Chapter Twenty-Five: Letters Back and Forth

Two months had passed, and the recruits finally felt they had weathered the worst; hope seemed almost within reach. Yet their officers were quick to quash any sense of relief—a completed recruit training did not mean the end of military life. From now on, they would serve as officers and would have to stay for at least three years before being eligible for discharge.

According to the officers, some positions within the barracks were extraordinarily idle—like overseeing the warehouse—where one could spend the entire day eating and sleeping, with little else to do. But there were also assignments that were as good as death sentences. Once recruit training was over, final assignments would be determined by the results of the recruit exercises and the evaluations from the drill instructors, with higher-ranking officers making the final allocations.

Undoubtedly, there was plenty of manipulation involved in these decisions. Take Sain, for example—his father was one of the three grand commanders of the kingdom’s knightly orders. While in the recruit unit, he was ostensibly no different from the rest, but that was only because the recruits were under the jurisdiction of other corps. As soon as he left the recruit unit, there was no question he would be sent to his father’s Thunder Knight Order, and once there, he would be treated almost like royalty.

Such personal connections were common everywhere, and hard to avoid. The same was true for Orca, the city lord’s son, who was guaranteed a good post. Marinas, in comparison, had a weaker background, but the three had become close friends, forging a rare bond in the recruit unit. Even if trouble arose in the future, they could help each other out. A powerful background could often solve many problems with just a word.

Kevin sometimes suspected the three had banded together deliberately to target him. After all, the camaraderie between just three people might not be deep enough; perhaps they needed a common adversary to face and overcome together, thus binding them even more tightly. Kevin didn’t believe these boys had the foresight for such scheming, but their fathers or some other advisors could certainly have planned it out for them. Even if these young men were clueless, their elders had sent them into the army with serious consideration.

Kevin had thought a lot about the wager he had made. Though he was the one who proposed it, if it came down to a real contest, it would likely become more than just a youthful rivalry. The other side might use the opportunity to showcase their strength and gain greater prestige; after all, an officer’s authority was vital, and Sain could use such a victory to secure a higher rank.

If that were truly the case, Kevin was certain Sain would not call off the match. Even if Kevin’s strength surpassed Sain’s by then, Sain would surely find new tricks to play. With a father who was a knight commander, Sain’s combat experience likely dwarfed that of the lieutenants here.

Conversely, if Kevin won, it would be a glowing recommendation for himself. And if, at the moment of victory, he revealed that he was the author of “Chronicles of the Assassins,” would that not cause a sensation? Would it not further advance his path as one of the continent’s great bards?

Of course, victory might also invite the animosity of the Thunder Knight Commander, Sain’s father. Kevin didn’t say so out loud, but he had always wrestled with this calculation in his heart.

At the end of the second month, Marcus arrived with a pile of letters. These were messages from home, sent by the recruits’ families. Some had been sent as early as the second day after enlistment, but for the sake of discipline, the barracks had held onto all mail until now, only distributing them once everyone had adapted. Most of the soldiers here were nobles; in the first and second days, the adjustment had been tough, and receiving letters from home at that time would have only made them more homesick and emotional.

Kevin received a letter from his mother, written in Elvish, expressing nothing but concern. No one present could understand it. She was baffled by her son’s sudden decision to enlist, but now that he was in the military, there was no turning back. She worried that he might be bullied, urged him to be a good person, and advised him not to seek glory—if possible, he should avoid danger, and on the battlefield, he should play dead if necessary.

The more Kevin read, the more embarrassed he became. Fortunately, no one could read Elvish here; otherwise, if the officers saw such words, there might be trouble. Privacy was scarce in a place where everyone slept together.

Besides his mother’s letter, Kevin also received a stack of anonymous letters. Opening them, he found only a single sentence: “You’re still alive?”

Kevin was stunned, a chill creeping over him. He opened another—identical words: “You’re still alive?”

He opened letter after letter; over twenty in all, with the same message—only the handwriting and paper differed. Some words were cut and pasted from other books, some scrawled awkwardly as if written with the left hand, some as neat as if drawn with a ruler, all designed to conceal the writer’s identity. As far as Kevin knew, only one kind of person acted with such caution.

