Chapter 1
Awaken, O' Hero!
"C'mon! Move it you lazy low-lifes! Move it!"
How did it turn out like this?
"More Imperial reinforcements incoming! Don't let them flank us!"
It wasn't supposed to be like this…
He felt something warm trickling down his brow, dripping down his chin. Blood. His blood. The rusted metal bucket of a helmet they gave him had no padding, forcing him to abandon it the moment he felt it bent and warped from the lightest of impact.
Amidst all the dust – regular dust; not the Dust they had back home, it didn't exist in this world – and smoke all around them, he could make out the tumultuous horde of men and steeds in the distance.
"Retreat to the trees, we'll have a better chance of fighting them there!"
He remembered being on an airship to Beacon, to become a Huntsman.
"Rokka! Where are you Rokka!? Where is he?!"
Then, suddenly, here he was in a whole new world.
They had been waiting for a little over a month inside the trenches, enduring through both night and day. There was not enough supplies for everyone, they had to start rationing food far earlier than expected. They had to sleep in the cold in hastily dug holes, sharing their quarters with rats and other all sorts of rodents. Rearguards, they were called, they were meant to protect the main advancing force's flank, but here they were about to be done in by the enemy.
"How did the Imperials get 'ere?!" Someone shouted, his voice more desperate than commanding. "Aren't we the ones who're supposed to do the surprisin'?! What the fuck was the main force doin'?!"
"Just focus and fight!" A louder, much senior voice boomed from somewhere. "Do not let them through!"
He wondered when and where it all went wrong.
What did he do to deserve to be thrown into this Oum-forsaken situation?
Was it because he wanted to be something he was clearly not?
Was this Oum's or some god's sick and twisted way of granting his wish?
If so, then he felt nothing but regret.
The screams of men – both theirs and the enemies' – grew louder, as the first line of Imperial soldiery crashed through the tree lines. They were met with steel, iron, and other forms of bloody resistance.
So plenty were the Imperial's numbers that they had chased them out of their trenches and into the trees, their point of retreat. Everyone was fighting with all they got, all trace of humanity gone from their face as they fight more like animals than men.
Gripping the hilt of his weapon – the family heirloom he brought with him – he used it to aid in propping himself up from the ground. He then wiped the wetness on his face with the sleeve of his worn coat, the one they were all issued with, the very same one that did a piss poor job of shielding them against the biting cold.
He watched the first line of defense breaking right before his very eyes, the rushing of Imperial troops becoming even more frenzied.
He got to a stance, the one that they quite literally beat them into memorizing, to brace for what's to come. The trees gave them cover from cavalry units, at least they had that. So when men began charging towards them, they only had to retaliate.
"Raaaaaaaaaaah!"
"Aaaaaaaaaaaah!"
He charged at the very same time the Imperial soldier's spear hit his shield. The weapon, of course, broke upon impact – they always do – much to its owner's surprise and confusion. He didn't give the Imperial soldier the time to process what had just happened.
He delivered a slash aimed for the Imperial's neck, slicing it open, causing blood to spurt out of it like a leaking pipe. He then kicked the bleeding Imperial in the chest, letting him fall to bleed and get trampled by those who were still standing.
"Move! Move! Move! Move while you fight!"
The order shouted was probably the only thing that kept them alive at this point. Too often he found himself standing still after fighting, possibly due to the body's reaction after seeing it ending another man's life.
He snapped himself from becoming absent and blank, his brain remembering that it would die if it didn't do what it was ordered to do.
It was hard enough to navigate amidst all the slaughter and violence, as the terrain was already unforgiving even for a defensive force like theirs were. Thankfully, they had time to familiarize themselves with the surroundings, allowing them to navigate through the trees and dirt better than the Imperials could.
Much like the metal that his weapons were made out of, he forced his mind to be of the same make. He needed to find a suitable pace to move, to fight.
Rather than charging at a lone Imperial, hoping to best him in a one on one combat, he had taken to sneak behind a distracted Imperial's back and deliver a surprise attack.
"Don't fight on your own!" The same voice as earlier reminded. "Corner them! Outnumber them three to one!"
A two pronged spear was better than one, but a three pronged spear was better than two.
He swung Crocea Mors – the sword – at an unsuspecting Imperial's back, tearing through the armored leather he was wearing. While the Imperial screamed as the pain rocked his body, the opportunistic decision allowed for his fellow soldiers to follow up with attacks of their own. It did not take long until the Imperial found himself embedded with two spears in his body, piercing through his vital organs.
