Long after I tire of hearing the repeated story of "My family sold me to make ends meet," or "I was captured while lost in the wilderness," the old man, who I have discovered to be named Bron, alerts us that it is time to exit the barracks and prepare for dinner. We dutifully do as commanded, exiting the barracks and joining the ranks of other enslaved soldiers that are already waiting in formation. There are many more than I was expecting based on the number and size of the barracks, at least a thousand soldiers, which leads me to believe that our barracks is among the more sparsely occupied.
About a minute after we are fully in position, our commander returns. He wordlessly nods at the section where we new recruits stand, and then waves our group along after him as he sets off towards where I remember the dining hall being located.
We are the last to arrive, coming upon a scene of many hundreds of soldiers sitting at many long tables, deep in their meal. The room is quite spacious, almost excessively so, with fifteen tables running the length of the hall. At the far end of the room, across from where we entered, is a raised platform with a table upon it, this one running the width of the room. Thirty or so men, all neatly dressed in well-adorned uniforms, sit there eating. Military officers of various levels, I presume.
Large windows high up on the thirty foot wooden walls would surely let in plentiful light during the day, but now they unveil a starless night sky. Instead of natural light, the room is illuminated by a trio of large candle-adorned chandeliers, as well as many candles on the tables.
No one takes notice of our entry, as surely befits mere slaves. Bron leads our group to the end of a table on the entrance side of the room, where we take our seats. Our commander splits off and heads for the officers' table.
I take a seat between a thin man that had been bought with me and an overly muscular fellow covered in light scars. I turn my attention to the food laid out on the table, and am not disappointed. Our commander clearly wasn't lying when he said that we would be fed as well as regular troops; the fare in front of us now is the same as is in front of any other group.
Pork, beef, mutton, and several other meats that I can't immediately identify are placed generously on the table. Between these platters of meat are countless loaves of bread and wheels of cheese. Small cakes are also abundantly scattered about, and empty mugs stand ready to be dipped into wooden buckets of water.
The scent of the cooked flesh assaults my nose, awakening a primal desire to savagely devour everything in sight. I heap a generous serving of pork on my plate, my mouth watering to a genuinely absurd extent. Seeing that others are also unceremoniously digging into their meals, I begin to cram the pork into my mouth as fast as I can handle. The meat tastes better than anything that I have ever eaten, despite being entirely unseasoned.
I soon realize that this is the first proper meal that I have eaten in this new world, the first meal that I have eaten since the morning of my miserable demise. Though that meal was objectively better than this one, this meal seems to far surpass it. Then, it was the morning of my execution. Now, it is my rebirth as a somewhat-respectable warrior!
[Bah! The same thing, is it not? This marks the beginning of my career in a line of duty that will certainly see me killed. Whether I survive for ten years or ten days, I am sure to die before ever tasting freedom again. Then, it was the morning of my execution. Now, it is the beginning of a path to the end.
Though, in truth, no matter the path one takes, all are ultimately meaningless. From dust, we all originate and to dust we shall return, the whole of our lives being sentient dust in a bag of flesh, holding no meaning. In truth, whether I toil as a slave for the rest of my miserable life or live as a king, my existence will still be meaningless. Everything is meaningless, and my manner of existence is no exception.
So then, what is my goal in life? If it is all meaningless anyway, then surely it could not hurt to attribute some false meaning to my existence, something meaningless to live for. So, what shall I live for?]
I am quickly struck with an answer: eternal life. [It has always been a dream of mine, the dream to live forever. Furthermore, if I live forever, I shall never again suffer the Void. He he he, I have found a goal! Like the greatest of all fictional characters, I shall pursue eternal life. For me, nothing shall hold meaning except this highest of goals!]
I am briefly caught up in the excitement of my goal, before realizing its immense absurdity. [Heh. Who am I kidding? Dreams of the impossible and unattainable are foolish distractions from the truth of the world. How am I to live forever if I am to die in short order, buried in an unmarked grave on a nameless battlefield? So, then, I have not even a goal. In the words of the wisest of men 'Life is meaningless;' this truth is truer than any goal that I could establish. Life has no meaning, and upon recognizing this, any foolish attempt to assign it meaning can ring with naught but falsehood. So, if life has no meaning and can have no meaning, why do I bother to persist?] An answer immediately occupies my mind: [Freedom from the darkness! This shall be my purpose in existence, a purpose found simply in the absence of the suffering of death. I don't want to die because I don't want to be subject to the awful nothingness that I know it to hold; I shall need no other reason to persist. Therefore, my goal shall not be the foolishly unattainable immortality, but the simple, animalistic, desire to avoid death as long as possible. Sadly, in my current position the only way to presently preserve my life is to follow the orders given to me. This path is fraught with peril, and demise is nearly certain. Yet, I must continue, I must do everything in my power to live as long as possible on the battlefield: to get stronger. So, that shall be my goal: strength, for the purpose of avoiding the empty nothingness of death.]
