Chapter 30: Change How?
He began with the basics... He bought two Legionary Gladius Mk-IV for 1,600 gold. They were reliable, sharp, and easy to maintain. Then he added one Tactical Scutum Shield for 4,500 gold. The shield would matter more than the blades if the convoy guards opened fire early.
That left him with nine hundred gold. He hesitated over the Ember Grenades, two thousand eight hundred each. Too expensive for now. The Pilum Launcher was also out of reach, and the heavier armor sets were simply impossible.
"Hmmm, if I have to buy stuff with my stat points, then I should be more careful. Can’t stay weak just buying items..."
He closed the military weapons tab and opened Legion Equipment, checking it out just for observation. Most of the items there required higher rank or special clearance, meaning high level, in simple words.
"Let’s buy this one, though."
A few basic utility items were available. He bought a standard field medical kit for three hundred gold and a set of thermal camouflage netting for four hundred. That left him with two hundred gold.
He sat back and looked at the remaining balance. Not much he could buy with it now, and the upgrade from Hephaestus was still waiting. If the new system version unlocked better exchange rates or new categories, the remaining gold might go further later.
Ethan stood and walked to the small locker beside his bed. He had bought the things, and the things were now in his storage, but the question remained: how could he get them into his hand?
"Should I just say... gun."
The moment he said those words, it appeared in his hand, and as he pointed his finger at the ground, his current gear also lay there. The old gladius was nicked along the edge.
The shield had a crack near the rim from the last extraction. The armor plating on his chest piece was worn thin in two places. He would replace what he could with the new purchases in the morning, but he was getting tired, his eyes turning heavy.
He lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Karisa’s words stayed with him for a while. Results mattered. The first mission had proven that.
He had improvised under fire, broken the original plan, and still brought everyone out on top. Marcus had screamed at him then too, but the results had shut the argument down.
But now, Mission Prometheus was different. Larger force. Better-equipped enemy. No second chances if the timing failed. He could not rely on improvisation alone this time. He needed better tools, better information, and a clearer head.
He sat up again and opened the email once more. The upgrade link glowed faintly.
Yes, his brother had helped him, but the question was, should he trust him? Well, Hephaestus was known for his creativity and honesty. He hovered over it, then pulled back.
Gods had their own reasons. Still, the system had been limited from the start. Hermes had taken points without warning. An upgrade from the forge god might close some of those gaps, since he didn’t want his expensive guns, which he’d just bought, to be stolen.
"Haa..." he yawned.
He closed his eyes. Sleep tried to creep in quickly, but his mind kept running through the plans again. Every time he found a problem, he forced himself to stop and move to the next one. Listing problems was easy. Solving them required rest.
Too man... y prob...
And just like that, he slept.
Click!
The door opened slowly. A pair of yellow eyes and dark hair came in. It was her, Amanda. Her steps echoed with no sound. She came inside the room, his room, coming closer to the bed, looking at him.
"Ah, you look cuter when you sleep," she whispered, as she took out a bug from his transmitter and placed it at the corner.
"Let’s see if dear father is right... or wrong," she said, walking out.
At some point the room grew lighter. The first gray of dawn touched the window. Ethan gradually opened his eyes, checked the time, and sat up quickly. Four hours, of course, was not enough, but it would have to do.
He stood, stretched, then dropped down, palms on the floor, and started doing push-ups, ten, twenty, fifty, two hundred, until his sweat smothered the floor below.
He stood up, shaking his hand, and walked to the sink. Cold water on his face cleared some of the fog, like usual. He dried off, dressed in the standard duty uniform, and equipped the new gladii and shield into the system storage. The medical kit and camouflage netting went into his field pack.
Before leaving the room, he looked back at the corner of his bed and smiled.
He opened the email on his system one last time. His finger hovered over the upgrade link.
"Alright," he said quietly. "Let’s see what you’ve got, brother."
He clicked, and the system interface flickered. A progress bar appeared.
[Downloading system upgrade... 1%]
****
Marcus stabbed his fork into the piece of meat on his tray and tore off a chunk. The cafeteria was loud with the usual midday noise, trays clattering, soldiers talking over each other, the low hum of conversation from the tables near the windows.
He and Ethan sat at their usual spot near the back wall, away from the main crowd.
The food was the same as always: dense bread, stewed meat, and a side of boiled roots that had gone soft. Marcus chewed hard and swallowed.