"Hey Arc," one of the soldiers who had just extinguished the life of the Imperial called out to him, "they're breaking through our left flank, let's go!"
He nodded, before heading off towards where they were needed at that very moment. He was joined by several others, all of them in varying state of wounded or even crippled. He swore he saw someone with only one arm joining to reinforce the weakened side of battle. To him, it just made it all the more real as people were willing to ignore pain, ignore the fact that they were maimed and wounded, just so they would not die at the hands of the enemy.
He couldn't blame them; he had seen what the Imperials do to the soldiers they captured.
The things he'd seen alone still haunted him 'till this day.
"Rokka! Rokka! Where is that bastard!"
The name, Rokka, he knew that name. That's the name of one of their Lieutenants. He remembered the man, if he's not here…
"The Lieutenant's dead, Captain!" A soldier yelled out from somewhere, not even the gravity of their message was enough to lessen the fighting.
"...what?!" A better armored, but nonetheless worn and beat up, man cursed. He had with him a simple arming sword, much like the one his troops were issued, rather than a spear. The Captain, who was a bear of a man, had a grim look on his face. It remained for a while, but then it was replaced by something more akin to indignation. "No wonder the left's fucked up!"
The Lieutenant's job was to organize the troops on the left side of the battlefield and make sure that no Imperial soldiers break through it, but he's dead so that would explain why the Imperials were getting through.
Maintaining their ground in the forest was a top priority, because not only was it their final fall back point, it was also the only place where they could stand a chance to fight and hold back a sizable Imperial force like this one.
They – the Rearguard – consisted of only half the amount of soldiers as compared to the main advancing force. They're tired, starved, poorly armed, and not as well trained as the main force.
Yet, here they were, somehow still kicking.
The trees provided them with the ideal space for a close quarter battle, the uneven forested terrain made it hard for heavily armored Imperials to stand their ground. They, on the other hand, with little to no armor, and not enough spears to defend themselves with, had learned to use the terrain to their advantage. Combined with the earlier tactics of ganging up on the enemy,
He knocked the teeth out of an Imperial soldier by bashing his shield against his face, their open-faced helmet did nothing to stop it. He then followed up the shield bash with a stab to the Imperial soldier's gut; it didn't guarantee his death, but that was easily corrected by one of his allies stepping in to deliver the killing blow, in this case, a sword to the throat.
It wasn't even a second later before he had to defend against another attack.
"Raaaaah! You killed him! Brotheeeeeeer!"
He froze.
If hate was a person, then it was surely the person before him.
"DIE YOU REBEL SCUUUUUUUUUM!"
No matter how hard the Imperial soldier screamed, cried, his weapon was not strong enough to do anything to Crocea Mors' shield. He, meanwhile, stood tall, despite the maddened Imperial's attempt at ending his life. Not that there's much defending to do, as the man had all but lost any sense of rationale, preferring to bash his weapons against the enemy's defenses.
Forgotten was the objective of winning this senseless skirmish.
The only thing in the Imperial soldier's mind was raw, unfiltered hate and the desire to avenge his fallen brother.
"Logos!" The Imperial shouted, evoking the name of his living-god; the Emperor. "SMITE MY ENEMIIIIIIIIIES! WITNESS MEEEEEE!"
'Was he so desperate?' He thought bitterly, the mere mention of the name managing to bring him into a foul mood. 'Was he so desperate to kill me that he's willing to use his Emperor's name like that?'
Regardless, it mattered little to him whether the Imperial's god answered their believer's prayer or not.
He let his footing go slack but only to be red of the tiresome clash he was in, causing the Imperial soldier to stumble forward while he pivoted his body to avoid crashing into them. After that, he didn't let the opportunity miss.
"Raaaahg!" He roared, thrusting the offensive half of his weapon into the other person's undefended side, piercing through the leather armor. He cringed as he felt the blade breaking through the other person's ribs, before quickly pulling it out of its target with one swift pull.
The Imperial soldier groaned and started coughing, blood flowing out of the fatal wound he created. He watched as the Imperial soldier fell to the ground, body twitching as if they were trying to resist death until the very last moment. Bile began to build up and rise up his throat, but he forced it down. He could not afford to waver, not now. Turning away, he continued to run towards his objective, towards the fighting.
'This world… was my world like this at one point?'
