The morning light cuts through the dense canopy of Central Mikhland, casting long, pale beams over the humid dirt road leading into Farmland. Dust motes float in the warm air. August 10, 1300. The sun glints against the fair skin of a fourteen-year-old boy walking at the head of a small column. Standing at 1.7 meters tall, Aldo Patriot tilts his chin toward the sky, squinting as the morning heat settles over his face. He lets out a low, slow breath, his shoulders dropping under the weight of his travel pack.
"The life of a slave is just like this: go on a mission, then rest, then go on a mission, then rest. And it repeats." Aldo's voice carries a flat, tired cadence as he steps around a rut in the path. "First I was killed in Erika, then the Witch Enclave in the Samel swamp, then Drakolimne, the Dragon of the Lake, in Lake Admonito, Pirus, then Gala in Thromium, killed Irina and Volkov, and now we're going to the Republic of Ofliran."
Beside him, Onaga Kei walks with smaller, quick-paced steps. Shorter than Aldo, with delicate facial features and pale skin, Onaga adjusts the strap of his ledger bag. Hano Kichiro, walking on Onaga's left and matching Aldo's height, slaps Onaga lightly on the shoulder, a wide smirk spreading across his face.
"Look at our little femboy," Hano chuckles, his eyes crinkling.
Onaga's lips press into a tight line. He pouts, his eyebrows furrowing as he turns his face away. "Oh, stop it, I still have paperwork to do."
Hano stretches his arms wide, letting out a long, vocal yawn that echoes off the surrounding timberland. "No, after hours of being bossed around by Aldo, it's time to tease you. Nothing beats teasing you until you cry."
Aldo doesn't slow his pace, but his head turns slightly toward Hano. His brow arches. "Have you returned the horse to Officer Watkins, our boss?"
Hano drops his arms, nodding rapidly while offering a quick, mocking salute. "Yes, yes, I did, Captain."
They reach the perimeter of Farmland, a settlement they had departed nearly a month prior. All around them, teenagers—fourteen and fifteen years old, their faces bearing identical subtle strains of exhaustion—move between small wooden structures and plotted fields. The 204th Company. Earthlings summoned across worlds, stripped of names and origins, bound as slave-soldiers to the Professional Central Army.
Aldo stops at the edge of a field. He points a gloved hand toward the vibrant green beds stretching across the soil. "Look, a few months ago this place was barren, but with our hands it's lush and green."
Hano rolls his eyes, scoffing as he kicks a small pebble off the edge of the irrigation ditch. "That was just the land reclamation phase, don't romanticize it too much."
A taller, heavily built youth steps forward from behind them, his boots crunching on the dry soil. Comtois, captain of the 205th Company, looms over the group, his broad shoulders shifting as he crouches near a thick cluster of wild berries. He reaches out, pointing a calloused finger at the small red fruits nestling against the green clover.
"Is this edible?" Comtois asks, his deep voice carrying a rough Heilop accent.
Hano rubs his temples, his expression twisting into visual irritation. "Hey, this guy's the captain of the 205th Company, he's from South Heilop, not Central Heilop."
Comtois dismisses the comment with a broad flick of his wrist, standing back up to his full height. "Where I am is none of your business. Anyway, Aldo, Adelberd, and I are going on a mission together in Ofliran. I'll stay here, wait for Adelberd, then call my company to Farmland, and we'll all set off together."
Onaga's eyes brighten slightly, his shoulders relaxing. "Great, so you'll help us with the work in Farmland."
Comtois nods three times in rapid succession, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Alright, alright, alright."
Comtois turns around, his gaze tracking across the expanse of the settlement. The wooden stables house rows of livestock, their soft grunts mixing with the steady hum of flowing water. A network of hand-dug irrigation ditches splits into dozens of smaller channels across the black dirt, drawing clean water from a major branch that snakes through the center of the camp. Beyond the fields, the dense, tall timber of the surrounding forest forms a wall of green.
"Oh, I was told this place was desolate, like a semi-desert," Comtois murmurs, his eyebrows rising in surprise.
Aldo walks over, stopping next to Comtois by the wild strawberry patch. He folds his arms over his chest, a subtle smirk touching his lips. "Well, it was almost a semi-desert when the Professional Central Army 'rewarded' us with this. How about that, don't you think we're great?"
