186 Child Soldier

I had seen war before. Of course, not with these eyes, but through the fractured echoes left in me. From David_69's inherited memories, to Nongmin's weary recollections, to the ghosts of a hundred lives I'd touched the day I lost my temper in the Summit of Four Powers and possessed the minds of cultivators and soldiers alike.

I thought I understood war. I thought those memories gave me insight, perspective, maybe even clarity.

They didn't.

Nothing could've prepared me for seeing war through the eyes of a fourteen-year-old foot soldier.

My hands trembled. Not from fear anymore. I'd burned through the worst of that somewhere between my first kill and my third. No, what made me shake now was plain and cruel exhaustion.

I planted my spear into the blood-soaked dirt and leaned on it, breathing through the stench. The shaft was slick in my palm with ichor. Blood crusted beneath my fingernails. Some of it had dried hours ago. Some of it was still warm.

The wooden stakes we'd driven into the earth as makeshift barricades were matted with flesh and hair. I didn't want to know whether they belonged to friend or foe. Maybe it didn't matter anymore.

My armor was too large. I had stuffed linen beneath the shoulder straps to keep the cuirass from slipping whenever I moved. The helm wobbled with every step, and the chin strap bit into my throat. The whole thing reeked of sweat and metal oil. It wasn't mine. It had probably belonged to some poor bastard who'd bled out before anyone got around to helping him.

I stared across the battlefield or what remained of it. Broken spears, shattered swords, and bodies. Gods, the bodies.

This wasn't a clash of heroes or a glorious battle fit for song. It was tired men with dull weapons swinging as if they wanted to die. Most of them were poor, untrained, and half-starved farmers.

"Damn it," I muttered. "War sure fucking sucked."

"Hey, you!"

I turned and found Ding Shan standing behind me. Grizzled and broad-shouldered, with more grey in his beard than black, he looked like a man who'd survived several wars through sheer stubbornness.

"Dig a latrine, kid. And make it a decent one, yeah?" He waved toward the edge of camp before letting out a tired grunt. "Looks like we're staying here for the long haul. Orders came down from the brass a little while ago—we hold the line. So get comfortable, because I don't think we're marching anywhere anytime soon."

"Yes, sir."

My boots squelched with every step as I made my way to the rear of the encampment. The sun hung low, casting the field in a sickly orange glow. Near the remains of a broken barricade, I found a patch of untouched dirt and let out a sigh.

"Right. A pit."

A short-handled shovel leaned against a nearby rock. I grabbed it and drove the blade into the packed earth. The ground was hard from years of use and recent trampling. Every shovelful demanded my full weight.

How deep did they want this thing?

I had no idea.

For all the martial wisdom I'd absorbed, none of my memories contained proper latrine specifications. I settled on waist-deep. That sounded reasonable. Deep enough to avoid splashback, at least. Once the pit was finished, I looked around for a marker. A cross felt too dramatic. Instead, I tied a scrap of torn undershirt to a broken spear and planted it beside the hole.

"There."

One war latrine, courtesy of Da Wei.

I glanced around. No one was nearby.

"No foul for blessing the latrine, right?"

With that said, I squatted. Five peaceful minutes passed. The air was surprisingly cool back here, and the battlefield's stink was distant enough not to ruin the moment. Honestly, it wasn't the worst thing I'd experienced.

The leaves were the real surprise.

I hadn't used actual foliage since... well, ever. Not even in the Hollowed World. From what I'd heard, even the outer sects of lesser clans had basic hygiene talismans in the Hollowed World. Yet here I was, wiping my ass with the cleanest leaves I could find behind a half-burned tree stump.

I sighed as I stood and adjusted my armor.

"I miss Earth."

I missed running water. I missed toilet paper. I missed eating without worrying about how it would affect my bowels in a camp packed with soldiers. I missed my old body, one that could digest spirit meat and pill powder without consequence.

I missed a lot of things.

But most of all?

I missed my people.

Should I dig another latrine?

The question crossed my mind as I stared at the cloth marker fluttering above the pit I'd just finished. There were a lot of us. Ding Shan had said we'd be staying for the long haul, and if that meant days. Or heaven forbid, weeks? One latrine wasn't going to cut it.

Compared to the Empire's army, our unit was small. That still meant a few hundred sweaty men eating bad rations and relieving themselves twice a day.

That was a lot of shit.

So I dug two more latrines farther back, spacing them properly and marking each one with a fresh strip of cloth like some sort of dung architect.

War had turned me into a civil engineer of bodily functions.

After completing my sanitary masterpieces, I headed back toward the front lines. I felt tired, sure, but oddly proud.

That feeling lasted until I heard a sneering voice.

"That brat only had to dig a latrine while we were hauling bodies for mass graves."

The speaker was a wiry teenager with a sharp jaw and too much pride in his posture. His armor fit properly, his boots were polished, and he carried his spear like it was a treasured heirloom. The name flamboyantly embroidered across his breastplate confirmed everything.

Yuen Fu.

