The sound of relentless combat echoed over the fortress walls from the inner ward, yet the atmosphere was devoid of the usual death and despair unlike before. In the middle of expansive, empty hills, beneath the scorching sun, the fortress stood tall.
Within the halls, reverberated the silent chatter of the off-duty mercenaries, creating a subtle murmur. In spite of that, a few distinct voices stood out amongst the gentle whispers.
“Commander, don’t you believe it is time for them to be awoken?” A pleasing voice sounded through the helm of an armour-clad maiden, who followed behind a man of tall posture and bandaged eyes, donning a similar armour but more worn out.
The bandaged man didn't bother turning to face the woman, instead opted to answer nonchalantly, “We will commence their first training session soon.”
The woman, taking note of his response, continued, “I hope your methods of raising soldiers will prove a crucial asset in the tensions between Bami and the Avaran Empire, Sire Ashon.” Her gaze couldn’t be seen through the helm but her tone was all he required.
Their conversation promptly concluded, with no need for further words.
Walking forwards towards a flight of stairs that led underground, the two figures entered the scene. Before them, at the end of the stairs, stood an old wooden double door towering over two metres in height.
Hesitating to open the door, Ashon hands fumbled around his belt as if searching for something. After a moment, he pulls a small notebook out of a pouch, detailing a list of numbers and names accordingly.
After a short pause, finally committing to opening the door, all the ambient light spilled in, illuminating his presence casting a heavy and impenetrable shadow upon his face and the woman’s armour all the same.
The room, now dimly lit, contained pallets arranged in an orderly array which contained, upon them, peaceful sleeping children. But the peace was ever fleeting.
Ashon, preparing his voice, raised its volume and commanded, “All recruits, wake up!”.
Without hesitation, the children sprung up one by one, forming three single-file lines besides each other. Each line contained an assortment of around six boys. After they sort themselves out, in unison they say, “Good morning, Sire.”
Ashon spared a brief glance at the woman who had accompanied him up to this point, then redirected his attention back to the boys standing in line. “Prepare for the beginning of your education. We will be heading to the Behourd shortly.”
Oblivious to the woman behind him, Ashon was promptly reminded of her presence through an intentional cough. Casting his attention back at the boys, he added on to his previous statement, “All pyromancers, follow Lady Inga Fairclough to the Sol praying site and we shall meet later upon the training grounds.”
The blinding sun hits their face as they exit, causing discomfort in their eyes. Proceeding as instructed, with the pyromancers leading a small group in one direction while the rest followed behind Ashon in another.
- - -
As the group approached the broad enclosure ringed by stone walls dedicated to the behourd, the youth became filled with awe. The dissimilar sight laid before them, demanded their attention. Hefty and hammered wooden pells arranged in an orderly manner, along with targets atop haystacks that toted arrows.
However, no opportunities for exploration would be provided. The purpose of these grounds were pure and definite. Ahead of them laid a wooden podium. Its purpose was made clear to the boys once Ashon strode forward and ascended its steps.
They remained in line, awaiting any further orders and with a disciplined stance, they made a great effort to minimise their movements.
The wandering stillness broke with a strong clear of his throat, signalling the commencement of his speech, “Welcome, recruits.” He declared. After a deliberate short pause, he continued, “As you would soon come to understand, you will serve under the banner of our mercenary company, Magistral.”
With the utterance of those words, the eyes of the boys brimmed with wonder and intrigue. Seizing the moment and leaving them no time to dwell on his words, he pressed onwards with his speech, “Your duties will not be pretty, and quite often gruesome.”
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By this point, the small group of three pyromancers had already returned and had fallen in the formation, with Lady Inga positioned behind the main cohort. He paused momentarily, allowing them enough time to arrange themselves before he ensued, “However in return, you will receive thorough training, stable lodging, meals and in due course, a sufficient amount of Gepack.”
Chatter arose from the rows, but a surprising resounding thud of the podium swiftly put it to rest. “Nobody shall dare to talk out of line, on the training grounds. Heed this as your last warning.” He proclaimed, addressing the entire assembly.
