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    As Brawl led us to the archery range, Sage demanded, “What is your name, Duplicate. Yes, you, the short one.” Morph scuttled along, carrying her fast enough to match my fast walking pace—which was a normal pace for Brawl, but the man didn’t seem to care.

    I slumped my shoulders. “I’m not any shorter than regular Dupes.”

    “You’re shorter than Brawl.”

    “I’m Levi.”

    “How did you get that name?” she asked.

    “Does it matter? You won’t be able to distinguish me from a crowd, anyway.”

    “I will once you speak. Your word choice is unusual sometimes, and your accent is confusing.”

    “Well,” I replied, “it’s just a Dupe malfunction?”

    “I don’t believe you. How did you get your name?”

    “A trainer at Homecamp called me that,” I replied. “Apparently, it was a name from his homeland.”

    “I’ve never heard of it before.”

    “Oh, and you’ve heard of every name?”

    “Most, yes.”

    “I’d bet there are plenty of names from…what do you call it, Vane-march, that you wouldn’t know.”

    “I know how their names sound, though. Flokir, Teskr, Eroc, and more.” She narrowed her eyes. “More importantly, how does a Dupe not sound confident when mentioning the nations west of Gate? You would know of them. You should know of them. Unless you are truly such a dud that you refused to pay attention to any of your Homecamp lessons.”

    “So you know all the western nations, hm?”

    Yes. Palan, Ohnethil, Krublun, Vane-march. Shall I continue?”

    Admittedly, that was a bit of a foolish counter. He’d paid attention decently in school, and he would’ve been able to name most of the countries in Europe. But, what about the really little ones? Like…what was it, Andorra? But he purged those thoughts from his mind. He wasn’t going to argue with Sage about her own world, and he wouldn’t be able to point out if she had missed one.

    He did, however, remember most of the places she’d mentioned from the little history text he’d acquired. Palan and Vane-march were the largest, but Krublun was a mountainous kingdom of dwarves known for their excellent crafting skills.

    “More likely, I suspect,” Sage continued, “is that the rumours about you are true. You are an Atoning, and that is the name your soul carried in its old world. Which would somewhat excuse your lack of education.”

    “Come on…” I muttered. “Does everyone just know what I am?”

    “You do not hide it well,” Sage replied.

    “Let me guess. It makes you hate me more.”

    “Perhaps.”

    I sighed.

    “It was foolish to try lying to her, brother,” said Brawl, looking back over his shoulder. “She would have found out eventually. It is best if we do not lie to each other at all—we are, after all, putting together a team. Do not lie to our potential squadmates again.”

    I nodded reluctantly. But that didn’t change the fact that there would be people like Scar who hated me for what I was. I was going to have to watch my back, because if hiding my identity didn’t accomplish anything, the only way to keep myself safe was with my own strength. Nothing would stop them from trying to kill me.

    “We’ll still need to find some way to make you more unique,” Sage said. “On your own, I still couldn’t pick you out from a crowd. You being a Duplicate and all.” She shook her head.

    “I’ve got short hair. Use that for now,” I said. “Besides, good luck finding you in a crowd. You’re shorter than everyone. Unless you can actually walk.”

    “I can. It’s just very difficult.” She scowled, then motioned ahead. “Now, shall we practice archery?”

    They had almost taken an entire circle around the outer wall, with how far Brawl had let them. I was half-convinced he’d led us the wrong direction, but was too ashamed to admit it. Still, the archery range was right in front of us.

    A wooden fence surrounded five aisles. At the far end of the aisles stood a scarecrow—one in each lane—with the outer wall of Castle Urcia right behind them. In front, there was a single stall where we could launch our arrows from. Three of the lanes were in-use at the moment.


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    I approached one of the lanes, the closest, and let the Dupe practicing there fire an arrow. It thudded straight into the scarecrow’s forehead. As soon as he was done, I said, “Hey. Do you need a—”

    “I already have a squad, newbie. Get lost.”

    I sighed, then continued down the row. The second Dupe gave me a similar response, as did the third. After a few more minutes, they all left, leaving us alone in the archery range. There were a few castle staff in the distance, of course, who were making repairs to the wall, and there were a few sappers patrolling the ramparts, but no one else to recruit.

    “We might need to settle for anyone,” Brawl said. “It is better to have a dysfunctional squad than none at all.”

    “We’re already dysfunctional enough,” Sage grumbled. “If you guys can’t find a good archer—”

    “Don’t even think about going home,” I said. “The day’s not over. While we wait for someone, there’s no reason not to practice.”

    “I never said I was going home,” Sage murmured.

    There was a barrel with its lid off, and a bunch of unstrung longbows rested in it. The strings had been draped over the range’s outer fence nearby, waiting for us. I picked up one of the bows, wrapped my leg around it like Shave had taught me, hooked the string around the base, then pulled it up until the bow flexed. I hooked it around the top of the bow, then gave it a flick. “Good enough. Let’s see what this archery skill does.”

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