Patrol

Rowan's second week in the Re-Estize training grounds began with mud in his boots and a blade too heavy for a child.

He'd expected drills. Orders barked until his ears rang and forms repeated until his muscles screamed. It had begun to wear on him, making him question his decision to join the royal army in the first place. After all, even if he mastered the sword and learned some martial arts, it wouldn't matter if he couldn't go out and hunt monsters for xp. But just as he had begun to lose all hope, Kalmen announced that they would be going on patrol.

"A patrol went missing outside the western woodline," Sergeant Kalmen had told the recruits. "Goblin activity. We're sending out squads. You're not soldiers, but the nobles want warm bodies in uniforms. Congratulations."

Rowan was the first to volunteer—after all, it was his way out from the monotony of training and potentially his first official xp grind.

They handed him a real sword this time. Iron, chipped near the hilt, but balanced better than the wooden ones he'd used for years.

As the large walls of the Re-Estize Kingdom faded away into the background, Rowan's platoon marched towards the outer edges of the Great Forest of Tob. Their destination was E-Libera, a modest city near the forest's fringe. It would serve as a staging point for the patrols aimed at rooting out the goblin activity that had been reported over the past month. According to Sergeant Duran, there had also been recent bandit sightings along the trade routes.

The march was expected to take four to five days. Rowan tried to focus on the weight of the sword at his hip, the rhythm of boots on dirt, and the dull ache creeping into his legs. Despite the discomfort, he welcomed the change from repetitive drills.

On the third day, just before dusk, the platoon entered a narrow ravine—a shortcut, according to Duran. The sheer walls and thick overgrowth made Rowan uneasy. His instincts flared a warning just moments before the first arrow flew.

Bandits erupted from the cliffs above and the woods flanking the path. They weren't well-trained, but they had numbers—and surprise. Chaos followed. Screams, steel, blood. Rowan dodged a clumsy swing and countered with a desperate thrust. His blade sank into the man's gut.

The world slowed.

He saw the bandit's eyes widen in pain, then dim. The body slumped. Rowan wrenched his sword free, hand trembling, then steadied. No guilt came. Just a strange, cold clarity.

[XP Gained: 132 XP]

He didn't have time to process the change. Another attacker lunged, and Rowan reacted, shifting into a practiced stance. Rowan parried the attacker's sword as it carved an arc downwards, quickly deflecting the blade. He followed up with an upward slash, carving a long gash into the attacker's face. The bandit reared back in surprise—these were supposed to be new recruits, after all. But while the bandit faltered, Rowan did not, quickly thrusting his sword forward into the chest of the bandit. His body slumped forward on the sword, falling limp to the ground, eyes misting over as his life ended.

[XP Gained: 150 XP]

The ambush was repelled. The recruits lost two men. Duran called for a short rest before pressing on to E-Libera. When they arrived the next day, tired and grimy, the garrison commander barely looked up from his desk.

That night, while the others celebrated surviving, Rowan wandered into a quiet tavern off the main road. A grizzled man with a jagged scar down one cheek nursed a mug at the counter. His armor was old, well-worn. A sword on his hip—cracked and chipped—told stories unseen to the common man.

Rowan sat down next to him and called over to the barmaid for a glass of milk. The man looked down at him in undisguised disgust. After all, he still had dried blood staining his clothes.

"You look like someone who's just made their first kill," the man said without turning.

"I did," Rowan replied. "Two days ago. And again today."

The man glanced at him, appraising. "Not bad. Most puke their guts out. You didn't. That means you're either broken already, or you'll get there soon."

Rowan frowned. "Is that supposed to be comforting?"

"It's advice," the man said. "Royal Army will teach you how to march and polish boots. Maybe even how to fight. But if you want to get stronger—really stronger—you need to find people who kill for coin. Mercs. Adventurers."

He slid a piece of paper toward Rowan. It was a torn notice for a local mercenary guild, half-faded.

"When you get sick of drills, look for this place. Until then, get stronger. They don't accept pipsqueaks after all."

The next day, Rowan was back on the road with a smaller scouting party. Their mission: patrol the edges of the Great Forest of Tob. The trees loomed like sleeping giants, casting long shadows even at noon.

They spotted a goblin trail by midday—scat, broken branches, and a gutted deer. They followed it in silence until they found the culprits.

Four goblins hunched around a makeshift camp. Rowan's squad fanned out, circling. Duran gave the signal; a whistle screeched through the air.

The goblins shot up, wide-eyed at the noise.

Rowan darted in while they were still distracted. He aimed low, sweeping one goblin off its feet and finishing it with a clean thrust. Another turned to flee—Rowan chased it down, landing a diagonal slash across its back before plunging his sword through its spine.

[XP Gained: 54 + 49 XP]

After a couple more hours of searching, his patrol headed back to E-Libera. His feet ached from the hours of walking, and he almost immediately collapsed into his assigned bed in the barracks.

The blue screen of the status page glowed above him, displaying his accomplishments from the last few days.

Name: Rowan

Age: 5

Race: Human (Soul-Bound Variant)

Class: Warrior

Level: 5

XP: 476 / 600

[Attributes]

HP: 75

MP: 35

SP: 115

STR: 13

AGI: 15 → 16

VIT: 11

DEX: 13 → 14

INT: 7

WIS: 6

CHA: 4

LUK: 2

[Perks]

• Soul-Weighted Body (Passive)

• Instinctual Defense (Passive)

• Soul Echoes (Dormant)

[Skills]

• Power Strike (Active) — Deliver a single enhanced melee attack. Costs 5 SP.

[Progression]

Class Level: Warrior (1 / 10)

Skill Slots: 1 Unlocked

The words that the grizzled man in the tavern said echoed in his mind as he drifted off to sleep.

He had always known that he didn't want to spend much time with the Royal Army; after all, not a single person around him had any chance of becoming strong. They would all be massacred by Ainz's super-tier spell, serving nothing more than cannon fodder.

And while he was happy that he had gained xp from this journey, his progression was still mind-numbingly slow compared to what he needed. But for now, it was his only way forward, and he would take full advantage of it.