Second Life as a Soldier

The next morning I woke stiff and sore, breath fogging in the chill air.

A notification greeted me.

[EXP Gained]

+100 XP – Seven-Day March

+250 XP – Guarding against a Threat

[Class Progression]

Junior Officer (Cadet)

Level 1 → Level 2EXP: 100 / 100 → 0 / 200

Level 2 → Level 3EXP: 200 / 200 → 50 / 300

Current Level: 3Current EXP: 100 / 300

[Skill Progression]

Soldier’s March (C): Level 14 → 18Defensive Spearplay (C): Level 15 → 17Guard Duty (C): Level 19 → 21STATUS

Name: Edward

Initiate Class: [Junior Officer (Cadet)] – Level 3 (50 / 300 EXP)

Elemental Affinity: 0.1% Wind

Mana Cultivation: Tier 1

HP: 155 / 160

HP Regen: 48/day

MP: 330 / 330

MP Regen: 43/hr

Physical Attributes

Constitution: 15 → 16Strength: 14.5 → 15.5Agility: 12 → 12.6Spiritual Attributes

Intelligence: 18 → 18.2Wisdom: 15Willpower: 10Class Skills

[Applied Military Theory (UC)] – Level 5[Soldier’s March (C)] – Level 18[Defensive Spearplay (C)] – Level 17[Guard Duty (C)] – Level 21[Minor Restoration (C)] – Level 14General Skills

[Memory Recall (UC)] – Level 1[Field Medicine (C)] – Level 12[Basic Rune Theory (C)] – Level 10[Siege Rigging (C)] – Level 15[Map Reading (C)] – Level 12[Mana Sensitivity (C)] – Level 5[Hand-to-Hand Combat (C)] – Level 20A small smile tugged at my lips despite the ache. My first levels since awakening, my first step forward. And two at once.

I could feel the difference. My body was just a little stronger, my balance a little sharper, my breath a little steadier. Constitution and Strength up by one full point, Agility by six-tenths, and even Intelligence nudged by two-tenths. According to the books in Stonegate’s library, every class had its own pattern of growth. Initiate classes usually gave anywhere from one to two and a half points per level. What surprised me was that mine also granted a small increase in Intelligence. Most people only improved their spiritual stats through mana cultivation, not class progression.

I let the thought settle as I pushed myself upright. My blanket was damp with dew, but I rolled it tight out of habit, pack propped against my knee. Around me, the camp stirred; fires had burned down to ash, smoke hanging low and bitter in the stillness. Men shuffled awake, some splashing their faces with water, others gnawing hard bread while they buckled straps. Horses stamped and snorted at their harnesses, the creak of leather mixing with the rattle of spears and the clang of shields being lifted.

I checked my gear the way I always did, straps tight, spearhead firm, flask half-full, before slinging it all into place. The smell of sweat, cold iron, and smoke clung to everything. Yet even with the stiffness in my shoulders and the soreness clinging to me, a faint pride remained, my first real gain since awakening, a promise of more to come. It was enough to make me feel quietly happy for that morning, the kind of steady contentment that lingers long after achievement. With that in my chest, I took my spear in hand and moved toward my usual spot on the outside of the column, until the sergeant’s bark cut through the morning haze.

“Listen up! From today, veterans take the outer circle. Fresh privates, you stay close to the wagons. Within the next two or three miles we’ll enter higher-mana territory. The forest will be denser, and the beasts will be stronger, Tier Two and above. Don’t let your guard drop.”

He strode down the line, voice sharp as ever. “Being part of the inner circle doesn’t mean you sit on your hands. Stay alert. If a beast breaks through, you’ll be called to support. And from tonight onward, all watches will be paired. No one stands alone.”

We shuffled into new positions, the veterans moving outward, the rest of us pressed near the wagons. The caravan creaked forward again, wheels biting into the dirt. An hour or two later, I saw the change myself, the trees thickened, shadows pooling deeper between the trunks.

That’s when I spotted my first Tier Two beast. Far off, lumbering at the tree line, its stone-gray snout caught the light. Even at a distance I knew it, Rocksnout, an earth-affinity boar with a nose like solid rock. It paused, eyeing our column, then turned and lumbered away. The size of the caravan was enough to turn it aside.

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A mutter rose from behind me. “Lucky it’s alone. A herd like that could smash a whole squad.”

I frowned and glanced back. “Do you know why beasts like that wander so close? Isn’t that what the fort is supposed to stop?”

The private who’d spoken only shrugged. “How would I know? If you’re that curious, ask the sergeant.”

Apparently, Sergeant Colburn had heard us, because his voice cut in from ahead. “The fort’s built in a valley that bottlenecks the Untamed Forest. It keeps the worst of the herds back, but the forest is too thick for patrols to catch everything. Some beasts always slip through. And the smaller ones? They’re natural to the mana here. You can’t wipe them out completely.”

I nodded quickly. “Thank you, Sergeant.”

Colburn gave me a brief look, then turned back to scanning the treeline. I tightened my grip on the spear, eyes on the forest.

