavings like the chest plate were popular among soldiers.
Yup, that's a lot of faces. He thought and tried to ignore them.
---
The old woman narrowed her eyes on the pair. She was one of the oldest people in her village and one of the few elders of the village.
To her, a new face meant change. It meant trouble was abound. She did not like the look in the young knight's eyes.
The old knight she knew. But the young, given power—hmm. She narrowed her eyes.
The old knight nodded to her in greeting, and she did the same. The boy did the same—nodded, or was it a bow? She didn’t know.
“Watch yourself around the good people of Montfeld.” she said as he walked past.
“Ahh… of course,” Arlak nodded and walked past the woman.
When he caught up with Harstad, the pair were already in the small square of the village.
“That’s Elder Magdalena. She’s a good woman and cares for her people. I don't want to hear you caused trouble for her.” He stopped, letting two young children run past him as they giggled and laughed.
Trouble? Why would I cause trouble?
This place was a backwater, and he came here only to show his service to the Empire, advance his soul metal, and go back to the capital.
He needed one of the schematics in their libraries.
He needed the secrets of the Flying Order.
Arlak nodded, his eyes moving to the village and the straw roofs of the housing.
“This way. We are going to see the mayor.”
When they reached, Arlak found that the mayor's house was significantly larger and made of stone.
It was also attached to the small town hall, which was also made of stone brick.
This was where the village stayed and hid when monsters attacked and where they kept their grain.
Stone walls, a stone roof, and stone floors.
There was even a cat lazing about in a corner on some hay.
The furry creature was no doubt there to deal with their pest problems.
There was a notice board by the entrance, but the old man simply ignored it and knocked on the door.
Huh. It seems like there aren't that many monsters around here, then.
The door opened, and a woman poked her head out.
She narrowed her eyes at them—especially at Arlak.
He thought he didn’t look that bad unless he had something on his face.
“Miss Galring,” Harstad nodded in greeting. “I must speak to your husband.”
“My husband? What is this about?” She looked around and behind the old knight.
“It’s simply a formality,” he said, his face trying not to twitch.
Arlak watched the old woman’s eyes land on Harstad’s golden ring. He thought she would reject them, shut the door in their faces—but she didn’t.
The golden ring on the old man’s finger was dangerous. He had morphed it down to gold. Something of quality. But he could refine the one pound of gleaming yellow gold upward to form a ten-pound silver sword.
Arlak thought she knew it. And she looked at him—at his breastplate of Iron soul metal.
Whatever she was looking for, she clearly did not find it.
“My husband will be out in a minute. I will call him downstairs,” she said, turning her eyes away dismissively and opening the door wider.
Arlak felt offended. He could weave steel, which meant he could weave iron and bronze.
The mayor was a bald man, aged but with a physical body that said he was a fighter once in his youth. He had a greying beard, and Arlak noted the many steel rings on the man’s fingers.
The man had not reached beyond the realm of steel—and stalled. He had never advanced. He had refined his steel, however.
Arlak guessed the man was once a guard. Not a knight, but a guard—and a good one—who had dedicated his time to refining steel.
Well, no wonder they didn't need a barracks out here until recently, he thought. I don’t think I can beat him—at least not until I reach silver or gold. Uhh, but I just stepped into the steel rank. He will cut my armour with his steel alone.
“Galring,” the captain nodded and took a seat in the small dining area.
The mayor nodded, seated on the opposite end. “Harstad, what brings you here? It’s almost midday.”
The old man reached into his tunic and produced a letter.
“This is a letter from the baron. He stationed us here—on his imperial authority and whatnot.”
He looked at the letter, then up at the knight captain. His eyes shifted to the young man behind the captain. Galring’s eyes moved up and down the boy’s chest and saw nothing of interest.
“How many are in your squad barracks?”
“Eight, including me.”
“Will that be enough? The number of monsters attacking the cattle and shepherds in the mountains has gone up.”
Harstad twisted the ring around his finger and nodded. “It’s better if we have more eyes.”
Galring nodded.
“That’s all well and good. I will thank the baron,” he said, pulling the letter to his side of the table.
“Better monsters than war,” Harstad said—and he meant it. Killing men helped one refine their soul metal, but it corrupted the mind. At least he felt that way. It was better to refine soul metal the hard way. That way, you discovered more forms and schematics.
“Indeed. Speaking of which—a body was found behind the inn a week ago. Perhaps speak to the owner. It will assure the elders.”
“I will,” he nodded and rose to leave for the inn.
---
“You!! Get out! I said no fighting in my inn!” A loud voice came from within, and a moment later, two drunks stumbled out with swollen faces.
