AN: I'VE CAUGHT THE SI FEVER AND NOTHING CAN STOP ME. I''M POSTING THIS BEFORE I STARE AND EDIT THIS CHAPTER FOR DAYS ON END WHILE ACCOMPLISHING NOTHING.
IM HYPE..
ENJOY MY EMBARRASSMENT.
Golden Coins and the Lives Behind Them.
Ch.1: Fishing for trouble in Another World.
5th day of the Verdant Rain Moon. Year 1176, Holy Seiros Calendar.
"Goddamnit, what the fuck."
A perfectly natural reaction to a bullshit situation.
Jostling the handle one last time in hopes the car door was playing a prank on me, I spotted the problem sitting right next to the driver's seat.
Good ol' locking your keys in the car.
"Really, right now of all the damn times?!"
This was a fucking nightmare.
Looking around, all I could see was what buildings were being lit up by overhead lights, the silent night sky devouring what little light the moon had to offer.
It had been an absolutely ordinary Tuesday, maybe being slightly busier than usual as the lines in my checkstand had been filled from the start of my shift till the very end. David, my friend, had already driven away from our shared workplace, both of us closing part-time for the local grocery store over the summer break, so catching a ride home tonight that way wasn't looking too bright. All at a nice, peaceful absolutely safe parking lot at 4:30 AM.
Looks like I'd have to call home at this ungodly hour and pray that my dad was in a generous mood to wake up. He was a pretty heavy sleeper. Didn't want to go crawling to my big sis and give her even more ammunition against me. T'would be a dark day indeed, when I willingly gave that sea-witch anything else to bring up months after tonight.
My older brother still didn't have a license either.
Well, absolutely fucking fantastic.
At least I hadn't forgotten to stuff my phone in my pockets when I had leapt out to greet David before he drove off, causing my door to shut behind me and lock. I could feel my soul sinking deep into my chest as the keys just sat there, taunting me in all their inaccessibility.
My fist collided with the doorframe of the car.
Although I did hear something akin to an alarm or horn, the crunch of bark and the pain exploding in my hand proved differently.
"Son of a bitch!"
I would have gone on, but once I was finished wincing from the pain in my hand, I was treated to warm winds and the sight of a clear blue sky. Birds had replaced the eerie silence, their chirps resounding from all directions as they flit between trees.
Trees.
Not asphalt and spotlights.
And from the hill I appeared to be on, they seemed to sprawl for miles and miles, with only one question on my mind.
Finding out wherever the fuck I was.
Left hand met right, gripping it as I stared down at the sea of trees below. I spun around, seeing nothing but more of the seemingly never-ending foliage, peaks of green blocking out the skies overhead.
There was this inexplicable soreness in my body, a dull burn in the back of my mind that caused me to let out a shrill breath from the sudden change. I recovered a moment later, reminded of the fact that I was lost in the middle of nowhere. If I wanted to find anything before nightfall, I'd have to start getting a move on.
So, what did this unfortunate soul have on his person to survive the elements?
I had changed into my afterwork clothes of a grey jacket, pair of jeans, and a pair of black tennis shoes. Headphones had loosely hung out of an ear.
Now I was wearing a thick blue shirt that was padded around the body, with loose pants of a similar color. Scuffed boots with metal plating adorned my feet, fitting slightly larger than normal. The shirt looked reminiscent of the outfits medieval footsoldiers wore, minus all the actual armor, instead having metal studs decorating the front. The weather seemed to be rather humid, so it seemed that freezing to death wouldn't be an issue for now.
Add finding out where these strange clothes came from to the list of shit I needed to figure out.
Oh, and a phone that was going to become a useless brick of plastic in about a week, if I was lucky. Maybe I could bludgeon something with it if I needed to. The one thing that had followed me to wherever I was along with a crappy pair of earbuds. Whatever had been in my hands at the time I arrived.
Time to set a world record for how fast someone can die from exposure.
I found a stream after about an hour of walking what I had hoped was north, deciding to follow the running body of water to civilization rather than trusting my gut.
Checking out the condition of my clothes, finding rips and tears from months of use. I peeked into the reflective waters surface, greeted with the familiar sight of brown hair, blue eyes staring in relief. I found the usual small marks under my right lip and cheek, but most of the attention my face would draw usually could be attributed to the dark bags that sat under cyan orbs.
The black lines that marred the underside of my eyelids were the result of many hours worked and the lack of sleep that went with stocking the store overnight. Usually we finished up before the sun really had the chance to rise, but the high summer heat was enough to keep me awake when I needed to sleep the most. They looked worse than I remembered.
I had recently hit my much needed growth spurt at last, having quickly risen to 5'7, and still had a few more inches to go if I went by how tall my parents were.
So, looked the same but didn't really know where the hell my regular clothes had gone.
Sighing, I went over my meager supplies once more and weighed the benefits of strangling myself with the headphone wire right then and there to spite whatever gods had stolen me from my home. Instead, I opted to walk while listening to my playlists on the lowest possible volume. The sound of music took my attention away from the nerves eating away at my confidence, casually strolling to the chaotic song I was listening to. It was better than nothing and the noises coming from the surrounding treeline dissuaded me from really trying my luck at finding food. My stomach had been rumbling since before my shift had ended and I hadn't anything to eat since my... displacement.
I hadn't tried to think about the obvious.
Was I even in a position to be able to get home?
The sudden shift from workplace parking lot to a lush forest filled to the brim with wildlife wasn't something that just happened. Nothing about it was natural, one minute there and gone the next. I had tried to justify it as some long nightmare, but the constant sting in my fingers and body reminded me of where I was in reality.
My family likely waiting for me in the morning, expecting me to be there when they all woke up. Only I wouldn't be.
I was here.
The next few hours blended together, the only thing reminding me of time passing being the growing hunger I felt. I lacked my usual energy, slovenly making my way downriver.
I could have sworn my ears were playing tricks on me though, the faint sounds of what I thought to be the alarm from earlier ringing twice about 3 hours after the first, but I hadn't heard it in the time since. "Just come in for a few hours they said." Tongue stuck out, talking to myself and anyone unfortunate enough to hear ny ramblings. "Give you an extra day off on the weekend they said. Shouldn't have fucking answered the phone."
Maybe I would be sleeping in a nice, warm bed with a full belly if work hadn't managed to talk me into coming in today. Or would it technically be yesterday?
Certainly felt like it, I hadn't gotten any rest since I woke up the previous morning. A heaviness hung over my eyelids, another large growl from my protesting stomach.
