Spiritbound [Spirit Magic, Military, Progression] (Book 1 Complete)

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

The hammer struck against the iron anvil, spewing sparks of ember into the air. Each strike rang sharp and clear as orange hues of light danced through the smoke. They echoed off the stone walls of the blazing forge as if the earth shuddered with each clang. The blackened surface of the anvil glowed slightly on the surface where the hot metal rested. Around Tucker were many blacksmiths working from dusk till dawn, bringing life to their creations.

The slick sweat on the short blacksmith's face was enough to pull Tucker's attention, but not a single word came out of his mouth. He clenched onto the handle of the hammer, swinging in a steady rhythm as the leather apron covered his dirty white shirt and beige pants. The middle-aged man with grey and black hair was the Thirty-First Platoon's master blacksmith, who oversaw all of their equipment's maintenance. Any requests would go through him, and if there was an issue, he would handle it.

The man's name was Thomas Hager, a renowned weapon and armor smith who had served the Everheart Kingdom for years, assigned to him by the commander. His black eyes met Tucker's; however, he continued hammering away, refusing to let the embers of his forge die out. The metal had yet to take shape, and until it did, he would continue fanning the flames of life into his creation.

Only after the blade had been quenched did Thomas pay attention to Tucker. He placed his tools on his stone workbench with a loud thud and gazed at the Captain. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"There is. I need about a thousand and two hundred javelins," Tucker replied.

Thomas blinked several times and then frowned. "What?"

"A thousand and two hundred—"

"I heard you the first damn time! Why do you need so many javelins?"

"Well, I figured four per soldier under my command would be a reasonable amount." Tucker took out the work order from his pouch and held it in front of Thomas, who snagged it with his charcoal-covered hands.

Thomas examined the order line by line and crumpled the edges in a fit of rage. "Are those fools out of their goddamn minds! How can we even make that many within a week?"

"It's actually two days," Tucker corrected, causing Thomas to crush the order into a ball and throw it on the ground.

Thomas raised his foot and stomped on the work order. "We already have our hands full with our current orders! There's no way in hell we're going to accept any new ones." He faced Tucker and crossed his arms. "You're wasting your time. Even with the work order, it's not possible to make that many."

"Then how much can you produce?"

Thomas held out two fingers. "Two hundred at most."

Tucker rustled the hair on the back of his head. It wasn't enough to cover the entire platoon, but it was good enough for the soldiers forming the front lines. "How long would it take for you to make the rest?"

"Too long, especially with all the other requests we've gotten." Thomas glanced at the broken desk several meters away from him. Then at the other blacksmiths working tirelessly at the forge. "We've got our hands full with crafting arrows and enchanting gear. There's no telling how much time we'll have, and besides…" The master blacksmith leaned in closer to Tucker and mumbled under his breath. "I've heard that some of the other blacksmiths have already run away."

The watchman hid his surprise. It wasn't unexpected for the citizens of the bastion to flee, but there had been no signs from the scouts that the Empire's forces were on their borders. His eyes trailed to the side, focusing on the other blacksmiths and their solemn expressions.

Tucker adjusted his hat and nodded. "In that case, do what you guys can. I'll send someone to retrieve the weapons in two days. Besides that, are there any rumors spreading through the fortress?"

Thomas rubbed his chin, releasing a long and drawn-out breath. "Not that I can think of. The only word I hear around here is what happens at the forge, but…" He cleared his throat and gazed down the street. "If you want to see the condition of the fortress, it'd be best to take a look yourself."

The Captain listened and nodded his head. "Thanks."

"Don't sweat it, just try to stay alive Captain." Thomas swatted Tucker away without batting an eye.

Each step Tucker took hardly made a sound. Even now, he was still practicing feather step, muffling his movements and gradually controlling his speed. When there wasn't the option of training in a courtyard, he had to improvise, and this was the easiest method. To incorporate his techniques into his daily life. He made his way through the winding roads and calmly observed the people around him.