Nearby, Stardart was opening his own letters. His many contract bards had sent a flood of notes upon hearing of his enlistment—some even mailed drafts, hoping he’d review them, others sent coins, attempting to bribe him. He was thoroughly occupied.

In this regard, the other noble recruits couldn’t compare. They had only a couple of letters, mostly family greetings. Though of noble birth, they hadn’t yet done much in life, while Kevin and Stardart had been working for some time and moved in different circles.

Then, as Stardart opened a letter in the stack, he read: “You’re still alive too?”

He and Kevin exchanged glances, a chill running down their spines. Did someone really wish them dead—that it would be more normal?

“What do these mean?” Gray asked with curiosity.

“Harassment mail,” Kevin replied offhandedly. “Once you start working, you’ll understand.”

“Oh,” Gray answered, untroubled. The three—Sain and his companions—were at odds with Kevin’s group, so even if they were curious, they wouldn’t ask.

Marcus spoke up, “You may write replies today; they’ll all be mailed out together tomorrow. If you miss this chance, you’ll have to wait another three weeks, until field training.”

“Yes, sir,” everyone replied.

“Make sure you write everything clearly,” Marcus continued. “Write little about barracks training; let me see your letters when you’re done, so you don’t leak military secrets.”

“Yes, sir,” came the reply. After two months of training, everyone was used to unreasonable demands—though they might curse internally, they would never speak out.

The officer waved them off to write their replies and went to find his colleagues. The six of them sat on the ground, letters on small stools, obviously divided into two groups—three on each side, sitting far apart.

Writing letters was effortless for Kevin and Stardart—they finished in moments. Kevin wrote in Elvish. If the officer wanted to read it, he was welcome to try; there was nothing important in the letter anyway. When far from home, one reported only good news—he wrote about amusing incidents and being praised for his intelligence.

Beside him, Gray gripped his pen in a daze, unable to write a word. Stardart, having quickly finished his family letter, began reviewing drafts sent by bards. Kevin, meanwhile, turned his attention to the stack of “You’re still alive?” notes.

He examined them repeatedly, even sniffed them, using the curved surface of his magic shield as a magnifying glass.

“Kevin, what are you doing?” Gray, unable to write, was drawn to his actions.

Kevin paused, unwilling to explain, and deftly changed the subject, “Why aren’t you writing?”

“I… I don’t know what to say,” Gray replied, shaking his pen helplessly.

“Haha!” Sain called from across the room. “Just tell your mother you’re top in every category, so she won’t worry! Hahaha!” The three laughed—group divisions were stark, and Gray had always been their punchline. Yet what they said was true, and he could not refute it.

Gray hung his head, staring at the blank paper. Stardart smiled, “Here, help me review these drafts.” He handed over a few manuscripts, and Gray’s attention was immediately captured; soon he was engrossed in discussing storylines with Stardart. The two had grown close lately, their conversations revolving around all manner of popular novels.

Kevin only sighed softly and resumed studying the “You’re still alive?” letters.

Clearly, these were from his assassin readers. He couldn’t tell if they wanted him dead or alive. Outwardly, they seemed concerned, but given his past experience of nearly being killed by a female assassin, he dared not trust too easily.

After a moment, Kevin put away his magic shield. Stardart asked, “Well?”

“They seem normal,” Kevin shook his head, but then took one of Stardart’s letters and one of his own for comparison. “Look, these two sheets have the same handwriting style. They might be from the same person.”

“What does that mean?” Stardart whispered.

“Why did you get only one, while I got so many?” Kevin asked. “Think about the one person we both know.”

“It’s her!” Stardart remembered the female assassin Kevin had driven away. He examined the letter closely, but saw nothing unusual.

“Could the pages be pieced together to form a coded message?” Stardart whispered. “Maybe it’s a warning that we’re not safe here and need to move?”

“That’s impossible,” Kevin replied. Whatever happened here was out of their control. “But I just had a bold idea—what if I replied to them?”

Stardart was surprised, but on second thought, it seemed reasonable.

