My Life in Another World Is Sickening

By Alberto Catellani

Hum, now aliased under the guise of Captain Freimann of the Crimson Snakes, has once more risen as leader of mercenaries in the world of Calemil, where the weather is locked to one's nation, the Gods demand true devotion for their miracles and mages can make the difference between holding out in a siege or being forced out in a matter of minutes.
His greatest challenge has yet to come; for the battlefields he faces may require wits, or just patience, but the unending doubts and questions within his mind need to be put to a final rest...like the ghosts of a legendary treasure, and the honeyed words of someone who is clearly not what it seems.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alberto Catellani
• Release date: Jul 23, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005510800

Alberto Catellani

Alberto Catellani was born on the 9 of March from the country that brought forth the greatest of inventions: the Road. We are talking of Italy, and he was born on a dark and stormy night at 3 in the morning. From a bright and early age, he wanted to write and once he found his grandfather's old typing machine, write he did. What he wrote back then is best left forgotten to the annals of time. Still, he keeps writing on. Known on the Internet as Shadenight123, and outside of it as someone with fifteen years plus of experience as a Dungeon Master capable of actually finishing the campaigns he starts, he has enjoyed a Classical Schooling, moved on to the beer-filled lands of Germany, and is currently attempting a Master level degree with, hopefully, a Ph.D afterwards. And in the meantime, he keeps on writing. Writing brings happiness, to himself and to those who enjoy his books and that, more than anything, is what truly makes him willing to write more and more. If you work at something you enjoy doing, after all, it will be as if you haven't been working at all.

Book preview

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank all those whom,

though life has been tough, unfair and cruel,

Still, they hold their heads up high,

Clasp the blades of their determination,

And stand side by side with the likes of me,

Facing the onslaught that is reality.

Table of Contents

Acknowledgments

Table of Contents

Map of Calemil – Year 812

Preface

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

Map of Calemil – Year 812

Map of Calemil

Preface

Some things never change. Others, unfortunately, must. There are a lot of historical events that inspired the ensuing book, some are easy to notice, others quite less. There is a kernel of inspiration within said written words that strikes deep if you can find it from where I have hidden it.

Unfortunately, some things are hard to notice immediately, thus you may need to read this book repeatedly, a few more times at least, until you see what it is that I wish for you to see. It may be that you never find it; it happens, but I am pretty sure the message is clear enough that if you open your eyes, your mind and your heart, you will see it.

It is a message of hope, and one of grief. It is a war cry, the rallying of an army for a great purpose yet to come. Not literally of course, we don’t really need an army with held aloft banners and chants, or tightly knit groups of soldiers playing cards with one another in a revisiting of ancient card games.

Though remember that all those who look fondly upon the past are quitters by nature; the present is all you have, and the future is what you carve with your own hands and blades. So, look forward, my readers. Though the future may be bleak, or horrifying. Though it may hold you hostage or seem unreachable.

Don’t quit midway. Don’t quit at the beginning. Don’t quit just because you’re near the end.

Keep on fighting. Snarl. Grit your teeth.

One day, you’ll break through the enemy’s ranks, and you’ll realize that you always had the strength to overcome them.

If all else fails, swallow your pride. Survive. And one day, seek vengeance on those who wronged you.

Surviving isn’t meant to be a feels-good event where good morality and friendship triumphs. It’s meant to reach the end of our lives with some manner of happiness, a kernel of it really, and call it our own.

Quite the interesting preface, wouldn’t you say?

Know that I love you all, my readers. Regardless of the adversities of fate, or what time has in store for all of us, you shall always have my virtual head-pats, and hugs.

Fight life head on, with valiant courage and strong heart, my readers.

I know you can.

Alberto Catellani

Prologue

Her name meant Rose. She was the daughter of one of the most influential patricians of Cyrostias; her hair was bright pink, like the cherry trees in full bloom. Her eyes were a wonderful, honey-rich color and her smile could dazzle even the most hardened of veterans.

It helped, incredibly so, that her Talent made it possible for her to select what path she wished to tread.

I will go for a walk today, prepare my palanquin. (Random Event)

I will study the ways of etiquette, servants call for my tutor. (Etiquette +1)

The two options glimmered in front of her eyes, and while she could always increase her etiquette stat, she didn’t really have a need for it.

