It was the first day after 'acclimatization' for freshly enlisted at Lobsterhead, and I was finally getting a taste of what life at the fort would be like.

I'd spent a long week getting to know the folks who lived at Fletcher, further bonding with my roommates, and agonizing in my head over what manner of hell training under the Legion would be like.

I drilled for countless hours, both day and night, because I was trying to ensure the skills that Delta had forged in me wouldn't atrophy from disuse. Swordsmanship, I thought, was like a muscle. If you didn't use it, you lost it. My training habits had already given me a bit of a reputation amongst Fletcher Hall. If you needed me, I could probably be found somewhere in the practice yard.

The practice yard was beneath the structure of Fletcher Hall. 'Yard' was a misnomer, but, 'practice cave' didn't roll off the tongue in the same way. It was vaguely reminiscent of how the basement had been at Alewife, and it made me wonder if it was an intentional design choice. I knew from the stories told at shared meals that many of the garrison at Alewife had been in the Legion at one time or another.

It was a large rectangular room with walls of damaged gray stone. So damaged that they'd been scarred white by years of swordplay gone awry. There wasn't a stone surface in sight that didn't have some chip, scratch, or nick.

I thought it was an epic testament to training across decades. My peers thought it was kept in ill repair. We both might've been right.

During the day, I'd do the run-of-the-mill training routines. I'd run myself through sword forms until they flowed naturally, I'd move wood until I couldn't. I did the typical, boring training you'd expect for a warrior of my size. But at night, with nary a soul to witness, was when I practiced the use of abilities. I'd been warned to be discreet, and I took that warning to heart.

It took some time, but [Windslash] and [Empower] both began to be integrated into a style of swordsmanship unique to me. I didn't have anyone to spar with using them in concert, but I was excited to see what level of a combatant I'd become.

I'd stopped having to think about [Empowering] my strikes, with it instead happening automatically when I wanted to apply pressure onto an opponent. The System knew what I wanted, and when I wanted it. It was uncanny. It felt like it was learning my preferences.

[Windslash] was a different story. It wasn't the kind of ability that allowed you to pull punches, so, it'd led to a lot of shredded haybales. I'd come to the conclusion that it came in handy as a damn good 'gotcha!' move. If I could stagger the ability and then rapidly change the direction of my blade, it was like I could strike from two places at once. That was a nasty trick to block.

The ability I'd seen in the arena that Weiland had named [Sonicpunch] still eluded me. I could [Empower] my fists, but it was nothing compared to the devastation that Eunike could unleash.

I had a lot of grand notions about the day to come: I thought that today was to be the first step into the next five years of my life. I thought that I needed to be ready. That I needed to be prepared. Most of all, that I needed to be sharp. The System had begun the process of turning me into a weapon, I only needed to put in the work to finish it. Lobsterhead would be the crucible in which I was forged into a blade.

I was wrong. It was just a day. Like any other.

When the time to begin formal Legion training finally arrived, I found it rather tame. So tame that I thought it was easier than what I'd been doing on my lonesome.

That was a rude awakening.

The problem was that it'd been tailored to one size fits all. Each person was expected to perform the same amount of conditioning exercises in sync with the rest of the training group. A short run, then rudimentary sword drills, then maybe the moving of weighted stones. Then repeat. If I was a princeling with absolutely no foundation, I'd probably find it difficult. A few months ago, I doubt I would have been able to complete them at all.

But I wasn't a princeling. And I wasn't the same boy I'd been a few months ago.

The rest of my hall was not so hardened.

My cohort came from all manners of backgrounds: Weiland, for instance, was the son of some career politician in New Rome. He'd been raised under the watchful eye of a master at arms. When the time came for him to choose a profession to apprentice under at sixteen, he'd skipped town and signed up for the Legion. His father wasn't thrilled, but there was no backing out of an enlistment contract. I'd found that out over an evening game of Liar's Dice, where we bet stories instead of coins.

Phoebe's parents owned a successful brewery called Floralis, but she'd been sent away to avoid any confusion about who would inherit. She was a twin. I'd never been destined to inherit much of anything, so I wasn't sure why that complicated things. Nor did I care. I thought she was more than a little annoying.

