"Hey, dickhead, get lost!" one of the soldiers barked, his voice filled with disdain as he glared at Fenric. The prince remained silent, knowing that defiance would only escalate the situation. He wasn't as strong as the soldier, and silence was his only defense.
The soldier sneered, stepping closer. "Let me remind you, there's no one here to save you—not even Commander Ashcroft. I still can't believe you're a prince." His voice was laced with mockery as he leaned in, his breath hot against Fenric's ear. This wasn't the first time Fenric had been reminded of his isolation. Since the first night aboard the ship, this soldier had made it his mission to torment him.
General Ashcroft, who was among the crew, showed no concern for the bullying Fenric endured. His indifference was a silent approval of the soldier's behavior.
"Can't you hear, or have you gone deaf? Leave this spot," the soldier demanded, his patience wearing thin. Without waiting for a response, he knocked Fenric's food tray to the floor, its contents scattering in a messy heap.
Fenric's fists clenched, his anger simmering beneath the surface. Before he could react, the soldier delivered a sharp slap to the back of his head. The sting of humiliation was more than Fenric could bear. He sprang to his feet, driven by a surge of rage.
With a swift punch, Fenric's fist connected with the soldier's face, sending him reeling. It was Asgrid, a boy renowned for his prowess in the third division army. Asgrid had always despised Fenric, using every opportunity to assert his dominance, knowing that General Ashcroft would turn a blind eye.
Asgrid staggered, his hands flying to his face as he felt the impact of Fenric's punch. He recovered quickly, ready to retaliate. But Fenric, consumed by fury, didn't give him a chance. He launched a relentless barrage of punches, each one fueled by years of suppressed anger and frustration.
The other soldiers watched, their shouts of encouragement filling the air. They had no intention of intervening; they were enjoying the spectacle. Fenric knew that once Asgrid found his footing, the tables would turn. He prayed silently for someone to step in and end the fight before it was too late.
"Enough of this nonsense!" A commanding voice rang out, silencing the crowd. The fighters froze, their gazes snapping to the source of the voice. Commander Ashcroft stood there, his expression stern.
Fenric felt a mix of relief and dread. He had hoped for intervention, but not from Ashcroft.
"Fenric, what is the meaning of this? You know there's no one here to protect you—not your father, not your grandmother—and yet you're causing trouble," Ashcroft said, his voice cold and authoritative. "But it seems you've won this fight. You'll be punished severely for this. Lock him up in the dungeon until we reach our destination."
Fenric's heart sank, but a small part of him felt victorious. At least he would be away from Asgrid and the constant torment. As he was led away, he cast a glance at Asgrid, who was clutching his bleeding nose. Fenric allowed himself a brief, triumphant smile.
***
After the day's training, Elisa made her way to the food counter. The faction distributed food based on rank and level, and Elisa, being one of the highest-ranked members, received her share without issue. She had worked hard to earn her place, surpassing many of her peers in daily training.
Once she finished eating, she headed to the communal bathhouse. The other girls were already there, chatting and laughing as they washed away the day's grime.
"I think we're leaving here soon," one girl said, her voice echoing in the steamy room.
"Why do you say that? Is the faction shutting down?" another girl asked from the next stall.
"Something like that," the first girl replied, her tone uncertain.
Elisa paid little attention to the conversation, focusing on her own thoughts. After her bath, she dressed in the standard-issue overall and made her way to the chief officer's office. She had urgent information to relay.
"Good day, ma'am. I need to speak with Sir James," Elisa said, addressing the receptionist, Mrs. Johnson.
"I'm not sure if this is the right time," Mrs. Johnson replied, her hands busy with paperwork.
"It's an emergency. It concerns an imminent attack from the aliens," Elisa insisted.
Mrs. Johnson paused, her expression shifting to one of concern. "If it's that urgent, go ahead. Tell him what you know."
"Thank you, ma'am," Elisa said, hurrying to the chief's office. She knocked firmly, waiting for a response.
After several knocks, a muffled "Come in" finally reached her ears. Elisa entered, finding Sir James engrossed in a phone call, his face tense with worry.
"Please, sir, we're still working on it. Just give us more time," he pleaded. The person on the other end of the call seemed unmoved, and the conversation ended abruptly.
Sir James looked up, his eyes weary. "What brings you here, miss?"
Elisa didn't waste time. "Sir, I have information about the enemy's plans. We're expecting an attack in three months. They'll land at the warehouse just down the street. They plan to deploy a substance that will disable our communication and electricity."
Sir James leaned forward, his interest piqued. "Go on."
"They have spies on the ground, ready to receive and install the device," Elisa continued.
Sir James's demeanor shifted from fatigue to excitement. "This is exactly what we needed! Thank you for this information, miss. It might just be the key to saving our faction."
Elisa nodded, feeling a sense of accomplishment. She had done her part, and now it was up to Sir James to act on the information.