The food that my body dearly desired simply, as sad as the truth was, didn't exist. There had been various plants around, but I didn't really trust myself to know which ones were edible and which would cause my brain to aneurysm. Plus the various sounds and cracks that I had heard a while back had me kind of spooked and the forest didn't really look all that welcoming at a second glance. Definitely not afraid that some animal was waiting to tear my face off.
Desperation often brought about insanity. That was the only explanation for the absolutely Buffoon-level idea that my food craving brain thought up. There was simply no way it would work. Nope. All it was going to do was rob me of what little precious time I had to savor Death Grips while my phones battery lasted.
But think of them fish tho.
I looked between the headphone wires wrapped around my phone and the various sticks on the ground stopping by the river, doing the only thing I could think of to find food without getting lost in the forest. I began to look for some decent bait.
"There you are, slimy bastard." I said, plucking a worm out from underneath a stone near the water. I then took out my headphones, piercing the worm with one of the metal jacks at the end, then it secured to a stick.
I had tied the other end to a rather sturdy one, using one of the few skills I did have to tie a solid knot over the end.
And so began my grand fishing adventure.
Fishing had been one of the few things me and my dad had both enjoyed doing together. Not that we hated being around each other whenever we did anything else, but just that our interests weren't all that similar. But something about the wait and eventual payoff of the act always drew me to it, something that my dad latched onto and encouraged heavily. One thing that I always found hilarious was that I would always seemed to catch as much fish as I could, while barely paying attention to the line. I could always just tell when I need to look at my pole, while dad always had this pinpoint laser eye on his at all times and would manage to barely catch an average amount.
Damnit, I couldn't stop thinking about home. Good thing I had just the right activity to distract myself with.
I let my makeshift fishing rod line go, dropping it as far into the river as it could. I could immediately feel how weak the line was and how it would break under any real resistance. I tried and failed to keep my expression neutral.
"This was a terrible mistake."
Goodbye "Gud shit" playlist, you served me well. If only you had a more wise and competent master.
I only hoped no one had seen my rather dumb attempt at impromptu rations gathering. Really, please let no one have seen my moment of hunger-induced weakness.
A sudden rustle of the bushes drew my attention towards the sound of… something striking against a solid object. A few moments later and a pair of bodies threw themselves readily from the treeline. One figure was larger, though I could only see their broad back and large lance they carried. I didn't have the time to really process the other person as the larger figure jabbed his weapon forward like lightning and pushed the body back into the woods.
He wasn't given time to relax, as a burly man with large metal gauntlets and greaves exploded out of the forest wall and tackled him over the river, the two tumbling over one another with vicious curses and violent landings.
The one that was tackled landed on top, reaching for a spear that wasn't there on his back. I had seen it fly off when the man had been first tackled. A large portion of the lower haft had been broken off, what was left of the bladed half skittering my way. It landed next to my seated form, the abomination of a fishing pole slipping from my grasp and being washed downstream. Hopefully to never be seen again.
"Christ!" The edge that slid near my foot appeared razor sharp, coming close enough to cause me to elicit a small yelp.
"That you kid?" Amber eyes darted towards me, narrowing as he stared into my own. He casually held down his opponent with a single arm, the other going for the empty space where the lance once resided, his smooth tone echoing across the bank, "No, some Noble brat that that ran aw-"
The man briefly froze in shock, fingers squeezing air, snapping towards me with mouth agape, the brawler taking this opportunity to land a vicious jab into the man's face and jerking his head further to the side. The combatants fell once more, with the pugilist gaining the upper hand and starting to rain down blows into the arms guarding the others head.
The only thing visible from the defender was the small orange shield on his right shoulder. But that, along with the brief glimpse I had gotten of his face confirmed one thing for me.
Thats Jeralt.
Toto, we aren't in the pacific northwest anymore.
I had played through and beaten every available path in Three Houses, and each and every one ended with the sad and painful parting of the devoted mercenary. Stabbed in the back by someone he thought he had saved, saying goodbye to the person he had sworn to never leave alone. The only good thing that came of it was that he had once and for all confirmed the place he held in his child's heart.
So I was in Fodlan then. Of all the places and worlds I could have ended up, it certainly wasn't the worst of the bunch. Came with its fair share of villains and youngsters with questionable mental stability, but what medieval fantasy world didn't? At least good ol' Grima was out if the picture. Fucker didn't even exist here, or I prayed to whatever gods currently governing my existence that the Fell Dragon didn't.
The meaty smack of a gauntlet covered fist broke whatever trance I had been in, the former Knight of Seiros once again reversing the hold his foe had on him, slamming their back into the ground. I could see the gash in his forehead, blood flowing freely from the wound as the scuffle went on. A foot caught his midsection but failed to make him fall, Jeralt taking a short 2 steps back as the brawler tried to get to his feet.
Don't just stand around and daydream. Do something you lazy fuck!
My shaking hands scrambled to the well-maintained spear that was discarded, finding purchase around a worn leather grip, its single blade protruding like a silver spike at the end. I steeled myself for what came next, the sight of blood briefly stopping me in my tracks. This really was happening, but I couldn't afford to stop now.
I threw the half of the broken weapon that still had a stabby end, making sure it didn't rotate in the air when I did so.
"Catch!"
It sailed through the air, the warrior catching it at the end of its short flight. He did so in an overhand grip near the blade, my throat catching as a crimson spray accompanied iron tearing through flesh. The brawler let out a soft "curse you" before he was stabbed through a second time, collapsing to the side as the paladin dropped the now discarded weapon..
Congrats. The first thing you do in uncertain times is become an accomplice to murder.
"Bastard!"
My gaze was torn from the gruesome sight and to the archer wearing light yellow armor, currently knocking an arrow and taking aim at the stunned mercenary.
In this moment, action came before thought.
I had always been the type of person to rush into situations in order to make sure everyone was alright before I really thought things through. I had my collarbone broken just 3 years ago saving my nephew from being hit by a car, the then 5 year-old having broken free from my grandmothers grip and trying to cross the street to the local park. One minute he was in the middle of the road, with the next thing I was able to remember being upside down and my shoulder feeling like someone had ground it down into paste. I'd woken up in a hospital bed, a crying family greeting my return to consciousness.
It was both a blessing and a curse. I was an overall jolly person, but that particular part of my personality had structured me into some sort of human heal-bot, always making sure others were ok before I was. It resulted in a bunch of inferiority issues, as well as a belief that I always had to look on the bright side of things, ignoring that which would prevent me from being the biggest ball of fucking sunshine you've ever darn seen.