Ah. A young master.

I'd met his kind before. Different worlds, same personality. They always had something to prove. Normally, I'd beat the sense into him in the gentlest way possible. Just enough to humble him without costing him face.

But this wasn't my problem.

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I waited for Ding Shan to scold him or ignore him.

Instead, the old soldier looked conflicted.

Ah.

He wasn't sure whether to defend me or let Yuen Fu vent. In a world where privilege carried weight, neither choice was entirely free of consequences.

I sighed.

Without my divine powers, I couldn't afford to be careless. If this turned physical, I'd either hurt him or make an enemy I didn't need.

Then an idea struck me.

“I just don't need to hit him too much, right?”

I stepped forward and raised my voice, drawing the attention of the nearby soldiers.

"Since Senior Yuen questions my honor, I'll settle it with my fists. Three clean strikes decides the winner. Surely, someone as skilled as Senior wouldn't be afraid of a fourteen-year-old brat, would he?"

Yuen Fu blinked as though I'd slapped him with a fish.

Murmurs spread through the camp.

"Oi, Yuen, you're not backing down from a kid, are you?"

"You scared of him or what?"

That settled it.

Nothing wounded a young master's pride faster than public embarrassment.

I added fuel to the fire.

"I've seen how Senior Yuen Fu handles a spear with such grace." I gestured toward the weapon slung across his back. "But I wonder how are you in a fisticuff? Do you flail? Perhaps, you are no worse than an infant when it comes to the art of punching someone on the jaw. Can't blame you. The way of the fists are not for little girls like you."

The crowd burst into laughter. Someone whistled. Another soldier banged a helmet against a rock. Morale had been miserable since the slaughter. The men needed something to distract them from the blood, filth, and guilt.

Now, they had it. I'm prime-time entertainment, baby~! 𝘧𝘳𝘦ℯ𝓌𝘦𝒷𝘯𝑜𝑣𝘦𝓁.𝒸𝘰𝓂

Yuen Fu stepped forward, eyes narrowing. "If I win, you'll help dig graves, since you enjoy latrines so much."

I nodded solemnly. "And if I win, you'll teach me your martial arts. I've always wanted to learn from someone with experience like yours."

"Gladly. I'll teach you everything I know. After I beat you."

Yuen Fu's grin widened until it bordered on feral. He rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles one by one, savoring the sound.

"In fact, brat, I'll start teaching you before the match is even over. Lesson one: don't challenge your seniors unless you're prepared to spend the next week eating through a straw."

A few soldiers laughed.

He pointed a finger at me.

"Lesson two: confidence is admirable. Delusion is not. You've somehow managed to confuse the two."

The laughter grew louder.

Yuen Fu paced a slow circle, speaking as though addressing a classroom.

"Lesson three: when a man who still needs permission to grow facial hair starts provoking his elders, he should expect consequences."

He jabbed a thumb into his own chest.

"And I am going to be those consequences."

The crowd whooped.

"Oh, don't worry," he continued, waving a dismissive hand. "I won't break anything important. Probably. Maybe a rib or two. Perhaps an arm if you keep smirking like that. If the heavens are feeling generous, I'll merely leave you bruised from head to toe and force you to explain to everyone how you lost."

Someone shouted, "Get him, Yuen!"

Yuen Fu nodded solemnly.

"I intend to. Thoroughly."

Then he looked back at me.

"You know what your real mistake was? Not challenging me. That's forgivable. Your mistake was doing it in front of an audience."

He gestured toward the gathered soldiers.

"Now I have witnesses. Witnesses who will remember every stumble, every missed punch, every time I knock you onto your backside."

The crowd erupted again.

Yuen Fu spread his arms dramatically.

"For years from now, whenever someone asks about Da Wei, they'll say, 'Ah yes, the brave lad who challenged Yuen Fu and discovered that the ground was his true master.' And after I'm done educating you, you'll be thanking me. You'll wake up tomorrow sore in places you didn't know existed, and you'll think, 'Senior Yuen was right. Senior Yuen was wise. Senior Yuen's fist was a profound teacher.' So come on, little latrine digger. Show me whether all that confidence is backed by skill, or whether I'm about to give the shortest martial lesson in military history."

Ouch. Someone could hold a grudge, huh?

Yuen Fu had no idea he'd accepted a challenge designed entirely around my strengths. I didn't need to overpower him. I only needed to outmaneuver him three times. Before the match began, we agreed to leave our armor aside. This wasn't a battlefield skirmish; it was a contest.

Helms and cuirasses hit the dirt with dull thuds. Sweat-streaked skin and lean muscle emerged beneath layers of grime and dried blood.

Around us, the soldiers quickly formed a circle. Bets flew through the crowd with food rations, polishing duties, even promises of stolen wine.

We stepped into the circle and performed the customary greeting, fist pressed into palm.

The instant our hands touched, I lunged.

"YOU TOOTHLESS DONKEY-KISSING LATRINE INSPECTOR!"

