We had completed one full month of training.
Somehow, I was still standing.
My body, once weak and wiry, now moved with a kind of quiet coordination. The difference wasn’t in how I looked, though the muscle was slowly coming in, but in how I endured.
More than half of us had collapsed on the first week’s runs. Now, the entire class could run five kilometers without falling apart, though barely. We could climb the rope tower unassisted. March ten kilometers with a five-kilogram load strapped to our backs. Hold a line formation for ten straight minutes, even under simulated arrow fire. And most importantly, we’d learned to perform sentry shifts silently and correctly for an hour at a time, without speaking, slouching, or dozing off.
Even I had improved more than I expected. I was no longer the last in line. I could breathe through pain, think through exhaustion, and hold my ground longer than I thought possible.
As I made my way toward the main barracks, ready to begin another day, I noticed something different.
A new face stood by the flagpole, arms crossed, boots dug firmly into the dirt.
I remembered the briefing from our instructors, training sergeants rotated every month. It was part of the army’s "exposure doctrine." Different teachers. Different pain.
But this man was something else.
He was built like a siege weapon. Broad shoulders, a thick, armored neck, and arms like carved stone. He walked with a limp, one leg dragging slightly, stiff, but it didn’t slow him. If anything, it added weight to every step. He moved like a mountain grinding forward, one that refused to stop.
His voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It cracked through the yard like a thrown axe, and the entire formation straightened on instinct.
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“I am Private Varik, Vanguard Division. If not for the skirmish that left me with this limp, none of you would’ve ever been lucky enough to see even the shadow of the Vanguard. And before any of you start dreaming, forget about it.”
He let the silence draw out, like a blade waiting to drop.
“I’ve read your progress reports. None of you have what it takes to enter the Vanguard after Awakening. Not a single one. Maybe, maybe, one or two of you might qualify after your Tier Two class trials, if the stars align and the gods look the other way.”
A few chuckles bubbled up from the back of the formation, but they died quickly under his stare.
“Training under me will be different. And I won’t be adjusting my methods for children who cry when their arms ache or their legs shake. If you can’t keep up, the quartermaster’s tent is always open. Supply division always needs fresh hands to polish pans and carry crates.”
He spat into the dust and pointed toward the field.
“If you’re still standing by the end of this month, here’s what you’ll be doing.
You will run five kilometers in full gear, helmet, chain vest, spear, and pack, in under thirty minutes. If your legs give out, crawl.
You will hold a proper spear stance for forty-five continuous minutes. No shifting. No breaks. No leaning. Break formation, and you start over.
If you’re able to do all that by the end of the month, your Strength stat should be approaching ten, if it’s not, you weren’t really trying
And by the end of this week… you will fight. Sparring matches begin. You won’t be judged on whether you win or lose. You’ll be scored on your stance, control, pressure management, and tactical application.” Thɪs chapter is updatᴇd by 𝔫𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔩~𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖~𝙣𝙚𝙩
A cold chill spread through my chest.
I didn’t need a scroll and ink to understand what he was demanding. From where we stood now, ten kilometers with five kilos, ten-minute stances, no real sparring experience, Varik’s expectations weren’t just ambitious. They were ruthless. We’d need to double our marching load, shave several minutes off our run times even while fully weighted, quadruple our stance endurance, and build two full points of Strength, something that had already taken me six weeks of discipline, food, and pain.
I had started at 6.0, a scrawny, half-starved mess who hadn’t seen real protein in weeks. Gaining those first two points had taken everything: training, weighted running, and even sleeping with sandbags.
But now? After adding some muscle, the truth had become painfully clear: stat growth wasn’t linear. Going from 6 to 8 had been hard. Going from 8 to 10? That was something else entirely, especially without Awakening. I knew that once I awakened, mana would accelerate physical development. But until then, this was all brute force and suffering.
Gaining two more points wasn’t going to be easy.
“To monitor your progress, starting today, you’ll finish your physical run and immediately strike the reinforced dummy outside the armory. No cheating. Full force. One strike. That’ll tell me if your strength’s improving, or if your spine’s made of parchment.”
And just like that, the new month began.
The run was brutal, not because of the distance, but because we were forced to carry our full gear: helmet, chainmail vest, training spear, and twenty pounds of emergency kit. The straps dug into my shoulders. My legs screamed by the second kilometer. But I pushed on.
Breath in. Hold four. Breath out.
When I finished, I dragged myself toward the training dummy stationed beside the armory wall.
It was wrapped in reinforced hide and embedded into the ground with iron pins.
I gripped the weighted spear, steadied my form, and drove it forward.
It wasn’t weak, but it wasn’t impressive either. One of the aides scribbled something onto a wax tablet without looking up. I didn’t ask for a score. I already knew it was not satisfactory.