Chapter 9: First Orders, First Measure
Snow changed the sound of marching.
It swallowed it.
Boots no longer struck the ground with rhythm but with dull, uneven crunches. Armor no longer clinked sharply; it whispered. Even voices felt muted, as if the Northern Plains were listening and disapproved of noise.
Aren walked at the head of his squad, breath steady, eyes forward.
His squad.
The thought still felt unfamiliar.
Behind him, Rovan and Corin flanked the front. Bran walked nearer the center now, injured arm bound but usable in short bursts. Lethan kept drifting half a step wider than the others, eyes scanning the white horizon with restless intensity. The rest held formation naturally, spacing tighter than any unofficial unit had a right to manage.
They were no longer provisional.
They were recognized.
That fact settled heavier than any armor.
A horn sounded from the rear—short, sharp.
The column slowed.
Another horn followed, different pitch.
Orders.
A mounted officer rode forward through the falling snow, reins tight, face red from cold.
He stopped before Aren without hesitation this time.
"Aren," he said clearly. "Commander Valecrest has assigned your unit its first independent mission."
No correction.
No pause.
Just his name.
Aren nodded. "Mission parameters?"
The officer unrolled a small map, edges already stiff with frost.
"Three kilometers northeast," he said, pointing. "A supply detachment failed to return yesterday evening. Five wagons. Escorts included. We suspect northern raiders."
Aren studied the map.
Open plains. Shallow ridges. Poor visibility in snow.
"Objective?" Aren asked.
"Confirm status," the officer replied. "If supplies are intact, secure and signal. If compromised… assess and withdraw. Do not pursue."
Withdraw.
That word mattered.
"And command wants it quiet," the officer added. "No banners. No support unless you call it."
A test.
Again.
Aren nodded once. "We move immediately."
The officer hesitated, then added, "One more thing."
"Yes?"
The officer cleared his throat. "This is being logged as your unit's first formal operation."
Aren understood.
This wouldn't disappear if it went wrong.
The officer saluted—not to Aren personally, but to the squad as a whole—and rode back.
Snow closed behind him like nothing had happened.
Rovan exhaled slowly. "Well," he muttered. "No pressure."
Aren almost smiled.
"Check gear," Aren said. "We move light. No heroics."
They moved.
---
The plains were deceptive.
From a distance, the land looked empty and flat, nothing but white stretching to the horizon. Up close, it was broken—subtle rises, shallow dips, places where snow hid uneven ground and anything that lay beneath it.
Aren felt the difference immediately.
Cold Combat Adaptation worked quietly, without drama. His breathing stabilized faster after exertion. His fingers stayed responsive longer. The snow no longer felt like an enemy—just another condition to account for.
Not comfort.
Control.
They advanced in silence.
After a kilometer, Lethan slowed and raised two fingers.
Tracks.
Barely visible, but there.
Wagon wheels. Horses.
And drag marks.
Aren crouched, brushing snow aside carefully.
"Recent," Corin said. "Less than a day."
"Stopped here," Rovan added, pointing toward a shallow ridge ahead.
Aren nodded. "Formation tight. No silhouettes on the ridge."
They advanced at an angle, never cresting directly.
The first wagon came into view half-buried in snow.
Broken axle.
No bodies in sight.
That worried Aren more than corpses would have.
"Spread," he said quietly. "Pairs. Eyes up."
They moved.
The ambush came fast.
Northern raiders burst from behind the ridge, not shouting, not charging wildly. They moved low and fast, axes heavy, intent clear.
This was not a probe.
This was a cleanup.
"Hold!" Aren shouted.
The squad formed instinctively, shields angling, spears leveling. The first clash sent snow flying as steel met steel.
Aren stepped forward, intercepting a raider swinging wide. He redirected the blow, countered, and felt the familiar shock run up his arms—manageable now, absorbed rather than disruptive.
Bran blocked another, grunting but holding. Lethan darted in and out, slashing when openings appeared, retreating immediately.
They fought like a unit.
Not individuals.
Aren tracked everything—the spacing, the snow buildup around boots, the way the raiders favored the right flank.
Aren adjusted.
"Right, tighten!" he called.
They did.
The raiders faltered.
That moment decided it.
Corin's spear took one in the thigh. Rovan slammed another to the ground with his shield. The rest disengaged, retreating toward the ridge.
Aren did not pursue.
"Hold," he said again.
Silence returned, broken only by heavy breathing.
"No losses," Rovan reported.
"Wagons?" Aren asked.
"Two salvageable," Hal said from the rear. "Supplies intact."
Aren nodded. "Signal."
The horn sounded once.
Then Aren felt it.
The system stirred—not urgently, but deliberately.
[Mission condition met: Independent squad engagement successful.]
[Combat performance confirmed.]
A translucent interface unfolded in his awareness—not overwhelming, but structured.
[Reward Review Unlocked.]
Aren froze for half a breath, then focused.
The world slowed slightly—not stopped, just… distant.
---
[Reward Summary – Active]
1. Basic Swordsmanship
– Correct grip, stance, and strike efficiency
– Reduced stamina loss during sustained combat
– Prevents self-injury under pressure
2. Formation Stabilization Awareness
– Improved perception of group spacing and stress points
– Faster correction of collapsing lines
– Passive effect while in command proximity
3. Cognitive Load Distribution
– Reduces mental fatigue when tracking multiple variables
– Prevents tunnel vision during prolonged engagements
– Allows prioritization under chaos
4. Cold Combat Adaptation
– Improved motor control in low temperatures
– Faster recovery from cold-induced fatigue
– Reduced footing misjudgment in snow and ice
[New Feature Activated: Favorability]
Aren felt his chest tighten.
Favorability.
Not affection.
Not loyalty.
Evaluation.
[Favorability reflects a target's willingness to support, invest in, or protect the host.]
[Favorability increases through aligned actions, trust, and proven competence.]
One name appeared immediately.
Seraphina Valecrest
– Favorability: 62 / 100
Aren exhaled slowly.
That number was higher than he expected.
A secondary note followed.
[At current favorability: Access to combat-focused mentorship pathways unlocked.]
[Restrictions remain. Aura access: locked.]
The interface faded.
Time returned to normal.
Snow fell.
Steel cooled.
Rovan looked at him. "You alright?"
"Yes," Aren said. "Signal received. Command will move supplies."
Rovan nodded, then hesitated. "You were… quiet."
"Thinking," Aren replied.
That wasn't a lie.
---
Seraphina arrived an hour later with a small detachment.
She dismounted near the wagons, surveyed the scene, then turned to Aren.
"You followed orders," she said.
"Yes."
"You engaged, secured supplies, and withdrew without pursuit."
"Yes."
Her eyes flicked briefly to the raider corpses half-buried in snow.
"Clean," she said.
Not praise.
Approval.
"This was your first mission as an official unit," Seraphina continued. "You did not embarrass me."
Aren inclined his head. "I'll take that."
One corner of her mouth twitched.
She stepped closer, voice lower now.
"You kept them alive," she said. "That matters."
The weight of that statement pressed harder than any reward.
Seraphina turned away.
"Report in," she said. "We move at dusk."
As she walked off, Aren felt it again—subtle, steady.
Favorability wasn't a promise.
It was a door.
One that would open wider—or slam shut—based entirely on what he did next.
Aren turned back to his squad.
"Pack up," he said. "We did our job."
They moved without hesitation.
Snow covered their tracks quickly.
But the mark they had left—on the army, on Seraphina, on the system itself—would not vanish so easily.
This was no longer practice.
This was command in motion.
And Aren intended to survive long enough to see what came after.