Bog Standard Isekai

Cid stood staring at him, arms crossed, tapping his fingers against his bicep. Brin waited for him to start.

When the silence started to get awkward, Brin said, “Lay it on me, I’m a big boy.”

“You have no idea how to be a second,” said Cid.

Brin shrugged. “True.”

So far, Cid had mostly maintained a bit of aloofness, a cautious calm as he watched everyone and thought things through, but Brin succeeded in actually getting Cid to open his mouth in shock. He quickly closed it again, then said, “Well, don’t look so proud about it!”

“I’m not proud! I got thrust into this with no preparation. I’ve never even seen a Second before. How am I supposed to act like one?”

Cid shook his head. “Now you’re just making excuses.”

“I’m not making excuses. I’m asking for help. Can you tell me what I’m doing wrong?” Brin asked.

To his credit, Cid actually stopped and considered the question for a minute before shaking his head again, though a bit of the hostility was draining from his features. “It’s not about any one thing you did. It’s you. You’re a crafter or a magic user or both, doesn’t matter. Point is, you’re an intellectual. A thinker. I don’t need a thinker, I need a… a shouty-type guy. I’m supposed to be the one who sits back and thinks about the big picture.”

“You’re better in Prinnashian than you let on,” said Cid.

It wasn’t actually like that. He hadn’t been faking it at first, but after immersing himself in the language all day he’d improved by strides. [Traveler] was the Achievement that let him do that, and it wasn’t something he wanted to share, so he said, “I thought the accent might help make me more intimidating.”

“It’s not a terrible idea, I guess,” said Cid.

“As I was saying, yeah, I can’t argue with the fact that I’m a thinker,” said Brin. “Look, do you want me to talk to Galan? Hedrek seems like the perfect second. It’s honestly who he should’ve chosen in the first place.”

“No!” said Cid, with a little too much conviction. Weren’t they best friends? Interesting.

“Alright. Then I’ll be the shouty guy. I’ll be the details guy. What else?”

“What do you mean, what else? You’re supposed to carry out my vision, not just go off on your own doing whatever you want!”

“Then tell me what your vision is, Cid!” Brin said. “You can’t expect me to know what you want me to be doing without a single conversation!”

“That’s what we’re doing now, so just shut up and listen!”

Brin wasn’t sure if he could respond without shouting so he folded his arms and waited.

Cid sighed. “I have you, Hedrek, and seven idiots who don’t know the sharp end of a poleaxe. They all hate each other so much that two of them literally killed each other on the first day. We need to unite them. Since initiation training didn’t work, I thought maybe I could motivate them with a common goal: the [Knight] Class. I wanted to show everyone how powerful it is so I let Hedrek pick a fight with you, hoping to show everyone how a [Knight] could take down a caster ten levels above him.”

“And then I won,” said Brin.

“You didn’t just win. You made him look like an idiot. An empty suit of armor,” said Cid.

“He didn’t do that bad.”

“He did.”

“Well how was I supposed to know? You had just gotten over telling them all that a variety of different Classes would be best for the Lance. I showed them what a non-[Knight] can do,” said Brin.

“I suppose you did. To be honest, I really wouldn’t hate it if we could get someone to take [Axe Master],” said Cid. “Aeron, maybe?”

“You keep bringing that up. What’s so good about an [Axe Master]?” asked Brin.

“They get the best anti-armor Skills,” said Cid.

Brin whistled. He still didn’t have a great solution to armor. “We need an [Axe Master].”

“You’re telling me!” Cid snapped.

Brin chuckled and Cid cracked a brief smile.

Two men from a different Lance entered the hall, and Brin and Cid paused the conversation until the men walked between them and exited into the mess.

“You know Galan from somewhere, right? You have to know. Why is he doing this? He has to know he’s put us both in an impossible situation,” Cid said.

Brin chuckled. “Oh, I know the answer to that all right. Think about Galan. Think about if he were the one in your situation. Or mine. Would he struggle with this at all? Would he even notice that it was a problem?”

Cid rubbed his eyes. “Breath of Anshar, you’re right. He’d breeze straight through this. He never needed to learn how to be a [Knight]. It’s in his bones.”

“May the gods save us from competent commanders,” said Brin.

“I hope my next commander is a dunce,” said Cid.

“Careful what you wish for,” Brin said nervously. “Alright. So which will it be? Are we making everyone into [Knights], or should I pressure people into taking support Classes?”

Cid thought for a moment before saying, “I think my initial idea was better. Those support Classes are only good because of the high levels and years of experience that come with them. We need to get a lot stronger, quickly, and [Squire] is the best way to do that.”

“Why?”

“Just so you’re aware, I can’t give you the full progression path for a [Knight] in the Order unless you mean to take the Class,” said Cid.

“That’s fine,” Brin said, brushing it off. “Tell me about [Squire].”

“They get [Knight’s Training] and [Ordered Discipline]. One will help them learn to do anything related to knighthood quicker, the other will help them understand orders better,” said Cid. “[Page] is similar. See how Govannon took down a [Warrior] with a higher level? It’s a learning Skill that makes someone into that.”

