stjorthotic Chapter 622 Skullic's Mission - Part 8
Chapter 622 Skullic's Mission - Part 8
"Sergeant Rofus, Ser," he said, falling in the middle of the rest and saluting crisply before Oliver. He seemed to be an older man, like Northman, though his hair was already peppered with grey, whilst Northman's was still a solid black. "The Commander thought it would be better for you to have a sergeant with you for now," he said, "give you better control of the men and that."
"I appreciate his consideration," Oliver said, perhaps a little too stiffly.
"So," Rofus said, relaxing a little as he leaned against his spear. "Is it true, Ser?"
The other soldiers flinched beside him and a few gave him stinging glares. Those looks made them seem more like gossiping women fighting to keep a secret than fighting men.
"Is what true?" Oliver asked calmly. There were a number of rumours going around about him. Any one of them could have been a candidate.
"Is it true that you slew Gorm in single combat?" Rofus asked. He seemed cheerful. A bit too much of a free spirit for a sergeant. It wasn't any wonder that the other soldiers were giving him warning glances and shifting uncomfortably for fear that he would say something wrong and get them all into trouble for it.
"No," Oliver said. "I was part of an encirclement with Lombard that finished him off."
"Oh," Rofus said, looking disappointed, as his shoulders deflated. By contrast, the other soldiers looked more surprised. It seemed that they hadn't expected there to be even a shred of truth in it. "See, I've got two boys back in the Skreen. They're wanting to be knights, y'see. Haven't got round to telling them that it's impossible, because they're not nobles.
"Yet here I am," Oliver said. Even with the slight glaze of disrespect that infected Rofus' words, Oliver once more found himself appreciating the honesty. If a man could merely be straightforward with him, then there was progress to be made. He didn't need the cold war of pointless hate, as they glared at each other from a distance. He'd rather solve their issues in a quick bout.
"That's true, Ser," Rofus said, nodding. "That is true. And I knows I'm an' old fool, else I wouldn't have been stuck as a sergeant my whole career. I woulda got one of those nice quartermaster posts and be safe and sound away from battle. But still, I don't know what to make of you, young Ser, if you would forgive my directness. Just what are you doing all the way out here?
Isn't there meant to be a law preventing you lot from going to the battlefield as young as you are?"
"Begging his forgiveness, then you go ahead and say it anyway," the man next to Rofus muttered. "Can't you just keep a bit quiet, you mad old dog?"
"Ehhh, I'm getting told off by the men already," Rofus complained. "Still, how come you're here, Ser?"
"By order of the High King," Oliver said, more menacingly than he intended to. Those words were a cold breeze on any amount of humour that they'd attempted to have towards the situation. Even Rofus stood up considerably straighter as he heard that. There was a danger to those words, after all. The High King's name wasn't a mere name. It was the closest one could come to death with mere words alone.
To speak the High King's name in a sentence alongside any sort of criticism, that was to forfeit your life as a nobleman. For the Serving Class, no doubt the standards were even harsher.
"...I see it's complicated, Ser," Rofus said, as amiably as he could. "Well, I'm lookin' forward to fighting alongside you, I think. If you've got even a fraction of that strength they claimed your father had, then we might be in luck. A hundred men isn't enough to clear out Dollem Fort, after all. Not without a good few casualties."
He said those words lightly, as though death was the furthest thing from his mind, but Ingolsol saw through it. He saw the nervous thread plucking at Rofus' heartstrings. The other men were feeling it too. They didn't have the sort of confidence in their mission that you'd hope for from soldiers just about to charge into battle.