25th of Aprílios (April), Deftéra (Monday), 834 (Year).

The first rays of dawn filtered through the windows of the barracks illuminating a young dark-haired tiro sporting a buzz cut, the light, casting a dim glow on his sleeping area. Apollyon, still groggy from his restless sleep, slowly began to regain his senses. His mind, heavy with the weight of yesterday's events, reluctantly returned to consciousness.

As he blinked away the remnants of sleep, his attention was drawn to his left side, where Willard lay on the cold floor. The young recruit, with sweat glistening on his brow, was attempting to mimic the workout routine he had shown him previously. However, the effort seemed to be taking a toll on him, and he was emitting exaggerated breaths with each movement.

Apollyon couldn't help but crack a small, tired smirk at the sight. He found Willard's determination, even in the face of discomfort, as being admirable. It was a reminder of his obvious resilience that effortlessly exuded from his person, a resilience that Apollyon had similarly emanated himself in the medical ward.

‘Reminds me of my initial struggles..’ he suddenly thought as he eyed Willard.

Gathering his strength, Apollyon sat up, wincing slightly as he stretched his stiff muscles. "You're doing well, Willard," he said, his voice raspy from sleep. "Keep those legs firm and don’t let your stomach touch the ground. Consistency is key."

Willard, with a look of determination mixed with exhaustion, managed a weak nod and continued with his exercises.

“Understood..brother” he replied in between reps of what looked to be a push up stance.

As Apollyon watched him, he couldn't help but feel a glimmer of motivation as he himself plopped to the ground joining his fellow accomplice in their daily routine. He still had lingering thoughts about his encounter with the injured personnel and Alistair’s silent outburst, yet he could only throw them away at the back of his mind.

“So long as I survive yet another day…everything will be fine” he silently murmured to himself.

In the corner of his eye, Apollyon noticed Otis, the ever-smiling and seemingly friendly recruit, engaged in conversation with some of the others. His infectious grin made Apollyon slightly curious, but he pushed that thought aside for the moment.

Frowning slightly, Apollyon scanned the barracks for any sign of Cicero, the enigmatic and elusive ‘snake’ who always seemed to be scheming. To his surprise, Cicero's bunk was empty, devoid of the usual presence that made Apollyon uneasy. It was unusual for Cicero to be absent from his bunk, and Apollyon couldn't help but wonder what devious plans the young man might be hatching elsewhere.

Gorm and Quintus, the two troublesome tiros were still absent from the contubernium. Their empty bunks only added to the growing sense of disentanglement that seemed to linger in the air. He often wondered when they would return or if they’d even return, ‘perhaps they’re being punished somewhere..’ he mused uncaringly. Truthfully, he couldn’t care less about the two, he didn’t know them well and the only curious point where their long absence and the fact that nobody cared to notice, it almost felt like a fleeting thought to him. He looked around once more.

‘Everyone seems to focus on themselves… and why am I even surprised? I knew this would happen the moment the contribution system was announced; all of that just breeds competition and yet they talk about lofty camaraderie and loyalty to the legion: isn’t this just counterintuitive?’, Apollyon thought solemnly as he wiped his brow in between push ups and sit ups.

‘Or perhaps that is their intentions all along…’ he paused, ‘Expendable meat shields…’ Apollyon sighed mentally, carefree of the fact that he was one of them. He knew full well the bottom line of high-ranking officers.

‘If it meant that results were being made, then everything is fair game…’

‘Despite this, I do wonder what he will do’ he ruminated about a certain someone before pausing and making a connection; ‘his expression clearly betrayed his underlying motives’ he subconsciously thought.

…

The eastern courtyard was bathed in the warm morning light, casting long shadows as the recruits slowly gathered behind an imposing stage. They had just trekked through a rigorous drill that had drained them of their newfound energy. In front was an old figure observing the sea of tiros. This familiar decurion was the one who had drilled them endlessly about formations, he stood tall and imposing on the stage. His well-worn armor glinted in the sunlight as he cleared his throat, his presence commanding the attention of all.

Apollyon, like the others, fixed his gaze upon the instructor. He couldn't help but feel a sense of unease in the air. This gathering had left him with a gnawing suspicion that something significant was afoot.

The decurion's voice, firm and commanding, echoed across the courtyard. "Tiros," he began, his gaze sweeping over the assembled young recruits, "I stand before you today to deliver an important message. In the coming weeks, we will be implementing a lockdown of certain tasks that require you to venture beyond the town walls. The terminals have been updated regarding this change."

"As you may be aware," he continued, "the upcoming bloody festival is about to commence in the near future. Recent developments have necessitated heightened security measures. However, I want to assure you that this lockdown is solely for your protection and the safety of this town." Apollyon found his words to be oddly meticulous, it had a certain note of obscurity.

"In recent times, we have observed a significant increase in the presence of dangerous monsters surrounding our region. These creatures pose a grave threat to both our camp and the town's inhabitants."

“Therefore,” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle in. "To ensure the safety of all, it has become necessary to implement a temporary lockdown. During this period, only official guards will be permitted to maintain routine patrols beyond the town walls."