Yuen Fu's eyes nearly popped out of his skull, barely dodging my flying kick.

"What—"

"You overstuffed peacock! You silk-wrapped cabbage! You strutting rooster born from the forbidden union of a chamber pot and a diseased mule!"

The crowd exploded.

I didn't stop.

"I've seen corpses with more humility! I've seen pigs with better posture! If arrogance were cultivation, you'd be an Immortal Emperor by now!"

Yuen Fu stumbled back as I rushed him, fists raised.

"You perfume-soaked turnip! You decorative spear rack! Your ancestors are probably hiding in shame every time you open your mouth!"

"Fight properly!" he barked.

"I am fighting properly, you moldy sweet potato!"

The soldiers were howling now.

"His face!"

"Look at Yuen Fu!"

I pointed accusingly at him while circling.

"You spend more time polishing your boots than training! If vanity generated qi, you'd ascend on the spot! Your dick is shaped like a celery!"

"You little—"

"And your speeches! Gods above, your speeches! I've taken shorter shits than your introductions!"

Several men doubled over laughing.

Yuen Fu's face turned crimson.

"You dare?!"

"I dare plenty, you bargain-bin young master! You rejected-background-character! You third-rate villain from a fourth-rate opera!"

By now I was putting my entire soul into the performance. Every insult I'd learned across multiple lives came pouring out. I called him a failed peacock, a counterfeit genius, a decorative scarecrow, a cabbage-hearted tyrant, and a man whose greatest martial achievement was surviving his own ego.

The crowd was in tears.

Yuen Fu, meanwhile, looked one insult away from spontaneous combustion as we exchanged moves.

"You're one slippery brat," Yuen Fu complained, panting as he reset his stance.

The arrogance that had filled his eyes earlier was gone, replaced by caution and a hint of respect.

"Alright, I take it back. This is harder than I thought."

I smirked.

Around us, soldiers who had spent days hauling corpses and digging graves were finally laughing again. It was strange how a simple duel could bring life back to a field of death.

The first few minutes had been nothing but testing and probing. Every punch I threw met a block. Every sweep he attempted was answered with a sidestep or redirect. We circled one another like chess players searching for an opening.

I landed the first clean strike, a quick flick beneath his chin. He answered almost immediately. A low sweep forced me off balance, and before I could recover, a crescent kick slammed into my liver. Gods above, I felt that one. Pain exploded through my side, and I staggered back with a grunt.

My pride burned hotter than the injury.

I surged forward, weaving Flash Step into my footwork just subtly enough to pass as natural agility. I slipped to his flank and drove my knuckles into his liver. The air blasted from his lungs. For a moment, I thought he might fold.

Instead, he answered with a high kick that nearly took my head off.

I ducked by pure instinct. The strike flowed into a roundhouse, and only a desperate twist of my shoulder saved me from being knocked unconscious. His punches were decent. His kicks were terrifying.

That was when I understood. This world lacked qi, and because of that, its martial arts had evolved differently. Less mystical. More practical. Every movement was sharpened through repetition, grit, and hard-earned experience.

Even with all my inherited memories, I was struggling to keep up.

Yuen Fu was genuinely skilled.

The realization only made me smile. Our exchange became a blur of impacts, cheers, and near misses. Neither of us could land the deciding third strike. Originally, I had intended to lose. It would've been easier. Less drama. Better for unit cohesion.

But standing across from Yuen Fu, that no longer felt right.

He loved martial arts.

And for people like us, the greatest respect was to fight seriously.

Alright, I thought. Let's give him a memory worth keeping.

Yuen Fu lowered his stance. One hand stretched forward, his weight settling into the balls of his feet.

"Let's finish this."

I mirrored him, grounding my center and raising a fist. Most of my reconstructed Paladin techniques were far too flashy for this world. I needed something subtle.

Yuen Fu moved rapidly. One blink, and he was at my side. A crescent kick carved through the air toward my temple. My body reacted before thought. I activated Thunderous Smite and compressed the power into my palm. His foot struck, and I blocked it.

The impact thundered through my arm.

For a fraction of a second, his balance broke.

That was all I needed.

I rotated inward, sliding over his leg and under his shoulder. My palm drove into his chest, redirecting his momentum instead of meeting it head-on. Yuen Fu left the ground. A heartbeat later, he slammed into the packed earth. I followed him down, planting one knee on his chest and drawing back my fist.

The crowd fell silent.

My punch stopped a finger's breadth from his nose.

I smiled.

"Thank you for your instruction, Senior Yuen. I learned a lot."

"...You're welcome, brat," said Yuen Fu with a reluctant laugh.

The camp erupted into cheers and laughter, soldiers shoving one another, pounding backs, and reveling in a rare moment of joy. For a brief time, in the middle of a cursed battlefield, we weren't soldiers waiting to die.

We were brothers.

And somehow, war didn't feel quite so heavy.

That was how I spent my first months in the army: digging latrines, trading insults, and dueling around dying campfires.

By the end of the year, every one of them was dead.

Except me.