Chapter 6: The Soldier's Path
The dusty road stretched forever before Alaric as he journeyed through areas that no longer held importance to him. Every step felt heavy, each mile a reminder of the weight of his dishonor. The once-proud heir to the Valemont estate was now just a man in exile, robbed of his name, his title, and everything he had previously held dear. The kingdom behind him had cast him out, leaving him to traverse the earth as a stranger.
The days blurred together, the sky overhead shifting from morning hues to the dark of night without any importance. Alaric's mind raced with the constant notion of Edwin's betrayal. His cousin had painstakingly demolished his life, stripping him of everything, and now, Alaric was nothing more than a shell of the man he had once been.
But the wrath lingered, simmering deep inside him. He had been wronged, betrayed by his own kin. And if the world saw him as disgraced, Alaric knew the truth. His honor was not dead, only waiting for its time to be restored. But until that time came, survival was his only priority.
Weeks passed, and the formerly proud noble found himself at the border of a little village distant from the bustling courts and great estates of his past. The town was low, the residents poorer than any he had ever seen in the Valemont territories. But it was here, in the dirt and simplicity, that Alaric found something unexpected—purpose.
The community was small, yet it swirled with rumors of conflict. A neighboring kingdom was gathering an army, and the local authorities were preparing for a fight that threatened to tear through these regions like wildfire. Alaric heard the whispers at every bar he passed, every market booth he walked by. And with those rumors came the cry for soldiers—strong men willing to fight, no matter their background.
Alaric, once a celebrated commander, was now simply another guy looking for a means to survive. The idea of joining the army as a normal foot soldier seemed ludicrous, but what option did he have? His noble heritage meant nothing here. The name Valemont had no value in this place. And yet, the prospect of returning to war sparked something inside him. In war, he could find atonement. In the pandemonium of the battlefield, perhaps he could retrieve some small piece of what he had lost.
The recruitment post was a modest setup—a few soldiers seated behind a crude wooden table, recording names on a ledger. The man in command, a grizzled veteran with a missing eye, peered up as Alaric approached.
"Name?" the recruiter inquired, his voice gruff from years of yelling instructions.
Alaric halted for the briefest time, his fingers twitching as if to go for the weapon he no longer carried. His instinct was to reply "Valemont," to declare his noble pedigree, but he knew such name would only bring difficulties today.
"Alaric," he murmured simply, keeping his voice low.
The recruiter cocked an eyebrow but made no further comment as he scribbled the name into the book. "Ever fought before?"
"I've had my share of battles," Alaric responded, cautious not to give too much.
The veteran groaned, examining him over with a searching eye. "You've got the look of someone who's seen combat. We need fighters, not farmers. You'll have your orders tomorrow. Report at dawn."
With that, Alaric was given a bedroll and pointed toward a barracks teeming with recruits from every walk of life. They were men of all ages, from seasoned warriors to small lads barely old enough to lift a blade. Alaric found a space to settle in, his thoughts straying as he glanced at the rough wooden ceiling above him. This was not the life he had envisioned. But here, among the ranks of nameless troops, he would build a new path.
The next morning, Alaric stood among the other recruits, his body suffering from the severe conditions of the barracks. The captain, a gruff man who had definitely seen too many fights, began yelling commands, lining them up and assigning responsibilities. Alaric was no longer a commander. Here, he was simply another soldier, expected to follow orders and battle when commanded.
But the fire inside him hadn't extinguished. As the weeks passed and Alaric trained alongside the other soldiers, his instincts as a leader resurfaced. Though he kept to himself, the others began to notice his talent in combat, his acute mind for strategy. He didn't boast or seek recognition, but his abilities spoke for themselves. The officers observed too, though they made no note of it. For now, Alaric was satisfied to remain in the shadows, biding his time.
The battlefield was harsh. The initial conflicts they fought were chaotic, filled with the screams of the dying and the clang of steel. Alaric battled with a ferocity born not simply from survival, but from a desperation to recover his honor. Every opponent he knocked down, every win he helped secure, was a step toward redemption in his eyes. But it wasn't enough. Not yet.
In the quiet moments after combat, when the warriors gathered around their campfires, Alaric's mind would travel back to the realm he had lost. To his father, who had turned his back on him. To Marielle, who had abandoned him in his worst hour. And most of all, to Edwin—the guy who had arranged his demise.
Alaric's banishment had not broken him, but it had changed him. He was no longer the aristocratic heir who had once dreamed of leading his family with honor and glory. He was something else now. A soldier. A man robbed of everything, yet still burning with the yearning for justice.
As the fight raged on and Alaric's reputation among the ranks grew, he knew one thing with certainty: this was not the end of his narrative. The day would come when he would return, not as a disgraced noble, but as a power to be reckoned with.
And when that day arrived, Edwin would pay for every treachery, every lie.