Sweat dripped down my brow, stinging my eyes. I panted for breath. I struggled to place another foot in front of myself. Again and again, I stepped forwards, as fast as I could, but it wasn’t enough. My stamina was flagging, and no matter how much I slowed down it didn’t seem to recover.

After his ominous pronouncement, Harker had made us run around the depression circling the camp. I had stepped up, fairly confident in my ability to do so. I could run. I was used to it. It was some of the others I had been concerned about.

As it turns out, I was right to be concerned about them. Many of the larger members of the group struggled to make it even 5 laps, and even for the others, it was obvious that they weren’t in the best shape, cardio wise. They probably hadn’t had to run for years, since they were children. Medieval societies didn’t tend to value it, after all. What use did a baker have for speed?

However, I should have also been worried about myself. Despite being in the top 20% of the group, I was struggling. As it turns out, running in a boots, and heavy cloth pseudo armor was difficult. Starting out on the first lap wasn’t too bad. It felt heavy, sure, and I wasn’t as agile as normal, but it wasn’t as bad as I imagined something like a weighted vest would be.

What I underestimated was the amount of running we would be doing. My first lap was strong. So was my second through ninth. It was on lap 10 I started to feel it.

The heat was the first thing to hit me. Sweat was pooling all over my body. My outfit didn’t let heat flow out, or cold air flow in, so it was like I was in a sauna, with the temperature slowly getting cranked up. It was miserable, and getting worse by the step.

The weight also got worse. My legs tired faster, and it was a greater effort to keep going forwards than I had foreseen. I learned that a larger range of motion was a big no-no. Despite it quickening my pace, it also made the material around my legs bunch up more, thus taking more energy from me.

I couldn’t let myself stop, though. I was on lap 22, a few ahead of me, most behind. Those that stopped were given about 5 seconds before Harker made his way to them and started screaming. After that started, you had about 20 more seconds before it got physical. Most started running by that point, but a few poor souls got kicked over, and had to frantically scramble along the ground to get away.

One man tried to abuse his ~five-second rule of safety. He would slow down, and then, upon ensuring Harker was far enough away from him for his plan to work. He would then stop, pausing, and caching his breath. As Harker walked over to him, he would wait until the last second to start up again. While some people genuinely needed the breaks, and couldn’t keep running the entire time, the man was stopping more and more frequently. Each time, he was less out of breath, and his smug smirk was growing on his face. He was gaming the system.

Harker caught on rather quickly. Although he initially ignored it, he soon started to grow irritated. Eventually, after the man did this ten or so times, Harker marched over to him, a scowl on his face. The man looked back, flashed a cheeky smile, and started running again. However, unlike before, he wasn’t left alone. Harker continued to follow him. If the man started to slow down, he would be screamed at. Eventually, the man decided to just ignore Harker, and continue his slow run. Maybe he thought that he was safe as long as he didn’t stop, that he needed a reason to lay hands on him. He would soon find out this wasn’t true.

Harker grew sick of being ignored rather quickly. He lashed out with his hand, cupping his fist over the ears of the man, who fell to the ground, writing and cursing in pain.

“Do you think it’s fun to ignore me, trainee Gayle? Do you find this game amusing? Perhaps you would like to continue to try and play the system. Go ahead.”

The man didn’t respond, too busy ensuring his eardrums hadn’t ruptured. The boot to his face left him sprawling on the ground. He was roughly pulled to his feet, before being sent running with a shove to the back. Now, properly motivated, Gayle kept running. Harker was right behind him, harassing him, pushing him forwards if he slowed.

“Do you like this game!? We can keep it up. Surely you want to keep playing”.

The man started pleading with him to stop, but Harker was relentless. I tried not to stare, wary of incurring a punishment myself, or attracting the attention of our instructor. However, despite my best efforts, it was nearly impossible not to look over every once in a while. I think almost everyone else was.

I looked away after a particularly loud bout of shouting rang out around the training yard. It wasn’t my business. I wasn’t going to take whatever that was. I passed by Ryan. I shot him a short greeting, but he was too busy hurling his guts out onto the ground to respond. I’m not sure he even heard me.

After a few more minutes, we were eventually allowed to stop. Many of us collapsed to the ground, panting and heaving. Others went to their knees. It seemed like an appealing option at the time, but I was always told that instead of bending over when I was out of breath, I should stand up straight and put my arms over my head to lengthen out my lungs. I’m not sure how true that was, but it’s not like it would hurt me.

We were given a break, a few minutes to catch our breaths and regain our composure. I would have loved to have more time to recover, as I’m sure my peers would have, but it was not to be. Harker had us stand back on our feet for drills.

We were sent down onto the ground. Push-ups were one of those things you don’t remember being as hard as they are. I remember being able to do dozens of push-ups in a session when I was younger. Maybe it was the fact that being a 70 pound child means you’re not pushing a lot of weight, or perhaps I simply had terrible form. Whatever it was, it meant that when I started to feel it by the second one, I knew I was in trouble.

