Ticks and Shave led me out of the tent. I could barely walk, and whenever I stepped, pins and needles shot through my legs, like I’d been studying at my desk too long. I staggered a few steps, but Shave, whose hair was shaved short on the sides, threw my arm over his shoulder to help hold me up.

  This body was too weak to resist, and no matter how much I wanted to walk on my own, I just couldn’t.

  Without speaking, they led me to a campfire. A few other Dupes were sitting on logs around it, but they scattered as soon as they saw me. For a few moments, Ticks disappeared, but he returned moments later with a stained tunic and tattered pants and tossed them unceremoniously in my lap.

  Thank god for that. It might have been summer, but a cool breeze blew through the camp, rustling the tarps of the tents. I quickly put the clothes on. It didn’t help. I kept shivering. I was too hungry, too starved, and this body had nothing to metabolize.

  Finally, Shave thrust a wooden bowl into my hands. I grabbed the spoon and began eating, unconcerned about what was in the bowl. I finished it without even thinking, without even tasting, and it hadn’t put a dent in this body’s—no, my body’s—hunger.

  Another bowl helped. I stopped shivering, and I slowed down enough that I could taste the stew. It was starchy, with potatoes and carrots and shreds of meat and animal fat. There wasn’t much flavour except salt, but it didn’t matter. It felt heavenly in my mouth.

  Finally, Ticks said, “So. Lemming. But I s’pose that’s not your name anymore, is it?”

  “It’s not, sir,” I said.

  “I’m not sir. I’m not a thegn. I’m a man-at-arms, like you.”

  “Right. Sorry.” I took another spoonful and stuffed it in my mouth.

  “He wants to know what we should call you,” Shave added. “Most Atoning go by the names they were born with, but us Dupes don’t have that luxury. We name each other.”

  “Uh…you can call me Levi?” I said. Quickly, I added, “Sergeant, sir.”

  “Just sergeant,” Shave said.

  “Levi it is,” Ticks grumbled. “Better than earning your name by being a magnet for those blood-suckers.”

  As the hunger faded, I glanced around the camp. There were nearly fifty tents all stuffed within a wooden palisade, with mud paths and weedy boulevards winding between them. Dupes tended fires, sharpened and cleaned their axes and spears, or sparred in the open patches. Wagons trundled along the paths, splattering mud wherever they rolled, and there were a few non-Dupes rushing around, but none of them wore armour. They were just helping out around the camp.

  I probably should have been losing my mind, but I was still trying to process it all.

  “So…how do I know my rank?” I asked.

  “Lemming was at the start of his service,” Shave said. “Shipped fresh from the Fleshknitters, straight to the front. It’s a shame for one of our brothers to go loopy that soon, but at least we recognized the signs of an Atoning coming to possess his body and didn’t put him down. You’ll inherit the same rank as him: man-at-arms. As well as what little gear he had.”

  I swallowed. “Is there a way to—”

  “Galliard gave you the slate, sarge?” Ticks asked.

  “One sec,” Shave replied. He rummaged around in his haversack for a few seconds, before pulling out a small stone tablet. “A reading slate,” he said. “A lesser front-line battalion like the 294th only gets one slate like this. Be careful with it. If you break it, the replacement comes off your salary.”

  “Salary?” I tilted my head. I knew Galliard had mentioned a salary, but I still had it in my mind that we were a slave army.

  “Dupes still get paid,” Shave said. “While we don’t get a choice of whether we serve or not, the Kingdom of Gate pays us. Straight from the Warlord’s coffers.” He pressed the slate into my hands and took the empty bowl away from me.

  I stared at the slate for a few seconds. It was about the size of a cell phone, but its edges were rigid and flat, and it was about twice as thick. The front of the slate was made of some kind of silvery-black sand, and I hated to admit it, but my mind hoped it was a screen.

  Instead of flashing to life and telling me the latest news from Earth, giving me a few comforting notifications, it formed into rigid letters. They weren’t English, but I could still read them. Probably for the same reason I could understand what the Dupes were saying: I was in one of their bodies, and traces of Lemming’s old consciousness remained.

