Chapter 3 - Training & Struggles

Acknowledging his fellow passengers, most of them friends and familiar faces, Aiden found a seat.

The ginger-bearded guard took a place beside him. “You're way too optimistic, lad,” he remarked, and the cart began to move.

Aiden, his gaze fixed on his father, who had already departed with Gaffer for the village, their lantern gradually fading into the darkness, replied absent-mindedly. “Yeah… I don’t know why.”

His mind was a chaotic mix of emotions. On one hand, he was relieved, knowing his father wouldn't have to endure the horrors of war only to meet his demise. On the other, anger gripped him tightly, fueled by the realization that he now had to travel with the very people who had ruined his cherished home and shattered the last remnants of his memories of his mother and sister.

The worst thing of all was that he was utterly powerless against them, despite every one of his limbs itching to smack and kill these bastards. Aiden glared at the guards, and he noticed the ginger-bearded guard scoffing in response.

“Angry now, boy?” he mocked. “We will see how angry you will be after a battle. If you survive, that is.”

Aiden met the guard's eyes with a steely resolve. “I will survive,” he retorted.

"We'll see about that," another guard sneered, the moonlight casting an ominous gleam in his eyes. He, the one who had yanked Aiden's father from the cart, reveled in his cruel revelation. "Both sides are on the brink of negotiations, but before that diplomatic nonsense, there'll be a final assault. And you, 'boy,'" he pointed at Aiden with a disdainful flourish, his voice dripping with condescension, "will be at the very front, a fucking shield and a pike clutched in your hands. Let's see how you survive that."

The remaining guards joined in with chuckles. Aiden, fists clenched, met their scornful gazes but chose silence over futile words.

However, a bitter truth settled in his mind. The guards were right. He would be thrust into war as a disposable serf, lacking both training and proper weaponry, condemned to serve as a mere human shield for the advancing cavalry.

Dad always said wars never ended well for people like us, he gulped hard, heart pounding in his ears. Uncle Flint didn’t look like a man when he returned. All those scars and twisted bones… Just imagining himself becoming one of those sent shivers down his spine.

Amid the fear gripping his mind, a reassuring hand landed on Aiden’s shoulder, surprising him. It was Sam, the man to his right, a friend he had known since childhood.

“We'll be fine, Aiden,” said Sam, forcing a smile.

Aiden released a deep breath. If someone like Sam, with the same insignificant upbringing and from their same backwater village, could maintain composure in the face of insurmountable odds, then his own fears seemed like a trivial concern.

“Yeah,” Aiden replied, his uncertainty shrouded by a determination to persevere. Though unsure of the challenges that awaited, he held onto the belief that he would find a way through. “We will be fine.”

* * *

In the hushed embrace of midnight, amid the rhythmic beat of hooves against the ground that marked the passage of time, Aiden and his fellow passengers found themselves at the threshold of a sprawling field. The vastness was overwhelming, stretched beyond anything he had ever known.

Kicked out of the cart and herded into a line, they shuffled forward, towards a camp already erected. Neither food nor water graced their arrival; their only solace was a meager piece of blanket, reluctantly handed over only after they'd shared their names and ages.

"What's your name, 'boy'?" asked the guard behind the table, placing extra emphasis on the word 'boy,' a term that grated on Aiden, given his small stature.

"Aiden. Age: 16. 'Man,'" Aiden replied, deliberately emphasizing the word 'man.' The Church declared boys become men at 14, and at 16, he saw no reason why he shouldn't be referred to as a man.

The guard paused in writing, a smirk forming on his face, before he erupted into chuckles. The laughter gradually escalated into a hysterical outburst. "Hey, Hamil!" he called to the guard in the distance, still under the same tent. "Get a load of this 'man.'" The two guards shared in the amusement, their laughter echoing through the tense air, a mockery that left Aiden seething. All he could do was shake his head in anger, unable to respond to the derisive amusement.

"Fuck you, arseholes," Aiden wanted to shout, but the knowledge that it would likely earn him a beating held him back, the threat even more significant than the ones he faced in his village. People never ceased underestimating him.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

"Just wait until I get stronger. I will beat the living shit out of you," he muttered under his breath as he caught the heavy blanket tossed at him, the weight momentarily unbalancing him.

Observing this, the guards scoffed even more. "Man!" They chuckled, their annoying laughter echoing as Aiden walked away, grunting in suppressed anger.

“Don’t mind them,” said Sam from behind, taking note of the incident that had unfolded.

“What do you know,” Aiden responded with a glare. Sam had always been a tall, muscular man, even growing a beard, that bastard. He had saved Aiden from countless beatings; that's why they became such good friends to begin with. But still, it didn’t ease the pain of being discarded by everyone for something he had no control over.

Sam, his blanket draped over his shoulder, raised his hands in a gesture of acceptance and followed Aiden. They navigated their way to the tent, the same ginger-bearded guard, wearing a frown, guiding them.

