Chapter Sixty: Advancement

When the battered remnants of the scout cavalry returned to the headquarters of the Thirteenth Cavalry Regiment, only then did a faint sense of relief appear on their faces.

The intelligence they brought was, of course, submitted according to military protocol by the scout captain, while Shaya was taken back to the personal guard unit by Kevin.

Watching those scout cavalrymen, comrades who had fought shoulder to shoulder, silently depart to their quarters, Shaya felt a heaviness in his chest—a fire had been burning within him throughout the return journey, growing fiercer with every mile. No one had spoken much along the way; the silence was thick and oppressive.

He watched the departing scout captain’s back and suddenly realized how fortunate he was. At least, the old man had died in his bed, and Shaya had been able to bury him with his own hands. But the captain’s son—for the sake of haste, they hadn’t even had time to bury his body.

Shaya and Kevin had no time for rest. As soon as they reported in to the personal guard unit and returned to their tent, barely beginning to remove their armor straps, a messenger arrived: the general summoned them immediately.

Upon entering General Adrick’s tent for the second time, Shaya immediately sensed a shift in atmosphere. The number of guards at the entrance had doubled, each face marked with the tension of impending battle.

While waiting to be announced, Shaya and Kevin stood outside the tent. From within, angry voices and heated arguments echoed, followed by the sounds of fierce debate.

Moments later, several officers emerged. Shaya recognized one as the silver-haired middle-aged standard-bearer of the Third Banner Regiment, Butler; the others were likely commanders of subordinate regiments within the Thirteenth Cavalry.

Seven or eight men strode out, their expressions varied: some anxious, some indifferent, others burning with rage. As they approached, Kevin tugged Shaya aside, and both saluted with fists over their hearts.

Once the officers had departed, Kevin explained Shaya’s confusion: “It must be a war council. The banner regiments are squabbling over who will lead the charge—that’s common. Judging from Standard-Bearer Butler’s expression, it seems he won the honor this time.”

On the tent’s wall, the map had been covered in vibrant colors, dense military symbols marked across various regions, each painted in different hues.

Shaya stared at the map, momentarily stunned, instinctively examining it more closely. These were military map symbols—he recalled reading about them in the old man’s collection. As a child, he’d amused himself by copying them onto a map of Wildfire Plains.

Squares denoted friendly positions, circles represented logistics facilities, dotted lines were supply routes. Triangles marked elevations, ovals indicated low-lying terrain. Green flags signaled areas already swept and deemed secure. Places marked with crosses showed sites of skirmishes with the enemy.

Shaya found himself lost in thought until Kevin nudged him back to awareness. Looking up, he saw General Adrick studying him with an intrigued gaze.

The domineering general’s face was flushed, his brow glistening with oil and sweat. In his hand, he idly sliced thick sheets of paper into scraps with a gold-handled dagger.

He stared at Shaya, hands never pausing, scrutinizing him so intently that Shaya’s scalp began to tingle. Only after a long moment did Adrick withdraw his piercing gaze.

“Do you understand the military symbols on this map?” Adrick had noticed Shaya’s interest as he entered.

Shaya hesitated. “I recognize some.” Kevin, curious, leaned closer to listen. Shaya drew a breath. “I saw them in some books I’ve read.”

“Excellent.” Adrick nodded, picked up a charcoal pencil, and tossed it to Shaya. “Show me on the map where you encountered the Odins.”

Without hesitation, Shaya approached the map, found the location, and marked it with a small cross. Thinking further, he added a ringed circle—this last gesture immediately brought a look of satisfaction to Adrick’s eyes.

The final symbol, in Byzantine military notation, indicated the enemy’s reconnaissance front.

“It seems you truly know your stuff.” Adrick smiled, placed the dagger in the table, and his expression grew solemn. “I am aware of your mission’s outcome. Well done.”

His gaze fixed on Shaya. “You alone killed six Odin Icefield Hunters?”

“Five,” Shaya replied calmly after a moment’s thought. “I killed five. One I wounded; Kevin finished him off.”