Imperial soldiers rushed with what could only described as a suicidal charge, but they were there to retaliate in kind.
'All this fighting… violence… murder… so pointless, so… senseless.'
Steel clashed against steel, and when it failed, only then will the flesh be broken.
'Mom… dad… I'm scared.'
A rebel soldier let out an inhuman scream as he charged at a squad of Imperial soldiers. They fired off arrows at him – and they managed to hit him – but it did nothing to stop the maddened soul.
'I want to go back home. I want to go back to Ansel, to my room, to my family...'
They watched as the rebel soldier dived straight into the Imperial squad's position, only managing to break through their defenses due to how unexpected and fanatical the action was.
Impaled with arrows and spearheads, the rebel soldier was not even dead yet as they revealed an item they were carrying this whole time.
"BLACK POWDER! GET AWAY FROM HI-"
A loud explosion rocked the localized battlefield, sending chunks of wood, dirt, steel, and flesh everywhere. Yet, even so, it did little to quell the reigning chaos that had been playing in the background for the past twenty minutes. Both rebel and Imperial forces were caught in the explosion, the fanatical attack had taken the lives of both friend and foe.
Still, after witnessing such a terrifying display of power, both sides remained killing each other. They were so lost in fighting each other, they failed to realize the wounded who were still alive despite now suffering from grievous injuries.
Men and women of different cultures, different backgrounds, shared one common goal at that very moment: Kill. Kill the enemy. Kill until they run or you run. After that, kill again. Rinse and repeat.
"They're retreating! Push! Push them back! They're retreating! PUUUUUUUUSH!" A rebel soldier yelled at the top of their lungs, rousing his comrades to fight even harder.
Harder did not necessarily mean better, however.
Left to right, people were still dying. They're wounded, but they were forced to fight until the very last hint of light left their soul. He, too, felt that a huge chunk of his soul had been stripped away for good; never to be returned.
At least that's what he thought.
Between having the painful feeling of being blown away to the air and back to the dirt and the high pitched ringing in his ears, he felt something pulsating deep within his chest.
For it is through suffering we achieve strength.
It prodded from within him, wanting to be released. He was lost to what it was, not knowing why the feeling suddenly appeared. Not wanting to end up as the many who bled out and dead, he picked his body up from the ground; painfully.
Through this, we overcome fear and despair to preserve the hope within.
Unknown to him, his body began to glow; mots of light began to form around him as his body cracked with white lightning. A sense of numbness settled into him, he figured it was adrenaline kicking in; it was not.
Unlimited in numbers and endless in potential,
He grabbed his fallen sword, holding it tight in his grip. While charging, he failed to notice the shimmering streak of light he left behind in his wake. It grew brighter with each step he took; blinding. Along the way, he'd picked up a pole of some kind; a battle standard – a banner of the rebellion.
I awaken your soul,
He could not register what was happening around him. His only focus was to charge, run, to the very front of the line and fight the enemy there. He failed to notice the army following his lead behind him.
And by my will,
He saw the Imperials doing the same thing he was doing and, by all means, he should be scared. Strangely, he was not scared. He felt… lighter. For once, the sword and shield in his arms were not weighing him down, allowing him to move better.
He raised the battle standard above his head, holding it tall for all to see. He was hoping that his fellow soldiers would see that someone managed to get past the resistance all the way here, thinking that the archers could coordinate an accurate strike now that he was there to act as a mark for them to aim their bows at.
But that was far from what happened.
-protect thee.
"Follow him! Follow Arc! Follow our Hero!"
Yelling and screams of determination shook the land as a concentrated mess of rebel soldiers broke through a tidal wave of Imperial soldiery. Whereas they were starved and weak, they now rolled over entire squads and units with fervor never before seen. It was breathtaking in a way, in a very morbid and gruesome way.
He then stopped, watching as the line of Imperial troops was being actively pushed back by a bunch of poorly armed and starving conscripts. He just had to take in the moment and let it sink into his mind.
"Arc," someone shouted beside him, making him turn, "you've awakened! By Andrea's grace you've awakened!" The man was crying, he realized. Tears were freely rushing out his eyes, but he was not despairing.
At the same time, the unmistakable sound of a long overdue artillery bombardment spell could be heard whistling through the air, crashing somewhere into the enemy's line. There was still much fighting going on, but it appeared that there was less struggling involved this time.
"Wha… what?" was the only thing he could say.