To their credit, many of my surrounding trainees had a much easier time with them than I did. While they never made it look easy, they certainly didn’t start struggling in the first 5. By push up 10, I was red in the face, and it felt like my eyes would pop out of my head. Unwilling to be the first to fail, I kept going, despite the pain in my arms.

Luckily enough, for the sake of my safety, somebody else dropped, unable to do another push-up. I managed to squeeze out a few more until my arms gave out, unwilling to lift me off the ground. I laid there for a few seconds, before pushing myself back up, trying to as many as I could. I managed another 5.

Compared to the running, this wasn’t that bad. It sucked, sure, but I didn’t really feel like I was going to vomit up my own internal organs. Maybe it was because I wasn’t really strong enough to get up there, but I could either do it, or I would fall on the ground. Maybe it just came down to what humans were meant to do. We were designed to run long miles, not press ourselves all around.

After that drill, it was time for lunch. I had been so busy, I hadn’t noticed the sun passing in the sky. By now, it had to be a little after noon. We slowly trudged our way to the mess area.

It fit in with the theme of the camp. Several worn down benches spread out around on a dirt floor. The area was cleared of trees, leaving it wide open. Instead of a floor of packed dirt, however, it was filled with dead grass, killed by the trample of many feet.

Two cooks were putting out food onto a table. It was in a wooden bowl, and appeared as a thick, soupy substance. There was also 3 slices of bread to go along with it.

After everyone grabbed their bowls, we were spread out amongst the tables. Little groups started to form, people already separating into cliques. Normally, I would have sat down myself, seeing as I didn’t really know anybody, but I didn’t want to deal with complete social isolation.

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My eyes inevitably drifted towards the one person that I did know: Ryan. He was brash and unpleasant, but he had shown he was willing to do what it took when the cards were down. He was one of the first people to jump on the construct, risking himself without any hesitation.

I approached his table casually, surveying its occupants. There were about 6 other people at the table, all with various states of ease. Some looked like they had been tortured, while others looked like they hadn’t done more than a light warm up. Ryan looked like he was in surprisingly good shape, despite his earlier exertion. He must have been strong enough that he recovered some on the push-ups.

I sat down on the table, drawing a few looks. Luckily enough, none of them were hostile, although a few were questioning. Ryan turned to face me, corners of his mouth rising when he saw me.

“It’s alright, lads, I know this fellow. He was there when Rivish fell. He’s a brave one, he is. Jumped right on that construct with me”.

He clapped me on the shoulder. The others nodded in acceptance. They went around, introducing themselves.

The tall one was Rogier. He spoke very little during the entire time. He wasn’t cold, but he certainly was reserved. There was a shorter, pudgy man who went by Jerald. He was friendly, beaming, happy even when the others were not. Those were the only two names I remembered. The rest either didn’t introduce themselves, or I simply failed to hold onto their names. After some prodding from Ryan, I introduced myself.

There wasn’t a whole lot of talking during lunch. Conversation always seemed to drift back to how we were stuck here, at which points everyone would scowl and look away. Even Jerald, beacon of exuberance that he was, sank into a bad mood upon being reminded of our situation.

After we had finished our meal, we were called to return to the training yard. We received a harsh verbal lashing for leaving our spears where they were, but despite threats of punishment, we moved on to the next drill.

We formed up in rows, about 5 feet apart from the man on either side, leaving much larger gaps in between rows.

Again and again, we were made to thrust our spears forwards. No variation, no extra flourishes. Any missteps would be corrected. It wasn’t always gentle correction. One recruit looked to be on the verge of tears after the verbal lashing he received.

My arms burned as I struggled to hit another rep. My body protested, each strike pushing me closer and closer to the limits of my fitness. Eventually, however, we were allowed a break, as Harker stepped forwards with a displeased look on his face.

“Alllll-right. I don’t think any of you can tell the difference between your spear and your dicks. Unfortunately for you, my superiors have decided that you are to learn this skill from the get go. They think some of you might have the potential to be talented”.

He let out a dry laugh.

“What do you know about mana? Don’t answer that. The lot of you are uneducated peasants, and any rare individual amongst you that has had the good fortune to hear even the slightest bit about it is most assuredly dead wrong”

Ryan started to speak up, but he cut him off with a glare.

“Mana is what’s going to give some of you shitstains the chance to survive what’s ahead of you. It’s what’s going to make you strong. It sits at your center, and, for anybody worth half a damn, waits to be used. They could use it for all manner of things. To attack, to run faster, jump higher, hit harder, even to heal wounds. Now, why don’t you know about it, if it's so useful? It’s because the majority of the useless shit’s in this kingdom could practice for a thousand years and never be able to use it”.

He was pacing now, hands clasped behind his back.

