The quartermaster supplied Jebe with a simple assortment of necessities. This included bedding, two pairs of shoes, five different uniforms, a standard six-inch knife, a cultivation manual, an iron pot, and a large leather satchel. He was told that all the other supplies would be given out at the appropriate time.
His bed was a dismal combination of wood and straw. Jebe thought that it was not much better than what some of the three-horned goats back home laid on inside back home (?). For the first time, but not the last time, he wondered if joining the Military Academy instead of the Martial School was a mistake. Yet quick money was his goal and his grandfather would lose his mind if he joined up with, “those prissy pale skinned bastards,” as he called them.
The rest of the barrack was not too bad. It was a wide room for how many men were in it, and enough sun was let through the four windows that it stayed decently lit. The floor creaked with each step, but at the same time, it was so worn that Jebe could walk across it barefoot if he felt so inclined.
The other boys inside had all joined over the last few days. Jebe was the last one; he completed their squad of ten. He learned that they would go by the designate of First Year 14th Squad. Although seeing as they will rarely interact with the upperclassmen he was told they will usually just go under the moniker of 14th Squad. It was a professionally dull title, as were most names in the military.
His squad mates were all nice enough. They were young, boisterous, and ready to prove themselves. Each one of them seemed caught between the desire to become a famous warrior and to become popular in school. They were too young to be anything but ambitious and put too poor to realize those ambitions. Jebe imagined that the reality of military life would bleed out their idealism like a wet rag slowly being twisted dry.
There were two boys in the squad who stood out as something different. One of them was a tall, slender boy with long, silver hair and high cheekbones. He looked like the type of man that would drive women crazy. When that was combined with his upright posture and graceful gait, Jebe imagined that this was one of, “those prissy pale skinned bastards.” It was curious that he was training to be a soldier like the rest of them rather than a knight, mage, or some other safe, noble position.
The other person who stood out was more man than boy. He stood at least 6ft tall and had a jaw that could probably be used as an anvil. His muscles were large and bulging beneath his tight military uniform, and he had these heavyset blue eyes that seemed to stare right through you. Basically, he was the last person you would ever want to meet in a dark alley.
Jebe compared himself to them. Jebe was short, only about 5’2” but confident that he would grow in time. His body was stocky and darkly tanned from years working the farm with his mother and hunting on horseback with his grandfather. His eyes were a rusty brown with a tint of orange around his pupils. His gaze was accentuated by his thick eyebrows that hovered above his eyes. His hair was a thick, coarse affair and black as night. He had grown used to keeping it short with his knife because his mom’s horse, Moon, had a bad biting habit. His jaw was wider than most but not especially noteworthy overall. As opposed to a dark alley nightmare, Jebe seemed more like the tough guy from the local tavern. Not too memorable at a glance, but not someone you want to spill your drink on.
As he laid down to get an early rest, he began imaging scenarios where he might have to fight the blonde behemoth. If he could get close enough to the man, he could land full blows while his opponent could not. The risk there would be if the man grabbed Jebe, his advantage in sheer muscle mass would be overwhelming. Perhaps a game of feints and trick would be more applicable? Jebe fell asleep perfecting mental images of crotch shots and eye gouges.
Morning came with a piercing light that shone through the Eastern window and landed across Jebe’s face in an act of perfect annoyance. He awoke squinting and grumbling.
“All cadets, outside!” a baritone voice shouted. The other boys sat up and looked at each other in lethargic confusion. “Right now cadets! Now! Now! Now!” The voice shouted with increasing ardor.
Jebe hastily tossed on his standard uniform, brushed his teeth, and hopped through the door to line up outside. Within a few minutes, all ten of 14th Squad’s members were in line staring at a scarred, middle aged man in military garb with an iron rod hanging from his hip and a banner in his hand.
“Four minutes,” the man said. “Too slow. Next time I expect you to be out here in two minutes. Your lunch is halved today, if it happens again you will have no lunch.”
