“I''ll let you all grow acquainted,” Galan said. Then he and Lyssa were gone, and Brin was alone with a group of young men who were all various degrees of hostile.

    Was that really all the introduction Galan was going to give him? Announce that he was the Second and then take off? Brin didn’t even know what a Second was. Did that mean he was the Second in command? From the way the other [Knight], who [Inspect] called Hedrek, was glaring at him, he thought that was probably the case.

    The [Warrior] and [Hunter] also eyed him with distrust, while others like the [Porter] and [Armsman] looked on neutrally. The leader, whom Galan had called Gurthcid stared at him with a look of extreme annoyance.

    “And are you to follow me everywhere I go?” asked the man who’d stepped into the courtyard just ahead of Brin. He realized he knew him; it was Rhun. Somehow, Sion’s idiotic bodyguard and he had ended up in the same Lance. Brin hadn’t even known that Rhun was in this castle.

    “You’ve got to be kidding me,” said Brin.

    “You two know each other already. How grand. Today we’ll focus mainly on getting acquainted with each other and our roles in the Lance. We’ll need a full day at least to teach you all how to ride, but that won’t be today,” said Cid, speaking in Prinnashian. It was the language Brin was most fluent in outside of Frenarian, but he still spoke it with a pretty bad accent.

    It took Brin a half-second to parse all that in Prinnashian. Couldn’t everyone slow down while they were speaking? He supposed he was lucky they were speaking Prinnashian and not Ollandish, since he only knew like ten words in Ollandish, but that didn’t spare him the embarrassment of stumbling over every other word.

    “Yes... sir,” said Brin. Was Cid his commanding officer now? Better to be safe than sorry, he supposed. Wait, should he salute as well? He didn’t know, but Rhun wasn’t saluting, so he guessed probably not.

    Cid looked at him, clearly expecting him to do or say something, but Brin honestly wasn’t sure what. This was his first experience with any kind of military; he hadn’t enlisted in his past life and he doubted that knowledge would help at all here.

    Whatever Cid was waiting for, he didn’t get it. He shook his head derisively and said, “The two of you missed the fun little training period, so I suppose you won’t know certain things that you ought to have been trained on before now. For example: A Lance trainee will always appear before his commander in full armor.”

    Brin made eye contact with Rhun, a brief moment of shared embarrassment. Brin’s only armor was leather, and he didn’t think he should wear that when even the [Rogue] was wearing metal. “I have got not... I mean I not got... Excuse me. What I try to say is: I have no armor. I made plans to buy some, but–”

    Cid winced as if that were the dumbest thing he’d ever heard. “You’re to be part of an Order, are you not? Did you really think we couldn’t outfit our [Knights]? Govannon, show them where they can find something to wear. That’s a good job for a [Page], I think.”

    Govannon grimaced, but stepped forward to comply. He walked past Rhun and Brin, straight back the way Brin had just come. He didn’t look at either of them or say a word, so it took Brin a second to remember he was supposed to follow. He scurried after.

    The [Page] walked quickly, but Brin was more than double his level and had a Skill for movement outside of combat, so he had no trouble falling in beside him.

    Trying to sound more natural in Prinnashian, he said, “Nice to meet you. I’m Brin. I never met a [Page] before. I never even heard of it as a Class before, to be honest. I thought most people went straight to [Squire] on System Day.”

    “[Warrior] and then [Squire] most often,” corrected Rhun. It was weird to now hear the thickly-accented Rhun speaking naturally while Brin was the one having a hard time finding the right words.

    Govannon had seemed somewhat timid and withdrawn back with the rest of the Lance, but now he practically radiated resentment. “Let’s not chat. I don’t want people to think we’re getting chummy.”

    “Sure,” said Brin. He understood; the other guys had all hated Brin at first sight for some reason, so the smallest, weakest member of the team wouldn’t want to get thrown in with him. Brin understood, but he didn’t like it, and he certainly wouldn’t be complying with it. “So anyway, what did I do wrong back there? I get the feeling that I was supposed to say something, but no one told me what it was.”

    “You’re supposed to act like a Second,” said Govannon and tried to push forward, but Brin kept up easily.

    After that it became a speedwalking race, where Govannon tried to pull ahead and Brin made sure they walked side by side while trying to make it look easy. Since they were walking fast, it didn’t take long to get where they were going.

    Near the center of the keep, where the floors had all of their stone and the walls showed no sign that the water was leaking this far in, they found the storehouse.

    “I’ll wait out here. Be quick, would you?” said Govannon.

    Two heavily armored soldiers stood guarding a reinforced steel door. They nodded at Govannon and then opened the door to let Rhun and Brin through. Inside, Brin found what looked like it could be a boutique clothing store in a shopping mall back on Earth, if the boutique clothing store only sold clothing made of metal.

    Pauldrons, gorgets, rondels, and breastplates, along with vambraces, greaves, sabatons, and tassets. Some armor was made of big metal plates and traded flexibility for durability, but others were made of so many interlocking parts that they really did look like clothing made of metal. The armor was laid out in rows on tables or stacked in piles or dumped into crates. He only saw armor, though, so weapons and all other equipment must be in another room.