Apollyon listened intently, his skepticism growing with each word. While the decurion's words sounded plausible, something didn't add up. He couldn't shake the feeling that this explanation was a mere cover-up, a diversion from the unsettling events in the medical ward.

His mind flashed back to those grim scenes, to the injured, the dying, the dead and to Alistair's unspoken rage. He couldn't ignore the connection, his intuition screamed that something was amiss, and it troubled him deeply. Alistair's absence from the gathering only deepened his internal suspicions.

"Bloody festival, Monsters, increased danger, lockdown," Apollyon thought. "It all sounds so logical, but it can't be that simple. Yesterday's events in the medical building has to be the catalyst for this. There's clearly something they're not telling us."

He remembered the eerie silence of the injured guards in the western wing, their solemn gazes fixed on a covered bed. The abrupt death of the officer who had tried to speak of the masked attackers weighed heavily on his mind.

‘Right…the masked attackers, who are they? No, the more pressing question is: What is their goal? Why attack the legion’s personnel of all things considered; just why poke at the hornet’s nest?’ he thought unknowingly.

Apollyon's mind swirled with conflicting thoughts as he contemplated the overall situation. He felt the weight of the gruesome events from the previous day pressing down on him. Alistair's swift departure without an explanation only fueled his growing curiosity, but a voice inside him asked, "Why should I care? What's in it for me?"

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He was well aware that getting involved in this investigation could lead to danger or even death. The masked attackers were clearly ruthless in his opinion, and if they were linked to something within the camp, then he knew that he might be treading on perilous ground.

‘Perhaps, this is all too big for my puny self…’ he thought realistically.

As he continued to observe his surroundings, Apollyon couldn't shake the grim reality that many lives had already been lost, the dead personnel in the medical building might just be a fraction of the total casualty and this exact thought carried an ominous feeling within him. Precisely because of this, his own self-preservation instincts began to tug at him, reminding him of the dangers of meddling in matters that didn't directly concern him.

‘Why should I risk anything for this?’ he thought with frustration. ‘I'm just a measly tiro with a haphazard cover. What can I possibly do in the face of such darkness and deceit? Does father or Alfred have an inkling?’

‘Whatever it is; it's simply easier to turn a blind eye and focus on my survival, right?’

Yet, as he settled into his back into his senses, a nagging feeling persisted, like an itch he couldn't scratch. The images of the injured guards, the dying man's words, and Alistair's ominous demeanor haunted him. Deep down, he knew that the answers he sought might reveal a truth that couldn't be ignored. The question remained: ‘Would I dare to uncover it?’

..

‘Would I get a quest from it? Will it be a special quest? What about the rewards…’

..

“Is it even worth it?” he sighed silently; a murmur lingered but it had been heard by Willard who stood quietly by his right side.

“What’s worth it brother? Is there something I’m missing out on?” whispered Willard quietly, careful as not to arouse the attention of the speaking decurion.

Apollyon hesitated for a moment, his thoughts a tangled web of uncertainty and suspicion as he observed him. ‘This kid is naïve, young and too green, I’m afraid that you wouldn't be of any help to me in this convoluted puzzle’ he remarked mentally. He knew he couldn't involve Willard in the dark speculation that had gripped his mind and Apollyon simply didn't want to burden him with the weight or thought of it. He disliked the idea of bringing misfortune to his comrades.

With a forced smile, Apollyon whispered back, "It's nothing, Willard, just some thoughts swirling around in my head. Don't worry about it."

Willard frowned, clearly not satisfied with the vague response, but he didn't press further. He patted Apollyon on the back and said, "Alright brother, if you ever want to talk about it, you can give me a shout; good ole Willard here is a great listener, my mom said so" he chimed cheerily.

Apollyon couldn't help but feel a sudden pang of guilt. Willard's innocence and good-heartedness were a stark contrast to the shadowy secrets he suspected to have lurked within the camp. In this curious web of uncertainty, he knew he had to tread carefully and alone, at least for now.

..

"Another thing!", the old decurion stated, his tone firm and commanding. "Starting next month, we will begin a series of rigorous tests and duels that will challenge your abilities in four separate categories: physical, body energy potential, mental and combat capabilities. These competitions serve not only as a measure of your progress but also as a means of rewarding your dedication and hard work as we have prepared a set of rewards."

‘Isn’t this just another facet that aims to disrupt your so-called camaraderie; our bonds with each other? Besides aren’t we already competing with each other?’ Apollyon thought mockingly as he rolled his eyes.

However, to his dismay the surrounding recruits gathered in the courtyard all leaned forward, their eyes focused intently on the instructor with an obvious sign of fervour. Banners bearing the camp's insignia billowed in the breeze, lending an air of grandeur to the occasion.

The decurion continued, "These competitions will encompass a variety of skills, to push you to your limits and help identify both your strengths and weaknesses. In the end, they will serve to rank each and every one of you based on your performance. This will be a monthly ordeal so expect the rankings to change periodically as each of you improves."

As the anticipation among the recruits continued to build, the decurion shared additional details about the rewards awaiting those who excelled in the competitions. He wanted to make sure they were fully aware of the incentives that lay ahead, further fueling their determination.