You have died, and the new life that awaits you in this other world will be filled with all the love you missed in your previous one. Before sending you off, however, know that a great evil exists in the world of Calemil. You will have to prepare for it; the manners of how you wish to do so are up to you.

The Goddess she had met had no appearance she could discern, but the beautifully painted statues of the local divinities revealed to her that it had to be Phrotes, the Goddess of love. She always made sure to light candles in front of her whenever she visited her temple, with the local priests sacrificing in her name many a mighty beast bought with fine silver from her father’s purse.

Her father was a rich man; her mother had died when she had been young, swept away by a plague that had struck the city. He had funded part of the volunteers’ fighting force in Pydria, and with the high risks involved, he had struck it rich. The loans he had given out were being repaid, and many a suitor were vying for her attention.

Her skill level in diplomacy had allowed her to avoid being proposed to anyone; while the value kept increasing, she kept ahead of the curve. Her father had no idea that she was never going to marry if not out of love, and while the thought on that great evil did sometimes make its way to the forefront of her mind, she also hastily dismissed it.

She had been an office worker in her past life; a part-time assistant to some boorish elder man who hadn’t even been able to draft a proper email. Her ‘part-time’ had turned into full-time, and even extra working hours, though without any salary increase. She had needed the job, and the money, but when she had finally had enough and found another job, a truck had taken her dreams away.

Only to give her somehow even more than she could have bargained for.

She had Talents. Her father had been surprised to find out; Talents were rare. Those who had them were always destined to great things. She had thought everybody had a Visual Novel-like menu, where one could see their statistics in manners of abilities and skills, but no, that was the prerogative of those with Talents.

Thankfully, she had avoided mentioning how she had the ability to learn all manners of Magic; she doubted she’d have been able to spend a lazy life relaxing as a beautiful noblewoman otherwise.

In the end, her thoughts led her to push the Random Event option. Her servants complied, moving to have the servants prepare the palanquin on which she’d rest while traveling through the city. There were beautiful gardens and wondrous monuments that with the glimmering colors bestowed upon them, looked dazzling to her eyes every day.

She had a passion for colors, and enjoyed painting; with her skills, she could paint the most flawless of portraits, and all without having to do much more than push a button when the prompt appeared.

Her life was bliss.

True, her Military-related skills were all at a nice, round ‘Zero’, but she wasn’t really going to fight in a battle or a war to begin with; that foolishness, she’d gladly leave to others.

Her palanquin carried her across the street, satin curtains keeping the sun away from her fair skin. She popped a grape into her mouth, tasting its sweetness. There were two kinds of people walking the street; the happy, successful Pliurians who were raking in the benefits of having won the war, and those taken as slaves and sold around, who looked with an air of looming resignation at their daily tasks.

She had to admit that the eye-candy was nice; while the moral imperative and the ethical one would have her disgusted, there was little she could do. She had no intentions of starting any manner of political uprising to ‘free the slaves’ or anything like that.

Her palanquin left behind the city’s walls, and the eastern bloc of houses outside of them. She enjoyed taking her painting classes on a hill just outside the city, and wonder in amazement at the shining jewel that was the blue sea, or the verdant and lush treetops of the nearby forests.

The air was truly clean only out of the city; sewers weren’t really that big of a thing, unless one had something done in their own villas.

Mistress, one of the slaves spoke, halting the palanquin. He was one of her father’s most trusted men, and thus had the dubious honor of being equipped with a sword and a leather armor, more to signify his status as a bodyguard than anything more. The hill is occupied.

She gently pushed the satin curtain aside and gazed from her servant to the hill that was hers in all but name.

A flag with a Crimson Snake rested atop it, surrounded by tends and simple-looking fortifications. There were quite a few men and women standing in wait, some Beast Folks too, and as she gazed at the proceedings she wondered what it was all about.

What are they doing? she asked.

They must be mercenaries, hiring fresh bodies for the war with the colonies, her servant answered. We should find a different spot, mistress.

No, she said, interest piqued. This had to be her ‘Random Event’. She had expected nothing more than a quiet painting session and an encounter with some messenger or the other, but this looked intriguing.

Mistress? the slave asked.