Jebe grimaced but nodded his head in acceptance. He knew these kinds of things would be common around here, and he was willing to suffer for success.
“My name is Henry and I will be the instructor of your squad. You will not refer to me as Henry, but ‘sir’. Do you understand?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.” Everyone immediately replied in unison.
“I have in my left hand here your banner,” Henry said, while raising a gold and azure banner with the Leo numeral for fourteen above his head. “Since I hold this banner, it means I am your leader and you will follow my example to the upmost. If you aren’t as dumb as you look, you will have seen the silver lion mark on my shoulder, that means I am an officer. Therefore, you will follow all of my orders to the upmost,” he said. “Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir!” all the boys replied loudly.
“Good. These next two weeks will be grueling. You will be tested in every way imaginable, and pushed to your limits. At the end of these two weeks you will all decide among yourselves who you want to carry your squad banner. The chosen cadet will be your squad leader for the next four years and will serve, in a sense, as your captain. Benefits to this position are small, a greater degree of attention by the officers mostly, that is not always a good thing, cadets.”
The young boys looked around trying to take a measure of each other. Rather obviously, the giant among them seemed to win their adolescent staring contests. It was interesting that the silver haired men did not even bother to compare himself. He was either supremely confident or supremely uninterested. Jebe tried to puff up his chest as he looked at the big man but all he got in response was a raised eyebrow and a smirk.
“Think you’re big, fucker?” Jebe whispered under his breathe, “If I can break a buck I can break your blonde ass.”
“I recommend that you choose wisely for this position,” said Henry. “More than someone strong and smart, you want someone loyal to the squad. Often times, this person will represent your squad in meetings and have a large influence on how your squad is treated,” Henry recommended. “Now, let’s get to training.”
The rest of the morning passed through in a manner that Jebe would soon become familiar with. First they all headed to the wash hall, which was a collection of outdoor showers and plumbing. They were given about fifteen minutes to wash up, shit, and shave. Jebe did his best to flex as he walked around but he didn’t think anyone paid much attention. He wished he had a few more scars.
Afterwards, they went to the mess hall with all the other squads for a breakfast of meat, beans, and some sort of mixed juice that the officers swore by. It caused Jebe to swear other things.
Following breakfast, they split up from the other squads again and went for a jog in the mountains. Henry said it would be quick, but ten miles in the mountains felt a lot longer than ten miles on flat ground. Unfortunately, there were a few stragglers who took too long to finish the course, so nobody received their much desired half-lunch.
Then they rejoined with all the other squads again and listened to a guest brigadier general give a speech on military tactics. He was an infantry commander and a veteran on leave from the Philonial War. He would be the freshman primary instructor for the first month before switching with someone else. He would cover basic infantry strategies and tactics.
It was then, after showering, breakfast, running, and a dissertation, that the fun part began. Henry lead them to a stone courtyard carved out of the mountain valley. The ground was almost tile-like, light grey and dark grey stones intermixed in a pleasing pattern, like spots on a dog.
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Surrounding the courtyard was a varied assortment of weapon racks and training dummies. On the racks were swords, sabers, axes, spears, shields, and even maces.
“Here you will learn the bread a butter of soldiering,” said Henry, “discipline.” He slapped the iron rod atop the palm of his hand and stared down he squad. Jebe swallowed.
A smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes snuck forth from Henry’s face. “Just kidding,” he said. “You’re all going to learn how to fight.”
Jebe exhaled with relief. He did not ever want to experience the kind of damage Henry could deal with that rod of his. Learning to fight, however, that was pretty interesting.
For many of the boys, this is what they were most exited for. A chance to wield weapons and be trained by a real soldier. All of these boys had grown up idolizing famous warriors, and this was their chance to become one.
“Before any of you get bright ideas about grabbing whatever weapon you desire and swinging it around like you just discovered your dick, let me give you some instruction,” said Henry.
Jebe laughed with the rest of the boys before quieting down. He was beginning to enjoy the vulgar, gruff humor that the officers practiced around here. It reminded him of his grandpa after three rounds at the tavern.
