Hadrian's breath came in shallow gasps, his body trembling as he lay on the blood-soaked ground. Around him, the sounds of battle raged—metal clashing against metal, the guttural cries of orcs, and the sharp, commanding shouts of men.
Someone was shouting his name, a voice distant and muffled, as though coming through water. His vision blurred, and the world tilted as rough hands grabbed him, pulling him up and away from the lifeless orc he'd been stabbing.
"Enough, kid!" a voice barked, firm and accented, though the words didn't register. "It's dead."
Hadrian's fingers refused to release the javelin. His entire body shook, his teeth clenched so tightly his jaw ached. A part of him didn't want to stop, couldn't stop.
He was dragged back, the weapon wrenched from his hands. The sharp, coppery smell of blood clung to him, and the warmth of it soaked through his clothes.
"Someone get him cleaned up before he goes into shock," another voice called.
Hadrian's head lolled to the side, his gaze falling on the body of the orc. Its lifeless eyes stared up at the sky, the jagged wound in its chest oozing blood. A sharp pain flared in his stump, pulling his attention to his arm. The bandages were soaked through, but something about the flesh beneath them caught his eye.
The skin was different—darker, thicker. A faint ridge of bone had begun to form where his hand had been severed.
It's growing back.
Hadrian's stomach churned. He remembered the system notification, the message about gaining the orc's healing ability. His jaw tightened as the memory of the fight slammed into him—the orc's leering grin, its taunts, the feel of its weight pressing him into the ground.
His stomach twisted, and he gagged, bile rising in his throat.
"Hey, easy now," said a soft-voice. Hadrian looked up into a man's weathered yet kindly face, who now crouched beside him. His Armor was ill-fitting and well-worn, the leather straps frayed; he sat easy, nonetheless, as one to whom the odds of more battles than could be counted still didn't matter much.
"You're all right, boy. We got you," the man said, holding his voice steady so it sounded reassuring and firm.
"Name's Tarkhan. You're with the Scythians now."
The journey back to the Scythian encampment was a blur of movement and noise.Hadrian and Leon were together with some other former slaves, each wrapped in coarse blankets, to fend off the night's chill. The wagon creaked and groaned with every bump in the way, and the horses snorted and stamped under the load.
Leon sat beside Hadrian, his knees drawn up to his chest and his face pale. Neither of them had spoken much since the rescue.
Hadrian stared at his hands: one whole, the other a stump. His fingers twitched as he ran over the events of the forest again and again in his mind. He could still hear the orc's words; its leering grin seared into his memory.
I hate them.
The thought was sharp, cutting through the fog in his mind.
"Do you think they'll follow us?" Leon's voice was quiet, almost a whisper.
Hadrian shook his head. "They're too slow. No mounts."
Leon nodded, but his gaze remained distant. "Do you think it's over? I mean. do you think we're really free now Hadrian?"
.
Hadrian did not say a word. He had meant to say yes—that the nightmare was over—only the words seemed, to him, a lie.
"I don't know," he said finally, his voice low.
Leon's shoulders slumped and he pulled the blanket tighter around himself. "I thought I was going to die back there," he mumbled. "When they. when I." His voice trailed off; he shook his head; his eyes welled with unshed tears.
Hadrian glanced at him, his chest tightening. "You're alive," he said, his tone firmer this time. "That's what matters." "Is it?" Leon shot back, his voice shaking. "After what they did to me? After what they almost did to you?"
Hadrian didn't respond. He couldn't.
The Scythian encampment was a sprawl of tents and makeshift shelters lying in a shallow valley in the midst of dense forest. Smoke rose from a few fire pits, and the smell of roasting meat mixed with the earthy smell of damp soil.
Hadrian and Leon were led to a central clearing where a few dozen Scythian mercenaries lounged around a fire. Most were tall and broad-shouldered, their faces weathered by years of battle.
One of the men, distinguished by a thick beard and a considerable scar that ran down the side of his cheek, looked up as they approached him. He quirked one eyebrow in interest and began scratching his thick, grey beard thoughtfully.
The man's gaze was following fairly closely the figures of Hadrian and Leon, showing a moderate interest in them and their demeanor.
"More strays?" he asked, his voice rough but not unkind.
Tarkhan nodded. "Picked them up near the orc camp. They're tough for their age."
The bearded man snorted. "They'll need to be if they're staying here."
Hadrian glanced around, his gaze taking in the other mercenaries. He noticed that not all of them were Scythian—there were a few Greeks, their lighter armor and distinctive helmets marking them as such, and even a couple of Anatolians with darker skin and curved swords at their sides.
"Not all Scythians, huh?" Hadrian said, more to himself than anyone else.
Tarkhan chuckled. "We take whoever's willing to fight. Doesn't matter where they're from, as long as they can hold their own."
"And what happens if we can't?" Hadrian asked, his voice steady despite the unease curling in his stomach.
Tarkhan shrugged. "You've got two options. Join up with us, or fend for yourself out there." He gestured toward the forest. "Not many survive long on their own."
Hadrian nodded slowly, his gaze thoughtful. He had no idea how to fight properly, not yet. But he had survived the pits, survived the orcs. He could learn.
"Can you teach me to ride?" he asked abruptly, the question surprising even himself.
Tarkhan raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "With one arm? Good luck with that."
A burst of laughter came from behind Hadrian, and he turned to see a boy, no older than fifteen, striding toward him. He was tall for his age, with a lean frame and a cocky grin that made him look both charming and infuriating.
"You'll have better luck sprouting wings," the boy said, his tone light and teasing.
"And who are you?" Hadrian asked, his eyes narrowing.
