There are three trials to make it into the Elite Soldier Academy.
The first is usually a one-on-one battle that takes place in a field in the village center, attended by no less than hundreds of citizens, all packed in to witness the honor.
The day of the first trial for the elite is met with a lot of activity and hustle and bustle.
The minute I step into the main square, I'm immediately swarmed by bodies all hurtling towards the arena. Seats and stands surround the empty field to set up the stadium, from which we will view the battleground of the first trial. Here, all the elite hopefuls match up against each other and whoever is victorious will move on to the second stage of the trial.
Excitement echoes from hushed voices and harried steps, the atmosphere buzzing as I slip through the bodies, trying to avoid being jostled. While my smaller stature enables me to weave through quickly, it also means that I'm a prime target for elbows and fists as I attempt to make my way to the front of the crowd.
I'm not in a hurry but the constant press of bodies is starting to feel suffocating and I would rather make it out before I passed out.
“Do you think Emil will make it?” One little boy next to me asks the older man standing behind him.
“Of course," the man says nodding firmly. “Your brother is a strong one. Just like his father.” The older man ruffles his brown curls. “Just like you will be one day.”
The little boy smiles proudly and puffs out his chest. Then he catches me watching him and immediately the smile turns into a frown.
“Muzungu,” he mutters under his breath. I glance away.
A little boy’s barb isn't enough to hurt me.
Or at least that's what I tell myself.
I continue my journey as another male voice rises out over the din. “Mom! Enough already! Unhand me, woman!"
“Do not talk to me like that Jasopheth Montaly.” The woman’s stern voice rings even louder than her son’s and I turn to notice that she's brushing his hair out of her face and straightening his clothes even as they walk at the same breakneck speed as the rest of us. "You shall have an honorable display of your mettle and your worth in front of the Generals and the King himself. You must look your absolute best.”
The woman’s flowery speech marks her as a foreigner and from her light coloring it's clear she's likely from somewhere North-West, perhaps from one of the former Pangean colonies that was liberated by Accacian Soldiers. Accacia and the rest of the Northern villages are much more direct in speech than the Westerners who tended to be more well-travelled and curious about the world.
"Mother." Her son sounds exasperated as his mother licks her finger and uses it to pluck the bangs out of his eyes. "That's disgusting."
"Hold still dear. You shall be the handsomest fighter in the arena."
"Yes, yes." The boy catches me looking at him but unlike the little boy he smirks a little and rolls his eyes commiseratively, as though to say My mother is being ridiculous, is she not?
I manage a nod back. I don't recognize him but perhaps his kindness is because he's a foreigner too. He likely just got here and does not understand what an outcast I am yet.
He would understand soon enough.
I have no friends in this village for a reason.
We continue down the path and the more we go, the more I realize there isn't going to be any respite from the press. The square is even more crowded. I should have expected it but I guess I forgot how popular these trials are. Some have even traveled into town from neighboring villages, just to spectate. Even though the nearest town is several days' journey away by carriage, many are willing to make the trip. The Northern Elite Soldiers are highly famed and esteemed, as the King often dispatches them to protect the surrounding villages from the encroachments of Pangea and to undertake other missions of subterfuge. Accacia is the lone, most powerful nation that is neither allied nor subservient to Pangea, and as such the North has gotten a lot of Glory at home and abroad.
And the Elite Soldiers were largely responsible for holding onto that glory.
Close to the arena, the crowd starts to arrange itself into several lines. Some of us are spectating. Others will be competing and will need to hand in their names .
One can select the competitors out of the crowd almost solely by sight. Most are large, strong, muscular giving off an aura of confidence. Others are much more inconspicuous but have a craftiness about them that shows they would make excellent wildcards during the games.
Most are also Accacian. Although allied Northern Villages are allowed to participate in the trials, everyone knows the king only truly wants full Accacians in his army. Even those who only had half-Accacian blood were heavily discriminated against.
For clearly foreign-looking immigrants like me, it was almost impossible to make it through the all three trials to become an Elite Soldier.
I glance once more at the foreign boy, whose mother is once again fussing at his clothes. He's tall and strapping, but while his skin is pale, his brown hair and eyes showed he is foreign. The native Accacians tended to have lighter-colored features.
I wonder just how far he'll make it.
Eventually, I reach the front of the line and the guard holds his hand out for the coin needed to watch the trial. I drop a single bronze coin in his hand. It was all I could steal from my mother.
For the entire week, I've been very docile to avoid drawing her attention. I even agreed to a meeting with Chief Bertrand again and I even agreed to behave at this meeting. She probably thought she had beat the senses back into me.
But this morning when she wakes up to find her coin gone, she'll know just how wrong she was.
That too is part of the plan.
The guard standing at the doors gives me a brief once over and his lip curls in disgust. He plucks the coin out of my hand before handing me a paper that would serve as my ticket. I'll need to stand at the very back with barely any view, but at least I'll be in the arena that's all I need.
As I walked to my stand position, once again avoiding elbows and knees as I tried to look around. I can easily see Caster and his father, the King, on the other side of the field with the Chiefs and Generals behind him. The King and Caster are seated above everyone else on a raised dais, with thrones forged out of iron for them. Next to the King, on significantly less magnificent seats were the two generals, Halo and Roki. One empty seat is for the missing general who has not been heard from in years.
