Raymund Ballast wasn’t sure what he had been expecting from this notoriously brutal Head Drill Sergeant, but the actual figure that appeared before them still managed to shock him into a numb stare. Almost subconsciously, he straightened as Drill Sergeant Ghosthound stepped smartly out of a mysterious portal and considered the recruits. He was only on a small hill above the vast trench where the recruits stood, but their Drill Sergeant cast a long shadow.

The obvious first impression was that the Drill Sergeant was rather hideously ugly; his garish emerald hair, lopsided arms, tails at his neck and waist, the charred skin of his body, and the way light ebbed around the left side of his face were all extremely striking in very different ways that didn’t mix well. The combination seemed almost random, leaving him with a very aggressive, fearsome appearance.

But as that initial shock began to settle, other notes began to emerge. One was the piercing emerald light from the Ghosthound’s right eye. Another was the softly pulsing golden veins that managed to shine through even his charred skin. When the Ghosthound released a breath, it came out as steam that hung in the air around him. Although he was well muscled, his limbs were lean and designed for action.

Raymund couldn’t help but blink as he noticed more and more details of their Drill Sergeant.

Obviously, Raymund had grown up with the threat of the System’s monsters. Since his world had already passed three of the Calamities in the past, the threat had greatly diminished during Raymund’s time, but it was still present. He had faced a wide variety of monsters in the past. So he couldn’t help but be briefly puzzled by his own reaction to the Ghosthound.

As the silence dragged on and those two very different eyes of the Ghosthound swept through the recruits, realization slowly crept up on Raymund in the absolute silence of the parade grounds. The reason that the Ghosthound was so striking was because of the obvious complexity of his image. As Raymund attempted to get a sense of what the Ghosthound was, there was so much conflicting feedback; he felt an amorphous, scaled changeling, a vast golden tree, and a howling void all keenly aware of Raymund’s examination and not pleased by the intrusion. All three of these images were flickering intermittently through the Ghosthound’s person.

A mighty warrior, Raymund eventually decided. Because even if he was confused about the details of the Ghosthound, the fact that he had served on the frontlines and waded through waves of bloodshed to get here was readily apparent.

The Ghosthound cleared his throat lightly. The noise echoed through the silence of the parade grounds. The many assistant overseers that had watched the recruits matches with hawkish gazes stood absolutely still, seeming more like statues before their leader than real, organic existences. The show of discipline was intimidating because it was so telling.

This Drill Sergeant demanded absolute adherence to his rules.

Yet Raymund could not blame the subordinates for following such an extremely demanding leader. For he found that the conflux of the Ghosthound’s images together created a… stickiness to his person. It was exceedingly difficult for Raymund to tear his gaze away from the Head Drill Instructor. There was something innately compelling about the man.

“I’ll keep this brief.” The Ghosthound finally said, his voice filling all of the empty silences in the surrounding air. “Congratulations: 60 percent of you have the bare minimum qualifications of receiving my instruction. For you, Overseer Heiffal will be taking you to the Garden Quarter. There, you will have the next six hours to build lodgings for yourself and decide what you would like to plant within your garden.”

The Ghosthound paused there and pursed his lips. “...let me say that the gardens… were not my idea. However, I have been informed… time spent on external cultivation will help soften the severity of my… other lessons on the proper development of images. As such… work on the garden IS mandatory. Each week, the individual whose garden is the least impressive… will receive a… light punishment, administered personally by me.”

What was most intriguing about listening to the Ghosthound speak was the nuance within his voice. Somehow, Raymund felt like he could clearly sense every emotion their Drill Sergeant experienced. And as the Ghosthound spoke about the punishment… a barely contained glee in his voice filled Raymund with fear.

“As for those of you who have summarily failed to display even the base qualifications of a proper soldier… the next two days of your life will be handled personally by Overseer Helen. If you fail to improve markedly under her tutelage… then you do not deserve to be here. That is all.” The Ghosthound abruptly finished. Then he breathed out another breath of luminous steam and raised a key in front of him.

Yet as he turned it midair and conjured a similar portal to the one he arrived in, he stopped himself and turned back to the crowd. His voice was suddenly stiff and harsh. “Ah. One more thing. An… administrative note. Over the past few hours, I have been receiving a constant stream of scrolls from non-military personnel, wishing to offer ME advice on how I train recruits. Undoubtedly, this is only because you all hadn’t yet realized the joyous experienced of being trained by me, and hastily reported back to your relatives an incomplete picture of the effective training regimen that is transpiring here. Being of a benevolent outlook, I’ve had my subordinates destroy such intrusive messaging before I could even see the name of the foolish senders and hold you all individually accountable for your lack of faith.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Something in the Ghosthound’s gaze changed then. The stiffness began to fade as the Drill Sergeant could no longer maintain his cool. Instinctively, Raymund felt the hairs on the back of his neck rising. The surrounding air seemed to be sucked away, leaving only a constricting, suffocating fury that radiated outward from the Ghosthound. From the deepest and most twisted pit within that darkness, the fury seemed to emerge, hating anything and everything that stood in the way of that man accomplishing his goals.

