Vaskir trudged through knee-deep mud, the humidity of the surrounding rainforest only growing thicker; a final cloying goodbye before the cool night could settle in. He had taken off his scabbard and was holding it over his head, many of the others had noticed and followed suit. Now, there was a group of 30 men, either holding their weapons high or resting them on their shoulders and heads. Vaskir hoped that the rest were doing the same, a mud-covered scabbard or slick hilt would mean hours of maintenance for the expedition. Vaskir knew his endurance and guessed that he would make it to a communal tent before collapsing.

‘Sleeping in the muck once again,’ he thought, sighing. Someone swore behind him and he turned in time to see Pravin fall, face first, into the mud. It did make for quite a sight, the man sinking deep enough until only his two hands, stalwartly holding his greatsword, were visible. The other men laughed and made their way around him. Vaskir smiled and made his way a few feet back, then reached down and pulled Pravin’s head out of the mud by his hair; the extraction elicited a loud sucking pop. Pravin spit the mud out of his mouth and then looked up at Vaskir, defeated.

‘Just let the mud take me,’ he said, deadpan. Vaskir chuckled.

‘Don’t tempt me,’ Vaskir said, ‘we’ve still got 30 minutes of hell before we reach dry ground.’ Vaskir grabbed Pravin by the shoulder, hooking his fingers into the seams of the leather, and pulled him most of the way out.

‘This ain’t worth the money,’ Pravin said, wiping the mud from his face. Vaskir looked at the dense foliage around them, alien and foreign.

‘I agree,’ Vaskir said, shaking his head. This entire expedition paid better than anything he had seen before—still, it wasn’t enough. ‘Come on. Let’s talk when we’re standing someplace dry.’

Thirty minutes later the front host called a stop, having found both dry land and their destination. Vaskir pulled tent duty and Pravin volunteered, together they got to setting up one of the communal tents as a rudimentary camp quickly formed.

‘I think we made a bad call,’ Pravin said, voice strained as he hefted the thick cloth of the tent over the first supporting arch. Vaskir grunted in acknowledgment, holding the arch steady. ‘We got blinded by the shiny reward, didn’t think to ask where we’d have to go to earn it.’ They both took a few steps back, checking their handiwork. ‘Got a plan?’ he asked.

‘Captian Monver’s always been an ass,’ Vaskir said, having worked under the man before, ‘but he’s no fool.’ He looked around to make sure their conversation was truly private. ‘There’s going to be complaints if there aren’t already. You might be able to march a patriotic army through this shithole and expect to keep deserters to a minimum, but not a bunch of mercenaries.’ Pravin nodded. ‘Monver knows this…’ He shook his head, not understanding the logic. He sighed again and looked at Pravin. The man was tall, almost 7 feet, and usually wore a bright smile. He was a farmhand before becoming a sellsword and the improved diet of his new profession let him put on all the muscle his previous occupation had denied him. Currently, he was still covered in muck, and Vaskir was not looking forward to sleeping beside him. It had finally grown dark and the heat was dissipating. ‘We’ll find out tomorrow,’ Vaskir said. ‘My guess is that he’ll end up sweetening the deal.’

‘More money!’ Pravin said, excited.

‘That’s exactly the reaction Monver’s looking for,’ Vaskir thought, frowning. ‘Who knows,’ he said, ‘Let’s grab something from the pot then get some rest. Tomorrow’s gonna be… I think tomorrow’s gonna be rough,’ Pravin nodded and handed Vaskir his greatsword, making for the pot. Pravin had a knack for getting a full bowl and always filled up Vaskir’s too, in exchange Vaskir cleaned and maintained his weapon. Pravin thought he got the better side of the deal but Vaskir liked it this way. Opening up a weapons store was his final goal. A big store, in a big city, with a big sign out front. Vaskir smiled as he took out his cleaning cloth and set to work. Another half-hour later he had a full stomach and a snoring Pravin beside him. Other men filtered in and soon the tent was full. Vaskir turned on his side and pulled his scabbard close to him, letting the dark Oak of the pommel press against his lips and then his forehead. Like always, the action brought him a measure of peace, and he drifted off to sleep soon after.

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Monver paced in front of them like an injured beast, wild eyes scanning for a hint of weakness. He stood slightly above the amassed men and looked ready to kill the front row just to make an example.

‘Four men left in the night!’ he announced. His voice was deep and spread far, despite the constant chirping and animal echos around them. ‘The walk from here to Port Royal is 8 days…’ Monver nodded as if coming to an understanding. ‘Yes! Indeed! Those men are thicker than Yillow milk. If the jungle doesn’t kill them… never mind, the jungle will kill them, saving me the trouble. But, seeing as how this will likely be the most important day in your tiny, pathetic lives, our contractor has decided to bestow upon you a gift. This should help solidify all your loyalties.’ He held up his hand expectantly and one of his lieutenants handed him a book; Vaskir’s pulse quickened.

‘You know what that is?’ Parvin whispered, noticing his reaction.

‘A manual,’ Vaskir answered.

‘A manual!’ Monver bellowed. ‘A single 12th class manual to everyone who stays till the contract's completion.’ Murmurs rose up amongst the men, Monver allowed a few seconds of conversation so the news spread to those at the back. ‘This is your chance for a big break. As usual, additional rewards will also be distributed to those of important performance during the mission itself.’ Vaskir frowned. The note of additional rewards was nothing new but he’d never heard it mentioned during the briefings. The top brass of whoever he was working for always kept it for themselves. This oddity quickly faded to the back of his mind as fantasies of receiving a manual took over. A swordsman who had trained for even a few days with the guidance of a manual was a far larger threat than one without. Vaskir smiled, Monver was right—this was their chance at a big break. His smile faded as Monver called an end to the briefing.