The general nodded, circled the table, and stood before Shaya. His imposing stature made Shaya feel as if he faced a lion—a Lion King.

Adrick’s eyes gleamed. “Stand up straight and lift your head.”

He placed a rough hand on Shaya’s shoulder and pinned a badge to his chest. “This is your rank.”

His voice was grave. “Originally, you would be a private. But for your distinguished performance—killing five Odins—according to Imperial law, I promote you to sergeant.”

The badge was a slightly convex piece of black iron. Shaya hadn’t cared much for such things, but seeing it, he remembered the scout captain—the badge worn by his fallen son looked much the same.

“I want you to understand: here, this badge signifies honor, blood, sacrifice…” Adrick’s voice was commanding. “Additionally, for killing five enemies, you qualify for a Black Iron Medal of Courage. The military office will process it, and you’ll receive it soon.”

He turned to Kevin. “Kevin, how long after enlisting did you earn your first Medal of Courage?”

Kevin scratched his head, hesitant. “I can’t recall exactly—probably after a year…”

“Ha! Seems this newcomer outshines you!” Adrick laughed, returning to his desk. “Kevin, take him to collect his new warhorse. From today onward, the personal guard is equipped as cavalry!”

Kevin’s eyes lit up. “General, are we to attack?”

Adrick gave him a meaningful look, half smiling. Kevin instantly understood, thumped his chest in excitement, and dragged the still-dazed Shaya away.

Outside the tent, Shaya finally remembered to ask Kevin about the Medal of Courage.

According to Kevin, in the Imperial Army, any ordinary soldier who killed more than five enemies in battle could earn a Medal of Courage. This medal would later serve as proof of merit for promotion.

The Black Iron Medal of Courage was awarded only to those without rank. Once promoted to officer, one could no longer receive it.

Moreover, the medal carried a special privilege: any veteran awarded it would be exempt from all Imperial taxes for life.

Shaya was unimpressed—he had lived in Wildfire Town and was not a Byzantine citizen; he had never paid Imperial taxes.

Kevin pulled Shaya back to their tent, brimming with excitement for a simple reason:

“The personal guard rarely receives cavalry gear. With the general’s order, it’s clear—we’re about to fight a major battle!”

He grinned. “Now, I’ll take you to claim your warhorse. At last, you won’t have to abuse my spare mount.”

After their ordeal, Kevin’s attitude toward Shaya had grown much warmer; he had begun to accept Shaya as a comrade.

“You’re now a sergeant—a ‘regular’ soldier! Generally, privates serve as auxiliaries; only regulars are full fighters. In the cavalry, standards are stricter than in the infantry. Now you’ll receive two warhorses, both yours, along with your cavalry gear: armor, shield, lance…”

He stopped suddenly, slapped his head. “Ah! I almost forgot something important.”

“What?” Shaya asked, puzzled.

“Your retainer!” Kevin laughed. “Now you’re a proper cavalryman, and every proper cavalryman gets a retainer. As members of the general’s personal guard, we enjoy a special privilege: each of us has a retainer assigned one-to-one. In the banner regiments, several cavalrymen share one.”

“Retainer? What are they for?” Shaya clearly knew little of such military details.

Kevin frowned. “You can read military maps but don’t know this?”

He patiently explained: “Look at me—I’m a cavalry captain. I have three warhorses, two sets of gear, weapons, shields, uniforms… Someone needs to care for my horses, feed them, groom them, polish my armor and weapons… Such chores can’t be left to me, or I’d never get anything else done. So, your retainer is your attendant—you fight, he handles everything else. If you’re wounded, he looks after you.”

He patted Shaya and strode ahead, calling loudly, “Come, I’ll take you to the civilian camp to pick a suitable candidate. One thing: according to Byzantine tradition, cavalrymen must pay their retainer’s wages out of their own pocket! Your pay is decent now, so you can afford it.”

At this, Shaya suddenly remembered something vital and hurried after Kevin. “Hey! What’s my pay now—where do I collect it?”