Comtois squints at a row of neatly constructed wooden outhouses lining the perimeter near the forest line. "So, when you have free time, your superiors make you clear land? I have to go build mansions for the nobility." He shakes his head, pointing directly at the latrines. "Even that much? We're isekai'd to a medieval world and it's so clean!"
Onaga puffs out his chest slightly, brushing dust off his tunic. "This place is clean thanks to me."
From the nearby open-air administration pavilion, a young boy holding a wooden clipboard stops mid-stride. Ryong Min Ki spots the group, his eyes widening. He drops his charcoal pencil into a pouch and sprints across the dirt track toward them.
"Captain, you're back!" Ryong shouts, a wide smile breaking across his face as he skids to a halt in front of Aldo.
Behind him, a tall figure approaches at a measured pace. Lei Delun, standing over 1.8 meters tall and holding himself with a rigid, mature discipline, steps into the morning light. As the oldest in the company and captain of Platoon 1-FM, his expression remains calm, though his eyes soften as he reaches the group.
Aldo, Hano, and Onaga step forward to grip Lei and Ryong by the hands, exchanging firm clasps and quick, searching glances to check for injury or fatigue.
"Captain," Lei speaks softly, his tone deep and steady. "For the past month, we've helped the surrounding villages as you instructed. Now they're richer, not filthy, but they have enough to eat and wear."
Aldo nods slowly, his facial expression unreadable. He remains silent for a moment, looking past Lei toward the smoke rising from the distant village chimneys.
They think it's charity, Aldo thinks, his eyes narrowing slightly as his gaze drops back to the dirt. Let them think whatever they want. As long as the wealth stays in their hands and off our record books, the PCA officers won't extract a higher quota from us.
Aldo clears his throat. "Were you informed about the mission?"
Both Ryong and Lei nod in unison.
Comtois cuts in, stepping past Aldo and leaning toward Lei. "I was told Lourdes Renaud and her comrades have returned, where is she now?"
Lei turns his head toward Comtois, his eyes lingering on the Korean teenager for a moment before answering. "She is recovering. When she arrived, her skin was weathered, she was thin, her back slightly hunched; that Norman girl seemed to have suffered quite a bit in the mines."
Aldo takes a step forward. "And now?"
Ryong opens his ledger, glancing down before looking up at Aldo. "Now, her skin is brighter, cleaner, I've treated her wounds, some too deep and wide to heal completely, her fingernails are intact, and she no longer looks at us with suspicion."
Lei crosses his arms over his chest, his brow furrowing slightly. "Le Meute, the movement she once led, that will be an important ally for us."
Ryong lets out a long, heavy sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Aldo, you made us hardly manage to hide her; we assigned her to pick berries and herbs in the forests and make paper in Farmland to avoid detection."
Lei lowers his head slightly, his voice dropping to a low whisper. "Because we are harboring plans for revolution, to escape..."
To escape these shackles of slavery, that's a risk we can accept, Aldo thinks, his hands tightening into fists at his sides.
Aldo tilts his head up, his gaze locking onto Lei with sharp clarity. "No, we'll wait for the Heilop civil war to break out and then jump in to intervene."
Lei's forehead creases, his eyebrows pulling together into a slight frown. "Ah, I see. Well... everyone must be tired. There's a place to bathe, an Onsen that Onaga designed before leaving. Everyone should bathe first, then I'll make some herbal tea for you all."
Steam rises in thick, rolling white plumes off the surface of the natural hot spring bath, filling the stone-walled bathhouse with a heavy, moist warmth. The water ripples softly as Aldo, Comtois, Hano, and Onaga submerge themselves up to their shoulders. A collective, prolonged sigh escapes their lips as the heat works into their tired muscles.
Comtois leans his head back against the smooth stone rim, then suddenly blinks, looking down into the water. He reaches out, grabbing Hano's wrist, then Onaga's, and finally staring at Aldo's outstretched hand. His brow furrows deeply.
"W-why aren't there any calluses?" Comtois stammers, his eyes wide as he inspects their palms. "Everyone else has plows."
Aldo relaxes his head against the edge of the pool, closing his eyes. "Well, gloves exist, my friend."