‘What kind of retrieval mission warranted a manual as a reward?’ Vaskir thought.

‘We’re set!’ Pravin shouted and picked Vaskir up in a hug, dissipating any notions of brooding. A few of the men laughed. Vaskir couldn’t help but smile too.

‘Alright. Yeah, this is good. Put me down, you oaf.’ Vaskir said. Pravin plopped him down.

‘Do you think we’ll get to choose the manual?’ Pravin asked, his mind racing, ‘They have to, right? Can’t let a big axe guy have a spear manual. You think we can identify the real good ones if we get first choice? I heard good manuals smell better. Is this true? I—’

‘It’s good news, man. You’re right. But we have to earn them first.’ This stopped Pravin in his tracks. Then he frowned.

‘What kind of batshit insane retrieval mission are we on?’ Pravin asked and Vaskir let out a big belly laugh, tilting his head back.

‘My thoughts exactly,’ Vaskir said, then looked down and focused. ‘A hundred man retrieval is already classified as an expedition, which means we each earn 300 queens a month. With this hell march we got underpaid, but a single manual is still worth at least Q1500. That’s the equivalent of 5 month-long contracts per person that stays on. It’s a massive bonus,’ Vaskir shook his head as his brows tightened into worried knots. ‘Unprecedented,’ he murmured.

‘Un-what?’ Pravin said.

‘You get a look at where that lieutenant took the manual out of?’

‘Yeah,’ Pravin said. ‘Big box. It looked full of the things.’ Vaskir sighed in relief.

‘I doubt the Consortium would sign off on this if the rewards weren’t genuine.’ Vaskir said then looked towards Monver’s tent. ‘This won’t be a simple contract. Somethings happening, something we grunts aren’t important enough to know.’ Pravin shrugged; what else was new.

Vaskir and Pravin made their way over to one of the gathered groups, neither of them saw any familiar faces—which was a blessing. In a few minutes, Monver’s lieutenants would assign group leaders who, in turn, would pick 4 men to lead. The smarter sellswords were already banding together, hoping to look tough enough to get the attention of someone important, or at least reliable. Pravin tended to attract the same breed of sellsword as him: tall, strong, and almost universally blockheaded. Although, Pravin was prone to sudden bursts of insight and knew when to blend into the crowd, escaping the attention of strict lieutenants and the rougher types that were best avoided. Vaskir, on the other hand, attracted no attention at all and was mostly seen as a hanger-on to Pravin’s blocky greatness. Vaskir was a veteran of 8 years, not that anyone would be able to tell at a glance. His equipment was simple, a padded tunic, leathers over the top, bracers, and a simple longsword. He stood tall, at around 6ft, but had a calm air about him which unsettled the usual crowd of sellswords enough that they just ignored or avoided him. Six years ago, Pravin and Vaskir were forced into a group together and formed a quick friendship, mostly necessitated by the violent nature of the contract they were on.

‘No one’s biting,’ Pravin said, scratching his head. Vaskir’s eyes widened as he noticed why. All the other sellswords were already in prearranged groups, probably hired by the contractor as a unit rather than an individual. With the march, heat, and constant orders he hadn’t noticed. This contract was smelling worse by the minute; no retrieval mission needs 20 pre-arranged teams.

‘We’re going to get filled,’ Vaskir said.

‘Shit,’ Pravin said, looking towards the gathering lieutenants.

Ten minutes later both Pravin and Vaskir were used to fill in one of the teams that the deserters were a part of. The team leader was a bald pugilist named Cradow.

‘I’ve got fun news for you,’ Cradow said once the lieutenant had departed, ‘we’re attacking a camp of bandits!’ Neither Vaskir nor Pravin reacted to the news, simply staring at the team leader.

‘Were you given these orders by one of the lieutenants?’ Vaskir finally asked, his mind reeling.

‘Nope,’ Cradow said.

‘Oh thank the Ascended,’ Vaskir thought, ‘the man is just insane.’

‘I got the orders from Monver himself.’ Cradow explained and Vaskir looked at Pravin then at the other members of the group; the two men looked like they were about to be sick.

‘Same orders for every 5 man?’ Pravin asked, hoping for a miracle.

‘Same orders,’ Cradow said, his grin widening. It all finally clicked for Vaskir, the pieces falling into place.

‘We’re not meant to survive,’ Vaskir muttered, one of the terrified-looking men let out a sharp sob, even Parvin shot him a worried glance.

‘What you mean?’ Parvin asked.

‘The good Q300 reward gets used to draw in some stragglers to fill out the ranks. Most of these 5 man teams are pre-arranged, you don’t need that to go ruin diving. Finally, most will be convinced to stay by the manuals; a light at the end of the tunnel, a light to keep us fighting. The Consortium is really bending the rules on this. All monsters and hostile factions need to be highlighted… but if we run into a few unpredicted bandits…’ Vaskir explained as Cradow nodded along knowingly.

‘Unpredicted!’ one of the scared men shouted. ‘We’re in the middle of the fucking jungle, we’ve been traveling straight towards them for over a week!’

‘I did say they were bending the rules,’ Vaskir muttered.

‘You knew this?’ Parvin said, looking at Cradow.

‘I signed up because I knew this would be a bloodbath,’ Cradow said seriously. ‘And I plan for us to be in the middle of it.’