"I don’t like him at all, not even one single Bit."
Ethan looked up from his own tray. "...Who?"
"That prick, Rick," Marcus said. He kept his voice low but the edge was clear. "He totally thinks we’re just brats. Just a bother to his nonsense.
Every time I open my mouth in briefing he looks at me like I’m wasting his air. Yesterday he cut me off mid-report and told me to keep it short next time. Like the report wasn’t already short."
Ethan kept chewing. He didn’t rush his food. "Marcus... you have this syndrome to prove yourself worthy, and you found another elder figure to prove yourself to, so the syndrome’s kicking in again."
Marcus didn’t answer right away. He tore another piece of meat and ate it. Part of him knew Ethan was right. Rick was older, higher ranked, and carried the kind of quiet authority that made younger officers either shut up or push harder.
Marcus had been pushing. He hated that Ethan could see it so clearly.
"Umm... excuse me?"
The voice came from Marcus’s right. He turned. The defense mage stood there, still in the same spot he had been since they first sat down.
His uniform was wrinkled from the morning’s work. His face was pale and his lips were dry. He hadn’t moved when the food line opened. He hadn’t taken a tray. He just stood there, waiting.
Marcus’s glare came fast. "What?!"
The mage swallowed. His throat moved hard. "M... may I eat the food?"
Marcus set his fork down. "Obviously fucking not. Article 521: you flew in an uncondoned area, hence you will be punished however your senior sees fit."
The mage’s eyes flicked toward the trays of food still sitting on the serving counters. Steam no longer rose from most of them. "But, but, you told m—"
"Shut up!" Marcus’s voice rose enough that a few nearby heads turned. "Hundred push-ups. Again."
The mage looked at Ethan. The hope on his face was obvious. Ethan only smiled and went back to his food. He took another bite of bread and chewed slowly, as if nothing unusual was happening.
Marcus watched the mage’s face fall. "Do I have to say it twice? Two hundred, now!"
"Yes... sir."
"I don’t hear strength in your voice, soilder. Three hundred, do it now!"
"Yes, sir!" The mage’s voice cracked on the last word. He dropped to the floor between the tables. His hands hit the stone. He started the push-ups immediately.
Arms straight, body rigid, down and up. The first twenty came fast. By the thirtieth his breathing was already loud. By the fiftieth his arms shook.
Marcus picked up his fork again and continued eating. He watched the mage from the corner of his eye. The man’s face grew red. Sweat darkened the collar of his uniform.
A few soldiers at nearby tables glanced over, then looked away. No one interfered. This was not the first time something like this had happened in the cafeteria.
Ethan finished the last of his meat and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He glanced down at the mage. "Relieved your stress?"
Marcus smiled. It was small and quick. "Yes, indeed. Where’s your mage?"
"She should be coming this evening. I have duty at the high hills today, and I need to take my soldiers for a run. Care to join?"
Marcus shook his head. The high hills were a long stretch of uneven ground north of the main compound. The runs there were steep and the air thinner. Soldiers hated them. Officers used them to test endurance and discipline at the same time.
"Not my cup of tea. I hope you give her a proper lesson," Marcus said, "...and I don’t mean the easy one."
"I will try my best."
The mage on the floor was past one hundred now. His form had started to break. His hips dipped on the way down. His elbows flared out. Marcus didn’t correct him yet. He let the count continue.
Ethan stacked his empty tray on top of Marcus’s. "Rick’s not going to change because you glare at him. You know that right."
"I know."
"Then stop feeding it. You’re not a cadet anymore. Acting like one only gives him more reason to treat you that way."
Marcus didn’t answer. He watched the mage push through another ten. The man’s breath came in short, sharp gasps. Sweat dripped from his chin onto the floor.
"But you can change him, you know very well how wrong he is," Marcus said.
Silence.
Ethan didn’t reply, he just walked away, but stopped right at the door.
"There will be change..." Ethan said, and that was all Marcus needed to hear.
The mage reached two hundred and fifty. His body sagged. He pushed up once more, arms locking, then dropped to his knees. He stayed there, breathing hard, forehead nearly touching the floor.
Marcus stood. He walked around the table and stopped in front of the kneeling man. "I said three hundred."
The mage looked up. His eyes were bloodshot. "Sir... I can’t—"
"You can. Get back down."
"Two-sixty. Two-seventy. Two-eighty....