On their remaining two or so days of travel, the group stayed at two small villages for the night.
One was a little village of no more than twenty people located not too far from the forest of Mortar.
There was no building for the men to stay in so they slept outside near the center of the village.
Though the ground was just as uncomfortable as it was in the forest, the men slept the best sleep they've had in days.
As always, they woke up at the crack of dawn to continue their journey.
The trails and paths they followed only became better maintained and visible as they continued on.
The overall mood of the group was rather spirited. Many felt that they had put the worst behind them, some even started to believe that they might even survive this whole ordeal.
This irritated Siege to no end. These men had lost nothing, they hadn't suffered at all. What right did they have to feel relieved?
And it wasn't as if they were going to Ithica for a vacation or to have fun. They were going there for training to fight a goddamn dragon.
'These fools are all going to get themselves killed. The hard part hasn't even started yet.'
As a result, Siege was rather grumpy during their walk and spoke to no one.
As they got further and further from the forest, the villages they encountered only grew larger and larger.
Following this trend, the second village they slept at was massive compared to the first, even compared to the village of Elram as well.
Numerous well maintained paths divided up the village and each home was arranged in an organized manner. At this point it could no longer be called a village, but rather a small town.
The group didn't interact with many townspeople, but the ones they did speak too were rather nice.
They received free food and trinkets as well as accommodation. It was likely because some of their own had been take by force for king Beowulf's wild crusade.
Even Siege felt his mood being lifted in the village as he saw how happy and kind the people were to them.
That night in the town was the only one in this wicked trial where he had actually felt relaxed.
....
It was about half past noon when the group arrived at Ithaca.
They were greeted by stone walls that rose about three meters into the air, and two guards in crude leather armor stood at each side of a wide and thick wooden gate, scanning them.
Sir Eric nodded at the men and they responded in kind.
"Welcome back Sir Eric! Those are the new men for the campaign, huh? Are they any good?" The guard to the right said curiously.
"As good as a farm kid can be. The wretched lot hasn't caused me any trouble at least."
Sir Eric responded dismissively.
"Open the gate."
The two guards rushed to comply, fiddling with a wheel like mechanism on each side.
The gate door groaned as it slowly started to open, revealing the fortress inside.
The best word to describe the fortress is dreary. As if no light or life managed to reach it.
The ground around the main building, even the entire estate was just plain dark brown dirt.
All the structures were made of the same material as the gate. A dull grey stone.
At least it was imposing though. The main building stood at about maybe ten or more meters high, but its archaic medieval design made it seem much larger than it actually was. T
his added a subtle ancient allure, but definitely not enough to make it even a reasonable place to stay.
There were few openings for light on the building, so one could only imagine how dark it must be inside of it.
There was a large space between the fortress and the gate just to the right of the building.
Yellowish straw men with various cuts on them were stuck in the dirt like grave markers for the fallen, paired with the dull grey atmosphere it was rather creepy.
Some men, though it was hard to even call them that because of the many teenage faces, stood in-front of the straw men with iron swords, swinging madly while an older man in formal linen clothes watched them seriously.
Steel was expensive so most things in the fortress were made with iron. So even the metal of their swords was a dull grey, barely shining even when the sun's rays managed to catch it.
The world seemed to dull as the men approached, as if the sunny sky above them was merely an illusion and it was actually overcast with the chance of a storm.
Thus, the men faltered as the entered, unwilling to enter this place which looked to shave off years of their lifespans
However, they did not have a choice.
And so the men entered and were settled into dorms in the fortress, not by Sir Eric, but another man,
This one taller and lankier, but with sharp and bright blue eyes.
The dorms were exactly the same as the fortress. Minimalistic in nature.
They were the same dull grey and wide enough for four bare bunk beds each made out of wood. There was a thin moldy mattress on each bunk, but not a blanket or pillow.
The whole room smelled of mildew and dried sweat.
Not only that, but the room had the audacity to be unbearably dark. There was no opening for sunlight, and only a single torch lit up the room. It was so bad that the men had to squint their eyes slightly to see each other.
'No need to waste resources on dead men, eh?'
Siege was thoroughly disgusted. If they were going to send them to their deaths, the least they could do was provide a comfortable place to stay.
As the men had brought nothing with them, they had been wearing the same clothes they had worn once they started the seven day journey.
Needless to say, they stunk to the high heavens.
A small woman with brown hair and eyes entered their sad room. She was wearing a black gown that went past her knees with a white apron like thing over it, and a white head covering. She strained to hold a large basket in her hand.
"I am Gretel, a maid of this fortress. These will be your training clothes. Change out of what you are wearing and place it in this basket after picking some clothes.
Siege rushed to the front and choose a tan shirt and brown pants that seemed to be around his size. While selecting his clothes, Siege inwardly complained about how inefficient even the task of pick clothes became with just one arm.
He didn't even want to think of all the other inconveniences it would cause.
But he was excited to have his bath. Maybe these medieval people could tolerate not being able to shower for a week after sweating, but he could not.
After shitting in the woods and wiping his ass with fallen leaves, Siege was on the brink of insanity.
However, Siege could only be disappointed, after all, a medieval bath couldn't be considered a proper bath at all.
Using soap made from lard and pouring water on yourself with water was not a bath.
Siege left the bathroom with a dark look on his face.
He could not even bare to think about the 'toilet'.