"Here, I got you some of this." Verill nervously glanced behind him while entering the barracks and quickly shoved something hard and warm under his tunic.
"Haah?" Exill's eyebrows rose in surprise and couldn't help but exclaim from the searing warmth.
"Shh… if others figure it out, they'll want some of it too." The Hunter whispered conspiratorially.
Peeking under his tunic, Exill found a hard crusted bun, fresh and still warm from the oven. Laughing at the wonderment in his eyes, Verill explained the source of their good fortune, "There's a girl in Camp C who took a liking to yours truly. You wouldn't believe how difficult it was to smuggle back in here."
Exill paused as he absorbed this new information, but hunger quickly took priority over his curiosity. Tearing the crusted loaf apart, the soft white texture contrasted sharply against the burnt, almost bitter outer layer. After weeks of eating gruel, it was a heavenly treat.
"Who is this girl, and what does she want from you?" Exill finally asked, picking at the crumbs on his tunic.
"I'll be damned if I know." Verill shrugged before continuing, "She knows I am in Camp A and likely to be drafted soon, maybe she took pity on a poor soldier."
Exill stared with soulless eyes at his rugged, good-looking friend, wondering if he was really that dense or putting on a humble façade. Considering the scarcity of baked goods, smuggling someone bread was tantamount to a marriage proposal for a woman working in this camp.
"Well, I'll be happy to bless your marriage as long as the crusts keep rolling." Exill joked.
***
A month had passed since their induction into the militia and Exill had made a few friends around his age, but found he couldn't connect with their youthful demeanour and mindset. Their instructors had announced that the bootcamp will run for another two months, culminating in a final assessment that would determine which Army division they would be deployed to.
'I don't want to go to war.' He found himself often thinking, dreading, in fact. A pit in his stomach would form at the thought of leaving this hard-earned sanctuary behind.
It wasn't because he was bad at fighting. He had grasped the basics of stances, and which spear movements flowed into another faster than many of the other recruits. Hard calluses had begun to form on his palms, the result of weeks of blistering training. His hands were constantly bandaged and poulticed, red, and raw from the day's training.
Perhaps pressured by the nearing deployment, Verill had begun to tentatively court the maiden in Camp C and spent most of his evenings by the riverbanks, awkwardly holding each other's hand as they talked amongst the cool reeds.
Exill didn't begrudge their romance at all, not when she provided a steady supply of freshly baked bread. Verill had convinced the easily swayed lass that Exill was his younger brother, and she took caution to supply an extra share for him as well. However, he found himself spending more of his time alone, or in the junk yards, trying to earn some extra coin.
20 Denars had been saved from selling scavenged materials. It was difficult to make comparisons because he was unfamiliar with the economy of this world, but he equated the 20 Denars to roughly £/$20 in his mind. That late evening, Exill was returning to camp with an especially meagre haul, heading towards the Dwarf's workshop in Camp B.
Master Smith Ham was an interesting personality. He was an entrepreneur who ran a smithy in the city outskirts. When war had broken out with the Afrye Tribal Federation, he was one of the first to finance and open a workshop in the refugee camp, seeking to exploit the cheap labour from the desperate migrants and produce vital necessities for the war effort. Knocking at the workshop's door, he promptly entered, not waiting for a response.
"Hmph, what you want boy?" Master Ham was a stocky dwarf who came up to Exill's shoulder in height. The forge goggle were raised, perched on the red leather cap he usually wore to protect his balding hair. His brown beard was slightly singed as he hammered away on an arrowhead.
"The usual, bits of iron and wood suitable for shafts."
Ham gave a cursory look over Exill's haul and slid two Denars to the boy. Unlike their usual transaction, Exill didn't immediately reach for the coins and instead loitered as he watched Ham continue to hammer away. Veins began to visibly pop on sweating dwarf's face as anger overtook him.
"Two Dees ain't enough for you boy!? You've got some guts after all I had done for yer!" Ham exploded as he spat into the flames in disgust.
Exill raised his palms to placate the angry dwarf, "It's not like that; I want to work more. I want to earn more." He tried to impress his earnestness on the busy man.
Ham glared at the boy with a menacing side eye, "I got plenty of workers who can whittle shafts and fletch. Unless you can forge arrow heads yer can kindly shove off."
Exill was at a loss. He did not have the [Blacksmith] job unlocked. Taking a leap of faith, he held up his Card for Ham to inspect, "As you can see, I do not have a second job assigned. If you could teach me today, I will immediately assign it as my profession."
The Dwarf paused hammering for a moment to inspect the lad's Card, grunting quietly in disapproval. "It sounds like you want something from me for a change. I can teach yer, but it will cost yer." Ham grinned with an evil glint in his eye…