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Monarch Chapter 13
🕑 Added 2025-11-29 03:19:11 +0000 UTCChapter 13
As Rayne had realised early on, rest was apparently not a part of the army. At least not with Bran standing over their heads.
The sun glared down over Fort Algar, and Rayne’s feet pounded against the dirt roads, running with all his might. They were already on their ninth lap of the fort, and Bran seemed to have no intention of giving them a break.
On top of it, the weight of his armour bore down on his shoulders. Bran had ensured that they ran with it. Rayne could see why, but that didn’t mean he liked doing it.
He simply pushed through everything, trying to keep up with Nate, who looked the best out of all of them.
Sweat beaded his face, and he grunted from time to time, but was able to keep up with the run without a single complaint out of his mouth.
In striking contrast, Kesh looked like a wet mess, having already fallen twice with Bran needing to slow down to get him back on the run. The man kept muttering curses every few seconds at Bran, the army, and even Rayne, who had woken him up for the training.
Behind him, three more recruits ran—John, Heins, and Marco. All of them were with them during the recent red goblin fiasco. The rest were too injured to take part, or had outright refused.
He envied them.
“Keep running as if a bloody storm wrangler is chasing you!! Pick up speed!” Bran’s voice echoed from behind.
Rayne grimaced and bit down on a retort. His leg had healed completely in just a few hours due to the potion, but he doubted he would get another for muscle strain.
He simply told himself that it was important to get stronger. Which was true. The troll fight still swam in his mind. He hadn’t gotten any skill out of it, but the more he fought monsters, the more he realised he needed something like their regeneration.
If he came across another troll, he needed to be fast to escape its attacks.
The eastern tower blurred past as he realised they were very close to the gates and ending their ninth lap. He heard a few snickers from some soldiers laughing at their misery, but ignored them. For now.
He would remember their faces in the next lap.
“You doing well,” Nate murmured, slowing to catch up to him. “How? Did you get lessons from your family?”
“I should ask that of you. You don’t look even remotely out of breath.”
Nate smirked, eyes up ahead as they rounded a corner to the gates. “You think so? I had to run a lot before I ended up in the army. I have my ways.”
Rayne took a guess. “A skill?”
“A title,” he replied. “Don’t ask me what. It’s just handy for running for a long time.”
He nodded, thinking that it sounded incredibly useful. He wondered how to get one for himself. He already had a few pretty useful ones, but more wouldn’t hurt. The problem was that Rayne was incredibly uneducated on the system.
Nothing in his memories covered anything more than the basics.
“I would… like a bloody fucking title that don’t make me… wish I have a sword up my throat,” Kesh’s panting voice came from behind.
Rayne turned to take a look, and the man looked like he would drown in his own sweat. He ran with his back slightly hunched. The recruits behind him looked more or less the same.
Only Bran still looked energetic.
“Don’t talk too much!” His voice boomed, loud and hard. “You will lose more energy like that. We are almost on the final lap! Fall behind and everything you have done till now means naught!”
They passed the gates, and Rayne finally felt like he saw the light at the end of the tunnel. They were on their last lap and could rest after that.
He kept silent and ran. They crested a small rise near the watchtower and circled around. A few soldiers there leaned on their spears and watched them with mild interest.
They kept running and running. Rayne didn’t turn even when he heard the noise of Marco going down and Bran berating him before pulling him up. He simply kept his eyes up ahead, leaping through the dirt road even as his thighs burned.
Sweat stung his eyes, and he felt out of breath, but he simply ran, knowing it was going to be over soon.
Then finally, Bran’s voice rang out, sweeter than any sweet. “Stop! It’s over.”
Rayne immediately went down on the ground, sprawling his body all over the dirt, not caring one bit. He took out the canteen from his hip and drank.
Water slipped out to soak his face, neck, and armour, but he didn’t care one bit. His body needed rest.
His heart pounded like drums as he simply closed his eyes for a minute or two. No one spoke among them as they rested and thanked the gods they were still alive.
Finally, Kesh’s voice hit his ears.
“I fucking hate you,” he said. “Captain Edran gave us an off day. We didn’t have to go out like half the squad to look for goblins. Why do we have to run in the bloody afternoon?”
“You got the rest in the morning. This will help you when you dodge an enemy’s spear or a monster’s claws by a hair’s breadth,” Bran replied. “You won’t hate me then.”
“I will be thankful, but I would still hate you for pushing me through this. We just fought goblins and trolls.”
Someone snickered. Rayne couldn’t tell who with closed eyes. “Rayne fought the troll.”
“I doubt he minds giving a bit of credit.” Rayne felt a hand touch his stomach. “Do you?”
He finally opened his eyes and looked at Kesh. “I do. I nearly lost my life there. You didn’t volunteer to help fight it.”
Kesh shrugged. “I prefer keeping my life. I’d rather die to Bran than a troll.”
Nate laughed from behind. “With the recent troll attack, it’s hard to say which one will come first.” He turned towards Bran, grinning. “I do like the training. I don’t think I’m good with anything sharp, but I run well.”
“It’s because you did the best,” John muttered, rolling on the ground to look at Nate.
Before Nate could reply, Bran clapped his hands. “It doesn’t matter who did the best. You all finished it. If I were you, I would continue doing it every morning as part of your training, or you would lose your stats as you age.”
That took Rayne’s attention.
He pushed himself into a sitting position and asked, “Lose stats with age? Does that actually happen?”
The others nodded around him, having the same question. He had already guessed it before, but most new soldiers had a similar level of knowledge as him about the system. Another failure of the training camp.