And right now, my eyes recognized there was someone that needed my help.
Legs and arms moved on their own, phone sailing through the air after a textbook baseball pitch. By the time the heavy plastic brick that was my phone had hit my unaware victim and vanished into the brush, a sickening crunch was heard as it struck his unprotected nose. I covered the short distance up the riverbank and slammed into crude metal armor in a full body tackle, hearing a pained gasp as the arrow let loose but hopefully I had prevented a much worse outcome.
This was where my brain decided to reboot, thoughts catching up to action. I could see the fury in their eyes as hands scrambled to the collar of my shirt, nerves rising as the archer attempted to throw me aside.
WhatdoIdoWhatdoIdoWhatdoIdo
Pain exploded in my torso, the metal knuckles of their gloves digging in time and time again, blow after blow until the world spun around. My legs were pinned under their weight, those same hands now holding a dagger high over their head.
Another problem that came with an inability to walk away and just let things be.
"Damn you, filthy rabble! Get off of me!"
The knife managed to come down, desperate hands catching my would-be killers wrists. The blade reflected the final rays of the sun and dying it a rich red.
It would be too, inching closer and closer to the spot above my heart with every moment. My muscles were straining as hard as they could, animalistic shouts and curses flying from my mouth, but I couldn't find the strength to escape. A lack of energy rendering my attempts futile.
This is how I was going to die.
First day in, first day out.
Never finding out how I got here, never getting the chance to say goodbye to my loved ones. Dying starving and alone to some random red unit with a grudge.
Never accomplishing anything of worth.
White hot rage coursed through my veins, staring at the gleaming blade that was soon to pierce my body.
I'm not fucking dying like this.
A tiny voice soon whispered in my ear. The beginning of a long road of self-destructive tendencies.
"Anythings better than dying to a fucking nobody. But you can't stop what's about to happen." Unnatural focus guided my actions, eyes never leaving the object of my impending doom, "So why stop it at all?"
Better than dying.
My thoughts were calm, unlike the snarl that tore from my mouth. With all of my remaining strength put into one last push, hands slicked with sweat stopped fighting back against my murderer.
Searing lead filled the spot where the dagger cut deep into my skin and almost scraping bone, white spots bursting across my vision as I diverted the weapon into my left shoulder. It was unlike anything I'd ever felt before. Broken bones felt more natural then the sensation of having a chunk of your body carved out of you, the feeling of a thousand fire ants festering inside the wound.
Red liquid that couldn't possibly be mine rapidly began to stain the lighter colored fabric of my shirt, a fleeting and surreal moment as I failed to register just why there was a new hole in my attire. I grit my teeth, adrenaline fueling the source of newfound strength and flipped the archer to the same side. An elbow caught him under the chin as I barely managed to stand.
Right, this waste of space just FUCKING STABBED ME.
"PIECE OF SHIT!"
"THIS."
"FUCKING."
"HURTS!"
I planted a kick to the side that was left exposed by his armor with each exclamation, knocking him back further and scrambling a few feet away. The dagger that was still lodged in my body caused my legs to seize up, halting my advance in time to see a flash of steel swipe the area my throat would have occupied if I'd continued. I wasn't lucky enough to avoid the second stroke, another red stain growing on my side alongside an unpleasant warmth.
I watched my foe rise to a knee, freezing at the sight of the newly drawn sword they had pulled from the sheath. The pain in my right was only making it harder to focus, failing to catch my breath through pained gasps as my opponents body sprung into a blur of movement.
A swift breeze went by my ear, sending bits of my hair flying in the wind with my foe sprouting a feathered shaft from the throat. A shout attempted to cut through the blood as he fell to the ground, only achieving a hoarse choking sound. The broken body crumpled.
Turning around, there I saw the father of Byleth, standing proud and the enemy's fallen Bow extending from his grasp. Both of us stood there waiting for the other to make a move and I dare not to make the first. After an eternity I nodded as slowly as my neck would allow, internally sighing in relief as he tilted his head in return and watched him begin to lightly pat down his armor.
He uttered a few curious curses as the gauntlets that dove into his pockets came back empty, despite all their furious rummaging. When he turned to face me, years of social anxiety took over, motormouth once again deciding if I would make a good first impression or not. Not counting the manslaughter.
"I would offer you some food or something, but all I've got is this knife in my shoulder."
The Mercenary grimaced when I said that, features tightening at my poor joke. Probably reliving some punpleasant memories of Alois. Who else would find the time to joke about a knife lodged in their body.
Right, the knife in my…
"HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM"
I managed to keep my scream to a high-pitched whine, sounding more like a steam-engine than the shout of an injured warrior, and without any care for dignity.
In my defense, I'd never really been stabbed before. Not something I had to deal with on a average basis, fear on an average basis yes, but never has the kiss of cold steel punctured my person before today. And based on where I had been dimensionaly abandoned, there was a lot more wounds destined for my immediate future.
The sky darkened, looking up to see the looming form of Jeralt as he stood in front of me.
The pain in my shoulder intensified, the grizzled veteran suddenly holding a bloody dagger in his hands. Gauntlet encased fingers covered my mouth, muting the scream that proved too much to hold back as his other hand poured some kind of liquid from a small glass bottle into the open wound.
After a stinging I could equate to alcohol cleansed the hole in my shoulder, I could feel the pain begin to ebb away.
"I have no idea what village you're from. Or if you're some Gloucester brat trying to come defend his territory." The stern voice of the Mercenary Leader said, expression calm yet observant, "But you do realize you're in the middle of a full-scale fighting retreat right? Old Acheron didn't take too kindly our little hit and run." I was set against a tree, Jeralt combing over the dead archer for his remaining arrows. When he returned, my shoulder felt sore, but otherwise able to move without much issue. My waist was an entirely different story.
"Take this, you'll need something a little better than rocks to defend yourself."
A sword and a belt were held out, Jeralt having taken them from the corpse that still twitched.
The adrenaline had run its course, the weight of the situation grasping me in its entirety. I had helped kill 2 men in the span of a few seconds. My eyes refused to stop following the trail of red ichor flowing down the slight hill, a pool of blood surrounding the archers head.
I wasn't sure if it was the gruesome actions I had seen unfold or the blood that was leaking from my side, but a sudden dizziness overtook me. The Merc propped me up, snapping fingers in front of my face. I was busy trying to figure out what I'd just done. It all happened too fast.
