The Ordinary Commander

First Command

The barracks were not the regal, stone-carved halls the students had expected. Instead, they were a sprawling, subterranean expanse of iron bunks and damp flagstone that smelled of stale sweat and wet hounds. The flickering torches on the walls sputtered, casting long, nervous shadows that stretched across the floor.

Raka trailed behind the group, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets. He felt every pair of eyes on his back—some lingering with irritation, others with outright contempt.

"So," Leo muttered, dropping his duffel bag onto a rusted metal bunk with a metallic clang. "We’re living in a basement with the kid who’s basically a walking handicap. Fantastic."

Raka stopped by a bunk near the door. He tried to mimic a calm expression, though his heart was thumping against his ribs like a trapped bird. "Alright, everyone. Listen up. I know this is a disaster, but we need to figure out our inventory. Does anyone actually have food or water supplies in their packs?"

The room went quiet, save for the rhythmic dripping of water from a cracked pipe somewhere in the shadows.

"Did you hear something?" a girl with dyed hair asked, looking around the room as if trying to locate a gnat. "I thought I heard a noise, but there’s no one important talking."

"I’m talking," Raka said, his voice cracking slightly before he steadied it. "I’m the Commander. I need to know what we have before we head to the borderlands."

Leo laughed, a harsh sound that echoed off the damp walls. "You’re the Commander because the King thinks it’s funny to chain a human shield to a team of gods. You aren't a leader, Raka. You’re a liability."

"Look, I don't care what you think of me," Raka replied, stepping forward. He kept his eyes locked on Leo. "I care about the fact that if we go into a war zone without knowing who has a medical kit, who has food, and who has actual combat gear, we’re going to be dead by sundown. Does anyone have a ration pack? Anyone?"

Sofia remained sitting on the edge of a bed, sharpening a dagger that had materialized alongside her Shadow Assassin title. She didn't look up, but her voice was cold and clear. "My bag is empty, Raka. Just like yours."

"That’s impossible," Raka said, his brows furrowing. "The King said we were being prepared. They must have given us supplies."

"They gave us gear," another boy, Marcus, grumbled from the corner. "I’ve got a sword. Sofia has those blades. Leo has a shield. We’ve got weapons, Commander. We don’t need food yet. We’re waiting to be told what to do by the High Mage, not by some random kid who can’t even summon a flicker of light."

"Weapons aren't going to feed you," Raka insisted, his frustration bubbling over. "We don’t know how long the march to the border is. We don’t know if there are wells, or stores, or anything. If you just trust that the King will take care of you, you’re idiots."

"Watch your mouth," Leo warned, his hand moving toward the hilt of the sword at his hip. "You’re an Ordinary Human. One wrong word and I’ll see if that 'Correction Procedure' works on a physical level, too."

Raka felt a cold sweat break out along his spine, but he didn't back down. He walked toward the center of the room, standing in front of the flickering torchlight.

"You think you’re powerful because you have a fancy title floating over your head?" Raka asked, his voice rising, gaining a sharp, desperate edge. "You’re children. You’ve never held a blade in your life, and now you’re going to be walking into a war against creatures you can’t even imagine. You’re waiting for instructions? The High Mage walked away without a word. Does that look like he’s coming back to tuck you in?"

"It’s a test," Sofia whispered, finally looking up. Her eyes were piercing. "He’s testing if we’ll follow the person he put in charge."

"Then show me you’re smarter than he thinks," Raka countered. "Check your bags. Right now. If you don't have food, we need to scavenge what we can from this room before the guards lock us in for the night. If you’re too proud to do a supply check, then fine. Stay here and starve. But when you’re shaking with hunger in the middle of a forest, don't come crying to me."

The silence in the room became thick and suffocating. Leo glared at Raka, his knuckles white, but he didn't reach for his sword again. The logic was too simple, too biting to ignore.

"Fine," Marcus muttered, throwing his bag open and rummaging through it. "Whatever. I’ve got... nothing but a cloak and some flint."

"I have some dried meat," a girl near the back spoke up tentatively. "But it’s not much."

"I have water skins," another student added.

Raka let out a breath he didn't realize he’d been holding. He moved to the center of the circle, gesturing for them to place the items on a central table.

"Good. Pile it up. We’re rationing from the start," Raka said, his voice steadier now. "And I want to know who has healing magic. Who has defensive barriers? If we’re going to be a unit, we need to know exactly what we’re bringing to the table, even if it’s just a piece of jerky."

Sofia stood up, walking over to the pile. She dropped a small pouch of coins onto the table. "You’re persistent, I’ll give you that. But don’t think for a second that this makes you a leader. It just makes you the only person in this room who realizes we’re in a nightmare."

"I don't need you to like me, Sofia," Raka said, glancing at her. "I just need you to stay alive."

"Why?" she asked, tilting her head. "Why do you even care if I live?"

Raka looked at the twenty students, their faces illuminated by the dim, orange light. They were terrified, despite their bravado. They were just kids from his school, thrown into a meat grinder.

"Because if you die, I’m the only one left standing in a room full of corpses," Raka said, his voice dropping to a low, grim tone. "And that sounds like a hell of a lot worse fate than being a Commander."

Before Sofia could respond, the iron door of the barracks slammed shut with a thunderous boom. The floor vibrated beneath their feet.

Suddenly, a harsh, blaring sound tore through the room—a low, rhythmic pulse that sounded like the tolling of a massive, funeral bell.

BONG. BONG. BONG.

The torchlight flickered and died, plunging the barracks into near-total darkness.

"What is that?" Leo shouted, his voice cracking with sudden, genuine terror. "That’s not the dinner bell!"

Raka scrambled to the door, pressing his ear against the cold, heavy iron. Outside, he heard the chaotic clatter of armor, the shouts of guards, and a deep, guttural roar that seemed to vibrate through the very marrow of his bones.

"It’s an alarm," Raka said, turning back to the group. His eyes caught the dim outlines of his classmates—fearful, frantic, and looking directly at him. "And by the sound of it, the war isn't waiting until morning."