After just one night laying sick on my back, captive in my bunk as I listened to their conversations, I found I had some reoccurring thoughts.

Thoughts, like: "Maybe the Palace did a better job with this batch."

Or: "Maybe, the instructors decided to talk more, the nobles praised them a bit more... Heck, did the King layer on the mystical bullshit with a greater gusto?"

But, by the end, it was simply: "If I don't get better soon, I'm going to use this dagger to put an end to my misery."

Needless to say, it wasn't very long until I recognized there was a contrast between the new arrivals, and the group I had arrived with.

"I can't wait to kill a demon."

From where I lay, hidden on the top bunk, I heard the subject return for the tenth time. Whispered conversations, in the night.

"Hell yes. I can't wait to use this sword."

"I've got twenty-five in Strength." Another added. "I'm sure I could cut one in half."

"HA! I've got twenty-six." Someone said, excitedly. "What do you think training will be like?"

"I bet we'll get stronger here way more quicker than the palace."

"Me too."

I felt that Squad Leader Kepler's inclinations towards drinking in the middle of the day, and glowering at everyone around him, were suddenly making more sense.

If this was what most of the groups handed off to me were like, than I’d be a bitter drunk too.

It was all I could do, not to shake my head.

[Hide Presence - Level Up]

[Hide Presence - Level 2]

At least, I thought, they were good for something.

I'd managed to get one decent perk out of the whole miserable experience. Although I'd never imagined using a skill to avoid conversation, I could only pray it continued to work.

"Willful-Ignorance."

No, that would be putting it lightly.

"Selectively choosing reality?"

Perhaps, that was better.

The seven new arrivals seemed far from acknowledging how horrible the situation was, and instead: were fully-embracing things with a level of optimism I could normally only imagine associated with happy-drunks or young-children.

Simply put, they had no clue. No idea, how absolutely fucked up this situation was. But, as I was still feeling as though my insides wanted to be outsides, I truly wasn’t inclined to try and explain this to them.

Or, admit I was even present.

I was almost glad, when from the far side of the tent, Kepler finally piped up.

"Do you hear John talking?"

I froze up at the mention of my name, as the tent fell to silence.

"No?" Someone answered.

"That’s exactly right." Kepler replied. “Because John’s not a stupid git.”

“Who is-”

"The next person who talks, I'm going to beat within an inch of their life."

With that, a hush fell upon the crowd at last. Long moments passed, before I finally heard a very faint whisper.

“Who the hell is John?"

The hushed voices asked one another similar questions, before a threateningly-heavy sigh from Kepler stomped out any thought of trying to get an answer.

In the relatively peaceful quiet, once again. I'd even say I finally managed to sleep, but that would be a lie.

I was still much to nauseous for that.

....

With nausea in mind, the next morning of training was just as miserable as one might have expected.

I was getting better, sure. Around the bend, no longer approaching the silvery brook: that's all well and good.

But, between fighting the urge to throw up what little bread Mars had left for me, and ignoring the stares I was getting from all the people who finally realized the answer to last night's question, I was far from pleased.

The morning wasn't a pleasant one.

Vitality +1

Endurance +1

There were the only things I earned for that final night of suffering.

It didn’t seem an equivalent exchange, but then I had to rationalize that none of the rank increases were. As a hero, every result I had was excessive. I'd probably just accomplished something that would take an ordinary solider a full six months of the flue to obtain.

Though, that realization didn't improve my mood much.

Still, the morning had its moments of entertainment.

"Can we take a break?" Those were the famous last words of the bravest newcomer.

Stupidest newcomer?

Yes.

You can’t be brave, until you know there’s danger. The next one, I supposed, would be brave. This was just ignorance.

It brought to the forefront of my mind, an interesting subject.

Once again, though, I had to wonder what Squad Leader Kepler's stats actually were, behind the scenes.

If the person he was beating to a pulp had a claimed Strength of twenty-five, what must his be?

Squad Leader

Soldier

???

Even with my [Identify] up as far as it had ever been, I still wasn't sure what those "???" were, but I'll admit: I found my second wind that morning.

Idly, I wondered if, perhaps, all I'd been missing was the proper motivation, all along.

.................

Name: John

Title: Summoned Hero*

Class: None

General Skills:

Language of men - Lvl 10 - Passive

Identify Lvl 5 - Active

Special Skills:

Hide Presence Lvl 2 - Active

Status:

Vitality: 15

Endurance: 17

Strength: 18

Dexterity: 20

Intelligence: 45

Wisdom: 46

Health: 33/50

Stamina: 11/20

Mana: 100/100

...

The slow grind to the twenties.

I was getting there, however barely. If I wanted to prepare myself, I knew I needed to obtain some better results, but even with my "hero" title, I was starting from a little too much of a handicap.

My body had never been intended for soldier-life, and was much more accustomed to sitting at a desk.

But, progress was progress.

I met Jones and Mars as they returned the next day, apparently coming back from an effort to haul lumber towards the newly assembled fort. According to Mars, it had been so brutal, she'd leveled strength four times.

According to Jones, well... he didn't say much of anything.

But, he did look tired.

Brain-fog from several continuous days of sickness and fatigue, mixed with intense hunger: I was on my way out to try and buy something to eat, apart from stale bread. So it was, I forgot to warn them.

"Who the hell are you?" I heard Mars ask, loudly. "The fuck are you doing on Linda's bunk?"

"WOAH- more heroes!" Came a returning shout. "Are you friends of John-"

I quickened my pace.

In fact, the moment the tent flaps shut behind them, I made my way at full “brisk-walk” heading for the cook station. However the hell that situation was going to work itself out, I wanted no part in it, but I was all but completely certain that the cook's deep frown would seem friendly and familiar, compared to the following shouts.

And I was right.

The cook seemed just a grim-faced as ever, but they almost appeared to be a ray of sunshine, from the throw down that was undoubtedly occurring somewhere in the distance.

Yes, even their huff of irritation at my presence seemed rather pleasant, in comparison to what I suspected was waiting back at the tent.

I had a moment of clarity, though. Motivated by self-preservation, perhaps, more than good-will. Still, if only for the sake of my own well-being, I handed over all the remaining coins in my possession, and returned to the tent with and extra several pieces of bread and a heavy pot of stew.

This turned out to be a very good idea.

Coming back to a bunch of people quietly sobbing- more than a few with black eyes, I figured it was finally time for all of us “heroes” to have a sit down.

Best to rip the band-aid off early.