The oppressive gloom of Karshelm Fortress's interior was a stark contrast to the burning battlefield Kaelen had just left. The air inside, though not reeking of fresh blood, carried the stale scent of countless lives lived in fear, of desperation, and of the unwashed masses huddled within its ancient stones. As Captain Theron led the small, weary group deeper into the Inner Keep, Kaelen felt a growing sense of detachment from the grim realities surrounding him, his mind already consumed by the chilling implications of his newfound ability.
Beside him, two figures walked in unsettling synchronicity: the original Private Finn, still looking somewhat shell-shocked and bewildered by the sudden appearance of his twin, and the replicated Private Finn. The replicated Finn was a perfect physical copy, down to the nervous twitch in his left eye. Yet, there was a subtle, almost imperceptible difference in his demeanor. He moved with a more deliberate stride, his gaze unwavering, fixed on Kaelen's back. He was a shadow, a loyal extension of Kaelen's will, a startling testament to the profound power he now wielded. The connection between them hummed beneath Kaelen's skin, a constant, low-frequency vibration of absolute obedience. It was exhilarating, a silent promise of the army he was destined to build.
Captain Theron, meanwhile, kept glancing back at the two Finns, his expression a tight mask of suspicion. His movements were precise, his gaze sharp, betraying the unease that Kaelen's sudden appearance and the bizarre "reinforcement" had sown. Rhys, the grizzled sergeant, walked with a weary slump, his respect for Kaelen now tinged with a bewildered curiosity. He didn't understand what he'd witnessed, but Kaelen had saved their lives. That, at least, was clear.
They reached a bustling courtyard, filled with soldiers moving like automatons, their faces etched with exhaustion. The sounds of distant skirmishes still echoed, a constant reminder of the war that gnawed at the fortress's edges. Kaelen felt the gnawing emptiness of his past, the lack of memories, but instead of fear, a cold determination filled the void. Survival wasn't enough; he needed control.
Captain Theron stopped abruptly. "Rhys, get these men rations and find them quarters in Barracks C. And ensure Private Finn… is properly accounted for." His gaze flickered pointedly between the two identical privates. "Kaelen, you're with me. I have some questions for you regarding your… unexpected tactical insights."
Kaelen offered another disarming smile. "Of course, Captain. Happy to assist." His heart, however, was already racing. This was the first test, a probe into his secrets. He had to be impeccable.
As Rhys led the two Finns away, the replicated one spared Kaelen a fleeting, almost imperceptible nod—a silent acknowledgment of their shared, hidden truth. Kaelen felt a surge of satisfaction. The loyalty was absolute, woven into the very fabric of the duplicated soldier's being. This was the foundation.
Captain Theron led Kaelen into a cramped, spartan office. Maps of Karshelm and the surrounding ravaged lands covered one wall, annotated with grim markers of enemy positions. A sputtering oil lamp cast long, dancing shadows.
"Sit," Theron commanded, gesturing to a worn wooden stool. He remained standing, arms crossed, his gaze like a brand. "Now, Kaelen, was it? Your name is unknown in any of the conscript rosters. Your sudden appearance, your surprising prowess… it warrants an explanation."
Kaelen met his gaze, his mind racing. He had no memories, but he had instincts. And one of those instincts was an uncanny ability to read people, to craft narratives that resonated. "Sir," Kaelen began, his voice calm, tinged with a hint of genuine fatigue, "I am Kaelen. As for my past… it's a blur. I remember nothing before waking up on that battlefield. Perhaps a concussion? But the instincts, sir, they just… came to me. Survival, I suppose. And the need to protect the men beside me." He kept it vague, relatable, yet hinting at a unique quality without revealing too much. He sounded like a man who had faced death and found clarity, not a man who had woken up with a forbidden system.
Theron stared, his gaze unblinking. "Amnesia, you say? Convenient." He paced slowly. "And the second Finn?"
"I saw him, sir, hiding amongst the rubble near the breach," Kaelen improvised smoothly. "He was terrified, barely conscious. I brought him back. Perhaps the shock of battle, the dust, made him seem… more affected than he was." He let the implication hang: it's the chaos of war, Captain, not me.
Theron stopped, rubbing his chin. "Hmm. Regardless, your actions saved that section of the wall. Your orders, unconventional as they were, were effective. We are desperate for men with strategic minds. This is no ordinary conscription. You will report to Sergeant Rhys's company. You will be a squad leader. Your duties will involve front-line patrols and securing supply routes."
