Percy Jackson: As a Gamer In This Dark World

Percy's POV

Around me stretched a sprawling sea of tents, nearly identical to the one I'd just left. Outside, the camp bustled with life and activity.

Men sat around in mismatched armor or simple clothes, lounging on crates or logs.

Some laughed boisterously, mugs of ale in hand, while others shouted curses over gambling losses. Coins clattered, dice rolled, and voices rose in drunken cheers or wails of despair.

Women weaved through the chaos, delivering food to the mercenaries, who accepted their meals with grateful nods and grunts.

Even with my limited range of vision, it was clear this wasn't the orderly camp of a kingdom's army. The ragtag assortment of armor and the sheer variety of characters gave it away—this was a mercenary group.

"Welcome to the Jester Mercenary Group," Trista muttered, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

The moment we stepped further into the camp, I noticed heads turning. Men stared at us in surprise, some blinking as though they couldn't believe what they were seeing.

"Hey, Trista! Finally decided to steal someone's baby, huh?" a loud voice called from somewhere to the right.

"Go suck a dick, Chuck," Trista shot back without missing a beat. Her tone was sharp, but I felt her hands tighten slightly around me—protectively, I thought. Clearly, there was more to the story of Trista and children than I'd first assumed.

"Oh my, who's this little cutie?"

A woman approached us, her figure clad in clothing that left little to the imagination. Her smile was inviting, her movements fluid.

Between her heavily made-up face and the faint scent of perfume mingled with something… less innocent, it was easy to tell she was a prostitute.

"Jake found him during his patrol," Trista replied flatly. "Dropped him in my lap and took off."

The woman smiled knowingly, glancing between me and Trista. "That's just like him," she said, resting a hand on her hip. "Well, if you need any help, you know where to find me."

Trista rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say."

With that, she strode off, leaving the woman behind as she wandered toward the gamblers' corner. I was starting to get a sense of this place—chaotic, loud, and gritty—but it wasn't devoid of camaraderie. It was the kind of place where survival was earned, not guaranteed.

After a short walk, we stopped in front of a large tent, from which wafted the unmistakable scent of food. My mouth watered instantly, and my stomach grumbled loudly in response.

"Hey, do you guys have any animal's milk?" Trista called out, her voice cutting through the steady rhythm of chopping.

Inside the tent, a woman surrounded by what must have been thousands of potatoes looked up, her knife pausing mid-slice. Her expression brightened as she caught sight of Trista holding me.

"Well, now," she said, grinning. "Where'd this handsome young man come from?" She gave Trista a teasing nudge, earning a low growl in response.

"Jake," Trista said curtly. "He found him, handed him over, and left me to deal with it."

The woman paused, giving Trista a long, measured look. Her smile softened into something warmer, almost wistful. "I'm just glad to see you around a child again."

Trista stiffened at that, her glare sharp enough to cut. "Let's not get into this."

The woman smirked faintly but let it drop, turning instead to a nearby basket. "Well, you're in luck. A couple of our heifers gave birth recently, and we managed to collect some colostrum."

She lifted a basket filled with crude glass bottles, each containing a yellowish milk. Among them sat a single, well-worn baby feeding bottle.

Trista stared at the basket, her brow furrowing.

"Why do I have the feeling Jake already came here and told you to prep this?" Trista said flatly, her sharp gaze fixed on the woman.

The cook's lips quirked into a sly smile as she snickered, her tone laced with mock innocence. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Trista sighed heavily, already knowing she was right. "Haaa… thank you," she muttered, grabbing the crate with its convenient handle.

"Anytime," the woman replied cheerfully before adding, "Oh, and you might want to look into finding a wet nurse for him. We've only got enough colostrum on ice for about a month."

I blinked in mild surprise as I processed her words. Ice? In a medieval mercenary camp? Then again, it was nearing winter, and even with their rudimentary technology, it wasn't far-fetched to think they'd stored ice from colder regions.

Trista gave a small nod, shifting me slightly in her arms as she turned to leave. "Alright, I'll see what I can do," she said with a faint smile before heading back toward her tent.

Once inside, I was soon faced with a crude but functional milk bottle pressed gently to my lips. I didn't need any prompting—my body acted on instinct, and I sucked diligently. The milk that filled my mouth was warm and thick, far richer than anything I'd tasted in my past life. It was oddly comforting, and my tiny body visibly relaxed as my belly grew full.

"You sure are hungry," Trista murmured softly, a faint note of amusement in her voice as I drained the bottle dry.

Before I knew it, I was being burped and cleaned with practiced hands. Despite her gruff nature, Trista's care was surprisingly gentle, and soon I found myself settled into a makeshift crib. She had managed to fashion one using a few blankets and some spare supplies, creating a small, soft space just for me.

I lay there, my tiny body growing heavy with drowsiness, but I still noticed Trista watching me quietly. Her expression was softer than I'd ever seen it, a distant melancholy lurking behind her brown eyes. She reached down and began stroking my head gently, her calloused fingers warm against my skin.

The simple motion sent waves of comfort through me, and I found myself reconsidering the circumstances of my new life. Sure, it had started as a nightmare—born amidst corpses in the middle of nowhere—but this mercenary group didn't seem all that bad. They were rough, crude, and loud, but there was an odd sense of camaraderie and loyalty among them. Perhaps… this life wouldn't be so terrible after all.

"Goodnight," Trista whispered softly, leaning down to press a kiss to my forehead. Her voice was laced with a tenderness I hadn't expected, and for the first time since arriving in this strange world, I felt a sense of peace.

The years passed quickly in this unfamiliar world, and the longer I spent here, the more I realized that this was not Earth. Everything I saw, everything I heard—it all painted a picture of a place far removed from the world I once knew.

We lived in a region known as the Plains of Grass. As uninspired as the name sounded, the place was anything but uniform. Sure, there were endless expanses of rolling grasslands, but forests and mountain ranges dotted the landscape, breaking up the monotony. It was a land of contrasts—beautiful and harsh, boundless and yet somehow isolated.

For the people who called this place home, the Plains of Grass were their entire world. Due to poor communication and limited technology, few common folk had ever ventured beyond its borders. For most, the idea of a world beyond the plains was little more than a myth.

But I listened carefully. The mercenaries, the merchants, the wanderers—they all spoke in hushed voices of lands beyond the horizon. To the west, there was said to be an endless desert that swallowed entire caravans. To the north lay a vast, uncharted ocean. But that was all anyone seemed to know, and even those whispers were uncertain, passed along like legends told around a fire.

One merchant passing through our camp had told a tale that truly put things in perspective. According to him, he knew a man who had spent three years traveling from one edge of the plains to the other. If that was true, then the Plains of Grass were massive—perhaps as large as North America, or even larger.

But those weren't the only discoveries I'd made. As I figured this out I also discovered something else: the existence of humans that could use magic.