I trained day and night. It was basic, with morning rituals such as 100 push-ups, 120 sit-ups, and 2 training sessions per person every day. We would rest and then do it again the next day. If I’m going, to be honest, I gained a lot of muscle, raising my low self-esteem and making me happier than ever before. Food wise, it was quite limited, with porridge in the morning, bread and some kind of meat, varying on the day, for lunch, and vegetables and more meat. Sometimes we would have specials, though that was rare, and only once every two months. I trained for 6 months, and by then, the war had begun.

The day we were sent out into combat, it was near the village of Lokin. It sat on the river, with a massive dock and high walls to protect it from invaders. We were situated a mile away from the town, at a ruined tower. The commander was nowhere to be seen, and with no commands, we stood there waiting.

It soon turned afternoon and nothing happened, that was until an army encroached of more than a hundred, the left flanked with cavalry and the other side with swordsmen. In the center stood the Garisona commander. He had strong muscles, with armor indented with the tiger symbol of his house, the Greysons. In his left hand, the other holding the reins of the horse, was a magical, flaming sword, ancient druid runes pressed onto the flawless steel blade.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

I shivered at the sight of him, fear seeping into my mind. What if I died here? I thought. Me and my group ducked below, hoping no one would see us. They did. The swordsman rushed at us as I stood up and activated my magic.

My only goal then was to survive, and I would do so. Magic filled me, fire being my main element. I rose in the air pushing massive amounts of hot lava onto the nearby intruders. Suddenly, a bow struck me in the shoulder. Panic filled me instead of magic, and I fell onto the hard ground.

By then, however, all the swordsmen had died. More soldiers from the Sumariyan Empire were coming to help us.

A nearby parametric came, healing my wound in 2 minutes. Back in the battle, a storm of arrows was coming. I prepared myself, pushing all my magic in me. Fire poured on me, and with proper concentration, I sent a wall of fire to the nearby archers. The arrows burnt up in seconds, with the archers laying on the ground in agony. Their swords had meted, some with hair crisped off. I had won but with a cost.

Suddenly, I passed out.