Kylen was from an isolationist community devoted to the worship of Zeus. If you called it a cult, he'd get snippety with you. But make no mistake, it was a cult. I think he privately believed that Zeus himself would smite anyone that opposed New Rome and would one day reward him for his faith. Honestly, some of his ideas were a little scary. Though he was generally a good fellow.

As for Eyes, well, I knew nothing about Eyes. Just that he had a delightful smile.

Our first lesson in technique was in a large subterranean space below one of Lobsterhead's many combat arenas. You could find one in almost any neighborhood. It was a military town, after all. There was no better way to settle a dispute than a duel.

The instructor was a grizzly fellow named Culkmen. He spoke in shouts and insisted on being called sir. Much to his chagrin and my delight, he'd yet to find a physical exercise that could beat me. I'd been prepared well for the trials I'd face. I also had two stone worth of muscle on the next man.

We were practicing 'using the System' to enforce our blows. Which seemed to just be a simplified version of the [Empower] ability, which I was surprised to find out that most of my fellow trainees didn't have. Of the twenty of us, I guessed it was only Eyes and I. He hadn't explicitly confirmed it through one of the gestures he used to communicate, but his strikes hit a little too hard to be anything except enhanced.

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Plus, he walked on the field like he knew what he was doing. Eyes reminded me of a more regal and less-practical version of Delta. He'd had at least as much training with the blade as me, maybe more.

I sat on a bench and caught my breath as everyone around me struggled attempting to learn [Empower]. The only weapons they had for us were wooden training blades. They were an ugly brown, poorly carved, and cheaply made. If I tried to use one of them to practice the ability, it'd snap like a twig in my hands. So, that led to me sitting out for a large portion of the first training session.

I hadn't wanted to single myself out, so I hadn't asked the Instructor for permission. That was my first mistake.

I watched from my seat and saw a familiar sight: almost no one was making any progress in using the System. It'd taken me many hours to use the ability for the first time, and even then, it'd been implied that my rate of progress was somewhat prodigious. Was the group just expected to bash their heads against the wall until they got it? I didn't envy them.

Kylen was the notable exception in the class. Even at a distance, I could see that his sword was doing something. The air around it flickered and warped and left a trail of after-images of the blade following its path through the air. It wasn't yet [Empower], but he'd successfully used his will to command the System. I'd bet on him figuring the ability out before the end of the day. I recalled something similar happening to me when I first used it.

My thoughts were interrupted by yelling from across the room. Spittle flew from his mouth as Culkmen shouted at me,

"You need to make the System serve you! You need to make it notice you! Care about you! Otherwise, you'll never hit hard enough to make a difference! Big man, what in the gods' unspoken names are you doing?"

I wasn't sure what that meant. Had the System ever noticed me? I had always suspected that it was aware, but I didn't have an explicit confirmation one way or the other. It took me a second to realize he'd addressed me. His curse was one that I'd never heard before. Instructor Culkmen had no reason yet to know my name. I was going to try not to give him one.

"Sorry sir," I responded. "There's no way this blade will hold if I [Empower] it. I'd rather not waste the equipment."

He raised an eyebrow at me. Skepticism was plainly visible across his face. He reached down to his belt and pulled from his waist an ugly gray metal short sword. It had seen better days, judging from a large number of chips along the blade, but it had clearly been oiled and maintained recently. It'd seen a lifetime of use. Now, it was cared for. He offered me the weapon by the pommel.

"Show me," Culkmen demanded.

The blade felt tiny in my hand. It looked tiny, too, compared to me. Like it belonged in a kitchen instead of on a battlefield.

As he instructed, I flipped the mental switch telling the System to use [Empower]. The blade looked no different in my hand. But, when the blow landed, I knew it would pack an extra punch.

I stood opposite the training dummy. It was a man made of cloth sacks wrapped around straw and bound together by rope. It felt strange that I was going to attack an inanimate object shaped like a man. I'd gotten so used to hitting people whilst sparring, even though my drills for the past week had been partnerless.

Culkmen cleared his throat impatiently and then waved me on with his hand.