"For those who secure a place in the top percentile," the decurion began, "your efforts will be generously rewarded. At the end of each month, depending on your rank, you will receive a sum of contribution points as a token of our appreciation for your dedication and skill."

He went on to elaborate, "In addition to contribution points, you'll also have access to valuable elixirs, rare equipment, and specialized training opportunities. The rewards will be tailored to your specific rank number, with higher ranks receiving more prestigious benefits."

A wave of excitement coursed through the crowd as the recruits contemplated the potential spoils of their success. The prospect of earning contribution points, acquiring powerful elixirs, and gaining access to rare equipment invoked their competitive spirits.

The decurion’s message was clear: excellence would not go unnoticed or unrewarded within their ranks. The promise of recognition, advancement, and tangible incentives hung in the air, motivating the recruits to commit themselves wholeheartedly to the upcoming competitions.

The decurion’s voice carried a tone of gravitas as he continued with his announcement, his words weaving an enticing promise of recognition and advancement.

"Tiros, I have one more important piece of news to share," he declared, his gaze sweeping over the assembled crowd. "As you may know, we value excellence and dedication within our ranks. To reward those who consistently prove their mettle, we have established a prestigious path to knighthood."

A hushed murmur of intrigue rippled through the young recruits. Knighthood was a revered status, and the idea of achieving such a distinction stirred something deep within them.

The instructor continued, "After one year of monthly competitions, we will identify the top 100 tiros in our ranking system. These individuals will be considered eligible for knighthood, a recognition of their unwavering commitment and exceptional abilities."

He emphasized, "This one-year buffer period is not just a formality; it's a testament to our commitment to ensuring that those who may earn the title of 'knight' are truly deserving. It's an opportunity for you to prove your ability, consistency, your growth, and your dedication to our cause."

The recruits exchanged determined glances. The prospect of knighthood was a tantalizing one, and the knowledge that it could be within their grasp with hard work and perseverance was a powerful motivator.

On the other hand, Apollyon couldn't help but feel a growing sense of cynicism. While the other recruits around him buzzed with excitement and ambition, he saw through the shiny facade of this new system.

"Remember," the decurion concluded, "the path to knighthood is not an easy one, this reward is only a door to knighthood; beyond this is another set of treachery that must be surpassed. It demands your best efforts, your unwavering resolve, and your unwavering commitment to our principles. Train diligently, compete fiercely, and in a year's time, you may find yourselves on the cusp of a great honour." He scanned the recruits one last time before nodding to himself with acknowledgement.

“Dismissed” he finally ordered.

With those words, the decurion stepped back from the podium, leaving the courtyard abuzz with excitement, determination and ambition. The recruits knew that this was the real start of their journey ahead, the promise of knighthood beckoned like a beacon, a goal worth pursuing with all their hearts and might.

Apollyon stood rooted on the spot, in his mind, a concoction of fatalistic thoughts swarmed inside. To him, this whole competition seemed more like a scheme rather than a genuine opportunity for growth and recognition.

‘These competitions aren't just about showcasing our skills; it’s a test about measuring our degree of loyalty and submission.’

‘The rewards, they're eerily similar to the contribution system in place; just another form of bait to keep us hungry, to keep us striving for a taste of power and privilege. It's a clever game, and I can't deny the allure of what's being offered. But I know better than to blindly chase after their promises. It’s all bullshit.’

In his perspective, the promise of rewards felt nothing more than a carrot dangling in front of them, a way to keep the recruits striving and competing against one another while serving the legion's interests.

His thoughts eventually ventured into a darker territory. He saw the ranking system as a tool to separate the 'useful' from the 'useless,' with the latter destined to become mere cogs in the military machine. It was a cynical perspective, but one that seemed increasingly plausible to him.

It seems like they want to identify who will readily follow orders, who will unquestioningly serve their interests. Whilst those who excel, who climb the ranks, they'll become the poster children for obedience,’ he paused.

‘Yes, I’m sure of it.’

‘Besides that, Knighthood? A year's worth of tests and duels, and we might become knights, huh? It all sounds so enticing to them, so hopeful they are. I can't help but see through this charade, it’s just another system. It's all about control, about molding us into their ideal pawns; it’s a “treachery” indeed.’

He couldn't shake the feeling that this whole setup was reminiscent of the cutthroat corporate world he had left behind, where promises of promotions and bonuses often masked the relentless pursuit of profit. In this martial environment, it felt like a different kind of corporate ladder, but a ladder nonetheless.

‘I've seen the darker side of this camp, the brutality hidden beneath the surface. I've felt the weight of their control, their unseen manipulations. This ranking system is just another layer of that control.’

As the cheers of the departing recruits filled the air, Apollyon's mind remained clouded by these grim thoughts. He couldn't help but wonder whether there was any true merit in this ranking system aside from bending one’s knees. Yet all he could muster was a faint smile and a meek sigh.

‘I guess I'll continue to play their game, for now, I suppose. I'll compete, I'll take those rewards, not because I want to but because I must in order to survive in this wretched place, besides, it’s not like I have another choice, do I? But I won't forget what this truly is. In this world, there's always more than meets the eye…’