Training [1]

Adrian stood amidst the sea of recruits, his heart pounding in his chest as he fixed his gaze on the man towering before them on the wooden stage. Reynold Baldwin, the Master-at-Arms, looked every bit the imposing figure of authority and strength. His fiery red hair blazed like a torch against the dull gray sky, and his thick beard gave him the appearance of an untamed lion. Beneath his tunic, the bulging muscles of a seasoned warrior rippled with every movement, and his intense, ruby-colored eyes swept over the recruits with a gaze that could pierce armor.

This was the man who would forge them into soldiers—or break them trying.

"Attention!" Reynold's voice boomed across the courtyard, his commanding presence silencing the nervous chatter in an instant. Every recruit snapped to attention, the tension hanging thick in the air.

"You are here to become knights and soldiers of the Breles Empire," Reynold began, his voice cutting through the courtyard like the edge of a blade. "This is not a game. The training you will endure will push you to your limits—and beyond. Only those willing to give everything will survive."

His words struck Adrian like a hammer to the chest, and he swallowed hard. The weight of what lay ahead pressed down on him, and he could feel the anxiety rippling through the other recruits as well. None dared move or flinch under Reynold's intense scrutiny.

"But for those who endure," Reynold continued, his voice carrying the promise of glory, "the rewards will be great. You will earn honor, respect, and a place among the empire's finest warriors. You will become part of a brotherhood that will last a lifetime."

Adrian's breath caught. A brotherhood. The word stirred something deep within him—a longing he hadn't even realized he had. His mind flashed back to the life he had left behind. In his old world, he had been alone, an outsider. But here, there was a chance to belong to something greater, something meaningful. Yet even as that hope flickered, doubt crept in. Could he truly become one of them? Did he have what it took?

Reynold's voice rang out again, snapping Adrian back to the present. "Your training will focus on three key aspects: stamina, endurance, and live combat. Each will test you to your breaking point. Fail to meet these standards, and you will be left behind."

Adrian's stomach twisted at the word "fail." It hung over him like a guillotine, threatening to sever any chance he had of making it through this ordeal.

"Once you complete the second phase, your mana circuit will be activated," Reynold added, his eyes narrowing as if daring anyone to balk at the mention of magic. "Only then will you be ready for live combat. Until that time, every day is a battle for survival."

With that, Reynold dismissed the recruits, and the training began immediately. No time for hesitation or second thoughts. Adrian found himself swept into the flow of bodies rushing toward the training grounds, where the sounds of clashing swords and barking orders filled the air.

"Get moving! Laps around the perimeter—now!" bellowed one of the facilitators, a grizzled veteran whose voice brooked no argument.

Adrian's heart sank. Running. Of course it's running. He had always hated running. Back in his old life, he had avoided it whenever possible, preferring the safety of his desk and computer screen. But there was no escaping it here. He had no choice but to move.

He joined the mass of recruits as they began their laps around the enormous training yard, the sound of their boots pounding against the dirt in a steady rhythm. At first, the pace seemed manageable, but after only a few laps, the burn in his legs began to set in. His breath came in ragged gasps, and his chest tightened with each step.

"I can't... I can't do this," Adrian thought as the pain intensified. His legs felt like they were made of lead, and his lungs screamed for air. His body begged him to stop, to give up. This isn't me. I don't belong here. I'm not strong enough.

"Keep pushing, recruit!" a facilitator shouted as he passed Adrian, his voice laced with both encouragement and warning. "You're not done yet!"

Adrian gritted his teeth, forcing himself to keep going, but the doubts in his mind grew louder with every step. What was he even doing here? He didn't belong in this world of knights and soldiers, where strength and combat skill determined one's worth. He belonged in his old world, where battles were fought on screens, not with swords.

But then, as the pain threatened to overwhelm him, a thought pierced through the fog of exhaustion. My family. My old life. Everything I lost.

Adrian's hands clenched into fists. He couldn't go back. There was no returning to that life. This world—this new reality—was all he had now. He had to keep going, for them. For himself.

"I need to do this," he muttered through gritted teeth. "I need to survive."

The pain in his legs and chest didn't disappear, but a new fire burned inside him. Adrian pushed harder, ignoring the searing agony in his muscles. Each step became an act of will, a refusal to let weakness define him.

Four hours later, the recruits were finally allowed to stop. Adrian collapsed onto the ground, his entire body trembling from the exertion. His breaths came in ragged, shallow gasps, and his legs felt like they might give out at any moment. But despite the exhaustion, he had made it through.

Not everyone had. Around him, some recruits lay sprawled in the dirt, too weak to continue. A few had vomited during the run, their bodies unable to handle the strain. Facilitators moved among them, hauling the worst off the ground and taking them to the infirmary.

Adrian forced himself to his feet, wobbling unsteadily as he staggered toward the water barrel. His entire body ached, but he felt a flicker of pride for having survived the first trial. As he reached for the ladle, another recruit slammed into him, nearly knocking him over.

"Hey, watch where you're going!" Adrian snapped, his exhaustion fraying his patience.

The recruit turned to face him, and Adrian's stomach dropped. It was the same blonde-haired man who had been glaring at him since day one. Terrance, one of the stronger recruits, with broad shoulders, piercing blue eyes, and a permanent scowl etched into his scarred face. The malice in his eyes made it clear that this was no accident.

"Watch it? You're the one in my way, weakling," Terrance growled, stepping closer, his voice dripping with disdain. "Think you belong here after that pitiful display?"

Adrian clenched his fists, anger boiling inside him. He had worked harder than ever today—pushed himself to the brink—and he wasn't about to let this bully tear him down.

"I'm not in the mood." Adrian said, his voice firm despite the trembling in his legs. "Leave me alone."

Terrance sneered, stepping even closer until he was towering over Adrian. "You think you can tell me what to do? You don't belong here. Weaklings like you never make it."

Before Adrian could respond, Terrance lashed out with a swift kick, driving his boot into Adrian's stomach. The impact sent Adrian stumbling back, pain exploding in his abdomen as he fell to the ground, gasping for breath.

"Enough!" A facilitator's voice cut through the tension as he rushed over, grabbing Terrance by the arm and yanking him back. "There will be no fighting outside of training. Do you understand?"

Terrance glared down at Adrian, but he didn't argue. He clicked his tongue in annoyance, then gave Adrian one last look of contempt. "This isn't over," he muttered before turning and stalking away.

Adrian lay on the ground, clutching his stomach, struggling to catch his breath. His body ached in ways he hadn't thought possible, and the encounter with Terrance left him feeling humiliated. But as he pushed himself to his feet, he reminded himself of one thing—this wasn't over.

Not by a long shot.