Even in his shock, Stephan had the presence of mind not to ask what was going on. Marshal Harrington had already explained it. He wasn’t sure he would’ve had the same presence of mind two weeks ago.

  “Please rise.”

  The marshal stood. The look he gave Stephan was full of obligation, of duty carried out to the letter. One void of warmth or reverence. If anything, there was a faint, clinical distance.

  Seeing the way he was looking at him, Stephan chose a safe question.

  “Why couldn’t I lift the ring?”

  “The Paladin’s burden is immense,” Marshal Harrington said. “Too immense for the Paladin to bear on his own.”

  He effortlessly snatched the ring from the plinth, as easily as Stephan would have lifted a coin. “To those who are not the Paladin, who don’t understand it and can’t perceive it, it doesn’t exist. It’s just air.”

  He paused and placed the ring reverently into a velvet-lined box.

  “At least, that’s what my friend told me.”

  The lid closed with an audible snap; the box went into the desk drawer. Marshal Harrington closed it with a soft click and continued his speech.

  “He gave me very specific instructions regarding what to do and how to act depending on which level you are at when I meet you.” The marshal exhaled faintly and sat. “It’s strange he framed it like that without taking into account how long you have been the Paladin, but then again, you can’t just start at a high level, now can you?”

  Marshal Harrington smiled mirthlessly.

  “Below level twenty, I am instructed to keep your existence secret. Something you have made quite impossible, Sir. Also, I am to educate you on everything a captain serving under me would need to perform their duty. This includes not just the ability to fight and leverage your skills, but literacy, mathematics, geometry, tactics, strategy, provision management under siege, camp and city planning…”

  He tilted his head as if trying to remember whether there was anything else.

  “The list is rather extensive, and you will need years to go through it all properly. He said I should smile impishly when I say this, but I can’t. You’ll just have to imagine it.” His almond-colored eyes hardened as he glared at Stephan.

  The young man nervously swallowed.

  “If you thought you were going to have fun at the academy,” the marshal continued, “you were dead wrong.”

  Stephan blinked. “Is… that it?”

  “Yes, forgive me. I feel embarrassed; I can’t imagine what it’s like for you. Now, to the matter that truly concerns us.” Marshal Harrington’s tone shifted, sharpening. “You have revealed your presence and class far too publicly. While that allowed me to find you, it also means our enemies will know you are here sooner rather than later. To mitigate this, I have been sending soldiers to gather youths matching your description from all around. I instructed them that each time they must act as though they are escorting the Paladin, for they don’t know which one is the real you.”

  Stephan frowned.

  Is it all right to put them in danger like that? He was about to voice his thoughts, but the marshal kept talking.

  “Having fifty of you here, and shuffling you through the same training should buy you a modicum of safety.”

  Marshal Harrington looked him in the eye. All the other emotions previously there vanished, leaving behind raw authority forged over decades of command.

  “I expect you not to go around shouting you’re the Paladin.”

  “Is that really fine?” Stephan asked quietly. “Won’t they be in danger?”

  “They will,” Marshal Harrington said without hesitation. “But the overall risk decreases. Assassins aren’t going to gamble with fifty available targets. Cultist spies, if we have any, won’t dare take the risk of exposing themselves when they might warn me and the Paladin of their presence. Not without being sure.”

  The marshal cleared his throat, acknowledging the source of Stephan’s hesitation. “Besides, your new classmates have been generously compensated. Their futures should be bright, assuming they complete the officers’ course.”

  Stephan wasn’t convinced, but the marshal changed the topic without mentioning the condition of them staying alive until then.

  “Now,” he said, “my instructions further state that I am to provide you with access to high-level wounded to aid your growth. Unfortunately for you, and much to everyone else’s great relief, I do not leave my soldiers maimed for no good reason.

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  “We have Lord Silas, a high-level Priest, on duty, not to mention lower-level ones and our Healers. That said, when any new injuries or emergency situations arise, I’ll do my best to throw them your way without alerting anyone.”

  He smiled apologetically at Stephan.

  “Just so you know. I am not being stingy with you. We usually help noble scions reach level fifteen by capturing monsters of various sorts and allowing them the killing blow. I would gladly do this with you, as it’s easy, safe, and clean, but my instructions state that this approach won’t yield any levels for you.”

  He checked whether Stephan was following, then continued. “That should be true even if we capture undead and fiends. Actual combat will do the trick, but again, my instructions forbid me from creating such situations for you intentionally, as that too will diminish the effect. So, you will be joining riskier patrol rotations and, for the sake of appearances, I would greatly appreciate it if you didn’t use Smite and put my men in needless danger.”

  Stephan exhaled slowly. Once again he felt like he had lost control over his life.

  “Do I get any say in all of this?” he asked, and Lord Marshal shook his head.