I have always painted on that hill, and I will not change my ways, she said firmly. We shall paint here if we cannot paint on the hill. Whatever mercenaries they may be, I doubt they will dare raise a hand against me, or my father will hear of it.

Emboldened by her own words, she knew that her slaves would obey; they gently placed the palanquin down on the ground, and then started setting up her painting station. While they did that, she knew she was attracting the attention of those nearby, but none dared approach her, as clearly those who knew her family’s symbol kept a wide berth, and those who didn’t followed the example of the others.

She just had to wait, and whoever was in charge would come out to talk to her, and then she would be using her charms and guiles to convince them to move to a different hill.

After a while, when none of the mercenaries seemed to be drawing closer, she realized that whoever was in charge had simply opted to ignore her and her slaves, and make sure that nobody bothered them by having everyone move further away from her.

An hour went by, and then a second one.

She had been painting without really thinking about it; the crushed pigments mixed with water and oils formed a delicate series of shades on the canvas she had aptly brought along. With a dreary sigh, she became bored of the situation; this was supposed to be her Random Event, yet no one was coming to talk to her.

Truly, sometimes that Talent of hers really wanted her to do everything.

I wonder, she said, speaking aloud so her servant would hear, Is it not rude for the mercenary’s leader not to come speak with the likes of me?

Mistress, her slave said, forgive me, but would you like me to fetch them?

The way he asked made it abundantly clear that he thought this was not a good idea, but while loyal, he wasn’t really the bravest amidst her father’s men.

Why not, she said, they have not come close to us in hours, I doubt they will do anything even without you nearby.

He went as instructed, and she resumed her painting.

Really, what an annoying event in her otherwise relaxing and peaceful everyday life.

Everything turned out for the better though, when the pretty blue-haired and blue-eyed candy showed up. She had to admit, he looked fit and firm in all the right places.

The man by his side wore a helmet reminiscing her of old Viking tales, and seemed to always be speaking first, before the blue-haired man would translate for him.

It became apparent that he was the mercenary’s captain, and the beautiful man just his translator.

Now, talk to me, she said.

The blue-haired man frowned at that. I beg your pardon, noble one...about what?

Whatever you feel like talking about, she answered.

The man translated, and for the briefest of instants she saw the mercenary captain’s eyes turn towards his translator with a dumbfounded expression. She saw the captain ask him something. She knew the language of Solis enough to understand that he was asking him if she had a problem of some kind, and then acquiescing with a curt sentence.

The weather is nice. I am a busy man, so apologies, and have a nice day, the blue-haired man replied.

She would have chuckled at such a poor attempt, but she did wish to speak with the blue-haired man more. There was little for it then, she’d have to make a check to convince him to stay.

Your Captain can go, but how about you stay, and we talk a bit more? The color of your hair and eyes, I find it fascinating, she said.

The man hesitated, and then translated. His Captain made an exasperated exhaling sound, and then patted his translator on the shoulder. He said something about screaming for help if necessary, and a big snake would come to his side.

She didn’t understand why that would be necessary. The Random Event was one more Bishoujo-like man to add to her reverse-harem situation, and with the way her beguiling charms were all top-tier and Elite-levels, there was absolutely no doubt in her mind that she wouldn’t fail in her seduction attempts.

If anything, this might stave off her boredom for a few weeks at least.

Sometimes, her incredibly relaxing and chill life as a noble and rich man’s only daughter with high stats in diplomacy and etiquette truly was boring...until it suddenly wasn’t.

--Freimann--

I sighed for the umpteenth time. The parchments in front of me, laid on the table that had been bought and would be carried, highlighted a long list of names. Most of them were youth without any experience, but with strong arms meant for spears or good enough with a sling to make them deadly. A few were bowmen, but it was the Beast Folks’ natural abilities that intrigued me.

Now, the problem with that was the nature of their dietary consumptions. A Serpes ate one sheep a month, and thus Kralje, my trustworthy friend and second in command, was the easiest to feed. Canids ate more, and mostly meat. Dromas ate grains, and had troubles digesting meat. Other manners of beast folk had their own requirements.

Keeping everyone supplied was a challenge, one which had me cross-reference our funds, supplies and had me wish I could get someone else to help me along. Unfortunately, there was no one who could read and write amidst my men, or the wannabe mercenaries, and thus most of the work fell on me.