As more people filed into the stadium I begin to grow less sure of my plan. There's no sign of Wolf. I haven't heard from him ever since our meeting a week ago, and I haven't been back to the Hovel to look for him. Even though I know he's there two nights out of the week, to meet with those soliciting his mercenary skills, I don't risk going back there. Even if I manage to make it in, I don't have the faith that I'll escape unscathed for the second time. I also don't know where he lives. It's certainly nowhere close to the town center, given how rarely he's spotted in town.
I suppose, due to the nature of his work, he's rarely ever in Accacia in the first place, and when he's here, rumors state that he spends most of his time in the Dark Forest.
That's one of the things that makes Wolf a practical legend in the North.
He's the only one, human or beast, who enters the depths of the Dark Forest regularly and returns sane.
Well, as sane as a ruthless mercenary can be anyway.
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It's one of the reasons why I need him to be my ally.
But it seems that even what I offered him wasn’t enough to pique his interest because he still isn't here.
Soon enough, everyone necessary has been seated and the bell gongs to announce the beginning of the games.
The King stands and the entire crowd, even those in the seated booths, rises to greet him. King Drogo is a large man, a former warrior whose spine has not bent even by age. His girth has expanded slightly over the years and his hair is as white as snow, but his eyes blaze amber like his son’s, his cheek indented with a puckered scar after it was ripped open by a beast.
It's not the only scar he has. The king was once a fearsome general and was said to have taken down battalions of Pangean soldiers by himself. There are also rumors that he has even fought large creatures from the Dark Forest by himself.
In other words, King Drogo is a powerful man who seemed to fill the entire stadium up with a presence. The second he stands, an instant hush falls over us all.
He takes a few steps forward, separating himself from the throne. His left leg was torn off and he now sports a prosthetic but he doesn't limp at all. Instead, he scans the room and his voice booms out thoroughly. "Welcome to the First Trials."
"We greet His Majesty, the Great Protector of the North," we chorus in response.
King Drogo nods. "Throughout the years, the North has been a beacon of resistance and power against the thin-skinned, yellow-bellied enemies that attempt to control us. We have withstood famine, war, and attacks from magical creatures and remained standing despite it all. And the key to our continued success is the training of our soldiers."
A loud cry echoes behind the throne and a crowd murmurs at the display. From the gates, three lines of soldiers dressed in white and gold uniforms, march into the center of the arena. They're some of the current Elite Soldiers, about a hundred of them, and they don't look at us as they walk staring straight at their King.
I notice the vast majority of them are men but there are a few women sprinkled through. They were big and tough and looked about as intimidating as one could imagine.
A murmur of awe goes through the crowd.
“As you can see, our numbers are diminished due to the many conflicts we must engage in," The King remarks. "Still, we never waver from our goal of only allowing the best into our fold. waver from our goal of only allowing the best into our fold. For those who think they have what it takes, they may try for a position. But as you all know, these trials are rife with injury and death, so do not try if you don’t plan to succeed.”
His eyes are a warning to everyone. For seconds no one moves, noting the seriousness of his tone.
"Fight with honor," The king says. "With pride. But most importantly, win.”
A cheer travels through as the king returns to his seat and the elite soldiers march out of the arena. Then, another bell rings to indicate the beginning of the first battle.
It goes like this. The match-ups are decided at random, by picking names from a bowl. The announcer then announces the competitors and they march onto the field. At that point, a competitor has two options – battle or renege. If they renege on a battle, they are disqualified from the trials instantly in which case, an invitation goes out to anyone who would be willing to battle the opponent.
If no one else is willing, the opponent instantly passes the first trial.
If someone challenges the opponent and wins, they pass the first trial and are now in the running to become an Elite Soldier.
Practically anyone can compete in these trials, as long as they're from Pangea or the allied villages. But usually, only about two hundred or so do.
The King was not joking when he stressed the difficulty of each trial. A not insignificant number of people have lost their lives, even just in the first battle. One doesn't try unless they know they're going to win.
"Addy Wigg, Tierre Heinbert."
The two names are called out by an announcer that stands to the side of the ring and two men walk to the center. They're both tall and leanly muscled, but one is still significantly taller than the other.
Their battle is short.
Both are melee fighters, fighting with swords, but the taller one is more proficient. The victory is clear from the beginning even with the smaller one doing his best.
He's slightly faster and tries to avoid his opponent by dancing circles around him, and trying to find holes in his defense, but the minute the other catches on to him its over.
The second battle is more evenly matched. Both men don't use weapons, and instead charge into each other like bulls again and again, until one of them gets the other into a headlock. From then it seemed like it was over, but the other one wrangles his way out of out switching the holds like and wrestling his opponent to the floor. He chokes the other into unconsciousness to the cheering of the crowd.
The next battle is with Brute.
He's paired up against a woman, and from the sneer on his face, he's not happy about it. Although women are allowed to compete in these trials, it's heavily frowned upon, especially when they're as delicate looking as Brute's opponent.
