“Hm? You want to know how to be more sociable?” Charles brought the warm green tea to his lips and took a small sip from his cup. “Well, that’s fairly easy, my dear lad.”

  “Is it?” Tucker asked, gently running the comb through Adira’s curly amber hair.

  “Of course, you can do what I always do!” Charles grinned while pushing his glasses up. “You just need to break bread with them.”

  “Like... with a loaf?”

  “No… like eat together… at a table…”

  “Ah… right…” Tucker gave the comb back to Adira and sighed. “But what if the conversation gets awkward?”

  “Then just change it. It’s not too hard to keep a conversation going—or steer it in another direction.” Charles placed the cup on the table. “You just need to find something that interests everyone.”

  “Really? Is it that simple?”

  “Of course! Trust me, I’ve done it plenty of times before.” Charles patted his chest with a grin. “You just need to have confidence and everything will work out fine!”

  .

  .

  .

  Tucker stood in front of the tall oak double doors leading to the cafeteria. The sun shined through all the windows in the barracks, and if he told the other watchmen that he was going to eat with the militia, their jaws would drop. Even Luka would give him shit for it because normally they kept to themselves. But if it helped him get closer and understand what was going on with his men, then that was all that mattered.

  He grabbed onto the metal door handle and pushed it forward. The creaking of the hinges filled the halls, allowing the sounds from within the room to escape. The cafeteria’s ruckus spilled into the hallway the moment he stepped through. The men grew quiet, their voices became nothing more than a whisper as their eyes locked onto him.

  A sense of unease crept down Tucker’s spine as he walked towards the men, handing out the meals. One by one, the militiamen around him stopped what they were doing and stood at attention.

  Tucker cracked a smile and waved his hand dismissively. “There’s no need for that. Just enjoy your meals.”

  He then looked at the set of pots before him and then at the young man with tanned skin and curly dark hair. The sound of the benches groaning and spoons falling back into their bowls was crystal clear, yet not a word came out of the militiamen’s mouths.

  “So, what do you guys have on the menu today?” Tucker asked.

  “Um… beef stew and some mashed potatoes, sir,” the young boy replied.

  “I see, then I’ll have some of that.” Tucker picked up a bowl from the side and held it out for the server to pour his portion. Once it was done, he stared at the boy and nodded. “Thanks for the meal—” He stopped himself and frowned. “Sorry, I don’t know your name.”

  “It’s Alfred, sir.”

  “Thanks, Alfred, I’ll keep that in mind for when I come back next time.” Tucker’s lips curled upward as he examined the server’s expression. A plastered look of confusion had taken over the boy’s mind.

  “No problem?”

  With light steps, Tucker left the serving area and looked around the room. For some odd reason, all the militiamen were staring intensely at their bowls. Not moving a single muscle as Tucker walked by. The atmosphere felt suffocating, and for some reason, he could feel their gazes piercing his back.

  Damn this is awkward.

  He stared at the other militiamen and buried the thought in the back of his mind. Like Charles said, he just needed confidence and everything would work out, but why the hell did it feel like everyone was avoiding him when he drew near? Tucker’s gaze trailed across the tables, and soon, a certain trio caught his attention. Their gazes met for a moment but before they could look away, Tucker was already beside them.

  Liam gulped at the insane speed that he had just witnessed. It seemed as if his Captain had just taken a single step and crossed several meters in an instant without making a sound. The only thing he noticed was a pale blue energy gathering at the sole of his captain’s boots.

  “Is this seat taken?” Tucker asked.

  Before Nemo could answer, Jones jabbed his kidneys, causing his friend to shut his mouth in pain.

  “Nope, please take a seat, sir.” Jones leaned over and polished the surface of the table with his sleeve until it shined. Once Tucker could see his reflection, Jones nodded in satisfaction and sat back down.

  “Uh… thanks, Jones, but next time don’t do that. It’s unnecessary.” Tucker placed the bowl on the table and took his seat on the bench. “It’s nice to see you three in good condition. I was worried that the training would have been too hard.”