The days that followed blurred together, yet I couldn’t call them dull. For the veterans, it was routine. But for me, every day was a new sight, a story unfolding in the wild.

I saw creatures I’d only ever read about in the library come alive before my eyes. Packs of high Tier Ones, wolves, apes, and other shapes, slipped through the trees like shadows. The first time a pack of forty strong apes rushed us, I thought we were finished. I braced for heavy injuries, maybe worse. But two squads of veterans moved like a wall, holding them off with practiced ease. From my talks with Ben on the march from Oxspell to Stonegate, I knew most veterans in the logistics division were early to mid Tier Twos. Still, this was my first time seeing them in action. Their shields locked, their spears struck like clockwork, every movement steady and controlled. The apes hammered at them, snarling and clawing, yet the line never broke. By the time it was over, the veterans stood unshaken, while the ground behind them was littered with beast corpses.

Watching them, I felt small. If I had been at the front instead of them, I wouldn’t have lasted a heartbeat. Their power, their discipline, the way they endured forty beasts without faltering, it left me with no illusions. I was alive only because men like them stood ahead of me.

Not every sight on the road was so grim. Some moments were breathtaking. At dawn one morning, a flock of Whistlers streaked overhead, their wings trailing feathers so long and translucent they looked spun from glass. They cut through the air so fast the sky sang, a chorus of sharp whistles fading into the horizon. For a heartbeat, every man in the column looked up in silence.

For a moment, I forgot how dangerous beasts truly were. Unlike humans, who grew stronger through class training and mana cultivation, beasts advanced by fighting, killing, and consuming creatures filled with mana, living creatures.

As the march wore on, survival felt less like a string of battles and more like a grind forward, step after step, mile after mile. The weight of my gear pressed harder than the beasts did. Still, every clash reminded me of the truth: without formation, without discipline, I wouldn’t last. Alone, I was nothing.

At last, the forest began to thin. The valley opened, and I caught my first sight of stone rising ahead: the walls of Fort Darrow.

The fort dominated the valley. Its outer walls rose nearly forty feet high, sheer stone faced with fitted blocks, thick enough that a man could ride a horse along the battlements without brushing the inner edge. The wall stretched for miles, climbing the ridges on either side until it vanished into the treeline. Even from a distance I could see the scale, massive gates bound in black iron, flanked by towers broad as houses.

Each watchtower was five stories tall, square and squat, built to anchor the wall rather than grace it. Rune-carvings traced their sides, faintly glowing where mana wards had been set. Smoke curled from the tops of some, signal braziers kept burning at all hours. To a beast, they must have looked like blazing beacons.

The placement was no accident. The Untamed Forest spread wide, but here the ridges narrowed into a valley barely half a mile across, funneling everything that left the green sea straight toward the fort’s throat. Hundreds of men and women inside, soldiers, mages, craftsmen, radiated mana, turning the fort into a magnet that pulled danger to it.

Just before the gate, the trees gave way to bare earth, a killing ground cleared for bows, bolts, and spells. Nothing grew there but grass. Above, I caught glimpses of older outposts clinging to the cliffs: smaller towers, narrow lookouts, half-hidden in stone but ready to rain death down into the valley.

Even before we reached the gate, I could hear Fort Darrow’s heart. The clash of steel on steel, the bark of officers, the steady drum of boots on stone. Smoke rose from chimneys and forges, tangling with the wild forest air. It wasn’t graceful like Stonegate, but it was built to fight.

The caravan ground to a halt just inside the walls. Wagons split off toward the storehouses under the watchful eyes of the quartermaster’s men, while we recruits were marched into a stone yard hemmed in by high walls. The space was bare but for a wooden table, a clerk hunched behind it, quill and ledger ready. A junior officer stood beside him, hand on his sword, watching us file in.

One by one, each man stepped forward, handed over his assignment papers, and spoke his details aloud: name, age, and division. The clerk scratched the information into the ledger with quick, practiced strokes, dipping his quill into an inkpot that never seemed to run dry. The officer listened, nodding once or giving a sharp correction if a man stammered.

When my turn came, I stepped forward, introduced myself, and gave my papers. The clerk glanced at my papers, squinted, then marked something I couldn’t see. “Noted,” he muttered, before motioning me aside. “Next.”

I obeyed, falling in with the others who had already been processed. Around us, the yard filled with new recruits shifting on their feet. I caught glimpses of stone barracks, training yards, and the glint of steel from drills already underway. The smell of smoke and iron carried even here.

At last, the clerk closed the ledger with a snap. Passing the book to the officer. The man scanned it quickly.

“You’ll be assigned to your sergeants before nightfall,” he said, voice cutting across the yard. “Until then, you’ll wait here. Barracks space, mess times, duties, everything will be given to you in order. Don’t wander. Don’t speak out of turn. You are in Fort Darrow now. Discipline is survival.”

His gaze swept over us once more, sharp as a drawn blade. “Your sergeants will collect you soon enough.”

We had reached the fort at last, but the journey didn’t feel over. It felt like something else was about to begin.