“For all of your first year training, you will only practice the sword and the longbow,” Henry said. “It is only in your second year that weapon specialization will begin. While the academy is training officers, you still must be familiar with basic soldiering. We are not like those rich shits in the Martial School who are unlikely to ever see the front lines. Once you all graduate you are going to be in the thick of it.”
Jebe narrowed his eyes as these words.
“If you want to survive out there, you need to be ready,” Henry spoke sharply. “Blocking a sword, changing a formation, predicting an ambush, all of these need to be muscle memory. You won’t have time to look up a reference book on the battlefield, your body must know everything already. Only once you’ve mastered the basics will you be allowed to diversify”
Jebe decided that this made sense. If he simply picked his favorite weapon and mastered it, he would only know how to defeat himself and the greatly unskilled. He should at least have a faint understanding of other weapons to know how to deal with them.
“Now, go pick a sword from the racks. You will be using that sword for the rest of your time here,” instructed Henry. Everyone rushed to do so, trying their best to refrain from squabbling over the swords which, ultimately, were all the same make. They were standard issue short swords with sixteen and half inch blades and leather handles, with a round pommel. Jebe grabbed one with a particularly worn looking handle but a well-kept edge.
The first lesson of sword fighting was painfully basic. They took the basic stance with the body turned at a 45-degree angle and the dominant arm forward. The blade was gripped in a similar manner with the dominant hand above the non-dominant hand. Henry insulted their stances and grips to perfection before ordering them all to do 500 downwards chops.
At the beginning Jebe had the chance to look around and compare everyone’s skill. He appeared to be somewhere in the middle of the pack for swordsmanship. He had taken a few lessons from his grandpa in saber fighting, but he spent most his free time using the composite bow and riding Moon. Even if he had practiced a thousand hours with the saber that did not mean all his skill would carry over to the sword. They were different weapons with different methods of use.
As far as Jebe could tell, the best swordsman among the squad was the dainty looking man with the silver hair. Whenever he swung his sword there was a whistling sound that nobody else could imitate. At the end of his swing, the blade stopped perfectly with no shaking at all before he slowly raised it back up again. Furthermore, his stance appeared relaxed and natural, he was not holding the position consciously like Jebe and the rest of the boys. It appeared that he had some sword training prior to joining the academy.
The next best, if you could call it that, was the tan muscular boy. He swung the sword down with a ferocious speed and energy. Each chop looked capable of splitting a man’s skull, and he did not slow down from beginning to end. He was like a great beast with limitless strength and energy. Jebe grew curious about the man’s spirit and imagined it was a high level that amplified his natural attributes.
That got him wondering. His spirit was a being so awesome that he had gotten more than a free ride to the academy and even stunned the evaluating judges. Yet since his spirit’s awakening, he had not felt a bit different.
Normally, upon awakening a spirit, there should be a passive energy that flows from it to the body of its holder. This may increase one’s strength, vitality, speed, endurance, intelligence, or even qi gathering speed. While Jebe hadn’t taken a class on qi gathering yet, he knew there was supposed to be a tingle in his meridians if his spirit specialized in that sort of thing. There definitely was no tingle.
The Nightmare Steed that appeared in his mind was something lord-like and nefarious. It did not seem to be a noble beast, and so, perhaps, the method for drawing power from it would be equally nefarious in nature. Jebe decided then that he would need to go to the library when he got some free time so that he could study different spirits. For now, however, Jebe let that train of thought go as his body was beginning to give in to the fatigue of 500 swings.
It was backbreaking work. Jebe’s arms were tired by the 100th swing, shaking by the 200th and damn near numb by the 300th. Yet he persevered. He stopped his runaway train mind for each swing, and simply committed himself to counting. One stroke after another. Like plowing the field after a morning shower - up, down, up down.