"Name's Skyles," the boy said, his grin widening. "And you're the one-armed wonder who thinks he can ride a horse."
Hadrian bristled, his jaw tightening. "At least I'm trying."
Skyles chuckled, clapping Hadrian on the shoulder. "Relax, kid. I'll teach you. Someone's got to."
Hadrian blinked, caught off guard by the offer. "You will?"
"Sure," Skyles said with a shrug. "But don't expect me to go easy on you."
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The Scythian encampment bustled with activity as the afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky. Mercenaries sharpened weapons, tended to horses, and shouted orders across the open spaces. Amid the controlled chaos, a small patch of cleared ground had been set aside for Hadrian's newest challenge: learning how to ride a horse with only one arm.
Skyles stood by a chestnut mare, his cocky grin plastered across his face as he held the reins. The horse pawed the ground impatiently, her muscles twitching beneath her glossy coat.
"Well, one-armed wonder," Skyles said, clapping Hadrian on the back. "Let's see if you've got what it takes."
Leon sat a few paces away, perched on a fallen log. His arms rested on his knees, and a faint smile tugged at his lips. "I believe in you, Hadrian," he called, his tone light but sincere. "You're already stubborn enough to make it work."
Hadrian rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress the small smile that crept onto his face. The encouragement felt... nice, even if he wasn't sure he deserved it.
"Alright, here's how it's going to work," Skyles began, his voice taking on a mock-serious tone. "Normally, you'd hold the reins in one hand and use the other to balance yourself. But since you're working with half the tools, you'll need to rely on your legs and your core to stay upright. Oh, and don't fall off. That's important."
"Fantastic advice," Hadrian said dryly.
Skyles grinned. "I thought so."
He handed Hadrian the reins and gestured to the stirrups. "Climb up. I'll hold her steady."
Hadrian hesitated for a moment, his gaze flicking to the horse. He could feel the weight of Leon's eyes on him, could hear the muffled snickers of a few nearby mercenaries who had gathered to watch. His jaw tightened.
"Don't overthink it," Leon said from his spot on the log. "You've faced worse things than a horse."
True enough, Hadrian thought, the memory of the orc pits flashing through his mind. He took a deep breath, gripping the saddle with his good hand as he hoisted himself up.
The horse shifted beneath him, her muscles rippling as she adjusted to the unfamiliar weight. Hadrian's legs tensed, his body leaning slightly forward as he tried to find his balance.
"Not bad," Skyles said, his tone almost impressed. "Now try not to fall off."
Hadrian shot him a glare but didn't respond.
"Alright, give her a light nudge with your heels," Skyles instructed.
Hadrian did as he was told, and the horse began to move, her steps slow and deliberate. He gripped the reins tightly, his heart pounding as the ground seemed to sway beneath him.
"You're holding on like she's going to launch you into the air," Skyles said with a laugh. "Relax. She's not a catapult."
"I'm trying," Hadrian snapped, though there was no real venom in his voice.
Leon chuckled from the sidelines. "You look like you're riding a wild boar."
Hadrian couldn't help but smile, despite himself. "Says the boy who couldn't even run from an orc without tripping over his own feet."
Leon held up his hands in mock surrender. "Fair point."
The banter eased some of Hadrian's tension, and he began to focus more on the rhythm of the horse's movements. But just as he started to feel a shred of confidence, the mare picked up her pace, and he slipped sideways, his body lurching awkwardly.
"Whoa, whoa!" Skyles shouted, grabbing the reins and steadying the horse.
Hadrian slid to the ground, landing in a heap at Skyles's feet. The mercenary burst into laughter, clutching his stomach as tears streamed down his face.
"Brilliant dismount!" Skyles managed between gasps. "Absolutely flawless."
Hadrian groaned, brushing dirt off his tunic as Leon joined in the laughter. "Maybe I should stick to walking," he muttered.
"No way," Skyles said, still grinning. "We're just getting started."
Later that evening, after several more failed attempts, Hadrian sat by the fire, his legs aching and his pride thoroughly bruised. Leon sat beside him, his smile now more sympathetic than teasing.
"You'll get the hang of it," Leon said, nudging Hadrian with his elbow. "You're too stubborn not to."
Hadrian smirked, though his thoughts drifted to the system. He hadn't used the points he'd earned from his last mission yet, and now seemed as good a time as any.
System Interface, he thought, and the familiar glow appeared before him.
Attributes:
Strength: 6
Intelligence: 11
Charisma: 9
Agility: 5
Stamina: 5
Health: 10
Available Attribute Points: 6
He stared at the numbers, his mind racing. Strength and endurance seemed the most logical choices. He needed to be stronger if he was going to survive—if he was going to fight back.
"I'll put three into strength," he muttered to himself, "and two into endurance."
As soon as he made the selection, a faint warmth spread through his body, starting in his chest and radiating outward. His muscles seemed to tighten, his posture straightening as the dull ache in his legs faded.
"Everything alright?" Leon asked, his brow furrowed.
Hadrian nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah. I think I'm ready to try again."
The next morning, under the pale light of dawn, Hadrian climbed onto the horse with renewed determination. Skyles watched from the side, his arms crossed and a smirk on his face.
"Alright, let's see if yesterday's lessons stuck," he said.
Hadrian nudged the horse forward, and this time, his movements were more fluid, his balance steadier. He could feel the difference—not just in his body, but in the way the horse responded to him.
Leon cheered from the sidelines, his voice loud and enthusiastic. "You're doing it, Hadrian!"
"About time," Skyles muttered, though there was a note of genuine pride in his voice.
Hadrian allowed himself a small smile as the horse picked up speed, the wind brushing against his face. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt a glimmer of freedom.