Every breath they took felt hollow, like they had borrowed it from someone else. The city that was bursting with life from the top of the bell tower was a distant lie. Only silence was left behind, a stillness that gripped the hearts of all the residents. No one dared to speak what was on their mind, and, despite being only several feet apart, it felt like miles.

The people were scared, and there was nothing he could do.

No matter how much he wanted to tell them, it would be alright. That they would win against the Empire, Tucker knew they wouldn't believe it. This was something the soldiers had to prove with their actions, not words. Everywhere he went, it was the same.

Tucker observed the countless people who were living their lives. Whether they were selling food from their stalls or patrolling the city's walls, none of it mattered. He just wanted to see some glimmer of hope. And in that moment, the sound of several familiar voices entered his ears.

"Ah god, my back. I can't do this anymore!" Nemo fell to his knees as the weights on his body collapsed to the ground. The sandbags he carried on his shoulders were before him, and sweat was dripping down his face, leaving small water marks on the brick floor.

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"Oh, quit crying, it ain't that bad," Jones said, patting Nemo on the back.

"Not that bad? Not that bad!" Nemo glared at Jones. "We can't see shit entering and it smells like shit leaving!"

"Yeah, but now that we've gotten familiar with the pathing, it's a lot faster now compared to before." Liam's blue eyes seemed to shine as he grinned. "And honestly, I'm starting to enjoy going into the sewers. It's like one of those dungeons we've read stories about."

"Except there's no treasure and our greatest foes are rats," Nemo refuted.

"Who knows, rats are the main problem cities like this face." Tucker approached the group, causing their eyes to widen in shock. They all dropped their sandbags and stood at attention with their hands straight and on the side of their forehead.

"Greetings, Captain, sir!"

"At ease." Tucker waved at them and stared at their ragged appearances. They had dirt stains all over their shirts and pants. Yet that wasn't what caught him off guard. It was their unyielding eyes that were brimming with life. "I see you three are still working hard."

Jones kept his hand on his forehead and shouted with his head held up high. "Yes sir, we've been working very hard, sir!"

Tucker glanced at Jones with a troubled smile. "You can drop the formalities when it's just us."

"How could we? You're a watchman and our captain! We couldn't dare to!" Jones replied.

"Oh, shut up, Jones, he said to drop formalities, so just drop it," Nemo said.

"Sorry, did I ask for your squabbles?" Jones countered.

Before Nemo could knock the daylights out of Jones, Liam quickly stood between the two and coughed several times with his fist before his mouth. "Sir, with all due respect. There has to be a reason you came here. Are you looking for something?"

Tucker quietly stood still as the three looked at him. From the corner of his eye, he could see the other members of the Thirty-First come closer. They were all in a similar state, with sweat dripping down the side of their faces and their sleeves rolled back. Yet, hope filled all of them. It was the complete opposite of what he had seen on the streets, and seeing this, Tucker took off his hat and held it over his heart.

It was a coincidence that he ran into them, but maybe there was no such thing as coincidences. He took a deep breath and stared at his men who filled the alleyways of the bastion. "What do you guys think of our current situation?"

Their voices were quiet and muffled. A complex variety of expressions filled their faces. From that alone, Tucker knew they had all already heard the news from the other soldiers. Their eyes had a spark of life, but at the same time, a hint of fear.

"Are you scared of the Empire?" Tucker asked.

"Aren't you?" The voice came from Alfred, and behind their curly dark hair, Tucker could see the shimmer of fear in his brown eyes.

Tucker's lips slightly curled up. "Of course." The words caused Nemo to frown, but he didn't pay him any attention. Instead, Tucker focused on the other soldiers. "But even if I'm scared, I know I still have to fight."

"Why?" Liam asked.

"Because if I don't, then who will?" Tucker met their gaze. "The same also applies to every single one of you. We all have our reasons for fighting, but the most important thing to remember is that, even if we fear something, it doesn't mean it's hopeless."