"You've awakened, my boy!" The man told him with the jubilation of a father who had just learned that his wife was about to birth him a son. "I didn't know you were a candidate!"
"What?"
"Look at you," so he did, "you're shining!"
'Huh,' he thought to himself, 'I am shining…'
With the battle standard in one hand and a sword in another, he took a good look of himself. He felt warmth spreading across his body, followed by a deep feeling of relief. He realized that he was no longer hurting, whatever painful sensation he was feeling before was now absent.
"We might just be able to do it," the man began, laughing to himself still with tears in his eyes, "with a Hero of our own, we might just be able to do it!"
"Do what?" He asked, finally able to form sentences with his mouth.
The older man's expression shifted from grateful alleviation into something borderline ecstatic.
"We can finally take the fight to those Imperial dogs." Although he was smiling, his voice promised of nothing but vengeful intent.
He realized that the man had probably been through some of the worse experience any man could encounter. He'd probably lost a friend, a comrade, was himself in pain or wounded, so it made sense for him to look forward to ending some more Imperial soldiers' lives.
It didn't sit right with him; at all. Even after all he'd been through himself, the older man's willingness to kill even more Imperial soldiers unnerved him.
He gulped, swallowing a lump of air that had been building in his throat. "Not yet," he said, surprising himself with how firm he sounded. "We can't leave this place undefended. We'll give chase, for now, but we have to regroup and maintain this position."
The man's smile quickly disappeared, almost as if the man had taken offense to what he just said. The sound approaching sound of hooves clip-clopping the ground garnered both of their attention as they saw their Company Captain riding towards them on his mount escorted by two riders from the cavalry.
"You there, you're the one who just awakened?" The Captain's voice held no room for questioning. He was demanding an answer, not questioning it.
"Yes." He answered.
The Captain leveled him a look he couldn't quite translate, but it sent shivers down his spine nevertheless. "Come with me, we have a lot to discuss."
And just like that, he was taken away from the battlefield.
"Oh, and check your status. You might want to see what you're working with." The Captain told him, much to his confusion.
'Status?' he thought in confusion.
Congratulations on your awakening!
You have achieved the System requirement and unlocked the Status Screen!
...what the fuck?
[SYSTEM]
Info
Name: Jaune Decimus Arc
Species: Human
Age: 17
Level: 2
XP: 500/2000
HP: 200/200
AP: 1000/1000
SP: 200/200
Title: Rookie Hero
Class: None
Status
STR: 10
END: 10
DEX: 11
INT: 10
WIS: 10
CHA: 11
LUC: 15
Skills
Aura (Passive)
Item
Money: 100
Crocea Mors (Sword)
Crocea Mors (Shield)
United Republic Battle Standard
This was the story of how he, Jaune Decimus Arc, a farm boy from a rural Frontier town somewhere in the ass end of nowhere, got transported into another world of magic and war and had been conscripted into a rebel military for over six months.
At that very moment, he had never regretted being the comic book type of nerd than ever before.
So, yes, a Gamer!fic. That is what I've been wanting to post all this time. Now you can see why I've been holding back until now.
Gamer/LitRPG stories take a lot more attention and dedication as opposed to a normal narrative driven story. You have to actually use math and calculations and whatnot to make the story interesting, and just a word of warning to all of you, I failed my math class in High School.
But this is where this story differs: think of the Gamer aspect as a… stylistic choice rather than a proper genre. Meaning that you don't have to be familiar with RPG elements in order enjoy the story, they're just there for cosmetics.
So, then, what's the point of using Gamer elements when they're just cosmetics, you might ask?
Well, first reason: I like it, I've been reading some LitRPG and Gamer stories in other sites, so yeah.
Second reason: it's probably one of the few story-telling tool that fits the setting of this fic. I mean, c'mon, you just can't have an Isekai story without the main character having Gamer powers, can you? Have you seen the countless RPG Isekai story out there?
What was that? The market is over-saturated with mediocre products and the genre as a whole has been declining in both creativity and originality?
What? I can't hear you over the sound of me already working on another chapter for this series.
In all seriousness, let's just see the reception for this one. Here's where my second worry comes to play: formatting. This site, Fanfiction, has terrible formatting options. Not all of us enjoy reading through poorly formatted stories, god forbid one that has a Gamer element in it. Which is why I'm considering on double uploading this on another site like, let's say, AO3.
Until then, bye.