  “If you wish to study here, you have as much say as a regular student at the academy would with regard to the curriculum we assign them. Meaning no, you don’t have any control. I’ve had a prince study here, and he didn’t try to change how I taught him. What you can control is how much effort you put in, how much you train, and how much attention you pay in classes. Graduation is at level twenty for nobles, and this standard will apply to you and the other new recruits.”

  Marshal Harrington frowned.

  “That said, just like every other student, you have the right to quit. And quitting early might be a good way to throw most pursuers off your track, unless they expect a double deception. But we can discuss that later. Anything else you wish to know?”

  Stephan nodded.

  “What happens now?”

  “Now, you head out that door. A servant greets you and takes you to your barracks, which we have named the Paladin barracks for now, and I will have a much more needless and fake conversation with the next ‘Paladin’ candidate once they arrive because you have made a mess of things, needlessly complicating my life.”

  He gestured towards the door. “You are dismissed.”

  “Wait.”

  “Yes?” Marshal Harrington raised an eyebrow, obviously not in the habit of someone not excusing themselves when he dismissed them.

  “What happens when fiends or fae or whoever finds out the Paladin is here?”

  “That’s a complex geopolitical question, but I will try to answer simply. Fae will probably clear the region and make mischief elsewhere. Some might bring over a pie or chocolates to welcome you. They may or may not be poisoned. Fiends will gather an army and attack, and we will crush them, much the same as we did many times throughout our bloody history. If that is all, you may leave.”

  Marshal Harrington saluted. Stephan mimicked him as best as he could before leaving.

  Just like the marshal had said, a servant waited before the door, two steps down, and lightly bowed to Stephan.

  “Let me take your luggage, Sir.”

  Stephan looked at his modest sack, which held stale leftover bread, some hard cheese, and his spare, pristine underwear. He would’ve agreed if not for the latter.

  “No, thank you, I’ll carry my own bag.”

  The middle-aged man nodded. “Very well, Sir. Please follow me.”

  He led the way down the treacherous stairs, which once more gave Stephan the impression they were designed to break necks and not help people up or down. They exited the keep and its fortified courtyard, heading towards one of the many buildings in the outer courtyard. Like everything else, the masonry was solid stonework more than two feet thick, and each building had many tall and narrow windows.

  The odd design surprised Stephan. He thought the inside would be dark, but the bed-filled barracks was well illuminated.

  Each bed had a folded blanket with a uniform on top and a chest at its base. The five beds at the far end were already occupied by lanky young men with shoulder-length golden brown hair. Stephan took offense at the fact that someone could confuse him with any of them.

  I’m not that scrawny.

  All five of them wore the same uniforms as the soldiers. Some were a bit tight, others hung loose, but more or less all matched their wearers. Similar appearances and same clothes made them look alike enough to be confused at a distance.

  “Choose your bed, Sir, and put on your uniform. You’re expected to be properly dressed for dinner.” The servant bowed slightly. “Now, I wish you a good day.”

  Stephan stared after him and wondered what he would’ve said if someone had snatched him from his home village without being the Paladin.

  “Is this real?” he asked no one in particular.

  “I asked the same thing,” one of his lookalikes approached. “Hello, I’m William, Bill for short, and I said the same thing. I was the first one to arrive.”

  “Stephan, nice to meet you.”

  Stephan took Bill’s hand and shook it without squeezing too hard, yet Bill winced, then squeezed harder. Stephan felt like a child was fighting back, but he relaxed his hand, and pretended he was trying to pull out. Despite Bill crushing him with all his might, Stephan hardly felt a thing.

  “All right, all right, you win,” Stephan admitted defeat, and Bill let go.

  “Well, Stephan, you’re strong, but not that strong.” Bill stood a little taller and prouder as he said that. “Let me introduce you to the rest of the guys. It looks like we’re going to be stuck here for a while.”

  Stephan shook hands with the other four, minding his grip, making it firm and unyielding, without being brutal. Apparently, his act established him as the second strongest of the six Paladin lookalikes, as they called themselves.

  “I bet it’s gonna help with the ladies.” Mark did a thing with his eyebrows as he said that and elbowed one of the two Hughs.

  Stephan looked at them, laughing, hopeful, and he could tell which of them could never be the Paladin.

  Should I act more like Mark?

  [Stephan Cobblerson, Paladin level 9

  Class skills: In Living Memory XVI, Blessing of Healing I, Blessing of Arms I, Smite I, Blessing of Protection I, Inspiring Aura I, Blessing of Conviction I, Blessing of Intuition I, Blessing of Health I, Bane of Darkness I

  Attributes: Agility: 17, Charisma: 18, Composure: 19, Dexterity: 18, Endurance: 18, Intelligence: 14, Luck: 16, Perception: 17, Presence: 17, Strength: 18, Toughness: 18, Vitality: 19, Willpower: 18, Wisdom: 17]