“Great. [Squire] it is. So what do we do?”

Cid sighed. “I don’t know. Jori always seemed to know what to do. He never let me in on his decision-making process. Also, I don’t have the Lance that Jori had.”

“At least you had someone like that! But fine. Pretend Jori was in charge and he was just starting training with a new Lance. His real Lance, not our band of misfits. What would he be doing tomorrow?”

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“He’d have a team of experienced fighters, but not all of them would be comfortable on horseback. These first weeks will be showing them the difference between knights-at-arms and soldiers in the army,” said Govannon.

“So horseback training. Can you run that? I know basically nothing about horses,” said Brin.

“It would be best if it wasn’t me…”

“Hedrek?”

“I… I guess,” said Cid.

Brin’s first impression of Cid was that he was sort of a cold, severe-type person, but now he was coming to understand that Cid was just an overwhelmed teenager. He didn’t resent Brin because he was doing everything wrong, he resented him because he really wanted someone more experienced to take over and Brin couldn’t do that.

“Can you talk to him?” Brin suggested.

Cid stood up straighter. “Yes. And if not Hedrek, it’ll have to be Govannon.”

“It can’t be Govannon,” said Brin.

“Then it’ll have to be Hedrek,” said Cid.

Brin’s stomach chose that moment to make an announcement. He was starving. He was starting to feel lightheaded, and fatigue was creeping into his limbs. Before now, hunger had only been a distant companion, no doubt due to Aberthol’s malnutrition. Now his body was telling him that it had been several hours since he’d last eaten and that this state of affair was completely unacceptable.

“Can I make one last suggestion?” said Brin.

“If you wish.”

“If I’m going to be the jerk that makes everyone’s life miserable, then you need to be Mr. Nice Guy. Find some time to get a one on one conversation with each of the men; make them feel like you’re looking out for them personally. You want all of them to think they’re your favorite. When we’re out training, you should be the one to call for breaks and give the orders when we’re going to do something fun. Get them used to wanting to follow your orders.”

Cid blinked in surprise and said, “Yes. I can do that.”

“Good. Then can we talk about the rest of this over dinner? I’m going to die if we stand here smelling the food much longer,” said Brin.

“Of course,” said Cid, laughing as if Brin had been joking. He definitely hadn’t been.

Inside, four long tables were populated sparsely with members of different Lances and a few officers. The far end of the room was made up of a buffet line, not unlike a middle school cafeteria, with servants behind the counters ready to serve their portions.

He figured this situation would seem austere to someone from Cid’s situation, and extremely bounteous to the poorer members of the Lance, kind of the way the lunchroom in his old life had separated the rich and poor. That assumption seemed to be correct on first glance. Hedrek’s plate was still nearly full and he mostly ignored it as he made jokes which sent the rest of the Lance roaring with laughter. The other’s ate quickly, as if the food might disappear if left alone too long.

Brin grabbed a plate and let the servants fill it up. Boiled vegetables, a slice of roast beef, and a slice of bread. That didn’t look like enough. Should he ask for more? He wasn’t sure if that was allowed.

He got to the table and saw that everyone was sitting together except for Govannon who’d chosen to sit two chairs away from the rest. Brin sat next to him and said, “Thank you for saving my spot!”

Govannon glared at him and didn’t reply. Brin didn’t mind, since he was more interested in the food anyway.

Cid sat next to Brin. “We ought to work out a schedule. I have in mind to introduce the Lance to horsemanship tomorrow, but I’d quite like to continue your attribute training. We also need to leave time for sparring, and they’ll want us to work on codes, decorum, and protocol, not to mention drilling in formations.”

Brin had a few opinions on how to organize time to maximize gains, but he also didn’t want to stop eating. He gulped his bite of food and said, “What did you have in mind?”

“Well…” Cid outlined a rough schedule for the next few days, and Brin mostly listened, giving a few words of encouragement and peppering him with questions to keep him talking. The rest of the table grew quiet as they listened in, and Brin supposed working out the schedule here had the added benefit of making it so they wouldn’t have to explain all of this again later.

To his relief, Cid came up with a pretty reasonable schedule. Despite his insecurity, he did pretty much know how life in a Lance was supposed to go, and once Brin got him talking he grew more confident in outlining his plans.

The only problem was that the food ran out much too quickly. Brin idly considered putting an illusion on his face and going through again. Would anyone notice?n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

“...if we can get all that done in three weeks, I’ll be happy,” Cid eventually said, wrapping up the unofficial planning meeting.

“Why, what happens in three weeks?”

“We’ll begin drilling with all the Lances of the entire invasion force. It’s sure to be quite the event. I’ve heard that we’ll have a count of two thousand knights. Imagine that! Two thousand of us, all charging together!” said Cid, looking a bit dreamy.

“Will all we have [Knight’s Charge] by then?” asked Aeron the [Warrior].

“Naw,” Hedrek said, and slid half a plate of uneaten food away from him. If he wasn’t going to finish that… “Keep in mind, there’s no Lances made up of only [Knights]. There are commander Skills that can propagate the Skill to everyone who’s a knight-at-arms. You’ll all get to see what it feels like. Even the glass-thrower.”

