Ash. The Legends of the Nameless World. Progression Gamelit Story by Kirill Klevanski (essential reading .txt) 📗

the trousers feels like and the only sound he can produce is a fart,” the tipsy ladies joined in on the laughter, “he doesn’t forget that he had married the most beautiful woman in all the kingdom!”

Tossing back his ragged cloak, Ash bowed deeply and emptied the contents of his bottle. Following his example, the guests rose from their seats and, bowing to the lovely couple, emptied their goblets and mugs. Music started again, the newlyweds kissed under a thunder of applause, and soon everything returned to how it was before Ash’s interruption.

Only one person looked like they were attending a funeral and not a wedding. And it wasn’t Mary, who was still hiding her face in her hands, but a figure in the far end of the hall who observed as the mage returned to chasing skirts and drinking rum.

It wasn’t for nothing that the elves had banished him from the Crystal Forest, forbidding him to return under the threat of immediate execution.

Chapter 19

O ne restless night later

Ash, with the skill of a seasoned burglar, removed himself from the arms of a buxom lady with delicate, slender arms that beckoned for him to return into their embrace. Looking closer, Ash realized that he had spent the night with the marquis’s sister.

“Interesting,” he thought, smelling elusive, but the rather familiar smell coming from the lady’s gentle skin. “Very interesting... And where the hell are my pants?!”

31st of Gremi, 318 A.D., Somewhere on the eastern border of the Middle Kingdom

Ash stood on a platform, watching the parade grounds. Today, the last batch of future legionaries was to be brought to this godforsaken dump. Many would oppose calling his men soldiers, but Ash didn’t care that the barracks were filled with ex-prisoners and convicts. To him, they were his men. He kept calling them his Legion.

The streets were deserted; the sun hadn’t yet risen over the Helma Mountains, so the people were still lost in their valleys of dreams. Some would say that this was bad leadership, as having everyone be asleep meant that no one was guarding the outpost, but they’d be wrong.

Upon joining the Seventh Legion, new members were given black, spiked collars. If one dared so much as to think about starting a riot or escaping, or, God forbid, attacking the lieutenant, their heads would pop like ripe grapes, leaving behind nothing other than a charred neck. This was the solution proposed by the court Enchanters to make sure that the convicts behaved, which was unanimously accepted.

Little did they know that this would be the least of their problems.

When they arrived here, there had been only eight barracks with the capacity of two hundred people each. Now, his Legion counted four thousand men and one didn’t have to be a genius to figure out that something wasn’t right here. The construction began once the most rebellious and zealous of convicts were subdued by activating their collars, thus demonstrating to the rest that the command wasn’t fooling around. Having no time or material to build more barracks, the Legion opted for making simple tents and shelters. In the end, all four thousand men had a roof over their head, be that canopy or wood, it didn’t matter. Anything was better than the damp coldness of a cell.

And now, a month of training later, they were sending them another batch of prisoners that’d join the Legion. Ash was told that they were being sent from a copper mine that had undergone budget cuts and had to let some people go.

“Waiting for the newcomers?” Racker asked, stretching as he climbed onto the platform.

Turning, Ash saw the familiar gleam in his friend’s eyes. Racker, although he was well passed his twenty-seventh winter, was still much like a rebellious boy, ready to fight anyone and everything. Sometimes even without a reason.

“I am,” he replied.

Giving Ash a sneer, Racker summoned a chair. Like a wild horse, it burst out of the small shack that served as their headquarters, leaped across the parade grounds, and settled itself under the esteemed rear of the Lieutenant of the Seventh Legion.

“Want me to teach you?” he snickered, seeing Ash observing the chair. His face looked somehow swollen as if he had been drinking too much booze or had been stung by a bee. And even though Racker had a physique any sculptor would wish to immortalize in a statue, he had problems courting beauties he so much desired. His face caused much distress among the fearer sex, and even the brothels often wouldn’t accept his coin although he was willing to part with quite a large sum of it.

From the outpost of the Seventh Legion to the nearest town were seven miles, which didn’t take too long to cover on a good steed. So Racker went there every few days to satisfy his needs. Unfortunately, as Ash came to learn later, his lieutenant wasn’t a savage only on the battlefield but in bed, too. Because of this, he had been summoned to Gness several times, a city near the border in order to get Racker out of prison. He had to pay the owner of the brothel, the servicemen, who had beaten Racker black and blue, and the corporal in order to keep this case from never reaching the court.

The coin Ash had taken from the palace was enough to cover these expenses. In his opinion, Racker was worth it, as he was a powerful mage, a reliable person, and quite a humorous companion. It didn’t matter to the commander that his friend’s humor was blacker than coal, he enjoyed it.

Ash nodded. “Sure, teach me.”

Racker had just begun to explain to Ash the Word for “talking” to chairs and stools when several black dots appeared on the horizon, raising clouds of dust. Soon, the “fresh blood” arrived. That was how Racker called all the