"Hey, focus up. If you can crack jokes like earlier, you can't be feeling all that bad. That nap can wait until we get out of this mess."
I turned, eager to face anything other than the fallen soldier, lifting myself from my position against the tree as Jeralt addressed me.
"First things first, do you know who I am?" His features weren't accusatory, just appeared genuinely curious.
It wasn't a dangerous question, Jeralt was quite famous all around Fodlan for his exploits and deeds. So I found myself nodding at the distinguished leader. Helped me think about anything other than what just happened.
"The Blade-Breaker, right?"
Let it rip.
That earned a sigh from the tired man.
The former Knight Captain was fairing better, the gash on his forehead no longer leaking streams of lifeblood down his cheeks. His orange armor/attire had multiple tears through the back and front, exposing that the silver metal underneath the cloth had been dented. A small red stain was still growing on his upper left arm, most likely from the arrow I had failed to stop. All in all, he seemed to be doing fine.
I watched him put some fingers to his mouth, giving a sharp whistle that was soon followed by the rustling of shrubbery and the stamping of hooves, a great white steed covered in similar colors to Jeralt coming to a galloping halt in front of the older gentleman.
"Whatever the reason, you can explain why you were here when we get to safety." He hauled himself atop the great saddle, one hand grabbing a spare Steel Lance, the other gripping the reigns, "Since you decided to help me out earlier and not simply let them take me to an early grave, I trust that you want to get out of here enough to not run off on me, yeah?" Jeralt pointed a chiseled limb to the opposite side of the river, "Follow me to the forward camp for now."
He pulled his mount around and offered a look of sympathy, "Its a fair distance away, but if we're fast enough we won't have to deal with as many of those dastards coming along the way."
I nodded and just went along with knowing whoever it was that consisted of the "many" he was talking about. Fixing the sword to my belt, I tried to get used to the added weight around my waist. It wouldn't get in the way of running much, but I didn't think I was going to be doing much of that anytime soon with my condition.
"Alright kid, lets get going."
My unfamiliar boots cracked against the stones along the riverbank, beginning the trek out of whatever forest I had found myself lost in.
Though he slowed his horse to a snails pace to match mine, the cut to my midsection protested at even the slightest jog. Here the famous ex-knight was, escorting some random fucking kid even though he could easily have ridden at many times the speed. All because of his innate goodness and strong sense of character.
The same kindness that had gotten him killed in front of his only child.
I'm slowing him down.
I increased my stride, choking down the screaming muscles. I achieved a pained limp. nothing too strenuous.
C'mon, pick up the pace you worthless fuck.
A fire spread through my chest, small explosions going off and nearly bringing me to tears. There wasn't any time to waste I managed to walk faster, the clacking of hooves over stone as we crossed a shallow part just downstream. The icy water took a bit of my attention off the poor state I was in.
The reprieve ended, finished crossing the rushing water.
I pumped my legs faster, keeping my gaze focused and flipping a switch in my mind. The trail ahead of me became my only goal, gaze becoming distant as I tuned out the world around and began to convincing myself that the pain melting my side wasn't that bad.
So what, you're still alive aren't you? You could have died right then and there, but here you are whining about a little cut!
I managed to keep a jogging pace, the Blade-Breaker keeping slightly ahead. He had mentioned a forward camp and something about a fighting retreat before.
Which meant the slower I went, the more time we spent in danger.
I had to keep pace, or I would get us killed. There was no doubt if that in my mind.
The scent of iron was heavy. My shirt had begun to stick to my body, having long since soaked through in the time we had been traveling. Thankfully, my pants had yet to suffer the same fate, but I couldn't really worry about the state of my wardrobe while in the middle of a active battlefield.
Still alive, but that could always change.
The soft, yet firm sound of flicking reigns as the wooden staff of his weapon stopping me in my tracks and breaking the mantra I had going on in my head. The pain in my side lessened slightly, the dull throbbing feeling mild compared to the blistering sensation from before.
We were just behind a group of trees, the paladin peeking his head just around the corner. When I did the same, I saw a group of three people, all waiting in the clearing between us and our destination. A haughty voice was loudly chatting away.
"And once the common rabble is hounded over here, that pest will be too exhausted to defend against our superior might."
"But we were told to signal the others sir."
"But why waste such a chance? It would be all too easy for my talents to dispose of a tired dog."
There was a swordsman and an archer grouped near a man with a large and pointy hat. The duo was wearing the same yellow tinted armor with crude breastplates serving as their main protection, the swordsman having armor plates that ran directly down the arms. Their compatriot, however, seemed to only wear some robes alongside his rather questionable fashion choice of a floppy hat, one that had white cloth curved around the corners of his face and tucked under his collar. I think I could guess on what he was. The arrogance in his voice would certainly match the stereotype.
They were expecting us. Just not as soon or as prepared. They were waiting for a single injured man being chased to the clearing, easily susceptible to their attacks, not for the two of us to wait and form a plan of attack. The first step was moving to charge in from the side, rather than head on where our foes gazes were focused, giving us that much more time to reach our targets.
If we turned around, we'd have to make up for a lot of time to find another path for his horse. The man had sustained an array of wounds from assumed hours of fighting, taking their toll as we rode over here, and the recent loss of blood not really helping either of us. It was time to take a risk and go for the shorter route of travel.
Jeralt held 3 fingers up and spoke with the barest of whispers, "I can take out the two over there if I can blitz them fast enough, but I'll be left wide open to that mage." Hazel orbs stared with an intensity not seen before, "We can turn around. But if I can trust you to take their mage out then we can make it to the camp in half the time." He let the query hang, waiting for my reply.
For a while, I was just trying to process his words. "That much closer to the best medical professional money can persuade, promise." He finished with a hand in the universal ok sign.
In essence, I was essentially just ordered to stab a wizard.
For healthcare privileges.
Here I was half-dead, freshly traumatized from the battlefield, maybe a bit delirious as well and he was asking me to fight a goddamn magic man. A magic man with actual spells.
A wizard who could potentially burn me to a crisp or stab me with a million little dark needles or any other plethora of mana-based and terrifying phenomena.
The slow hiss of the iron sword didn't alert the unaware enemy. They were busy chatting amongst themselves, waiting for something. That more than likely being Jeralt, not the woefully underprepared high-school student with pointy stick in hand.
I inhaled slowly, plotting out the best way to plant cold metal into my targets chest, ignoring the sound of my conscience telling me how messed up that line of thinking was. Too bad kiddo, this is Fire Emblem and that was just one of many questionable thoughts soon to become the norm. Everyone has problems, so worry about yours later.