"Go on. We haven't got all day."

I tore the dummy in half.

It wasn't the clean cut of a hot knife through butter. It was the rough feel of a blunt saw going through wood. First, the blade forced the dummy to move in its direction of travel. Then, in a jagged motion, it found purchase and gutted its insides. A mixture of wooden splinters and hay splayed out onto the floor.

It wasn't going to be put back together anytime soon.

Some of my peers from around the room hollered out praise for my performance. Culkmen hadn't engendered himself well, and I was sure it felt good to see one of the class succeed. Even if I'd accidentally made myself a little of an outsider due to my neurotic habits.

I gave a half-bow. It was clumsy given my hulking form, but, a little showmanship never hurt anyone. I turned and offered the blade back to Instructor Culkmen, rotating the pommel around in my hand to face him. He didn't take it back from me right away.

"Someone's ahead of the typical curriculum," Culkmen murmured. They were the first words he'd spoken all day that wasn't at the volume of a shout. "Who taught you how to do that, big fellow? What's your name?"

I wasn't sure if it was a good idea to namedrop Delta's person, even if he was going by a pseudonym. The streets of Lille had taught me to be hesitant about identifying myself to people. I was from the kind of place where sharing a [Status] would get you marked, after all.

"I'm Ghul." I gave Culkmen a half-bow too, to be respectful. "It's good to meet you, sir. It's just something I picked up in my travels."

I tried to be as nondescript as possible about my experience and prior training. I might've thought that I was better than his class so far, but I wasn't stupid enough to disrespect someone ranked above me.

"Hmm." Culkmen hummed. "They must've been some travels. [Empower] and at least one attribute increase in might aren't given to just anyone. "

"It was a long road to Lobsterhead, sir," I replied as coolly as I could. Internally, I was freaking out.

I wasn't sure what he was trying to prove by highlighting the fact I'd had an attribute increase before arriving at the fort. I knew he also must have one, and I suspected some of the others in the class as well. There was a power move at play here, one that I didn't understand. Was he singling me out?

"I'm sure it was," Culkmen said. "Do it again."

I took his sword and repeated the process on another dummy. This time, however, I didn't manage to cut the entire way through. It snapped and fell downwards, leaving the wooden post hanging on by a thread. One firm yank would probably break the rest of it away.

All the while, Culkmen watched without saying anything. His studying gaze made me nervous. It would've been better if he was speaking to me. Anything was better than silence.

After what seemed like an eternity, he spoke.

"You [Empower] like a Horror. It's bestial, brutish, and more than a little alarming. But it's also effective. You're right that you would've destroyed the training blade, which isn't something I'd ever have thought a fresh recruit capable of." He shrugged casually. "Well, you learn something new every day."

He gave me a quick once-over and raised one eyebrow. "You definitely aren't a Kanaadian spy.. right?"

"Not a spy. No sir." I shook my head enthusiastically. I wasn't a spy, nor did I want to come across as one. The whispers of an oncoming war had only grown louder over the past week.

He chuckled at my dismay.

"You and I are going to have to have a long conversation soon about where you picked that up. You use it like it was learned, and your blade style is an old Legion standard. Do a better job of hiding your training."

Culkmen had figured me out in the span of a morning. That was concerning.

We'd have that conversation at his behest, not mine. I wasn't going to seek it out and he wasn't going to push the point. With any luck, he'd forget all about what made me intriguing.

I didn't respond to him. Then, he walked off to assist someone else who had accidentally smacked themselves in the face with their practice sword. He whistled as he went.

The rest of the afternoon passed without incident. It felt good to train with a group again. I'd forgotten how much more enjoyable suffering through it with other people was. Organized exercise had been thrown out quickly in the chaos of reorganizing Alewife, as there was usually a more productive way to spend your time.

My brief capturing of Culkmen's attention faded into the back of my mind and I hoped I could fade into obscurity in his. Only, I didn't think my pride would allow it. I liked the feeling of being competent, of being acknowledged as capable at something. Compared to Delta, I wasn't good at swordplay or using the System. But compared to my peers? I was great, which worried me.

Being great meant that I would stick out.