  The slate read:

  Name: Levi Gordon (ID#: DD-333)

  Class: Soldier

  Rank: Man-at-Arms

  Tier: Copper

  Vitality: 0

  Agility: 1

  Strength: 0

  Perception: 1

  Focus: 0

  Presence: 0

  Skills: Skiing (Apprentice), Eye For Framing (Novice)

  I nearly dropped the slate, but my emaciated fingers kept hold of it. “What’s this?” I asked, voice trembling. “What does any of it mean?”

  “The System,” Ticks said.

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  “It’s a set of rules and fundamental principles that governs our world’s magic,” Shave said. “Most people can’t use magic, and even then, they don’t call it the System. To them, it’s just the ‘Path.’ Only Dupes can see this. Some function of the Fleshknitters imbuing resonance nodes throughout our bodies.”

  My mouth was probably gaping. “Magic? We have magic?”

  “Of sorts. Our magic lets us grow our bodies beyond the limits of mortal men and resonate with weapons. If you’re lucky, you’ll get an Art, but there’s no guarantee. We’re brawlers, not pure mages.”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I simply asked, “What do the numbers mean?”

  “They’re attribute ratings,” Ticks snapped with a tired voice, like this should all be basic knowledge. “Vitality—how durable you are. Agility—how nimble you are. Strength should be self-explanatory. Perception—that’s how good your senses are, and Focus—that’s how well you can memorize and process information.”

  “What about Presence?”

  “That one’s more complicated,” Ticks said and didn’t elaborate.

  Shave added, “Three of everything is the upper limit for a copper-tier Dupe. It’s about the upper limit for an average mortal man, too. Elves might get up to four in Agility, dwarves might get four in Focus—if they could be tested.”

  I nodded, trying to process everything. But I guess that was the cost of having zero Focus—it felt like everything went in one ear and out the other. Shave took the slate back from me, but I just kept staring at the ground in front of me, trying to come to terms with my new life.

  Even if I got back to Earth—somehow—I’d died. I’d been hit by a truck in the middle of a blizzard. Besides, there wasn’t much left for me. Maybe one day, I would’ve made a movie, but did I even want to? It had always been a bit of a desperate choice because I didn’t know what else to pick for a career and a life. (Needless to say, I wasn’t the kind of guy to make a pop-culture reference every two seconds. Maybe more like once every month, if then.)

  And now I was in a different body. One of a thousand-part—probably more—match set.

  After a few seconds, I registered Shave’s leather-gloved hand on my shoulder. “You alright, Levi?”

  “I’m—I’m fine.”

  “I know it’s tough for an Atoning,” Shave said. “But—look. We’ll get you back on your feet, right Ticks?”

  Ticks shook his head and stood up, then spat at my feet. “You’re no brother of mine, soulstealer.” He stood up and stepped back, arms crossed.

  “Ignore him,” Shave whispered. “You’ll get through this and become one of our brothers.”

  “Look, man,” I said. I paused, laughed a bit morbidly, then said, “Well, while I’m still alive, I’m gonna keep trying to stay alive. I don’t know what else to do, but I’ve never been one for giving up.”

  Before the divorce, Dad told me that you could hold on for one more day, because you could always quit tomorrow. But once you quit, well, that was it.

  “That’s good to hear,” Shave said. “I don’t have any words of wisdom, but your training begins this afternoon. We’re too far from Homecamp to send you back for training, and there are no trainers here to get you on your feet. It’s up to us. The good news for you is that I’m willing to give it a shot. We need all the brothers we can get in top fighting condition. I don’t want someone at my side who can’t fight.”

  “Are we at war?”

  “We’re not in a critical zone, but the orc attacks have been getting worse. Nevermind that we have Slowbend Village to look after. Something’s going to happen before long.” Shave chuckled. “Now, come with me, lad. You’re going to pick a weapon.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Before picking a weapon, Shave brought me to the stream to clean myself up. There was a nearby stream, and apparently, a village lay upstream—called Slowbend. I could only see a column of smoke from its chimneys, and my gaze kept drifting, distracted by the enormous gas giant in the sky. At least the grass and trees seemed normal. They were green.

  I washed myself as best as I could, and already, I could feel my strength returning. Once I got out of the stream, smelling less awful, I donned my tunic and trousers again and followed Shave back to the encampment.

  This time, he brought me to a larger tent with thick supporting poles. He patted me on the shoulder and said, “You’ll feel better once you’ve picked yourself a weapon.” He pushed open the flap, holding it for me, and I ducked my head to pass through. Two guards, both Dupes, stood inside the door, wearing mismatched armour and orange cloaks. They nodded to Shave, and he nodded back.

