Volrir

Dozens of knights appeared up and down their ranks, each one slightly different.

Many wielded two-handed swords, but others had battle axes, spears, and even bows. Their armor also differed from person to person, whether it be in thickness or shape.

Charon noted that only one of them had a red plume of feathers on their helmet, and he happened to be in the very center of their army's battle line.

'He must be the captain in charge of the assault.'

With a nod from the sergeant, their platoon began marching up a hill adjacent to the field. Charon assumed it was the one holding the fortress.

'Weird how they didn't attack us during the night. They must be low on men. The sergeant did say defenses were minimal, that must be what he meant.'

The first couple of minutes passed in silence, the group tense with anticipation, but a few conversations gradually broke out, including in Charon's own unit.

"Do you think they will have any Blood Masters? I don't think we have fought one since the battle by the lake."

Another soldier shivered.

"I hope not. I remember that thing, looked like a massive ball of blood and muscle."

Charon took that moment to join in.

"What's a Blood Master?"

A few puzzled glances were sent his way, a fact Charon didn't miss.

Understanding dawned on one of the men, causing him to jab his elbow into another.

"He is the new one, remember? He was conscripted from that little village a few weeks back. He probably doesn't even know what we are doing here."

A few others nodded as they remembered.

The soldier who spoke up in Charon's defense moved to stand by him. His armor looked more worn than most of the others, and his tunic sported more than a few tears. 

Charon recognized him as the man the sergeant had placed as their officer.

'Volrir, I think.'

"Don't worry too much about Blood Masters. They are very rare, and this is only one of the Blood Monger's war groups. We are luckier than most, having so many Death Knights, so the Blood Monger has focused his energy elsewhere. Truth be told, I'm surprised he is even bothering to hold this fortress. Whatever artifact they stole must be worth it, beyond just being an artifact of course."

Charon tried to keep up with the man's explanation, but he didn't know the first thing about the war effort.

"Who is the Blood Monger?"

A few of the others chuckled at that, but were stalled by the dirty glare Volrir shot them.

"He is one of the Blood God's followers, and is styling himself as the most likely to be declared the next Archon of Blood. He used to be a student in the Dark City, but rebelled against the Death Realms, carving out a chunk of land and gathering some support. He then attacked a bunch of our strongholds, taking us by surprise, and stealing an artifact."

Volrir waved his hands around, gesturing at the army group.

"So now here we are, sent to retrieve it."

Charon nodded his head in understanding, the situation less complex than he assumed.

'So someone decided to rebel against a larger power so he could make himself more appealing to the gods, and stole another god's artifact to prove it. Seems stupid if you ask me, who attacks people who worship Death?"

Another thing that he noticed was that the Blood Monger was trying to become something called an archon.

'Is that a rank of nobility? Or does it have to do with his abilities? The ease at which he said it makes me think everyone already knows what it means.'

Charon decided that asking questions, even if they were commonly known, was better than going in blind.

"What's an archon?"

Even Volrir looked dumbfounded at Charon's lack of knowledge, pausing to shoot him a sideways glance.

After a second's contemplation, the experienced soldier appeared to settle on being kind rather than judging.

"Each god chooses an archon. They embody their power more than any other human, and are granted great abilities. To become an archon, you need to master an aspect of your god, which is a very difficult task."

Volrir frowned, lost in thought for a moment, his eyes unfocusing before he snapped back to reality.

"The last Archon of Blood died a few years back, and since then, a handful of hopefuls have stepped up, each prioritizing a different aspect. So far, the Blood Monger has gone the furthest to accomplish his goal, but it's only a matter of time."

Charon's eyes widened.

'So they are super powerful mages? If they are chosen by a god, they must be incredibly skilled. I wonder what it takes to become one?'

He had no delusions about being capable of becoming one himself, but it wouldn't hurt to push himself as hard as he could.

'I've already earned my first ability. Now I need to train with it and hopefully get it to evolve. If it becomes something better than a general location ability, I may have a better shot of surviving in Creed!'

Although he had not been actively thinking about his future back home, he knew it would come eventually. As it stood, his ability was better than nothing, possibly even good enough for him to get a decent position.

'I might even become a specialist, and be allowed to have some say about my missions. Every team needs a scout, right?'

Grinning to himself, he turned his sword over in his hand, studying the reflective surface.

'That'd be something. Living my life free from too much oversight, just going around battlefields and fighting for humanity.'

It wasn't far from his original dream: Getting a strong set of abilities and becoming a hero, able to do as he pleased without anyone able to stop him.

'But to get there, I need to survive today.'

Forcing himself to focus on the present, he turned to Volrir and asked another question.

"How has the war gone for us so far?"

Volrir smiled widely, revealing pristine white teeth.

"We have won every battle with minimal losses. Sure, we have seen some setbacks, but those were easily overcome. It was suicide for the Blood Monger to even attempt his rebellion. Among the Ten Realms, the Death Realm has always been the strongest in direct conflicts."

Another soldier scoffed at that.

Volrir sighed, shooting the man a dirty look.

"Ignore Sven, he lacks the proper loyalties of a citizen of Death."

The man, Sven, glanced at Volrir with derision before addressing Charon.

"Unlike what the propaganda might say, the Death Realms have just been one of the strongest, not the absolute best.. The Life Realms have always fielded better trained men, and the Space Realms have weapons of mass destruction that could blow our entire army group to bits."

Sven moved closer to Charon, continuing his tirade.

"If anything, the Death Realms have been growing increasingly weaker. The Blood Monger is a small issue, sure, but the Blood Realms themselves are incredibly strong. There are rumors that they sent the Blood Monger as a way to expand their territory, with being declared the Archon of Blood his payment. The God of Death has been silent for years, and it's starting to make his kingdom shatter."

If looks could kill, Sven would've died a thousand times over by now. 

Every other soldier in their platoon was glaring at him as if he had just insulted everything they stood for, all but the sergeant, who was slowing their pace gradually.

Which Charon supposed he did.

'He just inferred that every soldier here was weak compared to their enemies.'

Before anyone could speak their thoughts, the sergeant suddenly stopped walking, his heavy armor creaking.

"Halt. Prepare for the assault."

Without another comment, all nineteen soldiers formed into a line, Charon a second behind them.

'This must be it, we are about to attack the fortress!'

Scanning the nearby hillside, he saw thousands of other soldiers moving into formations, each with unique orders for what to do during the battle.

His hands shook at the thought of returning to the slaughter he experienced the day prior, and his adrenaline surged.

'Unlike yesterday, I won't hesitate. This is only a trial, none of this is real, it can't be. These people aren't real, the Blood Monger isn't real, and these soldiers aren't real.'

Charon had come to that conclusion based on how he had both entered the trial and how clear the goal was.

The gods were testing him, and they could easily create a fake world to do that.

'My ability feels too real to be fake, though, so they must be seeing how I use that as well.'

It was trials within trials to Charon, and he was more than happy to complete them all if it meant strong magic powers.

The rumbling of multiple heavy metal footsteps alerted him to his sergeant's charge, the other platoon sergeants not far behind him. The rising sun glinted off their midnight armor, creating a visual spectacle.

A minute later, Charon also ran over the hill's crest, sword in hand.

The battle had begun.