    A bald old man with uneven eyes and a long white goatee sat reclined on the room’s only chair. He wore expensive-looking plate mail, and didn’t seem uncomfortable in it at all. He wouldn’t–not with a Class like that. [Inspect] named him Meathrydon Bloyd, a level 55 [Snow-Blessed Armorer].

    “Did you just [Inspect] me?” the old [Armorer] snapped. “The name’s Meaty, and nothing else. Got that?”

    For some reason, Brin found Meaty’s Prinnashian easier to understand.

    “Got it,” said Brin.

    “Yes, sir!” Rhun shouted, and snapped a crisp salute.

    Brin really needed to learn when to salute and when not. The problem was, that hadn’t been laid out in the manual Galan had given him.

    “What he said,” Brin said, poking a thumb towards Rhun.

    Meaty laughed. “No, no, you had the right of it. I said my name is Meaty and not anything else. Especially not sir. Now, are you two sworn in yet?”

    “No,” said Brin. He’d been warned that there would be an Oath required; something else to worry about. He didn’t want another System Oath, and he didn’t want his loyalty to be split in another direction, but everyone acted like it was a matter of course that he’d swear it, so it couldn’t be anything too onerous.

    “Then you’re still trainees, officially. That means raw metal only, no enchantments,” said Meaty.

    “That is fair, but I have very good leather armor of my own,” said Brin.

    Meaty snorted. “The armor isn’t for protection, it’s for training. You’re supposed to get used to wearing it so that it won’t be a surprise when you become a knight-at-arms. Once you’re part of a Lance, you can come back here and get something custom made. Don’t expect miracles, though. There’s a long line in front of you.”

    Brin stroked his chin. “My mother promised to send money here to buy armor, but I’m not sure if I’m supposed to spend that with you or buy something on leave.”

    Meaty leaned further back in his chair, so far that Brin was worried he’d fall and hit his head. It was just a plain wooden chair, none too sturdy-looking, and while Meaty was in armor he wasn’t wearing a helmet. “Unless your mum is a very rich [Lady], the standard options I can give you will be better than anything you can buy from me.”

    “My mother is the [Archmage] Lumina,” said Brin. He realized he’d been hiding his ring, and pulled it out of his pocket to place it on his finger. Rhun watched, considering it darkly.

    Meaty’s uneven eyes popped. “In that case, come back when you get your allowance in, and we’ll work something out. That doesn’t change what I can offer you today, though.”

    Brin gestured to Rhun to go first, mostly because he didn’t really even know what to ask for, and Rhun was more than eager. Meaty stood up to help him, and Brin felt a mental sigh of relief now that the old man wasn’t leaning way too far back on his chair. There was no way a short fall like that could damage someone at level 55, but that didn’t prevent Brin’s instincts from telling him an old man was about to break his head open.

    Rhun, unsurprisingly, wanted armor that looked exactly like the other guys in the Lance had been wearing. A stiff single-piece cuirass, big rounded pauldrons on the shoulders, and pointy couters on the elbows.

    You have joined a martial order.

    You can assign your status to positively identify yourself as a member of the Order of the Long Sleep. This achievement will grow as you gain merit in your Order.

    Once that was done, Cid stood to the side, not facing anyone and said almost to himself, “I had in mind to head up to Allexi’s hill.”

    “Yes, sir,” said Brin. Only, that didn’t seem to be the response Cid was waiting for, because everyone stared at Brin in awkward silence for a long moment.

    Finally, Hedrek cast Brin one last disgusted look before saying, “You heard him. Let’s move out!”

    All ten of them moved as one, following Cid out of the fortress at a steady run. In his old world, this would’ve been a sprinting pace for Brin even without the armor, but here it was a nice jog and the armor was barely an inconvenience. After the first half mile, Brin got the hang of running so that his armor didn’t jangle or chafe so much, and it was smooth from there. They cleared the keep quickly, and soon they were running across an open field.

    He noticed that the guys were naturally going two by two in the order of their rank, so he ran up near the front with Cid.

    Now that they were moving and their destination seemed to be a good distance away, Brin took the time to split off his mind and send out some frantic Invisible Eyes to find another Lance. He’d assumed that he’d be ranked near the bottom and that he’d be able to pick things up with everyone else, but now it seemed he’d been thrust into some kind of leadership role with no idea of what he should be doing. The manual was little help. It was hopelessly vague in most cases, “The second serves at the pleasure of the Prime in aiding the Lance in implementing the Prime’s vision.” Other times it was absurdly specific, “At a canter while at a peaceful standing, the knight-at-arms will hold the reins between his thumb and forefinger, leaving two hand-breadths between each hand.” He needed to see what life in a real Lance actually looked like. Someone had to know what he was doing wrong.

    The first Lance he found was a group of veterans, with the youngest nearly thirty years old. They all seemed like they’d known each other for a long time; a tight group of friends. He didn’t see anyone giving orders at all. They all knew their jobs and did it without direction from the Prime. It also didn’t help that they weren’t exactly busy.