“What you’re going to do is focus on your center, real hard. Once you’ve done that, you’re going to stab your spears forwards, just like you’ve been doing. While that’s happening, you should try and pull out that focus from your center, to send it into your spear. I don’t expect any of you dumb fucks to succeed for a while, but it’s not up to me.”

After he finished speaking, he dismissed our attention with a wave. Some of the people around me had closed their eyes, trying to follow the instructions given. I didn’t even know where to start. Did I even have mana? I wasn’t from this world. Davinda had gone up in flame when she died. As far as I know, no human from Earth had ever had that happen before.

What would happen if I didn’t succeed? Harker had made it sound like it was essential for our survival. Without mana, did I even have a chance?

I pushed the negative thoughts away. They would do me no good. Instead, I closed my eyes, trying to focus inwards, as instructed. I felt nothing. Just the blackness of my eyelids blocking out the light. I heard spears whistling through the surrounding air, as my fellow recruits tentatively tried to empower their strikes.

I hold my focus, waiting, letting it build up. I felt a pressure in my chest. After it reached a burning crescendo, I opened my eyes, and shot the tip of my spear forwards, piercing through the air.

There was no difference between it and a normal strike. Letting out the breath I had been holding, I returned to my stance. Taking a glance around showed me others still focused on their task. I was about to go back to concentration when I heard a crack.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of the trainee’s spears blur forwards, moving faster than looked possible. He was a shorter man, and scrawny. It looked like he barely had an ounce of muscle on him, and I remember watching him struggle to run almost immediately. It was as if he had been training for years. Every head on the field turned to look for the source of the noise. Many of those who had seen it had their mouths hanging open, shocked at the power the man had generated. Was this the power of mana? Was it truly so miraculous right off the bat?

Harker immediately walked over to him. They exchanged words I couldn’t hear, the man nodding solemnly every once in a while. Eventually, the man's face slackened, and Harker walked away. As he was returning to the front of the column, he caught sight of us standing there, starting. A look of fury flashed across his face.

“What are you standing around for? Get your asses back to work! If one of you fuck wits hasn’t succeeded by the time the drill is finished, I’ll have you running again. Go on, get to it”.

It was like a trance was broken. Everyone immediately returned to their practice. The faint sound of thrusting continued. I once again focused on my core. When it felt right, I struck forwards. Nothing. I tried again. And again. And again. No matter what I did, I couldn’t get it to happen. Nobody else was able to either.

Eventually, the lesson had to come to an end. True to his word, Harker had us put our spears on the ground and start running again. Only the man who had succeeded earlier was excluded. He stood there, uncomfortable with the dirty looks and snide comments he got when someone ran past him.

I was exhausted from the rigor of the day, so more running was a struggle. I just tried to put on foot ahead of the other, over and over, until eventually, Harker called us off. Luckily enough, this session wasn’t nearly as long as the one we had earlier.

We trudged off to the mess clearing. Food was ready for us when we got there. I was too tired to pay attention to what it was, shoveling it down my throat with lethargic motions.

I ended up sitting with the group I was a part of earlier. But that wasn’t all. The man who had successfully channeled his mana earlier was there as well. When I asked, he revealed that his name was Wyll.

He said there, leaning in, eyes occasionally darting around.

“I have to get out of here. Our captain said that I would be sent to a more combat ready unit tomorrow. I’m going to get deployed to the field months before you all. I can’t do that. I’ll die out there. I’m going to sneak over the walls tonight”.

The people sitting around the table erupted into murmurs at that revelation. I saw some nod in agreement.

Rogier, normally so silent, spoke.

“I’m not prepared to leave tonight, nor are the others. Tomorrow, or the day after, we’ll collect supplies and leave over the wall. Since you’re leaving tonight, we’ll follow along tomorrow, and bring with us all the rations you need. Any of you not interested in leaving with us, I only ask that you keep your mouths shut”.

He left off with a glare, which said all that it needed to about what would happen to anybody who ratted them out.

Jerald spoke next. “I don’t know about you, but I’m going. I’m not meant to die here, before my 30th year, and I think you lads aren’t either. I would encourage you to come with us”.

Voices spoke up in agreement around the table. Quietly, of course, in order to avoid attracting attention. Ryan voiced his own agreement. I did as well.

I wasn’t cut out to be here. I didn’t even have any mana, nor any of the strength of tolerances of the people who lived here. I was a fragile dude from earth. I wasn’t ready to die on some medieval battlefield, guts spilling out, for a lord that I didn’t know who was only interested in the land beneath our feet.

Soon, I would be out of here. I didn’t know what I was going to do, but I would find something. Anything. It would certainly be better than this.

The planning continued until we were sent back to our tents. Despite not being fully finished, or many people still having food on their plates, nobody complained. Everybody was tired enough that all they wanted to do was curl up in their tents.

We walked back, shooting one last supercilious glance at the rest of our group members before shutting ourselves under the cheap fabric of our accommodations.

Before I fell asleep, I listened for Wyll’s footsteps, hoping to notice him sneaking out as planned. I didn’t hear anything.