Before my skill-induced pessimism can crush my feeble hopes, I turn the entirety of my focus to shoving energy-filled nutrients into my gaping maw. My thoughts slow as I enter a dreamlike trance wherein my only desire is more food. By the time I return to focus, my stomach is an aching bulge and the table, once laden with copious quantities of food, lies barren before me. I am far from unique in this regard, however. All of the other recently bought soldiers have also cleared the regions in front of them of edible matter.
I notice that the older enslaved soldiers eat in a far more reserved and noble manner, and I take this as a good sign that food is plentiful enough to not be worried about.
I begin to gulp down water, and find it to be the most satisfying drink of my life. [The only thing that would make this better is ale. I mean, what kind of army doesn't give their soldiers alcohol? I get that they want us to be clear headed and ready for battle, but come on! Water? WATER?! A flavorless, common, simple liquid of little value! How dare they! My first meal in this new world, and the only drink is freaking water! ]
While I am seething in meaningless rage, the boisterous hall abruptly silences. A wave of indescribable [force] washes over me, and I feel attention naturally shifting towards the table at the front of the hall. There, an officer stands tall. Possessing a height of at least seven feet and bulging muscles so gargantuan that it is a miracle that his medal-adorned officer's uniform does, a man emits an aura of power so dense that it is palpable. Even being in his presence forces silence from a massive crowd; it is certain that any who would oppose him would cower in fear as soon as his ire is directed at them. Being before him now, I feel like a mere mortal in the presence of a god, a useless being of indescribable weakness before a legendary lion. I feel a strong urge to retract my foolish mental complaints about the beverage selection, simply for the worry that this man would be offended if he were to hear them. I am far from alone in the pressure I feel in his presence. I don't dare take my eyes off of this majestic figure, but there are still many soldiers' faces visible in my peripheral vision. The expressions on their faces are not exactly those of fear; after all, this almighty figure is on our side and would have no benefit in harming us. Instead, the expressions are primarily those of discomfort, though expressions of absolute awe and wonder are not uncommon. Even some of the officers behind him look to be a bit uncomfortable under the crushing force of his relentless aura.
After a few moments that feel like an hour, the soul-crushing aura is abruptly cut off. We breathe a collective sigh of relief as our bodies fall into the blissful relaxation following extreme tension. However, our attention does not leave the officer. He looks out at us with fierce eyes that, when combined with his veritable mane of blonde hair, grant him the domineering visage of a lion surveying his territory.
He opens his mouth and, to my amazement, speaks in a clear and eloquent manner. "We gather here today at the end of another long day, a day of brutal training, a day of being away from our families. We gather here today with a purpose, the purpose of fighting off the imperial scum who would aggressively invade our lands and destroy all which we hold dear. Whether volunteers, conscripts, or slaves, we all give up our time, effort, and families now in order to still have them in the future. Being here, training day after day away from our homes, is no easy task. Yet, we undertake it for the homes, families, and countrymen that we hold so dear."
The soldiers listen closely, though their interest seems a bit feigned, leading me to believe that this speech is a regular occurrence.
The Lion Man continues "That said, let me welcome our new soldiers! I know that while some of you want to be here here, the majority do not. That said, I still expect all of you to put in your utmost effort in training and in combat. Winning this war is of utmost priority, and therefore this cannot be a time of selfishness. As I have already said, this is a war fought for our homeland and our loved ones. Anyone who does not treat this with the gravitas it is due has betrayed their family, their friends, and, most importantly, their homeland. This is a serious endeavor, and, whether you want to be here or not, I expect you to treat it as such. Any misguided soul who fails to do so will face my wrath.
"In the interest of maintaining proper order and focus in our progression towards our goal of producing the best possible soldiers, we have established a number of rules." He holds up an imposingly thick tome. "This will be available for viewing by anyone who requests the opportunity, however, the most important rule to remember is rather simple: always follow orders. In the case of conflicting orders, obviously prioritize those from higher authorities.
"Now, for scheduling. Tomorrow, all new recruits are to report here at 4:00 AM. Your weapon of focus will be established, and you will be issued a training schedule specific to you, with the intent of increasing your abilities as swiftly as possible. Wake up and prepare in the morning, then your housing unit's commander will lead you to where you need to be. That is all. Dismissed!"
No one says a word as we all shuffle out the door, still afraid of offending the Lion Man. I separate from the crowd and make my way towards the slaves' barracks, alongside many other members of my unit. Knowing that I must be awake again in only a few hours, I go straight to my bed and close my eyes, in an attempt to force sleep. Of course, whenever one wants to sleep the mundane task becomes an absolute impossibility. My mind refuses to slow, preoccupied with the knowledge that I will be partaking in brutal training in the near future, with the goal of becoming a soldier just barely capable of holding for a few seconds on a battlefield while the free soldiers retreat. [Well, maybe as a magic user my life will have a slightly higher value placed upon it. Of course, even if that is the case, I still have to get to the fated battle. While I am a bit better at swordplay than most due to my weird hobby on Earth, my skill is sure to be subpar in a world where the mastery of the sword may be necessary for survival. Hopefully I won't die in training…] Morbid thoughts, fears, and doubts spiral through my mind for a few hours before I finally fall into a blissful sleep that lasts literally ten minutes.