But soon it becomes clear why she's participating.
She holds her hand up and a ball of water instantly floats on top of her palm.
The girl has magic.
Magic is extremely rare in the North, and everyone instantly sits up at the sight of it. This suddenly became a far more interesting match up.
The girl stands confident but I can still sense the apprehension in her eyes. Brute grins at her, clearly enjoying the smell of her fear and what is to come.
"Hiya!" The girl throws forward her hand and in the form of a whip, the water lashes out. Brute throws his forearms over his face to block, and the water slaps at his forearms before falling to the floor. Quickly, the girl pulls it back into her palms and once more sends it out. This time it wraps around Brute's wrists. She attempt to use the water whip to pull him in, but he doesn't move.
He grins and rips his hand apart, tearing at the water.
This time, real fear enters her expression.
She sends a parry of attacks, water bullets all hitting each part of his body the combined force of which actually pushes him back. It rips through his shirt, and bruises form on his skin. It tears through the skin of his arm.
Brute doesn't cry out in pain, but the smile is finally gone from his face.
That last attack made him mad.
He stops toying with her instantly.
For a large guy, he's very quick on his feet and runs through the water cannon, ignoring the wounds it leaves on his flesh. As he gets close, the girl squeals and tries to run, but he catches her and slams her into the ground and even as her eyes bugs out, his slams his fist into her face.
“Women like you,” he snarls as he hits her face again. "Need to know." Hit. "Their place."
Bile rises up to my throat. A few people in the front row get up to their feet and I see the disgust in their expression as they watch him brutalize her. He tosses her to the side and kicks her back down as she tries to crawl away from him.
Someone in the crowd loudly tuts their disapproval.
But I know there are likely also a few who agree with what Brute is doing, and think that the girl deserves the beating for not knowing her place.
Brute does not hold back. He grabs her hair and drags her up, driving his head into her face and breaking her nose.
She screams out in pain.
"I submit," she says, but he doesn't seem to care. He stands but when she attempt to rise, he throws her to the ground kicking her again.
And the king sits watching it all.
It isn't until the woman's cries stop after she's knocked unconscious that King Drogo raises his hand to call an end to the battle.
The King perhaps agreed with Brute the most.
Two men carrying a makeshift bed jog out and immediately carry the bloodied mass of the girl onto the bed, before carting her out. She's probably going to be taken to a healer, but I don't know if she'll make it after that beating.
And we all watched it happen. We all sat here and watched him beat her to death.
My repulsion and hatred magnify at the sight of Brute’s self-satisfied smirk. He shouldn't be happy. This isn't a fight he should be proud of. It was a battle against a much weaker opponent but he seemed very pleased with himself, happy to have tortured a girl who likely only joined these trials to give herself or her family a chance at a better life.
I clench my hands into fists.
Brute lifts his hand into a fist and bows to the King, who nods in approval.
My anger also extends to King Drogo. He allowed that to go on for much longer than it should. He, like Brute, likely also thought that the woman should be taught a lesson. Perhaps that's why he allowed Brute to kill her, to serve as a lesson to anyone else he viewed as inherently weak trying to join his precious Elite Soldiers.
He didn't even spare the girl a glance as she was taken out.
Caster on the other hand looked sickened by the display but I saw him struggle to rein it in. His hands clutched the seat of his throne like he had to physically hold himself back from intervening. It's good that he did. The King had no patience or love for the little kindness Caster possessed. Very soon, he will eliminate it entirely.
A true shame, but Caster is no longer my problem. I need to focus on myself now.
The next set of battles continue on like nothing but I find it hard to pay attention. Between thoughts of the brutish display and anxiety about Wolf's continued absence, it's hard to not feel like I'm making a huge mistake even being here.
Doubts about my plan crop up.
But I've already come this far. I stole from my mother and thus severed any mercy she would have otherwise shown me.
She will cast me to Chief Bertrand the second I go home.
I have no choice. There's no turning back now.
Finally, they announce the battle,
"Felix Tian against The Mountain."
A shiver goes through the observers.
The Mountain is so called because he's as large as one. Even larger than Brute or Wolf or the King.
He also has a misshappen skull, into which he's carved Runish letters that likely mean something demonic.
His opponent is a smaller boy who is pale-faced as he watches the Mountain walk to the center of the arena. The second the Mountain smiles at him, the boy turns and faces the King.
"I renege on the challenge," he says.
The King's lips tighten. He despises any show of cowardice even from an unevenly matched pairing like this. Nevertheless, he scowls as he lifts his hand to allow the retreat.
The boy bows deeply in apology and then scurries off.
The Mountain smiles wider, showing off his cracked teeth.
“Any challengers?” The king calls out. No one responds although everyone turns their head eagerly to see if anyone will.
“No challengers for The Mountain?" General Halo echoes the King’s sentiment and once again, no one says anything.
I rise. No one notices me at first as I walk to the side and make my way down. Slowly, I start earning a few glances as I step onto the grass and walk a few steps forward.
Eventually, I get to a spot on the arena floor where I cannot be ignored.
“I challenge The Mountain.” I say.