“Enough,” Henry suddenly spoke. “Well done today cadets, you did our squad proud.” Henry showed and uncommonly happy look on his face. “Usually someone gives up on the first day of sword practice but not one of you wimped out. I expect great things from you lot.”
The tired group of boys positively beamed at Henry’s unexpected praise. Jebe would have as well, but as it was, he could barely arch his back to look at the man. He decided to refocus what energy he had left on not fainting in front of everyone else.
“Take your swords back to the barracks with you, they are yours now. We are done for the day and you may use the evening as you desire. Dismissed!” he said.
Jebe twisted his body in a stretch and rolled his shoulders back. This was followed by a loud series of cracking from places in his body that he never even knew existed. The first day was hard. But he knew it would be, so he was not upset by this.
After showering and changing into their lounging uniforms the 14th Squad separated into separate little cliques of commonalities. Some were reading on their beds, others were kicking a ball around outside, and others still were trading contraband goods in the recess of the room. There was also, of course, a good three or four boys passed out early on their beds.
As Jebe sat upon his bed thumbing pointlessly over the pages of the Leo Military Cultivation Arts manual, he heard a sharp whistling sound outside. It peaked his interest as perhaps something more understandable than this jumble of words about qi, blood, jing, and other such confusing concepts.
Stepping outside he heard the sound again from somewhere in the woods. He circled around the barracks towards the noise and gently pushed himself through the thicket of thin branches and wet leaves. Soon he came upon a small grass clearing where the cause of the whistling was laid bare. Literally.
The silver haired boy from before was out here in nothing but tan cotton pants and brown boots. He was swinging the weapon around in a simple but well-practiced manner. His body was sweating profusely with each swing and the whistling sound was soon identified as the boy’s blade cutting through the air. Another downwards chop, then an upwards slash and a quick thrust, continuously the boy struck the air with different techniques in a tantalizing display of swordsmanship.
After several minutes of this the boy stopped and rested his sword on the soft earth as he caught his breath.
“I see military training isn’t quite enough for you, eh?” Jebe jokingly inquired.
The silver haired boy turned towards him, his delicate features and gray eyes on full display. “It’s not that it is not enough, it is that I am not enough,” he responded after some time.
Jebe stared at those eyes for a moment and thought seriously. “I’ll be right back,” he said.
Quickly, he ran back inside the barracks and grabbed his own sword from its sheath beneath his bed. When he got back to the clearing in the woods the silver haired boy had already started practicing his strikes again.
“Care for a sparring partner?” Jebe asked.
The silver haired boy stopped once more and look at Jebe. “What? Was military training not enough for you?” He responded with heavy sarcasm.
Jebe shrugged and gave the boy a wry grin, “No.”
The other boy gawked for a minute then broke out in to a delicate laughter. “I see,” he said, “I suppose that is an answer as well.”
“Come on then, let’s see how good that fancy swordsmanship of yours is.” roared Jebe as he leapt towards the boy and performed his downwards chop. Steel met steel and his blade was easily deflected. A split second later the boy had redirected his blade towards Jebe’s throat causing him to backpedal and turn his neck aside. Cold sweat dripped down his back.
The boy’s eyebrows raised in response, “what’s your name?” he asked.
“Jebe,” he spoke between breaths, “yours?”
“I am Viktor Marfont, third son of the Marfont family.” Viktor declared whilst saluting with his sword.
Jebe made an awkward curtsy mixed with a bow before scratching his head in embarrassment. “I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to do here.”
“Definitely not curtsy,” Viktor said pursing his lips, “princess.” Yay sexism
Jebe laughed at that before kicking some dirt towards Viktor’s face and throwing a big haymaker of a sword chop towards him, forcing Viktor to block.
“Whatever Vik!” Jebe said with exaggeration. “I never heard of your family anyways!” Before Viktor could respond Jebe began a flurry of aggressive blows, putting Viktor on the defensive.
Viktor eyes widened before he erupted in youthful laughter and responded with an offensive of his own.
The clash of steel mixed with boyish laughter echoed from the forest for the rest of the evening.