“They may be anonymous, but I believe they’ll receive my reply,” Kevin nodded.

Stardart, astonished, whispered, “You’re not going to send it to the Assassin Guildmaster, are you? And write something like, ‘Surprised, aren’t you? I’m still alive?’”

“That’s a bit much,” Kevin replied. “I’m not a fool. That young woman who let us go before was decent—if she receives it, she might help us.”

Stardart hesitated, “It’s worth a try. At least they’re reasonable. So, what will you write?”

Kevin paused, knowing he couldn’t mention assassins directly as the officer would read the letter, so he kept it vague: “Dear friends, thank you for your concern. I am still alive. Lately, I’ve encountered some small problems. I want to ask… I still want to ask… I keep asking… I never stop asking…”

He continued, writing four full sheets, filling them with all the questions the officers hadn’t answered recently. Stardart was dumbfounded. “You’re insane. If they’re sane, they’ll ignore you.”

“Where’s your octopus?” Kevin asked, ignoring him once he finished. “Summon it to make twenty-odd copies.”

Stardart scowled, “The octopus won’t work unless you feed it fish.”

“Forget it,” Kevin sighed, glancing at Gray, who was still chewing his pen. “I’ll copy them myself.”

By evening, Kevin had managed to copy four sets. Everyone submitted their replies for officer review. Upon reading Stardart’s letter, the officer was already exasperated—literacy seemed not to be his strong suit. When he got to Kevin’s, he nearly went mad.

“What is all this? Why so much?”

“Elvish,” Kevin replied. “My mother doesn’t read Human tongue. Shall I translate?” In truth, Kevin was just needling the officer—no one liked their letters being read.

“Forget it,” Marcus waved it off. “Just tell me, did you leak any military secrets?”

“Sir,” Kevin replied, “it’s just a letter home.”

“And what about this pile—who are these for?” Marcus picked up the stack of questions.

“There’s a custom on the continent’s coasts called the ‘drift bottle.’ People write their questions, seal them in bottles, and set them adrift in the sea, hoping someone finds them and replies,” Kevin intoned, gazing into the distance. “No one here can answer my questions, so I entrust them to the ‘drift bottle.’”

Marcus examined them repeatedly, his head aching, but finally gave up. He turned to Gray’s letter and found a single line: “I’m still alive?”

“What kind of nonsense is this? Rewrite it!” Marcus demanded.

Gray looked aggrieved—why should even a letter home be scrutinized? But this was the army, where reason didn’t apply. If told to rewrite, he had to. He also had to endure a scolding: “Did you ever attend a noble academy? You’re a noble—how will you command as an officer if you can’t write? Can you even read?”

Kevin and the others could only look askance; truth be told, Gray’s abilities were the lowest, and after two months, there was little hope of catching up. Even the officers sometimes looked down on him.

That night, after everyone else had gone to bed, Gray sat alone by lamplight, hunched over his stool, laboring over his letter. He took ages to write a single word, often drifting into a daze. At last, Sain couldn’t help but mock him, “Gray! Hurry up—I can’t sleep with the light on!”

Gray said nothing, lost in thought.

Stardart finally got up, went over to Gray, and said, “Alright, let me help you.” He snatched the pen—being an editor, his writing was excellent, and he knew Gray’s circumstances well. He dashed off a perfect, generic family letter in no time, leaving Gray so grateful he was moved to tears. Stardart patted the boy’s head with avuncular kindness.

The lamp was blown out, and everyone could finally sleep. Kevin sighed, “You’re not really helping him; now he’ll just grow dependent and never be self-reliant.”

“Heh, if he depends on me, he’ll pay me handsomely for it,” Stardart laughed. “That’s business.”

Kevin said no more and went to sleep.

A few days later, the officer arrived with another stack of letters—Kevin’s reply was the thickest. Just seeing its heft made Kevin’s heart race. He tore it open and found seven or eight dense pages:

“As long as you’re alive, that’s good! I’ll answer you… I keep answering you… I have more to answer… I never stop answering…”

Kevin was overjoyed; it was said that night, he laughed aloud in his sleep, waking everyone nearby.