Some could barely count to ten, because that was how far they needed to count for most of their lives.

The flap of my tent opened to admit a light blue-haired man with equally blue eyes, and as I glanced at him, Nyvas looked back sheepishly. The young man was a Water Mage, whose discovery of a Patron had somehow saved him from death during the siege of Pydria’s capital. He had belonged to my old company, and now there he was, even though he had found a safe job in the city.

Captain, he said. I was wondering if you had a moment.

Nyvas, I mused, What brings you here?

I was wondering if I could be recruited, he said, I’m looking on putting Cyrostias behind me.

I arched both of my eyebrows at that, you realize you’re heading into dangerous work, which nearly killed you once, yes?

Nyvas shrugged, I’m more in need of leaving the city than really caring on where I’m going.

Ah, I said, did you kill someone?

No! Nyvas blurted out, looking scandalized. I did not! Just, well, anyway, that’s my decision, yes? One shouldn’t delve too deeply in a mercenary’s past.

As long as you’re not inviting the law of Cyrostias at my doorstep, I will welcome you in my company at any time, I pointed out, Though do call me Captain Freimann. A change of name was, and still is, required.

Nyvas blinked at that, I would love to know more.

One should never delve too deeply in a mercenary’s past, I pointed out at him, and he briefly held his breath, before starting to snicker at his own words.

I missed you, Captain, he said. He then glanced down at the paperwork I was currently doing. I should leave you to that-

Nyvas, I said offhandedly. Can you read and write?

Sorry, Captain, he said, I cannot.

I hung my head low. Where am I going to find someone that can read and write?

As I asked that question, mostly to myself, the tent flap opened once more. A furred face showed itself inside, tongue lolling like that of a dog while wearing a gambeson and a chainmail atop of it. He held on to his spear even as he did that, because if he lost yet another I’d have incredibly long swear-words with him.

I am learning, Nuga said. I will learn faster.

Nuga was a good Canid; well, Inugami really. He was learning the tongue of Solis extremely well, but learning how to speak, how to read and write were all different things.

That’s good to hear, Nuga. But I do need someone now, I added. Maybe I should look for someone in the city? Buy a slave’s freedom or something? but while we most certainly had funds, those funds were dwindling. I could do the job for now; hiring someone else only to take away my own discomfort was unnecessary expenses.

Someone’s voice came from outside the tent, and Nuga’s head moved out of sight as he stared at whoever was talking to him. The voice sounded Pliurian; and as I glanced at Nyvas, he dimly realized I was silently begging him to translate for me.

I knew some words; I didn’t have a full vocabulary yet.

A man stepped inside a short moment later, Nuga accompanying him and standing behind, hands on his spear. Though the spear’s tip remained outside, in a near-comical example of someone wanting to do their job and fulfill their promise to never let go of their weapon again.

Nuga, it is fine, you can keep watch outside, I pointed out, and the Inugami complied. He did so, and soon I remained face to face with the local in question. If you are looking to get hired, there’s a process- I said.

Nyvas translated, as dutifully as he could.

The Pliurian looked at him, and then said something I couldn’t quite parse. There’s a noble who wants to talk with you, Nyvas said.

We already have a standing contract with the local city representative, I replied. We asked permission to start recruiting and everything, so-

Nyvas translated. The Pliurian said something back. He says it’s not because of a job. His noble just wants to talk.

I glanced at the work on my desk. I couldn’t lose track, or I’d end up having to start over again, and parchment wasn’t cheap. I have work to do. I do not have the time to chat idly by. We’ll be here for a while, they can come by tomorrow.

Nyvas translated. The Pliurian hesitated, ever so briefly. Then he said something else, Nyvas listened, and then once more spoke back. Seems to be a pretty important noble lady. Her favor is great, her wrath worse.

I exhaled through clenched teeth.

Fine, I said. Nyvas, let’s go handle this.

Had I known what was about to happen, and on what path that would lead us, I would have left earlier that very day.

It began with a pink-haired woman with warm, golden eyes who took a shine to Nyvas.

It went downhill from there, truly.

Chapter One

One hundred and twenty men, thirty-seven women and forty-two Beast folks ended up hired. Pliuria and Pydria shared an alliance, a strong once since their joint defense, and as my trials had been fair, so too were the soldiers I hired capable of doing their jobs.