What in my limited knowledge would help me right now?
I knew a wide list of the arcane might that the magic user would use to melt my face, but not the exact ones. Was he low-level? High enough to know Thoron? Did levels even mean a damn thing anymore?
I prayed from the largely base level equipment his comrades had all been wearing that all he would do was shoot a regular fireball at my woefully underprepared self and not one made from dark corrupted mana. Or make my legs explode.
I'd also apologize for fucking up the timelines later, because right now inaction meant bleeding out next to a character from a video game, away from everything I knew and loved.
Man, that was a sad thought.
Better than being dead.
Truer words had never been spoken.
Jeralt had yet to see someone with a face that impassive since the last he had seen his son. That, or the kid he found himself babysitting was nearing his limits after the last mile or so of their trek.
The way he drew his sword was clumsy, but silent enough for their purposes. He could tell from the way the hand fumbled a moment before truly grasping the sword, tugging from the belt at an awkward angle instead of using the proper technique. Either the Gloucester brat had skipped most of his training(which wasn't that unlikely) or it was just some strangely affluent country kid who wandered a little to far from the neighboring villages.
Either way, he certainly could tough it out like a champ as he had seen the red stain against the fine fabric of his shirt, growing with the increasing strain the youth was putting himself through to keep an even pace. It was much appreciated, even if it was a bit cruel, by the older merc if only for the practicality he showed in the situation they found themselves in.
Plus… He kinda owes the kid a solid with the whole saving his life debacle from earlier.
"Imagine the Blade-Breaker dying to some no-name archer".
He supposed thats how he started out though. That was how everybody started out. Some reckless no-name until you either survived enough battles or killed someone famous enough to be remembered.
He hadn't seen what the kid had thrown, but he had witnessed the savage tackle right after. He almost missed it, but he had barely been able to catch the sight of boy's hand slam the archers head into the ground. He had seen the choice the choice the youth had had made to survive soon after. It was pragmatic, painful, but ultimately something that could be healed with the right treatment.
That was the kind of decision making that saved or ended many a mercenaries career, and here the kid was still standing.
"Looks about to soil his small clothes, I will admit."
Jeralt turned to his new and unlikely ally, seeing the same look in his eyes as the fight before. Impassive gaze set forward, staring at the mage he had been told to kill.
It wasn't hesitation, merely trying to figure out how he could do so.
The former knight of Seiros groaned, "Really...Kids these days."
Were all of them so bloodthirsty?
"Alright, let's do this." Came the long awaited reply, pale skin standing out against the shade as the youth let's loose a long held breath, "Ready as I'll ever fuckin' be for this…"
"On my mark, count of five."
He received a single nod before turning, stroking the neck of his warhorse Tellius and heading a ways back away the trail from the clearings entrance. Stopping to turn once more, he raised his left hand high above his head, the right bracing his Steel lance against a bulky section of his saddle.
Not his usual silver one, that had broken after the rather brutal battle he and his company had been hired to take part in. Well, it was more like the Head of house Gloucester had grown tired of his neighboring lords penchant for unwarranted domain expansion, but didn't want to incite trouble among the United lords of the Leicester Alliance by using his own troops.
Next thing Jeralt knew, he had a big fat sack of gold in advanced payment and a company he needed to deploy to the borderline between the Alliance and Adrestian Empire.
They were to harass and hound Acherons troops from the land they had come to occupy, hitting supply routes and generally taking out the various scouting patrols that had been sent forth. The enemy was lightly equipped with bog-standard armor that had crumpled under his spear many times over the past week.
It all started going downhill when he got a little overconfident and extended a bit too far from the forward camp they established. Where the Jeralt Mercenary Corp. had been paid for the quality of their services, Acheron had paid for bulk. Soon enough, he and his advance unit had found themselves ambushed as archers and spellcasters rained down fire upon the roads they had used to travel.
He had signaled the retreat, orders being passed through the ranks as he rode into the surrounding brush to buy his men some time. The head of an enemy commander, especially one as renowned as he was, was something that any glory hound would never pass up the chance to collect.
He had hoped most of his troops escaped back to the camp unhindered, or at least with as few foes following them. The trees had become to thick for his mount to pass through at a point, so he had dismounted and sent it away, passing into the thick greenery. He had been ambushed yet again, swiftly taking care of the Axeman who had impeded his path. The slight confrontation, no matter how quick it had been, was enough for his closest pursuers to reach him at last, a Brawler knocking the wind from his lungs before he could turn to face him.
Then the kid with the strange formal attire ended up getting involved, and the rest was history. The youth in question had been taking everything in stride despite an obvious life off of the battlefield. The tense way he would speak, the way his eyes would suddenly lose focus before snapping wildly around him, all told of inexperience in the ways of war. The paranoia was a good start though.
The fingers began to drop, his loyal mount gathering speed with every second that passed. Soon enough, his new companion would be throwing himself back into danger once more.
Now, he would either survive or die in the demanding crucible of combat. Just like the many men Jeralt had ordered to the fray over the years.
"Good luck."
Prayer in mind, the Blade-Breaker broke from his cover, having enough of a running start to reach his two targets in a scant few moments of time. The spear cleaved through the shoulder of the left swordsman, Jeralt's momentum enough to easily rend flesh in spite of the armor covering it. The trained warhorse brought itself around in a spin, Jeralt bringing down his spear, piercing through the breastplate as the other soldier was starting to reach for his blade.
A flick of his wrist and the man fell, life still draining from his chest.
A smooth execution, happening too fast for them to properly react. With his part in the plan over, the seasoned knight turned to charge towards the enemy mage, not waiting to see the results of the young strangers work.
"Five"
The steed began to run.
"Four."
I didn't let my eyes leave the unbelievable floppy hat that lied on an unsuspecting head.
"Three."
Okay, just run up and pin the sharp end of the sword in the mage.
"Two."
Easy, you've already helped the old guy merc the first three. It's just one guy that won't even see you coming, easy peasy.
"One."
Showtime.
Despite the sudden pangs of suffering from going into a dead sprint, I entered the clearing after Jeralt and his steed had just barely reached me. The Iron sword was held parallel to my injured side as I ran, seemingly the only way I could move with any sort of speed with the weapon. I didn't release any sort of battle cry, focusing on advancing on the enemy.
I fucking hope so at least.
I was still a few steps away from the mage as I heard the shouts from my left, suddenly being silenced as the triumphant bray of Tellius rang through the otherwise silent clearing. My charge continued unnoticed.
