"Sgt, I must protest," a voice called out among the trainees.

Kaiden blinked. Oh, brave soul. I know this won’t end well, he thought this with a sense of amused detachment—until the voice spoke again, and he recognized it.

"This type of training is too extreme and uncalled for!"

Oh. It’s Tybalt. Screw that guy. He’s got it coming.

"Name?" Farron’s expression barely shifted as she asked, seeming unfazed.

"Tybalt Hargrave," he answered with clipped pride.

Farron consulted her clipboard, her eyes narrowing as she searched his name. Her impassive face darkened just a touch, and she muttered under her breath, “Fucking noble,” though it wasn’t quiet enough to escape the ears of nearby trainees. There was a quick intake of breath as people tried to hide their surprise and half-swallowed gasps. Farron then raised her voice.

"I don’t have time to remember all your names—especially since, from what I’ve seen today, most of you will die anyway." She leveled a finger at Tybalt, who glared back at her. “From now on, you’re Private One.”

Tybalt’s jaw clenched in disgust, but before he could get a word out, Farron continued, "Now, Private One, enlighten us. Why exactly was the training extreme and uncalled for?"

Tybalt bit out his answer, “Because we’re supposed to PT on our own. We weren’t prepared for this since we’ve never had to run before with Sergeant Boran. I’ve never heard of this kind of thing, either, and it’s wasting our time—time we should be spending on real dungeon skills.”

"Wrong!" Farron snapped. "Why do you think the fatality rate is so high? It’s because weaklings like you don’t know how to run. If you’re in over your head, get swarmed, trigger a trap, or your formation breaks, you’ll have to run. And in a dungeon, what exactly do you think you’ll be wearing?” She gestured to the armor and weapons they all had on, her voice sharp. “And don’t even think about sheathing that weapon. You better be ready to strike at a moment’s notice, because in a dungeon, that’s how you’ll stay alive.”

A few trainees exchanged glances, clearly surprised by the logic. The reasoning made perfect sense. Kaiden himself nodded, realizing the value of what she was saying.

“And another thing! Being unprepared is exactly what gets you killed in a dungeon, so you better get used to the unexpected. Is that understood?”

Tybalt’s face twisted in frustration, his pride barely intact. "Yes, Sergeant," he said, but it was obvious he was seething.

"And why didn’t any of you use your abilities?" Farron asked, her voice a hard edge. Silence fell over the platoon as everyone shifted uncomfortably, unsure if the question was rhetorical. Even if it wasn’t, no one dared risk the wrath of a wrong answer. Farron looked over them for a moment, expectantly.

“This isn’t basic training,” she said. “You’re here to learn dungeoneering, which means mastering your skills and abilities. If you need to run away, then you better use every ability you have to survive. Practice what you’ll use in the dungeon.” Her words cut through the platoon, each soldier feeling the truth of it.

Is Farron actually a good instructor? Kaiden wondered. Extreme for sure, but she makes sense.

The rest of the training took on a more basic training like tone with an intensity that Boran had never brought. Farron ran them through combat practice, guiding each trainee through the nuances of their real weapons—no wooden practice gear. She even had a few privates spar against her, insisting they use their actual weapons. Of course, she only blocked and deflected their blows, keeping the encounters non-lethal, but she moved with such skill that she might as well have been reading their moves before they made them. Occasionally, she’d throw a punch or kick, catching a trainee off guard just enough to keep them on their toes.

When she wasn’t fighting, she paced among them, watching closely, correcting stances, and offering feedback with brutally honest criticism. “You’re putting too much weight on that back foot—fix it, or you’ll be easy pickings.”

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Those who slacked off were met with shouts of “Laps!” or “Twenty pushups!” This was no ordinary session, and while grueling, Kaiden couldn’t deny the progress he felt after each correction.

Later, back in the barracks, the trainees were unwinding and sharing laughs over the absurdities of the day with their new instructor.

Davick slapped Kaiden on the back. “How’d you like training today, Private Seven?”

Kaiden snorted. “I’m not sure if I should be happy I caught her attention with the top ten, but at least seven is a lucky number.”

Davick scoffed. “Seven? Lucky? What are you talking about? Maybe in Chicago it’s lucky, but in Jadari, four is where it’s at. Four squads to a platoon, four members to a party, Art of Four, four leaf clover, four seasons a year—it’s fate’s favorite number.”

“Alright, alright, I get it, Private Two!” Kaiden laughed.