In total, with myself at the lead of the twenty I knew, we surpassed the two hundred. This was a good thing, because it meant we could form our own military division while aiding out Pliuria’s war in the colonies, but it also meant that I couldn’t lead all of them only by myself.

Nesi, I remarked, How confident are you with spearmen?

He grimaced at that; the mercenary from Hestadia had a cat circling around him often, but he had since stopped holding him on one hand after the beast had grown large enough to seek its own independence.

If Kralje was my second in command, I was sure that Nesi was the third one; he’d follow my lead, as I had saved his life more often than he could count with my paranoia and my night marches. He might not like it, but regardless of his complaints, he’d follow through.

They’re not going to take the pressure well, he pointed out. They’re barely trained. I’ll take the women-they look like they can handle themselves in battle. The shield-arms on some of them look even bigger than mine- he added, pragmatically.

They were better equipped than the men, admittedly. It made sense; Pydria equalized all its citizens, and Pliuria was taking the colonies from Hiepigodia, which meant someone had to fight for them. Coming towards the city closest to the colonies by sea route, they inevitably found us hiring, and thus showed up.

If I had to pick between a sword and shield, with experience and armor, or a new face which needed to be loaned his own spear and sandals, then I knew which of the two I was going to hire. At the same time, as the fighters increased so too did the supply train and those accompanying us.

No, Nesi. I’m letting them pick one amidst their own that can handle it, I pointed out. When in Solis, do as the people of Solis do.

Fine, Nesi huffed, arms crossed. I still don’t want the spearmen, Captain.

I rubbed the ridge of my nose. I can give the forty or so beast folks to Kralje, this leaves me with the men. Of those, I have just twenty who are pretty good with their slings, the rest are meat with pointy sticks. And they were the best meat with pointy sticks I could find.

I had sent back to their homes or to try their luck elsewhere more than a few dozens of men who had the will but lacked the strength or the discipline to march for as long as I needed them to.

On the positive side, the Pliurians fought in phalanxes with shields and spears, and had greaves and helmets for their basic protection. These youth had no greaves, helmets or shields, but the latter I could hopefully fix. Unfortunately, they weren’t professional soldiers, and as such lacked the discipline necessary for even marching in formation.

I could feel Nesi’s worries. At a proper charge, they’d break. At a worrisome turn of events, they might desert.

Shorten their spears and find them shields, I said in the end, they won’t be able to fight in formation for long anyway, and if they scatter, they might stab the enemy better if they don’t risk poking an ally’s eye out.

Nesi grimaced, Am I still to lead them?

You can lead sixty, teach them to fight as men rather than as a phalanx, I said, Vasen can have the slingers, and while I keep twenty to train, the remaining will help out as assistants for the time being. Garsa will know what to do with them; he’s in charge of our food supply.

Though the priest of Tradhan, god of shepherds, had no idea how to read or write, he did know how to count and write numbers, which meant that once he was done, I had to decipher the contents afterwards.

As the recruitment was done, I called for a meeting of those in charge of the various squads. My tent wasn’t big enough for all of them, so we met outside amidst the greenery of the countryside, the treetops that promised cover from the heat, and the sea breeze that made me famished for roasted fish.

I am Bronti, one of the Pydrian amazons said in a passable enough Solis, joining us at the meeting. I have been chosen to guide my sisters in battle as I speak the most fluent Solis.

The woman in question was well-built, wearing a bronze chest plate and a helmet that ended with twin, bronze-wings at the side. She had greaves that had seen the dust and the mud of the march, and held on to a shield and a large, curved blade that was best described as a falx; a shield-breaker par excellence.

Her hair was a shade of hazel, and her eyes were the same color, if with an underlying harshness to them. She was there for business, and business alone, and I didn’t just accept that, but welcomed it.

I understand, I said, I hope we can get along, I added. Recruitment is over with; we’ll be leaving Pliuria behind within the end of the week at the latest. Anything I should consider for the colonies?

While Hiepigodia is cut off, chances of reinforcements from them are low, Bronti spoke. I nodded at that. The borders of Pydria are well patrolled, so even if they wished to strike at Pliuria, they’d have to take the sea route, or attempt to cross through other countries. They would be noticed at the border and halted.