The initial shock over the sudden death of his back-up helped me gain a good amount of ground before the mage recovered. The man had a slight height advantage, being a head taller. Thankfully he was too focused on Jeralt to notice my presence.
His eyes grew with anticipation, a sneer forming as hands flew in intricate motions, the ground below him forming into some kind of circle.
Real life, honest to God, fucking magic.
More glyphs formed in the air, a circle enveloping the hand pointed towards the former knight captain, urgency overtaking me as I threw my body at the source of the high-pitched cackling.
"Hah! The glory of your death belongs to me, Blade of Rhea!"
Appendages filled to the brim with arcane might pointed towards the man they were about to slay. Mana itching to be released, to start the beginning of his legend and hurry the end of another. "Taste my power, you lowly worm!"
The barest wisps of flame had managed to gather and leave his fingertips before my blade cut the digits from his hand.
He seemed more confused than anything, his magic symbols hovering uselessly in the air and staring at the three nubs where his thumb, middle, and forefinger had been severed. It only grew as he suddenly realized the desperate retail worker with a sword was too close as I once again launched myself at his person, sword held overhead. He tried to raise his other hand, mounting a meager defense.
Time slowed.
Can't cast if I'm in his personal space.
I jumped into the rather frail frame of the mage. We fell to the ground.
Time resumed its normal flow as I drove the cold metal as deep as I could into the area where his heart should have been. He didn't have time to put up a proper resistance, arms still at his sides as the blade pierced deep into tissue with a sickening ease. He didn't even have the time to scream.
It wasn't a quick or easy death.
The mage took a second to realize what had happened, with a hissing gasp escaping his lips. Fingers curled around and cut themselves on slick iron. I threw my entire body onto the swords pommel, driving it a bit deeper and resisting the attempts to throw me off. The struggles he made to get up and remove the sword I kept planted grew less and less spirited. Panicked, wide eyes staring at the spire protruding from his chest, only looking away to catch my own.
The hands pushing against my upper body grew weaker and weaker.
Then they stopped all together.
How long I was there, I hadn't a clue. The last of my shouts echoed into the background and I slowly propped myself up. I didnt bother to pull the sword from the body, quickly turning and casting my eyes as far from the scene as I could. Fuck. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfwhatthehel-
*CLANK
Jeralt had already made his way over, the clacking of his various armor plates sounding pleasantly distracting. He held one more of those small bottles, this one being made of clay, in my direction. Hopefully some much needed doses of Vulnery or Concoction, whatever fancy name they had for a healing potion in hand.
"Found some curatives on them, drink half, then apply the rest to the wound."
I complied, robotically nodding and doing as told.
Sweet relief washed over me, feeling the very disturbing process of flesh knitting back together and a wave of galvanizing energy sweeping away some of my lethargy. I looked to the wound at my side, going from a sizeable tear in my midsection and shrinking to a small cut on the upper right side of my stomach. The surrounding area was still a nasty bruise, but infinitely better than the previous wound.
As if on cue, said organ gave a mighty rumble once I finished downing the Concoction. It was followed by a sizable sense of relief from the near constant pain.
Oh sweet, beautiful, pleasantly hax white magic. This shit right here was why I loved playing support or healer in class-based games. The absolute bullshit that was healing magic had the highest of praises in my books, so I was glad it turned out just as I hoped it would.
A loud whistle drew my attention, Jeralt with hand outstretched from the saddle, lips splayed in a wry smile. "Ol' Tellius here has enough stamina left in him to comfortably bring us back to the camp from here." The horse seemed to stamp in agreement, "Hop on kid." I deftly ignored the comment, too focused on the sudden reprieve my legs were soon to have.
The sounds of shouting and the scraping of metal on leather behind us propelling us further and further from that hell.
The empty sheathe at my side dangled uselessly, sword left forgotten and unwanted.
The rest of our journey was as peaceful as Jeralt had promised, our pursuers becoming less and less interested the further we went. I was still riding behind the old merc, holding onto the saddle grips behind me as his mount galloped steadily forward.
"So, got a name I can use? Can't exactly keep calling you "Stranger" after all that."
"Gregor." Whatever compelled me to give that answer, I didn't know. But now that I'd given it a whirl, it didn't sound half bad. It was pronounced with a practiced ease that relayed it was something of a common thing for me to say. Almost natural. Well, might as well go with it, adding my own last name to the mix.
"Gregor Stephens."
Besides, Gregor is one of best characters in series, yes?
"You may already know this, but Jeralt Eisner." The paladin peered over his shoulder, wind sweeping at his hair, "Don't worry about what you had to do back there. It was either that or let him blast away with whatever spell he was casting."
It was true, but didn't really take the sting from my actions.
His gaze returned to the path ahead, a quizzical expression across his face for a moment, "Still, Stephens and not Gloucester. I was sure that one of the stubborn dastards' sons had snuck out to defend their territory." So, Lorenz and his family were somewhere around then. What little I knew of the purple haired student's family was limited to what I could remember from his paralogue.
From what I had been able to gather in Jeralts recount of the ambush, we were somewhere in between Gloucester and Lord Acheron's territory in Alliance lands. There was some famous bridge or similar landmark that had something to do with the two families, but I couldn't remember the particulars of that event for the life of me.
After that, Jeralt had recounted the tale of his harrowing retreat and subsequent escape from the numerous enemy forces, as even the Blade-Breaker couldn't stop a wave of bodies from just trampling over him. He stopped around the point where I came in, as I knew my outstanding contributions to that story. Specifically the bodies of the soldiers I had helped kill.
Jeralt was right, of course. That whole goddamn debacle was something I couldn't really avoid once the fighting had begun. Even if I hadn't interfered, whose to say that Acheron's forces would have just left me there alone? At best, I would be taken prisoner and unfairly executed. At worst, I'd have felt the kiss of steel in my gut and would have probably been left to rot.
Happy thoughts motherfucker, happy thoughts.
There was definitely some trauma being compartmentalized here, but now wasn't the time nor the place for a complete mental shutdown. I did my best to rationalize my actions.
I had killed people.
They would've killed you first.
The images of fallen soldiers and bodies laying on the ground all suddenly sported my face. Just as easily, it could have been me lying among the dead.
Be glad they didn't.
I shook my head. Thinking about things I was unable to avoid or control would get me nowhere. Right now, I needed to get to whatever camp it was the old guy wanted to reach, maybe meet whatever Byleth was there, and preferably get dropped off somewhere stable enough to survive the incoming war.
