He studied Jeran's face for a reaction.
Jeran gave him nothing.
"How many cartridges did they give you?" Vikkal asked.
"Twelve."
Vikkal's mouth twitched. Not amusement — something bleaker.
"Twelve. That is standard for new intake. You will not get more until the next supply train, and the next supply train is in forty days. Maybe. If the track holds. If the things in the forest do not tear it up again."
He held up one finger.
"One cartridge per patrol engagement. That is the discipline. You do not fire unless I tell you to fire, and when I tell you, you make it count. A man who wastes powder out here is a man who dies with an empty rifle and a thing from the black trees standing over him. Understood?"
"Understood."
Jeran could see the importance of mana powder out here on the battlefield. The limited distribution has made the soldiers more careful and highly sensitive to how they move here.
Vikkal held his gaze a moment longer, then stepped back.