“That generosity,” The Ghosthound said with a throat that sounded like it was lined with gravel. “Has run out. I do not wish to be bothered by further idle gossip or unasked for opinions. You had your chance to walk away; you did not take it. Lower your head and obey your orders, soldiers. Have I made myself clear?”

For a split second, there was silence. It was only when Raymund felt himself being prodded by a crimson flow extending outward from Overseer Helen that he seemed to realize that it was the soldiers' turn to speak.

“Sir yes sir!” The two hundred recruits bellowed. The Ghosthound snorted, as though deeply disappointed with their response. But he walked into his portal and vanished without another word.

Instantly, Raymund sagged as the immense pressure of the Ghosthound’s presence no longer gripped him by the throat and held him in place. Around him, the other recruits were similarly exhausted from enduring their trainer’s scrutiny. Yet Raymund could also sense the way that the attitudes of the surrounding recruits changed after that brief speech. While the training was undoubtedly difficult, seeing the Ghosthound was confirmation for most of these individuals that they could grow strong by listening to him. This was their chance.

In the Nexus, power was worshipped. And Randidly Ghosthound was more powerful than all of the recruits here combined.

“Alright, those of you who are too weak for the Ghosthound’s training, and you know who you are,” Overseer Helen said lazily. “Come to me. Here, here, there is no shame in being weak. From what I understand, most insects and invertebrates start out as pathetic and useless as you. It took most species thousands of years to evolve past these worthless states. So really, you are in tenacious company. Where your ancestors failed, we are giving you a marginally better chance to succeed!”

While several pale-faced and exhausted recruits trudged over toward the widely grinning Overseer Helen, the rest started to gather around Overseer Heiffal. As Raymund shifted into position, he passed by the massive grey dog. The dog seemed to notice Raymund out of the corner of his eye and sneered at Raymund: the dog had been the one to defeat him in the earlier tournament.

Raymund did a very poor job of suppressing his temper and his lip began to curl upward to reveal his fangs. You self-important creature. You are a domesticated and neutered wolf. One small victory while I am adapting to the circumstances means absolutely nothing in the grand scheme of our lives…

Very quickly, Raymund forced his gaze away. He was here to impress his instructors and earn as many accolades as he could during the reclamation of the invaded planets in the Fifth Cohort. Getting himself caught up in some pointless, interspecies rivalry would only distract Raymund from concentrating on his actual goals.

Yet no sooner had he distracted himself from that issue than appeared the teasing face of his younger brother Techetadore in the forefront of his mind. If you don’t learn to enjoy the small things in life Ray, you won’t be able to accomplish the big things you want. Big things are just a bunch of small things stacked on top of each other.

After several hours of being drained by this strange Engraving around the whole of the training grounds and being forced to fight until he collapsed, Raymund was extremely irritated. So much so that he lashed out at the fictitious specter of his brother that lingered in his mind. Big things are different; they are important. This was never a joke, Techet. Saving our planet… was something you should have taken more seriously. We were all counting on you. I was…

Although the first memory that had appeared receded like mist underneath the sun’s warmth with this outburst, another memory rose to the fore of Raymund Ballast’s mind. This was from a much longer time in the past, where Techetadore was only six years old and Raymund was trying to explain to his brother why it was important, because of his innate talent, that he focus on training.

Why do I have to do it? Techetadore had pouted at Raymund. You are older. And you are stronger than me. YOU should be the one who has to do it.

That was the only time that Techetadore voiced an opinion like that. Yet even now, Raymund felt a deep shame that so much was heaped upon the shoulders of his younger brother from a young age. Although Raymund prided himself on how well educated and knowledgeable he was, he didn’t have the language to cross the gap between himself and Techetadore, now or then.

He and his people spoke the language of shame and weakness. Techet did not. Which was why he was special. Of course, Raymund couldn’t deny his own talent. Although it paled in comparison to his brother’s, he was also the brightest hope that his planet had seen. Yet ultimately, Raymund’s existence was simply the signal for his people to begin to gather their resources to eventually pour into the true chosen one.

But it was with all those thoughts flitting around his head that Raymund joined the throng of people walking toward the Eastern portion of the grounds. All of the austere beauty of the bamboo forest was lost on Raymund. He kept his head down until the person in front of him stopped. Then, hearing that Overseer Heiffal was speaking, Raymund bit the inside of his cheek.

Pay attention. Only through continued vigilance can success be achieved, Raymund chided himself. Then he turned all his senses toward the Overseer.

“...honestly, it doesn’t matter at all.” Overseer Heiffal was saying. Then he indicated a large wooden box. “These seeds are what is provided. You are free to choose as many or as few as you wish. You can obtain bamboo for your dwellings from certain groves that I will show you… so just pick whatever you want. Does anyone have a favorite flower?”

The recruits were silent and dull-eyed, having difficulty quite understanding the question after being forced to fight each other for several hours.

Overseer Heiffal shrugged. “Too bad. If someone had said a favorite flower there, you would have gotten a Tree Coin. Anyway, get to it, recruits. You only have six hours until tomorrow’s training begins.”