Fodlan wasn't kind to strangers. That was just a fact I had to remind myself as I went over the various countries and powers I could remember.
The Holy Kingdom of Faerghus was out. Half of those folks fought with their honor most of the time rather than their heads. It was said to be cold like back home, but it sounded more like it was on the freezing side of things. Not mentioning the bloody coup that would inevitably occur due to Cornelia and Those Who Slither In The Dark.
Shit, I hadn't even fucking thought about those underground humanity hating bastards yet. Strange love of dubstep aside, Those Who Slither In The Dark had plans that involved ending the entirety of the human race, supporting Edelgard's ambitions in an effort to gather the necessary forces to topple the Church of Seiros. Once that was done, the next step was likely a massive battle between the battered forces of the Empire and the Agarthans' dark forces. Then they would move on to the rest of Fodlan, weakened from 5 long years of war and the loss of its greatest champions.
Focus, focus. Where else can I go?
Leicester Alliance was looking more likely, given my immediate location. Maybe somewhere around Ordelia territory, but I was likely to be dumped in whatever village was nearest to the Gloucester border. Which I didn't know jack all about, so that info didn't help me as much as I would've liked.
The only location I could remember from the Adrestian Empire was the city of Enbarr, but from the multiple supports and lines of dialog throughout Three Houses, it was described more like a monster than a city. So that was out as well. Also ended up as the final stronghold for Edelgard or Rhea, at the end if the war. Didn't really want to see the city go up in flames in person.
Brigid was my best option, being far removed from Fodlan's coast and wasn't that involved in the war effort, aside from the soldiers they supplied to Edelgard or the Church of Seiros depending on Petra's allegiance. For now, I'll assume she'll side with Edelgard when the time comes, so depending on where I was in Fodlan's timeline I had potential years to live in the vassal state. It might be too much of a hassle to get over there, despite all the promising signs.
But was I okay with running away?
I was here, I knew the possible futures of Byleth and the three lords he or she would come to teach, deciding the path the world would take. I had the foreknowledge to stop a war before it ever started and prevent the many tragedies that came with it. But what could I even do?
I barely managed to survive my first fight. A faceless grunt had almost been responsible for putting me under the dirt. How was I supposed to stand up to any of the challenges that would come with attempting to change or direct fate. Sothis herself once said that Jeralt's death was an "unavoidable fate" and that a "fate was still a fate". Did this mean that events that were destined to pass would without fail? Was fighting against whatever House Leader the ashen demon didn't choose just a given?
If I was caught on the wrong side of history, what would become of me?
My musing came to a halt, a colorless brick being proffered by Jeralt, the merc offering a slight smile, "Take it, I could hear your stomach from Dagda and back. Be a shame to starve after surviving today."
I took the bar, discovering it was scentless as I tried to determine if it was edible. Another rumble was enough to convince me to take a tentative bite. It was tasteless as well. I devoured it in seconds.
And yet a ration bar had never been so good.
I still didn't know what to expect from Byleth's dad. He had this way of bolstering your spirits right when you needed it, which was probably why he commanded such loyalty from those who followed him. Alois had been nothing but a source of high praise for Jeralt going through Three Houses, always recounting his expertise and leadership, valuing his bond so much that the energetic knight of Seiros followed Byleth no matter the path they chose. But again I had only experienced Jeralt through the perspective of being his kid, not from what appeared to be some unlucky peasant who was caught up in his mess.
Another short chuckle from the captain stopped my munching, Jeralt increasing the pace to a swift gallop, "Just wait till we get back. You'll be stuffing your face with only the finest of cheap meats and drinks."
I snorted, laughing for the 1st time that day.
"One of the benefits of being in a legendary mercenary troop, Stephens."
One thing was for sure, the mercenary had made a hell of a first impression. Decent sense of humor too, even if he couldn't appreciate certain forms of comedy.
We fell into a silence. Not that there was much more to say until we reached our destination. Time passed by, the ride from Tellius' back surprisingly smooth as we headed to a nearby valley, winding cliffs lining the path we followed. The mount came to a stop, a loud voice made itself known.
"State your intentions! Hands up you... Oh, Captain Jeralt!" A tall woman with a bow in hand lowered her weapon upon seeing the two of us coming from a faint path in the woods. Night had long since descended and I was impressed the sentry could see us in the inky darkness. Torches lined the outside of the encampment she was guarding, being the only reason I could see the woman from her high perch. "I'm so glad you're alright! When you didn't return by nightfall… we assumed..."
Jeralt raised a hand in greeting, "Sorry for worrying you lot, I got a bit distracted with a sudden protection detail." He pointed at me, "Had a little scuffle on the way back, kid bailed me out, so if you could get Gregor here to the medical tent while I get caught up with the others." I waved from my position in back, causing the guard to tilt her head my way, discerning red gaze boring into blue.
"Him? The green looking brat?"
I was beginning to hate any and all marksmen.
"I swear to Kaga himself, I will climb up there and give you the most whole-hearted ass kicking I can muster." Bodily damages be damned, I wouldn't put up with any more shit for the day. I just wanted my much promised rest. "I'm tired and pissed off, so kindly remove yourself from my existence."
No more archers would get the upperhand of Gregor Stephens.
"Hah, kids got spunk!" The sniper bellowed, looking behind her shoulder and beginning to shout, "Alright you lousy bunch, Captains back and needs ta get up to speed! And someone show the brat to Klara!" We rode past the small cliff where she stood, soon entering to see a small ring of tent, with three out of the 12 or so tents dwarfing their counterparts.
Jeralt pointed to a man with a massive axe strapped to his back, wearing little more than a collection of furs and the leather pauldrons on his shoulders. The axeman plastered a grin on his face and sauntered towards us. "Gregor, Tavin over there is going to escort you over to the medical tent, where our expert healer Klara practices her fine work." It was a slow and assuring tone, "She'll check out your injuries. You're going to be fine kid. You made it. You'll be in the best of hands."
I slumped out of the saddle, greeted by the firm handshake of Tavin. He was built like a brickhouse, orange curly hair held from his face by a headband of the same shade. He had approached silently, despite his large form. The sounds of the Blade-Breaker's horse soon became faint as I was led to one of the larger tents posted up, Tavin lifting the flap and allowing me to step inside. The crest of Cethleann was emblazoned on the entrance.
There was a certain feeling of comfort that enveloped the space of the tent, the temperature was just warm enough compared to the previously chill air that my sore body felt that much better, breathing out a sigh.
