The Price of Failure

"That's not fair, Sir!" Bucket stood up, yelling indignantly. 

"The decision has been made." Tycon responded coolly. "Sit. Down."

"But, Sir!?"

Tycon sighed and rubbed his glabella.

"Listen well, young man. The three of us are your superiors concerning Rank, Time-in-Service, Age, and above all, actual Combat Ability. If you have issue, you write a clear and concise FORMAL rebuttal."

Wroe shrugged, "If you fail, you get punished."

Dragan chimed in, "Yeah! Shut up, Bucket!"

Tycon glared at the two. They looked away.

Horse neighed, "(Yeah, shut up, newbie!)"

Tycon glared at the horse. Horse focused his attention elsewhere.

Bucket thought for a moment, "Can I ask why?"

Dragan groaned loudly. He was tapping his foot impatiently, obviously annoyed. Bucket began to subconsciously shrink, curling up his body in response to Dragan's growing frustration, "Bucket, I thought I told you to shut up! You don't question orders, especially from a noble! You just--"

Tycon raised an open palm, interrupting the Titanblood, "No, Mister Dragan. This is fine."

Dragan crossed his arms, emitting a low, feral growl like a beast. Bucket's shoulders trembled slightly as he looked up towards the adults. The young boy was not immune to fear, after all. Barza looked equally troubled, unsure of whether or not he should speak up for himself.

He spoke to Bucket keeping his voice calm and measured, "Young man, there is a time and place for questions. Usually, sensitive questions are asked in private, as to not question the integrity of those who pass judgment...

"Mister Dragan was trained in a harsher environment. The general speaks. The troops listen.

"Understand that he is not wrong. It is possible that I will ask you to act on my command on trust alone-- Pray to your gods that that time never comes."

Barza looked on, guilt and worry apparent in his eyes. Bucket looked as if he was about to cry. He gripped his small fists in resolution and looked up with moist eyes, "But I trust Sir Tycon!! I trust all of you guys!"

Tycon closed his eyes, feeling a surge of pride. He was almost certain that Wroe and Dragan were touched, as well. 

However... he did not feel deserving of the boy's sincerity. The boy was a weapon. He would be sharpened with the whetstones that were training and suffering. And when Tycon was finished, the boy would be strong-- of that, he had no choice in the matter. But afterwards, would he still be the same boy? Tycon was uncertain.

"Invictus is a small group of elites, not a thousand spears moving as one," Tycon continued. "As such, I need you to think, to analyze, to react to situations with intelligence and cunning. We are training you as best we can. At the very minimum, you need the strength of a Bronze-Ranker."

Tycon noticed that Barza's face turned gloomier at the thought. The man had a confidence issue. While he was a Bronze-Rank, himself, the only other he could compare himself to was Guard Captain Varen, who he soundly lost against in one-on-one combat.

As Barza was now, he had the increased strength and endurance to soundly defeat the brain-addled Veteran Captain... not that Tycon particularly cared to tell him that. 

"Your weaknesses will be strengthened. Your strengths will be fine-tuned. And when you are finally not a burden..." Tycon smirked. "--you will learn to work as a team... with which we shall contend with challenges above our rank...

"That stated, you may ask about our criteria." He offered. "We have nothing to hide."

Barza stood up, having regained his confidence, "Sir Tycon. Boss?"

Tycon raised a palm, motioning for Barza to speak.

"Why did you--" Barza opened his mouth to speak, but no more words came out. He stared at his boots, deep in thought. And with a confused but helpless look, he slowly sat back down, "Never… mind."

Tycon sighed and crossed his arms, "Mister Barza, your biggest weakness is experience. You know how to swing a blade by instinct, but not had a militarized regimen of endurance or combat training-- that is, you cannot handle drawn out, physically-taxing combat. Over several training sessions, we've pushed your physical and mental endurance to your limit. And once you used every bit of strength, lost every last onze of willpower, we demanded more. And in that precarious state, we forced you to fight against nigh impossible odds.

"Mister Dragan is thrice your size-- he's less of a man than a wild, charging beast, or perhaps a two-tonze boulder falling off a cliff. You don't fight that kind of man, you avoid him at all costs.

"Mister Wroe is a spellcaster-- a wielder of chaos and entropy. By his words and will, he can twist and in some cases even defy the Laws of this world. You don't fight that. You hide in your bedsheets and pray for the nightmare to end.