The tent sheltered not only the familiar faces from their village but also some strangers from other places. Exchanging names became the only connection forged before, one by one, they surrendered to the weariness that clung to their bones, succumbing to sleep.

However, rest eluded Aiden and Sam.

“When you didn’t show up to the cart, and they beat Uncle Kyle,” Sam began, his voice hushed. “I thought you became a coward.”

“...I was about to, but then a dragon showed up, and I couldn’t,” Aiden answered truthfully. However, Sam looked skeptical. It was as if he didn’t see a creature the size of a mountain strolling through their village backyard.

“You’re joking,” Sam commented, only to be met with a firm ‘no.’ To dispel his doubts, Aiden extended his hand, revealing the ring that had lost all its luster since leaving the village. “It gave me this,” he said.

“What are you talking about?” Sam scowled. “You always had that.”

Aiden’s brows shot up in confusion. “What? No, I didn’t. I got it this evening.”

“I've seen you wearing that for years,” Sam added, drawing the blanket over his head. “You're tired Aiden. I would say go to sleep. You will remember everything tomorrow.”

“Bullshit,” Aiden exclaimed, reaching out to pull the blanket away from Sam. “I know the dragon gave this to me. I saw it with my own eyes.”

Sam stared for a moment, then let out a groan. "How big was this dragon?" he asked.

“...Probably the size of Misty Mountain.”

“Then why didn’t any of us see or hear it,” he gestured towards their fellow sleeping villagers. “Ask them. Also, do you think we would be here if a dragon showed up, instead of worshiping it?”

“Uh…” Aiden paused, withdrawing his hand. Sam made sense, as much as the ring on his finger. Both couldn’t be true. What kind of sorcery was this exactly?

“Get some sleep, Aiden,” Sam repeated with a yawn. “We have a big day tomorrow.” He then drew the blanket back over his head, leaving Aiden alone to his thoughts.

Aiden held his hand over his head, patting at the ring to bring back its color, but it remained lifeless. “Was I really imagining it all?” he mumbled, uncertain of his own memory. “Or is it some sort of test by the dragon.”

The ring served as tangible proof that he wasn’t imagining things. Therefore, it had to be a test, to see if he would succumb to the illusion created by that mythic beast, and veer away from the path of strength. It would result in not only his demise, but also the whole world, just as that damn creature wanted.

“That’s it,” Aiden snapped his fingers, realization dawning. “I'm not falling for your trap.” Determination filled his voice; he would grow stronger no matter what, and the training starting tomorrow, even though lacking, should undoubtedly set him on the right path.

Or so he thought, until the break of dawn. Instead of strategic insights or proper exercises to enhance their bodies for war, or even basic weapon knowledge, all they were ordered to do was run the whole length of the field ten times. Following that, they spent hours practicing formations, their movements rigid and mechanical. As the day wore on, the only task left was to dig the ground—monotonous and backbreaking, stretching into the remaining hours of daylight.

“This is no fucking training. I will never get strong like this,” Aiden protested on the very first day. Still, he found himself enduring the same mind-numbing drills for an entire week, clinging to the hope that they would get to the better part the next day. But they never did.

“Fuck!” Aiden screamed inwardly as he followed the routine.

Hope turned to frustration, and it only grew with each passing day. Some days, he didn’t even want to leave the tent, but Sam always managed to drag him out. However, things changed when he saw a duo of knights sparring. Unfortunately, it was during his run, preventing him from making out the details. The practice formation was no better for observation either, but during the digging, he had a clear view of the makeshift arena where the knights practiced.

Suddenly, the senseless digging took on a new meaning; it became Aiden’s favorite task. His eyes were irresistibly drawn to the arena each day. The fluidity of the knights' movements, the glint of their blades as they swung—it all enchanted him. What was once frustration transformed into pure fascination.

"If I could get just a little closer," he wished for a better view today. Aiden glanced around, noticing the absence of guards. He hesitated only for a moment before deciding to risk it all. The shovel slipped from his hands, the clatter momentarily drowned by the sounds of other diggers, and the training ground.

He was aware that if the ginger-bearded bastard, who went by the name Bard, caught wind of his temporary abandonment of the shovel, anger would surely follow, perhaps even a slap. However, the chance to witness and learn from the sparring session was a risk worth taking.

Just as he stepped out of his hole, Sam's strained voice echoed from behind. "Aiden, get down!" he said. Aiden, in his eagerness, dismissed the warning. However, a few steps later, he whole-heartedly regretted that decision.

A tight grip on his shoulder halted him, accompanied by a swift turn and a solid slap that rocked through his senses. Aiden winced, the impact leaving a tingling sensation in its wake. He tilted his head to face Bard, who further grabbed him by the neck and forcefully dragged him back to the small pit he had dug.

"Do that again, and I swear I will break those tiny legs of yours," the man warned with venom in his voice. After spitting into the pit, he walked away, leaving Aiden to swallow his regret and nurse the stinging consequences of his impulsive decision.

“I will remember this, Bard,” Aiden whispered, one hand reaching for the shovel, the other on his red cheek, “I’ll remember this!”