Davick grinned slyly. “But seriously… What a woman!”

“Wait—what? You’re joking, right?” Kaiden blinked.

“Look, you might think I’m crazy—”

“Oh, I definitely do.”

“But she’s perfect!” Davick shook his head, awestruck, as if picturing Farron right then and there.

Kaiden gave him a look of disbelief. “And what exactly brought you to this conclusion? Was it the part where she demoted us to ‘Zero Platoon’ or when she nearly ran us into the ground?”

“Exactly! Both. Everything.” Davick chuckled. “A woman like that can appreciate a big strong blacksmith like me. A woman who can kick my ass can have my ass. I respect that.”

“You’ve officially lost it.”

BREAK

Myra sat at the bar, sipping her ale and muttering under her breath about “stupid nobles.” She was in this damn mess because of one, and now she had one in the platoon she was instructing. Why was he even here? Nobles didn’t usually do Dungeoneer training with everyone else, and they certainly didn’t start as privates.

She wasn’t happy with this babysitting assignment, and a few ales would help her unwind. Here, at least, she didn’t have to see any of their faces or worry about any privates wandering in since they weren’t allowed off base. A with a lecture day scheduled for tomorrow, she didn’t have to be up early either.

“Hey, Myra,” a voice called out as the newcomer took a seat next to her.

"About time you showed up, Whit," Myra said, smirking. Corporal Bennen Whit had a slim build and a mess of chestnut-brown hair. He was about her age and his light brown eyes always carried a spark of amusement, which gave him a boyish look despite his military bearing. He worked in supply and had been an acquaintance of Myra’s for a few years now. They hadn’t seen each other in ages it seemed, but when he heard she was transferring here, he reached out to her the day she arrived.

"I did invite you out, so I figured I’d better make an appearance," he said, sliding onto the stool next to her.

"You're damn right, because otherwise..."

"I know, I know," Bennen cut in, laughing. "I wouldn’t want to end up like one of your poor trainees."

Myra rolled her eyes, lifting her mug. "Maybe I got a little carried away, but it was for their own good."

"I get it," he said, his tone turning serious. "You’re never one to half-ass anything. But I gotta ask..."

"Ask what?"

He leaned in with a grin. "Well, let’s just say there are some rumors floating around about the new instructor."

Myra tensed. "Like what?"

"Things like, 'Sergeant Farron is a crazy person!' or ‘Did you hear about the crazy sergeant who demoted an entire platoon’s number?’ or—"

"Alright, enough," she said, feeling her cheeks warm. "I’m just preparing them the best way I know how."

Bennen chuckled, giving her a light elbow. "You sure know how to make an entrance, that’s for sure."

"Any rumors about me not being crazy?" Myra asked, feigning hopefulness.

Bennen thought for a moment, then took a slow drink, savoring her question. "Hmm. Nope, don’t think so. Pretty sure they all either start or end with the word ‘crazy’," he replied, grinning. "Though I did hear ‘unhinged’ once or twice, if that’s any consolation."

"Ass. Forget I asked."

They laughed, the tension in Myra’s shoulders easing as the familiar banter filled the air.

"So," Bennen continued, "any idea how long you're going to be teaching?"

Myra groaned. "If Oros is merciful, this will be my only platoon. Otherwise, I might just lose my shit."

"It’s not so bad, really," Bennen said with a shrug.

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You think training’s easy?"

He chuckled. "No, I didn’t mean training. I meant not being in a dungeon."

She nodded slowly. "You’re right, I guess. But it’s the only place I feel like I can really let loose and at the same time do what I’m really good at. Like it’s where I’m supposed to be, y'know?"

Bennen’s face softened as he looked at her, thinking. "Yeah, I think I might see what you’re getting at because that‘s how I feel when I’m with a certain someone. You gotta meet the wife."

Myra nearly choked on her ale. "Wife? When did you get married?"

Bennen beamed, unable to hide his pride. "About two years now. She’s a Corporal, like me at Fort Ironhold working supply. We met there, actually. She’s hoping to get transferred here or me back there."

"Well, I'm here for at least three weeks, and Ironhold’s not far at all," Myra said, giving him a genuine smile. "We should plan a day for it."

"Perfect! Though, I gotta say, she’s not gonna believe this ‘crazy sergeant’ I had a drink with today." He laughed, dodging the playful swat she aimed his way. “Congrats on the promotion by the way.”

“Fuck off.”