  “It is, but it’s nothing we can’t handle—” As Jones was about to finish his sentence, Nemo struck back, causing him to squirm in pain.

  What the hell is going on?

  Tucker masked his thoughts behind a blank stare. As the two wrestled in front of him, he calmly dipped his spoon into the stew and brought it to his lips. With a small sip, he watched the two fight and lifted his bowl slightly above his table as they bumped into it. The scene felt familiar, like something he had forgotten long ago. Yet he couldn’t put it together until he saw Liam’s flustered appearance.

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  That’s when everything clicked. He closed his eyes and soon smiled. It was like his training days back in the Order with John fighting with Luka. A feeling of nostalgia filled his heart. He never thought that life would take them this far, and perhaps they should have tried harder during their training days. If they did, maybe John would still be with them.

  Tucker clenched the silver spoon and stared at his stew. It was pointless to regret what happened, but he couldn’t help it. There was so much he wished he could change. So much that he wanted to do, and it was ironic that he found himself in this situation. Yet all he could do was smile. Life was coming full circle, and there was no telling what his instructor felt when they were training him during his watchman days. Maybe it was something similar to what he was feeling now.

  A sense of responsibility.

  That was the best word to describe it, and after the two young men started fighting in front of him, the nearby soldiers returned to normal. Placing bets and laughing amongst each other while embracing each other’s company. They were close, like a family, and it was exactly what they needed. A strong bond to keep each other alive.

  He turned to Liam and asked, “Is there anything you guys find difficult with the training?”

  Liam blankly stared at him. “Umm, not that I can think of?”

  “Really?” Tucker raised a brow and took another mouthful of cooked beef. “I find it hard to believe that you don’t have any complaints. Normally, there would be one or two things that people don’t like—”

  “It’s too fucking cramped.” Nemo kept his hands on Jones as he grabbed his dirty blonde hair and shirt. “When we have to carry weights and run around the area, it’s hard to move 'cause there’s too many people on the streets.”

  “That I can agree with, sir.” Jones’s hands were wrapped around Nemo’s neck. “It’s also uncomfortable because we get a lot of gazes from the other guys in the city."

  Tucker placed the spoon down and pondered for a moment. He didn’t care about the gazes the militiamen experienced, but the area being too crowded was valid. However, it was also an essential part of their training because it added a layer of chaos that they would most likely experience. Plus, the route they were taking weaved in and out of alleyways connecting the major streets. Given time, they would eventually know the inner pathways of the city like the back of their hands.

  For now, they would have to continue using the alleyways until they were familiar with it, and once that was done, he would assign them a new route. The question is, what kind of route should he give them? They need an easy way to navigate the city, and if the main streets are barricaded or flooded with people, it would be impossible.

  What would Alex do?

  Tucker recalled his previous missions with his mentor and soon smiled. They could use the sewers. Besides it smelling like absolute shit, it was a pretty convenient way to travel when they were infiltrating the city. In that case, it could also be used defensively.

  “I’ll look into it, but for now, you guys would have to deal with it for a few weeks.” Tucker chewed on the beef chunks with his mouth closed. He set down the empty bowl and scanned the room. “Is everyone handling the training well?”

  “Yeah, I think so,” Jones said. “Besides, the guys that quit the rest haven’t complained at all.”

  “If you ask me, those guys were all lazy bastards. So good riddance to them.” Nemo spun his spoon in his hands. “I bet they would have quit halfway through anyway, so who cares?”

  Tucker frowned at Nemo’s words. “They’re still your brother-in-arms, so don’t talk shit about them.”

  “Are they though? They left.”

  “They are, just like the knights and the other military groups. We’re all in this together.”

  Nemo felt his body stiffen. “Well, those assholes don’t treat us brothers. They look down at us whenever they get the chance.” He scoffed, and the other militia that were nearby nodded in agreement.

