Charon found sleep easily, his mind tired and body exhausted from a day of brutal fighting.
His dreams were empty, full of a perpetual darkness, with only the occasional star twinkling into his vision.
When Charon finally woke, it was to the sounds of hundreds of men marching to and fro.
The jangling of armor and weapons created a strange grating noise, feeding the headache slowly clawing its way into his head, made worse by the thudding of boots.
Finally opening his eyes, the rising sun greeted him, slowly peeking over the nearby hills. The sky was full of clouds, threatening rain.
'Great, looks like I'll be fighting in the rain.'
Stretching his legs, he quickly realized that sleeping so stiffly causes cramps, and pulled his appendages to his chest as his calf rapidly tightened.
'Gods damn it!'
After a minute, the pain left, leaving only a soreness.
'At least I can move my body again. Small mercies.'
Gently dragging himself to his feet, he was shocked to realize he could feel q man approaching him from behind.
Turning around with a start, he saw a solder wearing armor much like his own, except his had a golden skull stitched onto the chest. He was carrying a fresh tunic and chainmail, unceremoniously dropping it near the pile of ashes Charon had previously used as a fire.
He was sporting an all-too-arrogant sneer for Charon's liking.
'What's this guy's problem?'
"Good, you're awake. The priest told us to give you more rest, but it's almost time to begin the assault. Put on the clean uniform, you look disgusting."
Without another word, the man marched off towards a large tent near the center of their clearing.
Charon just shook his head, focusing more on the sensation of the man leaving rather than his attitude.
'It's like I know where he is at all times if he is close enough. This must be the ability the God of Death gave me! I wonder what it is?'
Back home, anyone who received abilities had to undergo surgery to insert a special item into their bodies. It was supposedly blessed by all ten gods to allow them to interface with the System, the churches attempt to turn the strange feeling of magic powers into more practical words.
Given his current situation, that surgery was out of reach.
'Better wait till I get home rather than try the local methods.'
He shuddered as he remembered the rude nurse.
'I'd rather not let her poke around my head, or any part of my body.'
Picking up his new tunic and chainmail, he glanced around for a place to change, before noticing a few other soldiers just stripping down in the open.
Shrugging, he began to do the same.
'It's not like anyone cares. We are all about to fight, and possibly die. No use being shy.'
Despite the horrors he was about to face, Charon didn't find it particularly terrifying.
Although it wasn't his first choice, he figured he didn't have any other options. The trial clearly pointed him towards this battle, so he might as well see it through.
Throwing off his old, battered armor, he relished the sensation of a clean tunic and fresh chainmail.
'Such a simple thing, yet it makes a world of difference.'
He checked his sword, making sure it was clean and still usable, before following the throng of soldiers marching towards the edge of camp to be sorted into formations.
Thousands of similar men wearing black moved all over the place, tearing down tents and putting out fires, their actions orderly. It was a well-oiled machine, and they had clearly done this many times before.
'I must've been sent here right at the end of the campaign. That must be how Emerius and I know each other.'
A strange thought occurred to him.
'Emerius knew me as Charon as well. The original person must've shared my name, but he went the whole war without killing a single enemy soldier? Just who were they?'
Although Charon hadn't killed anyone before coming here, it was hard to imagine just how someone could go through a battle and not engage in combat. Even with the moral issues presented, it was survival at the end of the day.
'They must have been a coward.'
The realization caused him to ball his fists, which surprised him.
'Why do I care so much that he was a coward? I'm not any better, really. I have run away from fights and stolen from people dozens of times. How is this any different?'
The more he thought about it, the more he decided he could sympathize. He wouldn't want to risk life and limb every day either, only doing so when forced to.
'No time to deal with it now, I can philosophize all I want later.'
As he approached the edge of camp, he noticed that everyone seemed to already know their groups, moving to create small squares of men.
'Crap! What group am I part of?'
Scanning the faces he could see, he spotted Emerius and figured that was as good a guess as any. Waving to the tall soldier, he was met with a raised eyebrow.
Seemingly realizing his confusion, Emerius pointed to another army group on the far side, while covering his mouth with his other hand.
The rising and falling of his shoulders clued Charon into why.
'Prick.'
Shaking his blushing head, he veered to the side and marched directly to the far unit. Charon counted nineteen other men, and a single officer marked with the same skulls as the rest.
The other soldiers looked to vary in age, but most seemed to be in their twenties. The officer, by comparison, looked to be forty at least.
They didn't seem any different than the other groups, and greeted Charon with a few smiles and waves.
'These guys don't seem too bad.'
The officer was discussing something with the group, and frowned when he saw Charon joining them. He halted the discussion mid-sentence, his mustache twitching at the disruption.
"Charon. You're late."
Doing his best to be respectful to the higher rank, if for no other reason than a lack of knowledge on punishments, Charon straightened before speaking.
"I apologize, sir, I was resting after having gained my first Sigil."
A few soft claps and quiet cheers of approval broke out from the group, which were silenced with a single glance from the officer.
"I see. Now share what ability your Sigil granted you so that we may be better informed of your… capabilities."
The rude tone rubbed Charon the wrong way, but he gritted his teeth and put up with it while thinking of an excuse, recalling Emerius's warning.
'What do I say? I can't tell him I sense people's energy, so should I say I have a type of ability that lets me feel people? No, that won't work. Wait, I got it!'
"I have faster reaction speeds, sir. I can move faster than most people to engage an unexpected threat."
The officer rolled his eyes at that.
"Beautiful. Another low-quality ability as part of my platoon."
Seemingly deciding Charon wasn't worth any more of his attention, the man turned back to the wider group, picking up where he left off.
"As I was saying, we are to be part of the vanguard, pushing towards the front gate. The scouts have reported that defenses are minimal, but there are still enough of the Blood Monger's men to give us a proper fight."
He raised an arm and singled out a soldier on his right.
"Volrir will be your commander during the fighting. If he says something, you are to listen. Following that, you are to disperse and make things hell for the enemy in whatever way you see fit. As I'm sure you're aware, these soldiers do not fight like men; the Blood Monger has made sure of that, so they are weak to creativity. Exploit that."
One of their group stepped forward and saluted before speaking.
"Sergeant, do we have intel regarding the terrain and attack path?"
The officer, a sergeant Charon learned, nodded his approval.
"Good question. The fortress rests at the top of a hill. However, the ground flattens out more than five hundred feet before we even reach the walls, so I do not expect much of an uphill battle. If anything, our approach should be hidden from them until we pass the crest. We are to move along the ridge line until we are all in position, and then push over into a charge."
His question answered, the soldier stepped back into the formation.
The sergeant waited a few seconds for anyone else to step forward, but no one did, prompting him to nod.
"If you have any questions later, do not ask them, I don't care to hear them. We will be setting out in five, ready your weapons."
With a collective screech, twenty swords were drawn from their sheaths, with only the sergeant left unarmed.
Charon then watched with bewilderment as the man flexed his back and stood up straighter, muttering an unintelligible prayer under his breath.
Black mist began to fall off his skin, his black robes twisting and warping as long sheets of dark metal appeared from his skin, covering his body. A sword that looked like it was cut from the night sky grew out of his gauntlet, before it was grabbed with two hands.
Standing before them all was now a large black knight holding a two-handed longsword, his face shrouded from all light.
Charon stepped back from shock, realization dawning on him.
'So he was the knight from the last fight! I was wondering where he had gone!'