The young boys tensed up and their eyes widened. Now imbued with unshakable fear, each breath echoing the weight of their actions. The grip on their hearts compelled them to not let a word escape their tight sealed lips.
- - -
Led by their new instructor clad in silver armour, they marched onwards to the training grounds and ahead of them laid a land that was rugged with rough uneven patches of dirt and gravel. With naked feet, they pressed forward, enduring all the discomfort.
Their instructor came to a halt, pivoting to face the young recruits, “Arrange yourselves”, he commanded with a stern tone. Simultaneously removing his helmet to face them directly.
Upon closer inspection of the children, a weakened young boy with light coloured-hair, who appeared quite famished, momentarily grabbed his attention. However his gaze returned to the masses that awaited his words.
In a composed tone, he uttered “Welcome to today’s physical conditioning training.” addressing every young recruit in the vicinity. He continued with his speech “I am your instructor for the day, William Townsend.”
And with those final remarks, the beginning of the training was officially marked.
- - -
“Nobody shall leave the behourd until they complete a thousand repetitions!” shouted William, observing the youth desperately strive to tackle a thousand repetitions of the push-up exercise.
Despite hours passing by, not a single participant managed to complete their set. Their arms trembled with fatigue, their heads spinning. Nevertheless, the boys persevered, for this was the fate they sought.
In an unexpected turn of events, the first participant came through completing his sets. However, unable to stand up, he opted to crawl to the side where moments later, he lay upon his own vomit. Many followed soon after.
The recruits finished their sets one after the other, in no particular sequence. Each one collapsed as badly as the last one, succumbing to the exhaustion caused by the rigorous training. Those remaining were the physically weak and most famished, often falling and pushing themselves to continue.
It took no more than an hour for practically all the sets to be completed. All except one boy, the same one with light-coloured hair. He remained weakened, tears streaming down his cheeks from the intense anguish. Pitied by his peers, silent murmur arose from the back, however the instructor spared no thought.
His patience however, had now waned, and in a loud tone exclaimed “You shall remain here, deep into the night till you complete these repetitions.” With a decisive pivot, he turned to the opposite direction and uttered “We shall continue with the training. Follow in my steps.”
In a moment’s notice, the cohort abandoned the boy, forsaking him to his lonesome and solitude alone. His face bore remnants of dried vomit, his palms were teared open with wounds. Though his arms had yielded to the fatigue long ago, he persisted.
Unexpectedly, a shadow ascended from within his sight, revealing a boy of similar age, sporting short black hair and quite more physically healthy than his struggling peer.
“Laugh if you must…” murmured the struggling boy, his words nearly a whisper.
The healthy boy regarded him with a strange look and with piercing confidence he retorted, “Why would I do that?”
The young struggler, not fond of words, refrained himself from any further retort. Mustering all his remaining strength for a formidable extortion, he gave it all on a mighty push, barely managing one additional repetition.
The onlooker, left in awe, commented, “Five hundred eighty-three…”
His eyes widened with surprise, but he refused to let it distract him. Lying down to recover his strength, he soon found himself unable to muster another push.
Resting his head upon his arms, tears traced the outline of his cheeks once more, and his nose sniffling with discontent. Amidst all the pain, his mind bore all but one thought ‘I don’t want to return to that place…’
The observing child scratched his head,sighed and after a brief moment of thought, he slowly bent his knees. Falling in line with his struggling peer, he started counting once more at the start of his own repetitions, “Five hundred eighty-four…”
The struggler, taken aback by the unexpected resumption of counting, found himself rendered speechless. With the silence pierced by the boy’s voice, declaring, “We’re gonna complete these together, but promise me you will repay these later” he omitted in a nonchalant tone.
A peculiar look crossed the ex-spectator’s face as he regarded the struggling boy, but within mere moments he was frantically shaking his head up and down.
“I’m Reiziko,” pausing momentarily to gain one more repetition, he proceeded to ask the young struggler, “You?”
The boy, bewildered by this turn of events, felt compelled to answer and yet he did so with a slight delay. “My name… is Vasily” he uttered in a whispered tone.