  “That may be the case, but that’s all the more reason for you guys to prove that you’re better,” Tucker said, loud enough for the entire hall to hear. His calm voice echoed throughout the area. “You guys need to set the standard for why you’re one of the best group of soldiers here.”

  “The best?” Nemo shook his head, but soon clicked his tongue as a sharp pain traveled through his shin.

  Liam kept a smile on his face that held no warmth as he stared at Nemo. Once his friend shut their mouth, Liam asked. “Do you really think we’ll be the best?”

  “You have what it takes,” Tucker replied.

  “But we’re not talented in aura usage,” Jones said.

  “Talent isn’t everything.” Tucker pointed at himself. “I’m living proof of it.”

  “Yeah, but you’re a watchman. You’re still more talented than us,” Nemo argued.

  “That’s an excuse you’re telling yourself now.” Tucker stared at his empty bowl of stew and sighed. “I was one of the worst recruits the Order had ever seen. Always lagging behind my comrades and struggling to keep up while those who were far more talented than me kept moving.”

  He stared at the militiamen around him. “I told myself that they were just more talented. That they had access to better resources and whatever excuses I could make, but then I realized I wasn’t putting in the work to get myself to where I wanted to be.”

  His gaze fell onto Liam, then Jones, and finally to Nemo. “For what it’s worth, I believe you guys have the capabilities to be one of the best platoons within the fortress city. It doesn’t matter if you aren’t talented as long as you keep at it. After all, hard work beats talent when talent doesn’t work and everyone here is already working harder than most.”

  “Is that true?” A voice drew Tucker’s attention as he looked over his shoulder. From the corner of his eye, he could see another militiaman with dark wavy hair and sharp blue eyes staring right at him.

  Tucker nodded and said, “I would say so.”

  “Then is there anything else we should do on our off time?” He asked.

  Tucker thought about it for a moment. “There is, but you should tell me your name first. I prefer knowing who I’m talking to.”

  “Ah, sorry sir, it’s Bryan. Bryan Stafford.”

  “If I were in your position Bryan. I would look into other ways that might help me survive, like ways to seal a bleeding wound.” Tucker pulled out several bandages from his leather pouch. “When you’re fighting, you might not have access to potions or a priest, so it’ll be best to find another way to apply first aid.”

  Bryan nodded and quickly saluted the Captain. “Thank you for the advice, sir.”

  “No problem.” Tucker turned back to the trio, but soon saw a hand raised in front of him. “Yes?”

  “My name’s Luther, sir, and I was wondering if you had any advice on aura management.” The militiaman met Tucker’s gaze. The unsteady brown eyes seemed uncertain beneath the young man’s determined voice. He barely held his neatly kept grey hair in place as he gathered his courage.

  And seeing this, Tucker couldn’t help but smile. “Well, Luther, if you’re aiming to use aura for a prolonged amount of time, then it should come naturally, like you’re breathing. Most watchmen would surround their bodies with aura for hours or days, even to practice their control.”

  “But wouldn’t that deplete the aura from your stars?” Luther asked.

  “Not if you only use as much as you’re able to replenish.” Tucker grabbed the handle of the grey water jug and moved his glass cup so that Luther and the other militiamen could see. He then slowly filled the cup until it reached its brim. “It’s the same concept as filling this glass. If you use the bare minimum amount to coat your body, then you hardly use the aura you’re storing and instead take away from the amount of aura you’re generating.”

  Luther’s expression brightened. “I see! Thank you, sir!”

  Soon, another hand shot up into the air, catching Tucker’s attention. The militiamen were all taking their turn and asking questions, one after another. The enthusiasm caught him off guard, but it was a pleasant feeling. Never in his life would Tucker imagine that such a driven group of individuals would be on the outskirts of the fortress city. Yet a feeling of relief filled his heart. He was right about them. It didn’t matter what the commander said; he wasn’t here to see for himself how valuable these men were.

  They weren’t the most talented group of individuals in the bastion, but they were, without a doubt, a group with a heart of gold.