I turned thoughtful, If we are only fighting the locals, I doubt there would be many involved.

The militias aren’t the strongest point of the colonies, it was Nyvas who spoke, catching my attention. He came from the North, didn’t he? As a local, he’d be invaluable. It’s the weather and the sea. If they can get the locals Narelds and Bedonuses to help them out, there’s few ships who’ll manage to dock safely.

I rubbed my chin in thought, They’d sink them?

A Bedonus can breathe underwater for a long time, he explained, If they get chisels and hammers, it’s a well-known tale that they can puncture a ship from below, and there is little one can do against that when in the open seas, or away from the coast.

I doubt they’d be able to do that in a matter of mere hours, I pointed out.

But they could do serious harm to those docked, Nesi said. Even if the wood is sturdy, with enough time and no one knowing, they could cause the ships to weaken and end up sinking them-then, it would be a matter of sending more, but ships have a cost, and they can just repeat that.

This is if they manage, and if they have the time for that, Bronti retorted. They might just stay clear of making more enemies; they’re starving already, I doubt they wish to worsen the situation.

That is what I’m hoping for, I mused. A simple war; some long-time sieging. Should give plenty of time for the new recruits to get good enough not to pose a risk on the battlefield.

A man could hope. A Mercenary Captain could not.

The local lord of Cyrostias was elected in manner of war by an assembly of citizens, and in this situation the patrician known as Sioplo of the merchant house of Torschan had been chosen to guide their city’s own military expedition. Considering they were the ones closest to the colonies, they had the most to profit, and if they sent mercenaries rather than their own youth, or their own soldiers, they would benefit twice as much.

They were going to start working their fields soon enough; this meant that the most fruitful period of work for a mercenary company would begin.

We can send you together with one of our supply galleys to Larathus by tomorrow, Sioplo spoke calmly from his desk. His Solis was flawless. He had not a hint of an accent.

Seated as he was behind an ornate wooden table surrounded by beautifully sculpted statues painted so delicately they looked like real life humans trapped in their poses, rather than mere art objects, he looked just like one statue amidst the many, if one that could breathe and command respect by virtue of merely existing. The man had a series of rings around his fingers, most of which were made of solid gold.

Understood, I answered. As per the terms of our agreement with your city, we will act in a manner befitting an army of Pliuria; any claims of land are voided for us, but we are allowed to ransom the prisoners we capture, provided no allied army is nearby. Should no pay be received within the end of two months, we will consider ourselves freed from our obligations and depart-after taking what we are owed.

You will not need to worry about that, Sioplo said, we will honor our agreements as they have been written and sworn. The galley should already be at the docks getting ready; its Captain should be notified. He handed over a parchment, one he had prepared beforehand.

We clasped hands afterwards, the man rising from behind the desk to do so. As I stepped out and onto the streets, I began the trek towards the docks.

People gave me a wide berth; I didn’t know if it was the armor, a gambeson with chainmail over it, the helmet that covered my eyes with iron slits and its neck chainmail, the shoulder-guard and arm guards, or the shield strapped to my back while my sword was sheathed.

The new bronze greaves I wore were scaring them away; they had been bought in Pliuria and were of their own fashion. Two etched bulls stood on their hind legs upon them, as if that alone would give a man the strength of those animals.

It took me a while to find the right galley; there were a few in the docks, but only one was heading to Larathus with the supplies for the local garrison.

The captain looked like he’d rather be anywhere other than on that duty, considering how he took sight of the orders and exhaled, cursing softly in Pliurian. I knew the curse words. First thing one learned together with words for food, cost, and drinks.

He said something, but I just shook my head with the most disarming smile I could make. I caught the word ‘Barbarian’, and then an incredibly simplified, baby-like, Pliurian. We leave tomorrow at sun rising. To-Mor-Row. You come here tonight. Morning we leave. We bring you. There. Okay? Understand?

I thank you for your patience with the likes of me, I pointed out in flawless Pliurian. It was the only sentence I had mastered, proper grammar and all. I didn’t have the accents right, but it worked well enough in getting the Captain to scoff and then dismiss me.

I had some free time, as even if I told everyone to dismantle camp, we’d still be done too early for it and end up having to mill around with no actual