A young woman followed behind them, hitting their heads in and warding them off. Laughter came from within, the other patrons laughing at the drunks as they were ushered out..She turned and made her way back to her inn.
She looked at them and narrowed her eyes at Arlak—then at the old knight captain. She had a frying pan made of iron in one hand.
Is that her soul metal? Arlak wondered.
And there—her knife, and another longer one—all made of grey iron with steel edges. The young woman was clearly gifted enough to refine her soul metal.
“I see you are working on improving further into the steel realm,” Harstad spoke.
“Yes. If it wasn’t for those jerks, I would already be there.”
“Meditation and willing yourself to the higher realms is good, but you also need to spar once in a while.”
Wait! She is willing herself without fighting—just meditating? He looked at her, wondering what amount of talent he would need for such a thing.
And the more he thought about it, the more he felt his jaw clench.
“It’s easy for me. I am focusing my intent on cooking.” She lifted her pan.
Yeah… but still, Arlak thought, in the capital of Morvain, cooks can fight just as well as any warrior.
“We are here because the mayor told us about a dead body.”
“Oh yes. That." her eyes looked down, "Are you going to look for whomever did it?” She sounded sad. She felt it was her fault. It could have been someone she knew—or worse, her mother.
Well, they are gone by now, Arlak thought.
“Yes, show us —ohh before that, this is one of my men,” the knight captain waved at Arlak.
She walked up to him and raised her hand. “My name is Ferona, and my intent is cooking.”
“Ah… my name is Arlak, and my intent is flying.” he scratched the back of his head.
“You wish to fly one day?”
Arlak shrugged. “There is nothing stopping me.”
Knight Captain Harstad raised an eyebrow at that. A warrior with the intent of flying? Odd. He had an intent based on attacking.
“Hmm. Very well,” Ferona said and headed into the inn.
The inn was made of wood. And a few men and women sat drinking or eating. Arlak smelled the burning bread—the sort he remembered his mother cooking. She was dead.
He shook his head and sat by the counter beside Knight Captain Harstad.
“What can I get for you, Captain?” Ferona asked.
“Get me some hot soup and bread,” he pushed a green lithomite coin forward. The coin glowed faintly—not like the red ruby coins he had seen nobles use once.
“Okay,” she nodded, and she was off.
Harstad turned to Arlak. “Flying is not a common intent for a warrior. Unless you're from the Winged Order, I advise you to choose something else.”
Choose something else? He couldn't choose something else. His mother had been a Valkyrie of the Winged Order, and he remembered how it felt as she carried him. He dreamt of her. No—this was his legacy. Arlak frowned. Too late—the old knight had seen it.
Harstad noticed the frown on the young man's face.
"Flying is for the Winged Order and their Valkyries. Not even the Emperor's libraries hold such schematics."
"I can find other forms to shape my metal that will help me fly."
"No, you won't. The Winged Order has all the secrets of any flying armors. Choose another path before you block your advancement to the higher realms."
Weaving metal was often hard, and People needed to find an intent. With an intent to focus on, weaving became much easier. The intent allowed you to get the schematics.
These schematics then allowed you to weave and shape your soul metal.
There must be other ways… other schematics…
Arlak started, but Ferona walked over and placed two bowls in front of them—bread and hot steaming soup.
"So tell me, where did you find the body?" Harstad quenched the bread in soup and chewed on it as the girl spoke.
"The children found the body behind the inn. They were playing."
"Did you hear anything?" Arlak asked.
She turned and shook her head.
"No, not even the people in the inn heard any noises that night."
Harstad chewed and swallowed.
"Have there been any odd faces?"
She leaned in, looked around, then whispered. The two also leaned in.
"Yes. There have been more and more adventurers coming in—one or two—but Mother thinks they're the ones to blame."
Adventurers always worked in pairs or alone. It was a dying profession, especially with the Emperor's decree of putting an imperial guard barracks near every village or settlement.
"Any adventurers in the inn?"
"No," she leaned back, looking around. "Not today, not for the past week. But I heard that more and more of them are appearing around Vermont because of the increase in monsters."
“You said it was behind the inn, we’ll go and see,” he said and dipped the thick bread soap down.
For the rest of the day, the pair looked into the death of the man. The body had been buried. And they knew the evidence did not last for more than a day.
Arlak and Harstad asked around, and they found that this had not been the only death. In fact, more than one body had been found around the growing village.
And if those who had done the crime left no lingering aura of the metal used. Then they were gone. The lower the realm, the easier the aura faded. Not even the captain at Gold could sense the shaping that had been done in the crime.
But it would happen again.
And that's how the first day went.