Tucker examined their muscular builds. They had been training endlessly for the past few weeks, and the results were finally showing. If it were just him and the other watchmen, then his perspective would be completely different, but as of now, he could say his next few words with confidence. "You guys have grown by leaps and bounds since your training, and despite the fact that we haven't known each other for that long. I can say with the utmost confidence that I trust you guys with my life."

"Wait, does that mean you're leading us?" Jones excitedly asked.

"Isn't that obvious?" Tucker smirked.

"No… we thought you were just handling our training," Liam said.

Tucker placed his leather hat back on his head, adjusting the brim so that the sunlight didn't reach his eyes. He cracked a smile. "Well, there's your good news then. I'll be in your care along with the others, so let's overcome these upcoming battles together."

The uncertainty behind the soldier's eyes vanished, and soon cheers, along with sighs of relief, were erupting through the alleyway one after another. Tucker didn't get why they were so happy, but took it in stride. If he had to guess, it was because Eric had threatened them that he was leaving if they weren't up to par. After all, it was something his friend would do.

Whatever the cause was, this wasn't a bad feeling.

Tucker clapped his hands twice to get the men back in line as they stood at attention. "Continue with your training. You still have many more drills to complete, so I don't want to hear a single complaint until it's done. Do I make myself clear?"

"Sir, yes sir!"

The men all shouted in unison before picking up their weights once more. As soon as they were out of sight, Tucker gazed at the rooftop and saw Eric waving to him. The moment the last soldier had left, the instructor leapt down from the slanted stone tile roof and softly landed on the floor.

"You ruined my method of motivation." Eric walked closer and held out his fist.

Tucker did the same, gently tapping Eric's hand with his. "They weren't supposed to know that I was only training them."

"Well, perhaps not, but it seems like the fruits of their labour have paid off since you decided to stay."

"It's just how things turned out."

"You dishonest bastard."

Tucker chuckled, staring in the direction the soldiers had gone. "If they're entering the sewers as part of their training now, you should instruct them to cover one of their eyes before entering."

"For how long?"

"A couple of minutes should do, like fifteen or so. That'll give their vision plenty of time to adjust."

"Noted. What about the equipment request? Did we get it filled out?"

Tucker scratched the side of his face. "Not exactly. They can only make two hundred for us."

"That's fucked. It means we'll only be able to fit one group with javelins. We won't be able to easily switch formations then."

"I know, I'll ask around, but for now, we'll have to make do."

Eric nodded, staring in the same direction Tucker was facing. "Do… do you think they'll make it?"

The question made Tucker fall silent. Truth be told, he didn't know. He truly didn't, but what Eric was looking for wasn't honesty, but reassurance. And in the face of that, Tucker couldn't bring himself to lie to his friend. All he could do was say what was in his heart. "We'll do our best to make sure they do."

"That's right…" Eric gave a simple nod and then turned to face Tucker. "The commander was looking for you. It seems all the captains are being summoned to the meeting hall now, and you're probably very late."

Tucker raised a brow. "And you couldn't tell me this sooner?"

Eric shrugged. "I didn't think you would care."

"Oh my god…" Tucker covered his face with the palm of his hand. "Alright, well, I guess I'm off now. Try to stay out of trouble."

"Say no more." Eric waved his hand as Tucker took to the rooftops without making a single noise. They had grown pretty close since the two started training the militiamen. It was a relief that Tucker decided to stay because if he didn't, then Eric wouldn't know what to do.

Eric understood the reason Tucker didn't want to lead. The grief of holding a dying comrade's life in one's arms was a weight he could never forget. Every breath he took didn't quite reach his lungs, and the unstoppable warmth that faded felt like a part of him was dying as well.

They were watchmen, a force that didn't fear battle, but no amount of training would have prepared them for what was coming. Eric knew this well, and those from his batch weren't like others. They weren't the kind to count bodies like coins, and maybe that was why they all kept to themselves. Because the grief never goes away and simply marches along beside you.