Comtois splashes the water lightly in frustration, leaning forward. "Alright, Aldo, let's reminisce about our years as slave soldiers in this godforsaken world."
Aldo opens one eye, turning his head slowly toward Comtois. "Years? What years of ups and downs? It's August now. I was transported from April, you were at the end of March. It hasn't even been half a year yet, and you're talking as if we're veterans."
Hano sits back, resting his arms on the wooden ledge behind him, a smirk playing on his lips. "Yeah, none of us are even 18 yet."
Comtois throws his hands into the air, his face twisting into a dramatic, exaggerated pout. "YOU TWO RUINED THE ATMOSPHERE!" He huffs, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at the steaming water. "Do you know how many life-or-death battles we've been through?"
Onaga pats the water gently, his voice soft and soothing. "Everyone, calm down, calm down."
Comtois turns his face away, pouting even harder. "No, no way I let this slip away. You two, today we WILL SETTLE A LIFE-OR-DEATH BATTLE ―"
Hano adjusts his seating position, his tone shifting from playful to serious as he looks at Aldo. "Captain, each of us has a hidden magic mark on our forehead, a slave mark that everyone has."
Comtois suddenly bursts out laughing, the sudden noise echoing loudly off the stone walls. "Oh ha ha ha, you know what? When Aldo and I were patching up and about to be marked with the magic mark, Warmage ran out of ink because some general stole the ink money, so we didn't have any."
Aldo turns his head sharply, his voice dropping into an authoritative, sharp whisper. "Calm down, don't be complacent. Do you remember the antidote? I poured it on the foreheads of the entire 204th squad a long time ago. I'll show you where I keep it, then you can use it for your 205th squad. As for Renaud's people, she probably stopped too."
Comtois freezes mid-laugh, his mouth staying slightly open as he stares at Aldo in shock. "Oh, I thought you only had the bottle you used for Gertrude Koch, the 18-year-old German maid we met in Thromium."
Hano leans in, his eyes sharp with interest. "Where can I buy it?"
Aldo closes his eyes again, his breathing steady amidst the rising steam. "The black market, the same place Comtois showed me where I sold fur after my mission in Erikas."
Comtois gasps, shaking his head. "But it's very expensive, 50 Silver Coins per bottle!"
Aldo opens his eyes, looking directly at Comtois. "Well, I used the money from selling processed timber in Farmland instead of paying my quota to buy it. I also invested my bonus in a Jewish bank and used the profits to buy more."
Comtois's eyes go wide with absolute disbelief. "Jewish?"
Aldo nods slightly. "In Chadash Jerusalem, where freed Jews do the finance and contribute money to the mandates for other enslaved Jews. The bank I went to was a branch in Polihland, the capital of the Palantine of Heilov."
Comtois sits up straight, his hands slapping against his knees under the water. "So, if I marry a Jewish girl, change my surname to hers, adopt Judaism, and ask them to raise money for my freedom, can I?"
Aldo's chest heaves as he snorts, a sudden grin breaking across his face as he stifles a loud laugh. "I don't think that's possible."
"WHY?" Comtois shouts, his voice bouncing off the high ceiling.
Aldo shakes his head, his smile lingering. "It looks ridiculous."
The laughter fades, replaced by the quiet bubbling of the hot spring. Aldo's expression turns grave as he looks at the three boys sitting around him.
"In general," Aldo speaks slowly, his gaze moving between Comtois, Onaga, and Hano, "this Palanton of Heilop is on the verge of bankruptcy, and no matter how many tasks the PCA undertakes, it won't be enough to cover the debt. Ideally, this Palanton of Heilop, Sevan Heilop, should have centralized power, a centralized administrative apparatus, fought corruption, and established a Central Bank, but he didn't. The PCA was a gamble he set up four years ago, but the debt continues to increase. Just a few more drops of oil and the fire will erupt. Then, we will act."
Comtois, Onaga, and Hano sit motionless in the warm water. Their eyes fixate on the empty air between them. In their minds, a imagery takes hold—a massive, monstrous fire roaring through a vast, dry wilderness, its intense heat radiating outward, scorching the earth and consuming everything in its path long before the actual flames ever touch the timber.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
A sharp, firm sound reverberates through the wooden bathhouse door.