A shock of dark hair sprouted from a nearby pile of assorted books, followed by a set of glasses that framed green eyes. Her clothes were oversized healing robes, bunching up around her shoulders as she peered up. Digits adjusted the frames, bleary eyes tearing up from a mouth-splitting yawn.
"Oh… Almost though I was done for the night. Set him up on the bed over there, would you Tavin dear?"
"Yes, Miss Klara."
The cot I was propped on felt like heaven, legs folding like jelly as soon as I made contact. Rough and bumpy, but something my worn out self could sleep away the rest of my days on.
It didn't come as a surprise when I was claimed by a dreamless sleep, unable to greet the exhausted medic. Faint, drowsy voice fading along with my vision. My consciousness slipped away.
I considered it the best birthday present ever.
As one who drifted between worlds slept, soft snores filling the infirmary he was housed in, the Blade-Breaker sat cowed, unable to meet the scathing look his well-paid healer assaulted him with. Instinct backed by years of being in a loving and committed relationship, may the Goddess bless his late wife, quickly forced Jeralt to sit that much straighter at the familiar voice that addressed him.
"Jeralt, care to explain the young man currently sleeping in my infirmary."
A tired woman in her late 20's was the source of the bespectacled glare that was being sent his way
The Blade of Rhea rubbed a hand to the back of his neck, "If I'm being honest, I don't know much." He replied, face set into a stony expression, "I was making my way back over here to our forward camp and found our friend nearly starved." He pointed to the bandages around his arm, the deep arrow wound still left in its long used bandage. "Need a pick me up as well. We took a beating getting here."
He resisted the urge to look away, Klara's spectacled eyes narrowing.
She was pissed.
Klara Salrette was a lithe woman, baggy robes bunching up around her shoulders, lined with patchwork self-made pockets. Various corked tubes and books could be counted among the majority of her visible inventory. She stood at 5'8, a rather decent height for a White-Magic Specialist who spent more time reading indoors than anyone Jeralt had ever seen. Her dark raven hair went down to her mid-back, left to flow freely around her features without restriction. Strands of hair in the front hung frazzled over emerald orbs.
She was also one of the best healers found outside of Garreg Mach.
"An understatement, considering the bruises and light lacerations denoting the use of curatives on a much larger wound?" Came the swift and demanding response. "He'll be fine, but he lost a lot of blood. Did he wander too far from your side?" Fingers tapped impatiently on the leather cover of the book on her lap, "The wound on his shoulder was also treated far faster than the sword wound in his side, despite the injury being much more serious."
Another sigh from the Jeralt Mercenary Corps. resident medic, "Usually you keep the casualties of your hasty thinking to yourself, yet here lies the young man instead."
"Battlefields a chaotic place Klara." He didn't know what the healer expected, "Can't watch a rookie every moment of the fight, unless I want a blade in my back."
The tired white mage huffed, tired arms stretching above her head, "Will you say the same when your progeny heads to the field?" The former knight captain winced, that woman was more perceptive than he gave her credit for. If only she wasn't so willing to use that wit to destroy his confidence. "You can't keep them from trying to fight alongside you forever. And if this is all your wisdom can offer it will be a very short career indeed."
"Hey, a little far there."
He received a tired sigh from the knowledgeable cleric. "Sorry, its been… a busy day." She frowned, "Too much to get done with little time to do it."
Upon arrival, Jeralt had been briefed that most of the advance force had escaped unscathed, but a few dangerous injuries had left the man worried before being informed that they were all in good health. A day where he didn't lose one of his men was a good day in his book, no matter the circumstances.
The medic had been busy healing until about an hour before Jeralt had ridden into camp with stranger in tow, glad that the majority of the lads wounds had been fixed up beforehand. A few minutes at most, and the bruised flesh resembled the pale tone of the rest of his body, wrapping his now naked torso with bandages just to be sure.
"Jeralt, his midsection also showed severe signs of muscle tear and irritation." She stared downwards at the boy's prone form, "The amount of blood that caked the inside of that weak padding was alarming…" The brunette looked to Jeralt questioningly. "What happened out there Captain?"
As much as Jeralt wished, there wasn't an easy explanation.
A sad fact of the mercenary lifestyle was that it wasn't always glory and gold. Sometimes people got hurt, were killed. Sometimes without warning. It was an unpredictable way of life where coin meant loyalty, and even then you could end up a target of your former employer.
The legendary Blade-Breaker fell into a chair behind him, ignoring the loud creaks his seat gave. The sudden change in demeanor shocked his companion, seeing the man that he was rather than the figure he had become. A tired father returning from battle.
Jeralt himself was still replaying the events that led Gregor to their fateful meeting. The kid was green, fought sloppy. Swung a stick rather than a sword and the way the kid acted afterwards…
He had the instincts, that much was certain. Not many would consider taking a blow to avoid a worse one, but it was a tried and true tactic in the most desperate of fights.
The mysterious teen also managed to do something he had seen many veterans fail to do.
"He survived Klara...He survived."
Jeralt sat there for a moment longer, before leaving his companies medical professional to further tend to their guest.
"Goddess knows how hard that can be."
AN: ITS DONE. ITS FINally done and I found the courage to post this instead of looking and editing it endlessly. After already doing so for hours on end. But hey, here we are with another entry into the FE universe with Golden Coins and the Lives Behind Them. A SI into the 3 Houses world detailing the hopefully thrilling ventures of a random teenager joining the Jeralt Mercenarys and trying to survive the war in his future. Maybe find the time to unfuck some situations while worsening others.
Gregor is currently 17 years old, just to clear that up.
All criticisms are welcome. Whatever helps me improve as a writer and reconsider anything that needs said improvement. I need that review rush, damnit, give thewackness his fix.
This was thought to be finished at 7k words but here we are pals. If things seemed to go a little fast this chapter, I apologize, but a lot of things were suddenly being thrown on the SI without the proper time to digest any of it.
And yes, the poor bastard was, for all that he knows, isekai'd by locking his keys in his car. Truly a fate worse than death.
Shoutout to wind_ and the others from the fanfiction treehouse discord for helping bounce ideas off of. Real help in getting over a hurdle preventing me from posting this thing. Couldn't have done it without yall. Go read Aberration by RedXEagl3 for a really well-written and nearly completed FE Awakening SI, as well as Rigged from the Start by bobcat18. If another 3 Houses SI is what you're looking for, I'd recommend Those Who Can't Teach by Mixed Valence or Shattered by Chifle.
I've run out of brain for the night.
See ya next time.
-Thewackness135.