Everyone seemed to grow excited by that thought, and Hedrek cut through their anticipation, making a chopping motion with his hand. “It’s not as fun as you’re probably thinking. I’ll tell you that right now.”

“In any case, that’s it for today,” said Cid. “Return to your room and retrieve your armor; we’re never without our armor when we’re on duty unless it’s being laundered. After that, you’re all free for the rest of the afternoon.”

Aeron whooped and stood to run towards the room, and the rest of the men were quick behind him, leaving Cid, Hedrek, and Brin behind.

“I’m still hungry,” Brin said, eyeing Hedrek’s plate.

“Go for it,” said Hedrek, waving dismissively. Out of his armor, Brin could now see that Hedrek was big. Stocky, like Davi, and he had a beard that did a good job of helping Brin forget that he was also only eighteen.

Brin took the plate eagerly and said, “We could also motivate them with food. Can we speak to the cooks about giving the men extra portions when they do well?” This was in no way selfish on Brin’s part; it wasn’t like he was trying to get more food for himself. It was for the good of Lance.

“I suppose, but it’s not really the way. Now that we’re in the Order, we’re supposed to be learning the value of temperance and moderation,” said Cid.

“To you, this is moderation. To them, it’s a feast,” Brin said.

Cid scratched his chin. “Hm. I hadn’t considered that.”

They chatted awhile longer about their plans for the Lance, and then Brin left the mess, still hungry but no longer at the point of dying.

Brin returned to the room, where the same servant was waiting to help him dress. At the servant’s suggestion, Brin changed out of his nicer dinner clothes into simple pants and a shirt that could work comfortably under the armor, and then let the servant assist him in getting everything back on. He made sure to ask the servant to not cut any corners, and do everything by the book, in the most proper way possible.

As soon as it was done, he set a conscious thread on analyzing the steps to start working on a way to improve his Iron Man spell.

By the time he was done, the other guys had all gone their separate ways, so Brin decided to go find Meaty.

The man wasn’t in the armory where Brin had first met him, so he sent Invisible Eyes to scour the fortress until he found him in a Smithy nearby.

No one guarded the door, so Brin stepped inside and found the [Snow-Blessed Armorer] banging away at a plate of metal against an anvil.

“Hi Meaty!” Brin called out, and Meaty ignored him until he was done with the sheet of metal.

He set it down and said, “Oh, it’s you. How’s the armor?”

“It’s great! I’m surprised at the range of motion, really feels like I’m wearing nothing at all. Oh, and I’m a knight-at-arms, now!”

“Does that mean you want me to start on your armor, or did you still want to wait for your money to come in?”

“I’ll wait for the money. I want you to make me something really good when the time comes,” said Brin.

“Everything I make is really good. But for the right price, I can make something excellent.”

“I’m counting on it,” said Brin, grinning.

“If it’s not armor, what brings you in?”

“Advice. I’m having a really hard time using my magic against armor. Like in a spar with Hedrek today, I couldn’t touch it. Is his armor magic proof? Is that normal?”

Meaty frowned severely. His wrinkles crossed all the lines in his face, proving that this wasn’t an expression he made often, and even now Brin thought it was in jest.

“Are you telling me…” Meaty began slowly. “That you came to me for advice in undermining my own armor?”

“Yes?” Brin guessed.

Meaty smiled. “Then you came to the right place. First off, no, Hedrek’s armor isn’t magic proof. Nothing is magic proof–it’s magic resistant. I’m no [Mage], but I hear all you have to do is push more Mana into it and your spells will take hold same as always.”

“Why do I get the feeling that’s not as easy as it sounds,” said Brin.

“Because it’s not. [Knights] are the answer to [Mages]. Sometimes a [Mage] will have the time and space to get clever, but a [Knight] beats a [Mage] nine times out of ten. It’s like, [Knights] beat [Mages], [Mages] beat numbers, and numbers beat [Knights]. Want to take out a [Knight]? Get thirty guys together, be prepared to lose five or six to the [Knight’s Charge], and then have the rest pull him down with ropes and yank his armor off.”

Meaty was certainly right about [Mages] being able to take down high numbers of weaker opponents, he’d seen Lumina cast down huge amounts of destruction. But he’d have to check with her about [Knights]; he doubted she’d really be satisfied with the idea that some random guy in armor could take her down. He’d put that question in his very first letter to her, which he really should be writing tonight anyway. Right after he figured out how to break Hedrek’s stupid armor.

“Do you have something I can practice with?” asked Brin.

“Sure!” said Meaty, and handed Brin an oddly-shaped piece of scrap metal, about a foot long. “Don’t be fooled. That’s armor. You’ll want to hang it on a practice dummy for the magic to really take hold. Here.” He wrapped a bit of twine around it so that Brin would be able to hang it on something like a Christmas ornament.

It didn’t look like much, but he could feel the traces of power within. Something about it told Brin that this metal was strong. With his shiny new present in hand, he set off for the practice yard.