“It certainly does,” Bran replied. “The older you get, the harder it is to retain your physical stats. Arcane is different, as it deals with the magical, but if you don’t take care of your body, your base stats will go down. On the plus side, if you exercise, you might gain stats outside of your levels.”
Kesh raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t get any through the training camp.”
“You need to push yourself harder. I gained two in agility by keeping up my training for the past two decades. It might seem low, but before class advanced—If you manage to get one—even one point in a stat might push you over the edge in a dangerous situation.”
Rayne knew this affected him way less with his unique skill. He could simply take the stats of others, and it was far faster than training for decades. But keeping up training regularly would help to not let his stats fall as he aged and keep his senses sharp.
He still had his goal of getting stronger, after all.
Bran explained a bit more on different ways to get stats outside of level-ups. Exercise was one, but there were potions and artifacts that gave you permanent stats, though they were rare and mostly purchased by nobles.
Apparently, it was common to increase your base stats like that before getting a class to influence the gods to give you a better one. And more stats helped during the class advancement too.
That was another thing he had been waiting to ask more about.
“Bran, what exactly are the class advancements?” he asked.
“You have no idea about it?” said Bran.
Rayne flushed a bit. “I have some, but would like to know more. You are clearly fairly knowledgeable.”
Kesh raised his hand. “I would like to know too. Is it true you can upgrade your class to higher-tier ones?”
Bran nodded his head. “Yes, but it’s not a rule. Some people manage to upgrade their common classes to uncommon ones during it, but others simply get a different class in the same tier but get past the bottleneck. Basically, once you reach level 30, you aren’t able to level up further without advancing your class. I believe all of you know that.”
Nate scratched the back of his head. “So, it’s true that most class holders are never able to get past the first bottleneck?”
Bran gave a half-smile. “Yes. Most people you see in the fort who are older than you but still stuck as common soldiers—it’s because they aren’t able to get past the bottleneck. It’s a damn cursed thing, but that’s how the gods made the system.”
Everything clicked for Rayne suddenly.
He had wondered quite a few times why Bran didn’t seem stronger than all of them despite decades in the army where he must have killed a lot of monsters. It made sense now with the bottleneck.
Was Axel the same? Or Hobbs? They certainly looked like veterans, but not strong enough to take on a troll themselves.
He knew for a fact that Edran was way past the bottleneck. The way he had handled that troll was proof enough.
“Why is it that some are able to get past it, but others aren’t?” John asked.
“If I knew that, I wouldn’t be stuck with you lot,” said Bran. “But I know it depends on the class. Warrior classes could advance by fighting stronger monsters and proving to the gods they are worthy of becoming stronger. I have heard craftsman classes have it easier since they simply have to make better weapons and get levels with that. But I’m no expert, so take what I’m saying with a grain of salt. Sometimes, even killing stronger opponents might not be enough.”
Then what was the criteria?
Rayne desperately wanted to ask that. But he knew Bran would have no answer for it.
He believed there was some criteria. The system was clearly well thought out and worked similarly to a computer program. At least if a program gave you superhuman skills and made you stronger by killing others.
But what was it? Rayne guessed if someone knew about it in the fort, then it would be Edran. Nobles would certainly have access to information a common soldier wouldn’t.
He cursed his luck that he was in the body of a bastard. Despite being from the bloodline of a Duke, he was set aside for decades when he could have gotten all that information.
He frowned and was going to ask another question when he heard loud echoes of voices.
Nate straightened next to him, and all of them turned towards the gates. Something was going on there.
They got up, dusting themselves off before moving towards it. Two men were moving to open up the gates wide, and a group of men walked inside the fort. All bloodied and battered.
“Healers! Get the bloody healers here!” someone shouted.
Rayne saw injured men carried on shoulders and placed on the ground. At the back, he saw two men holding up a lanky man he was sure was part of the original scouting party he had been with. The scout was probably dead, seeing how his body went limp as soon as he was put on the ground.
His stomach lurched, but he pushed the vomit down, eyes moving to look for familiar faces.
He found them on the left side. Axel, Hobbs, Andar and the other members of their squad were standing there. They looked similar to the others, blood all over their armour and visible signs of injuries on their bodies.
They quickly made their way toward them.
“What happened?” Rayne asked, taking the lead.
“Fucking red skins.” Hobbs spat on the ground, blood mixed with saliva. “You were all bloody right. Went past two nests. Both of them had set traps. Something’s not right with the goblins.”
“I stepped up on a hole filled with thorns,” said Andar from the back.
Hobbs nodded darkly. “We lost a lot of men. We weren’t even able to carry them all.”
Rayne took another look around the injured. Other soldiers had started to lead them to the infirmary. They looked so bad despite the potions on them.
He knew he would hear about what had happened pretty soon, but he didn’t know if he wanted to.
“I think you all should fix up your gear,” Axel said, his voice growling and taking all of their attention. “After hearing of this, Edran will want to burn up the nests even faster. If those ugly fuck-face gremlins are becoming smarter, then it will be disastrous. So, fix everything up.” He looked at Rayne. “Some of you won’t even have potions to save yourself.”
After saying that, he simply walked straight toward the infirmary. Rayne saw the slight limp in his left leg.
His words rang in Rayne’s mind.
He knew he couldn’t have stayed in the safety of the fort long anyway, but seeing all the injured made him realise the severity of the situation.
He turned towards Bran. “Do you think Master Landor would have finished up my armour?”
Comments
Caiban
Hmm what about living longer? Does your lifespan get affected by your stats, class tier or titles?