A squad leader. Not just a grunt. Kaelen suppressed a triumphant grin. This was faster than he'd anticipated. It gave him direct command, a small unit of men to observe, to evaluate, to potentially… replicate.
"Thank you, Captain," Kaelen said, his voice respectful. "I won't let you down."
As he left Theron's office, Kaelen felt the subtle shift in his position. From nameless conscript to a recognized, if unproven, leader. The fortress, once a mere prison of survival, was slowly becoming his chessboard.
He found Sergeant Rhys and the two Finns at Barracks C, a cavernous, dimly lit hall filled with rows of rickety bunk beds. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, stale bread, and unwashed bodies. Original Finn was still eyeing his counterpart with a mixture of fear and fascination, while Replicated Finn stood rigidly, a silent sentinel.
"Kaelen," Rhys greeted, his exhaustion evident. "Squad Leader, eh? Guess your luck is as strong as your arm." He paused, then leaned closer, his voice dropping. "But the two Finns, lad… no one believes that story. Just… keep an eye on them. We don't need any more strange happenings."
Kaelen clapped Rhys on the shoulder, a gesture of camaraderie that felt surprisingly natural. "Chaos, Sergeant. It happens. As for the Finns, they're both good lads. Just need a bit of guidance." He winked subtly at the replicated Finn, who remained impassive.
Over the next few days, Kaelen threw himself into his new role. He observed his squad, learning their strengths and weaknesses. He led patrols along the fortress walls, the cold wind whipping his face as he scanned the desolate lands outside. He participated in supply runs, navigating the treacherous, monster-infested tunnels beneath Karshelm. His strategic instincts, sharpened with each passing hour, proved invaluable. He optimized routes, anticipated ambushes, and instinctively knew where to place his men for maximum impact.
His replicated Private Finn was always by his side, a silent, efficient shadow. Kaelen began to realize the true depth of his unique skill. This Finn wasn't just loyal; he was an extension of Kaelen's thoughts, a perfect implement for his burgeoning ambitions. He tasked him with small, discreet assignments—watching certain soldiers, relaying unspoken messages, or simply being present to reinforce Kaelen's authority. The other soldiers began to notice the unwavering devotion of "Finn 2.0," as some jokingly called him, to Kaelen, though they dismissed it as the bond of shared battle.
One evening, after a particularly grueling patrol where they'd successfully driven back a probing party of Necromancers, Rhys sought Kaelen out. They sat by a sputtering fire in the mess hall, the sounds of weary soldiers filling the air.
"Kaelen," Rhys began, his eyes thoughtful. "You're different. Not just the fighting. You… you know things. You anticipate. We haven't lost a man on your patrols."
Kaelen stirred his watery stew. "Just trying to keep everyone alive, Sergeant."
Rhys grunted. "More than that. My gut tells me you're hiding something, lad. But my gut also tells me you're the best chance we've got. Captain Theron's got his eyes on you. He's impressed, but still wary. Word is, he's putting together a special mission. A high-risk infiltration into an Orc supply depot beyond the Northern Watchtower. Small team, vital intelligence. Only the most reliable men."
Kaelen's blood quickened. This was it. A mission outside the walls, a chance for a significant objective, and more importantly, a chance for another duplication token. He had that second token from his first mission, still unused, burning a hole in his mental pocket.
"A high-risk mission, you say?" Kaelen mused, a faint, almost predatory gleam in his eyes. He thought of the second token. He thought of Sergeant Rhys—dependable, experienced, a natural leader. Molding someone weaker was a long-term strategy. For now, he needed strength. He needed a loyal, skilled core. Rhys was exactly that.
"Yes. It's a suicide run for most. But if anyone can pull it off," Rhys said, his gaze meeting Kaelen's, "it might be you. Or at least, with you leading a squad."
A plan began to form in Kaelen's mind, intricate and precise. This mission, if executed perfectly, would not only secure vital intelligence but would also solidify his growing influence. And, more importantly, it would give him the perfect opportunity to expand his hidden army.
He leaned forward, a subtle fire in his eyes. "Tell me more about this Orc supply depot, Sergeant. Every detail." He had a token, and a clear vision. He would not just replicate Rhys's loyalty; he would copy his experience, his leadership, and his unwavering dedication, all directed solely at him. This was the next step. This was how his Legion would truly begin to grow.
The Captain's mission was coming. Kaelen was ready. His true army, his Legion, was about to take its second, powerful step into the heart of Karshelm Fortress.