"And me…"

"Well, you'll never defeat me." Tycon gave an apologetic shrug, "Anyroad, I'm certain that you know that every fight thus far, you've risked severe injury and an unclean death. 

"If you didn't have the talent... If your instinct didn't force you to stand and fight…" Tycon had walked up to seated Barza.

The clean-shaven man had paled from Tycon's words.

Tycon raised an eyebrow, mulling over his words, "Ultimately, you've survived thus far. You do have the potential, Mister Barza."

He patted the young man's shoulder, "Today, you gave up at the last moment. This is training, Mister Barza. You're not allowed to die during training or otherwise. When the world falls apart around us, the training takes over.

"And when that time comes, even if Death herself comes to claim you, riding her pale, winged horse--"

Tycon's voice dropped low... ominous, "I need you. to be. Immortal... Do you understand me?"

A single tear dropped down Barza's face as his heart visibly surged with pride, "Y-yes, Sir."

Tycon leaned forward to whisper words only Barza could hear, "Have some self-respect."

"Yes... Sir," the young man sniffed. 

Tycon turned and walked away, as Barza wiped his face.

"Bucket, does that answer your question on why Mister Barza failed?"

"Yes, sir!" Bucket answered brightly, "We're not allowed to die!"

"Not without my permission, correct," Tycon nodded, pleased by the boy's response. "Did you have any other questions?"

Bucket stood up and saluted a palm to his chest, "Y-yes, Sir!"

"Well? Go ahead."

"Yes, Sir! Why do I have to carry the log?"

Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Helps your speed and balance. Makes your core stronger."

"Oh. Um-- And the spear?"

"Well, if you lose your weapon, it's harder to attack and defend yourself, right?"

"Right."

"And if Mister Barza or Mister Dragan is in trouble, you can save them, right?" Tycon smirked. 

Bucket nodded excitedly.

"Well, there you have it, young man." Tycon nodded. 

The boy's questions were simple. It cost him nothing to answer. And Tycon was reassured that the boy was cognizant of the purpose of his training, as well as the expectations placed upon him.

Tycon again faced Barza, who appeared to have a new face of determination. All the previous fatigue and disappointment seemed to have disappeared. Tycon was pleased that his words of encouragement had the appropriate effect, "Are you ready to receive your mission, Mister Barza?"

"Yes, Boss. I won't let you down."

Tycon was about to continue, when he noticed that Bucket had politely raised his hand. Tycon glanced to his left and right, at Wroe and Dragan, who gave their own nods of approval. The boy had somehow met all of the trio's high expectations. Moreso, the boy was growing mindful of not interrupting.

"S-sir?" The boy asked. 

"You've another question, Bucket?"

"Can I… go with Mister Barza?"

Tycon slowly raised en eyebrow in surprise. Dragan was jarred out of his neutral stance and spoke up in his too-loud voice, "Hold on a minute, Bucket. Are you trying to tell us that… even though don't have to do the Punishment-- you can just hang out with the rest of us, you WILLINGLY want to go with this Gear-Queer loooooooserrrrr?"

Bucket looked down at the dirt and poked at the ground with his toe, "I mean-- if Mister Barza's in trouble, I can use my spear to save him, right?"

Dragan raised his hands in disbelief, "Unbelievable!"

Barza opened his eyes wide and looked to Bucket. The boy smiled radiantly, while Barza looked miserable, his lips quivering with emotion. 

Wroe had stepped forward, wearing his own angelic smile, "This is what it means to be in a guild, Mister Barza."

Barza puckered his lips with blurred eyes, trying his best not to cry. 

Tycon crossed his arms and smirked, "Bucket! Permission granted. The two of you, take a break from training and prepare your gear. Tomorrow, you'll be hunting and tracking, as I have on good word that there's a Gann den in one or two malms distance, north. If you're successful, we'll all be able to eat fresh meat for a sun or two."

Dragan and Bucket cheered, "Meat!" Barza clenched his fist in front of him resolutely. Even Wroe was smiling and laughing at the prospect.

Bucket began yelling amongst the cheers, "Mister Barza! We got this! This should be easier than fighting an 8-armed Devilbeast!"

Tycon glanced to Bucket, uncertain of what he had just heard. He looked at Wroe with a furrowed brow, "Mister Wroe, an 8-armed what-now?"