    He needed another example. Soon after, he found them. Back in the keep, a younger Lance was together in the practice yard. They were all practicing the same set of parries against imaginary opponents. Their Prime was looking on from the side of the yard, while the Second marched back and forth, shouting. “Not like that, Irf! For the last time, keep the point of your sword towards your opponent at all times. Should you fling his weapon away, you’ll want your sword to already be in the right direction to capitalize... good! Yes, like that again!”

    After a while, he saw the Second give the Prime a questioning glance, only for the Prime to subtly shake his head. “Not good enough!” the Second roared at the men. “We’ll keep going until Irf gets it right a hundred times in a row! And I better not see anyone else mess up or it’ll be another hundred!”

    After ten more minutes of practice, the Prime said, “Well done, everyone.”

    “That’s it, step back and swords away!” the Second called. “We’ll take a ten minute break and then move onto thrusts.”

    Oh. So it was that kind of thing. The Prime would give a general strategy, and it was the Second’s job to break that down into specific orders. No wonder Cid always seemed to be waiting for Brin to say something.

    It occurred to him that the role of the Second was to be the most isolated man on the team, the person that everyone hated. The Prime was really in charge, but he wasn’t going to shout the orders that made everyone grit their teeth in distaste, that would be up to Brin. What had Galan intended by giving this job to Brin? He could do nothing but trust him; despite all appearances, he still believed that Galan wanted what was best for him. In fact, knowing this was more of a relief than anything. He knew what part he was supposed to play, and he’d make sure to play it well.

    He kept a few eyes on the other Lances, just to see what else he would glean, but pulled back the majority of his brain to his main thread. He needed it just to keep up with the language barrier.

    He killed time by idly coating his armor with glass as he ran, which gave it a very nice, glossy texture and made it look a lot fancier than it really was. He doubted he’d get access to a [Glasser] workshop any time soon, so summoned glass was as good as he would get. At least he still had his Bog Standard spear.

    The run was more fun now that he felt a little more confident that he knew his role. It was a nice day, with a cool breeze, and they were only going uphill around half the time. Once they got a little bit of elevation, the view was spectacular. Prinnash was a land of pasture and mountains, with nothing in between, and the wide spaces between the mountains gave a view that seemed to go on forever. He could see the keep, then a few much nicer and larger ones past that, as well as the army mustering down below, the armor of the men shining in the sunlight like glitter.

    “How do you fare?” asked Cid.

    “Fine, thanks!” said Brin. Then he realized that might not have been the point of the question and used an Invisible Eye to look back at the men. Some of them were heavily winded. Most of them were, actually, with the exception of the two [Knights] and the [Porter]. He was carrying a large pack in addition to wearing a full kit of armor, but seemed to have not even broken a sweat. The [Rogue], on the other hand, seemed like he was on his last legs.

    Brin let his pace lag a bit, falling behind to talk to him.

    Hedrek clapped his pauldron. “Ha! You missed the initial training, but they did this sort of thing every day! We decided to give you a good workout to show you what you missed.”

    “Sounds fun! And when will that start?” Brin asked, quite sincerely before even realizing what an amazing comeback that had been. He really had been thinking of this as a nice, refreshing little warm up run, but for someone without his stats it was probably hellish.

    Grinning, he slowed down again, until he was side-by-side by the [Rogue]. [Inspect] called him Brych Faughn, and he was the highest leveled one here after the [Knights], at level 22. He should definitely have the attributes to make this doable, so maybe motivation was the problem?

    “You look tired. Are you tired, Brych?”

    “No, sir,” Brych panted out.

    “If you get too tired let me know, ok? I’ll carry you. I’m getting kind of bored,” said Brin.

    “No, sir,” said Brych. He was already standing straighter, and even though Brin had meant to keep his voice down, he’d obviously been overheard because the entire Lance seemed to suddenly be in better spirits.

    “It’s really no trouble,” said Brin.

    “Not... necessary... Sir!” Brych said, still panting heavily.

    “Then you must be bored,” said Brin. “Don’t worry. I’ll ask Cid if we can do some real training after this.”

    “Yes sir!” said Brych.

    When Brin retook his position next to Cid, the Prime increased the pace and this time no one looked to be in any danger of falling behind.

    When they stopped, Brin was ready. As soon as Cid started to slow to a walk, Brin shouted, “Halt! Take a break! Walk it out. Get some water. But be ready to move again in ten minutes! We have lots of fun things to do today.”

    Despite him telling them to walk it off, a few of the men collapsed on the ground as soon as they stopped running. The [Porter] set down his pack and fished out a canteen, to pass around the group.

    They were on top of the largest foothill near the mountain. On one side, Brin could see the army they had come from, and on the other hand the wilderness of Prinnash stretched forth in a straight and long valley as far as the eye could see. He saw one little village, probably no more than a hundred people, and only a few patches of trees.

    Cid said to Brin, “I believe you may have made a promise on my behalf. Something about real training?”

    “I only promised to talk to you about it,” said Brin.

    “Oh? Then do so.”

    “I will, thank you. Gurthcid, sir, can I have your permission to lead the Lance in some real training?”

    Cid nodded. “Train away.”