  “What weapon are we going to train you with, huh?” Shave asked.

  “What weapon do most Dupes use?” I asked.

  “You’re expected to learn a shield and spear in the infantry—that’s so you can form ranks and fight as a unit. But most Dupes specialize. In fact, Galliard encourages it. He says it makes us more flexible. A unit like ours won’t be fighting a pitched battle often, so it’s best if we have a weapon we’re most comfortable with.”

  I stepped into the middle of the tent. It was filled with racks of weapons—spears, round shields, swords, axes, and longbows, not to mention armour and gambesons. I turned to face the rack of spears, thinking about what I could use the best.

  As it stood, I’d never been the best at swinging things. Racket sports hadn’t been for me. Axes and swords were off the table for now. I walked over to the rack of spears and hoisted one up. The shaft had been pressed straight and carved hastily, and it was already splintering, but it’d do the trick.

  The only problem was that it felt insanely heavy. It was probably because it was actually heavy, and equally because my frail body wasn’t nearly strong enough to use it. Still, I took up the spear and said, “Spear. I’ll use the spear.”

  “Good choice,” Shave replied. “But we’re leaving the shield behind. There’s no way those twig arms can lift a shield and spear at once right now.”

  “Alright…so I can keep this?”

  “Correct. Most of the Dupes keep a preferred weapon on them at all times. You’ll keep it with your kit bag. If you get loot from monsters, you can put it there, too. Store the loot as part of your pay, pawn it off somewhere, and buy yourself better gear. Down here, away from the worst of the fighting, we don’t get the same equipment allowances. Lemming had a chainmail hauberk and boots, and that’s it. Material shortages being what they are, they save the best gear for the major fronts.”

  “You have better gear,” I said, glancing at Shave’s helmet and pauldron.

  “We’re allowed to buy it or get it crafted,” he replied. “The kingdom used to care if the army looked cohesive, and I’m sure the thegns in Eraen-Kalora have matching sets for their battalions, but out here, no one cares. Just wear orange.” Shave snatched up a faded orange gambeson that had been folded atop a barrel and tossed it to me. “You’ll get Lemming’s boots and chainmail when the time comes, but I’m not mean enough to make you train in heavy armour. Yet.”

  “Was Lemming a…uh, what’s the tier…a Copper?”

  “He was on the brink of Iron, but he atrophied. Now let’s get going.”

  I took the hint and pulled the gambeson over my head—only to later realize that it had buckles on the front. “So…what’s the plan, then?” I was going to need to learn a lot more about how the army, and whatever this Gate Kingdom was, was structured. And I needed to get learning—something to take my mind off the fact that I’d been ripped out of my world and sent here. “Can I start training—”

  “It’s now afternoon, so yes, you can start training. Come along.”

  We walked out of the tent, only to find Ticks and a few others standing outside, waiting for us. They were all Dupes in mismatched armour, arms crossed. Ticks clicked his tongue. I tried to walk past with Shave, but the other Dupes shifted to block me.

  “Is there a problem?” I asked. I knew there was. Of course there was a problem. “Do—”

  “Soulstealers like you have no place in the 294th,” Ticks snapped. “You’re like all the other Atoning—soft, inexperienced, uncaring about our world. You don’t know what we’re up against, and if the kingdom knew what was right, you’d be swinging from the gallows. But I’m a forgiving kind of man, so if you want this life, you want the right to live, then prove it. There’s an attribute examination every month for the whole camp. Get yourself up to the Dupe baseline by then—at least six attribute points in total. Otherwise…don’t expect to live long.”

  I glanced at Shave, but he was awfully quiet. He was Ticks’ commanding officer, wasn’t he? But I guess speaking up for an Atoning wasn’t exactly a popular stance among the men, and he needed their respect. Besides, out here, the rules didn’t seem to matter as much. I turned back to Ticks. “By not lasting long, does that mean—”

  “It would be easy to make you disappear,” Ticks said. “We’ll say you tried to defect, and that we had to take you down.”

  “That doesn’t seem fair,” I said.

  “Get over it. The world isn’t fair.”

  I narrowed my eyes, old competitiveness flaring in my veins. “Alright then, fuck you too. You’re on. Six attribute points in a month? How hard can it be?”