A ordinary peasant human-guy who found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time...

"Hurry up, fool!" - sturdy guard shouted in irritation, followed by a painful slap on the back of the your head, determined to spur you on.

Grimacing in pain and muttering something, you awkwardly take your place in the long line with the rest of the plebs.

This noisy gathering of peasants, craftsmans, laborers, servants, and other individuals who clearly lack the skills to handle melee weapons is currently in the square next to the town hall.

You are one of them...

An ordinary plebs who only recently turned eighteen.

And now you stand in a confused and murmuring crowd. Armed guards in chainmail hold halberds and stand at the perimeter of the crowd. Several figures appear on the balcony of the town hall (the corpulent figure of a local baron, the mayor bowing low, an old priest).

The baron, dressed in a luxurious dark green doublet, looks disdainfully at the crowd, scratches his double chin, and begins a loud speech: "Let all the inhabitants of this town hear! A terrible misfortune has occurred! The bloodthirsty orcish tribes of the eastern forests have attacked the borders of our duchy! Our noble Duke Caelan Lamitrin selflessly and bravely went to battle these monsters! Alas, to our misfortune, His Grace the Duke died heroically in an unequal battle with the orcish hordes! Eternal honor to the great martyr Duke Caelan!" He died a hero's death, defending our duchy and the entire kingdom! We will all mourn his death! But now, the most important thing is to take revenge on the unholy hordes of vile orcs and defend our lands! By order of the temporary regency council, a call for men to join the militia is being issued in all settlements! As a loyal vassal, I will carry out this order immediately! You have all been given the greatest honor to participate in the defense of our duchy from the invasion of vile green-skinned monsters! So, I have given all the necessary orders to the mayor, and now you will receive weapons and equipment…”

After this speech, the figures leave the town hall balcony and enter the building.

Guards surround the crowd and force it to divide into several columns, which rush toward the carts located at the opposite end of the square.

The carts are piled high with cargo: weapons and equipment. The crowd is overcome with a variety of emotions: bewilderment, fear, irritation, confusion, disbelief.

Someone behind you begins to mutter words of prayer...

Soon, each of these plebs receives some kind of weapon.

However, these spears, clubs, shields, and axes look tattered and do not look like effective weapons for battle.

The rest of the equipment (chain mails, leather armors, boots, helmets) also looks like low-quality junk.

One of the guards hands you a small spear, the iron tip clearly rusted.

You also receive a holey copper helmet and a badly worn leather armor.

Over the next hour, armed guards divide the crowd of plebs into small squads. And then these troops (commanded by well-armored warriors from the baron's retinue) march through the streets of this small town and soon leave its borders.

Next to you, a lanky, awkward-looking red-haired guy, his face covered in freckles and his hair like a disheveled bird's nest, struts awkwardly.

He holds his shield and spear as if they weren't weapons, but kitchen utensils.

"I came from my village to Ashcross to buy some groceries... And you? By the way, my name is Lenny! What's your name, friend?" - he asks you.

You glance at him askance: this guy gives off the impression of being some kind of weirdo...

"My name is Derek... I wanted to find a job..." - you mutter sullenly.

Well... today's visit to the small town of Ashcross, located in the southeast of the Duchy of Forest Reach, has clearly become a turning point in your life. Having left the impoverished forest village where your large peasant family (parents, many brothers and sisters) remained, you hoped to find work in the town of Ashcross, thanks to which you could become someone more significant than an ordinary poor pleb.

Ashcross is a small town in the eastern continental holdings of the Sacred Kingdom of Orlania.

The local duchy is largely forested, and most of the plebs live in small, impoverished forest villages.

Until recently, you lived in one of these villages, working hard as a peasant.

You hoped to change your life for the better...

However, cruel fate often ruins people's plans...

Alas, you have now become part of a local militia detachment, heading off to war against the forest orc tribes in the east.

Of course, no one asked for your consent...

But you will experience the consequences firsthand...