The shrill sound of a bugle pierced the silence of the barracks, jolting me awake. It was still dark outside; the sun had yet to rise. Groggy and disoriented, I quickly realized that this was our wake-up call.
“Up and at ’em, everyone!” Sergeant Brann’s voice boomed through the room, his footsteps heavy as he moved among the cots. “You have five minutes to get dressed and assemble in the yard. Move it!”
I scrambled to my feet, my body protesting with every movement. The other prisoners were also stirring, some grumbling under their breath, but the fear of Brann’s wrath spurred us all into action. I pulled on my rough uniform, the fabric coarse against my skin, and laced up my boots as quickly as I could.
The barracks was a flurry of activity as we hurried to comply with Brann’s orders. The air was thick with tension, everyone aware that any delay could result in punishment. I grabbed my belt, fastening it around my waist, and joined the stream of prisoners heading toward the door.
Outside, the air was cold and biting, a stark contrast to the stuffy warmth of the barracks. The yard was illuminated by flickering torches, casting long shadows across the ground. We lined up in neat rows, shivering slightly in the pre-dawn chill.
Captain Stroud stood at the front, his presence as commanding and intimidating as ever. His eyes swept over us, his expression hard and unforgiving.
“Today marks the beginning of your one-week training,” Stroud announced, his voice cutting through the stillness. “You will have only one week to learn the basics. This is not because we believe you can master anything in such a short time, but because time is a luxury we do not have.”
He paused, letting the gravity of his words settle over us. “Each of you will be taught how to use a spear. It is the simplest and most effective weapon for those with limited training. It requires less skill than a sword and allows you to keep your enemy at a distance. Consider yourselves fortunate that you will have at least this much instruction before being sent to the frontlines.”
A murmur of apprehension rippled through the ranks. The thought of being thrust into battle with such minimal preparation was terrifying, but there was no room for protest.
Stroud’s gaze sharpened. “You will be taught to march, to follow orders, and to fight as a unit. You will learn to trust your spear and the man beside you. There will be no time wasted. Any failure to keep up, any sign of weakness, and you will be left behind or worse.”
Sergeant Brann stepped forward, a bundle of spears in his hands. He began handing them out, one by one. “These are your lifelines,” he said. “Treat them with respect, or they will be the last thing you ever hold.”
As I took the spear, its weight felt both foreign and familiar in my hands. Foreign because the spear that was in my hands was not the one I had used while training.
It was different, with a slightly different center of gravity. But a spear was a spear. The weapon that I had used all my life, even though I was never good at it.
‘Indeed, even here, it all comes to this, isn’t it?’
I thought to myself, feeling the weapon in my hand.
It had been a while since I had fought with a spear, and the ache in my muscles reminded me just how long it had been since I had properly moved my body.
The week of confinement, the beatings, and the lack of proper nutrition had taken their toll. Every muscle felt sore, and the weight of the spear, though familiar, felt almost too much to bear.
“Form up!” Brann commanded. “We’ll start with basic stances and movements. Follow my lead, and pay attention. Your lives depend on it.”
We arranged ourselves into lines, trying to mimic Brann’s posture as he demonstrated the fundamental positions. He moved with a fluidity and precision that spoke of years of experience.
The newcomer, on the other hand, was different. Many tried to mimic Brann’s posture as he had demonstrated the fundamental positions.
“Feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent,” Brann instructed. “Hold the spear with both hands, one near the base and the other about halfway up the shaft. Keep the tip pointed forward, ready to thrust.”
As everyone moved through the exercises, I noticed Captain Stroud weaving through the ranks, his cold eyes assessing each of us.
Eventually, Stroud stopped directly in front of me, his presence commanding and intimidating. He watched me with a sneer, his gaze flicking to the spear in my hands.
“It seems you know your way around a spear, Thorne,” he said, his tone mocking as he emphasized my surname. “Isn’t that right? A fallen noble from a ‘spear family,’ if I recall correctly.”
His words stung, but I kept my expression neutral, refusing to rise to his bait. Stroud smirked, clearly enjoying the tension.
“Wouldn’t it be fitting for someone from a ‘spear family’ to demonstrate how it’s done?” he continued, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Let’s see if you can show us all how a noble handles a spear.”
The eyes of my fellow trainees were on me, their expressions a mix of curiosity and resentment. I took a deep breath, steadying myself. This bastard was mocking me, but I already knew even if I wanted to go against him, I could do nothing.
Thus, despite the pain and exhaustion, I stepped forward, gripping the spear tightly.
I took my position, feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent. I held the spear in the normal stance, one hand near the base and the other halfway up the shaft. I focused on the tip of the spear, feeling its weight and its balance.
With a swift motion, I executed a series of thrusts and parries, each movement deliberate and controlled.
The spear felt more natural in my hands with each passing second, muscle memory guiding me through the maneuvers. The soreness in my muscles faded to the background as I concentrated on the task at hand.
At least, that was what I thought I did.
Suddenly, my spear was wrenched downward, and I lost my grip. My eyes widened as I realized another spear was pressing down on mine, its tip aimed directly at the ground. I followed the shaft up to its wielder and found Captain Stroud smirking at me.
“Is that all you know?” Stroud mocked, his voice dripping with contempt. “Seeing this, I can understand why your family has abandoned you. With such measly talents, how did you dare to assault the heiress of the Duke?”
Laughter erupted around us, the trainees’ eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and disdain. The sound of their derision cut deep, but Stroud wasn’t finished.
He raised his spear, pointing it directly at my chest. “If you’re angry, how about you show me your place?”
Rage flared within me, a burning inferno fueled by the injustice and humiliation I had endured.
I had been framed and cast aside by my own family, and now this bastard was making my life even harder. I gritted my teeth, snatched up my spear, and faced Stroud head-on.
“Fine,” I spat, my voice steady despite the fury boiling inside me. “I’ll show you.”
Stroud’s smirk widened. “Let’s see what you’ve got…Ex-Thorne.”
The onlookers fell silent, their curiosity piqued as the two of us squared off. I assumed my stance once more, this time my emotions getting the better of me.
Stroud moved with a fluid motion, his spear poised and ready. Even with my measly experience, I knew he was good at spearing.
I was not able to see any openings at all.
–SWOOSH!
Stroud made the first move, a quick thrust aimed at my midsection. I parried it, the force of the blow vibrating up my arm. The strength of the attack was so much that I felt like my hand would break.
For the first time in a while, I felt such an attack.
‘Thorne Style. Rapid Fangs.’
In such a state, I countered with a series of rapid jabs, trying to force him to step back. This was one of the moves that I learned. It was normally supposed to be supported by mana, but I was not in there.
Stroud’s eyes narrowed, and he came at me with a series of precise strikes. I blocked and dodged, my body moving on instinct. The soreness in my muscles was forgotten, replaced by a singular focus: to prove myself.
CLANK!
For a moment, it seemed like we were evenly matched. The sound of clashing spears echoed through the yard, and the trainees watched in rapt silence. But Stroud was relentless, his attacks growing more aggressive.
And after a bunch of seconds, with a sudden, powerful strike, he knocked my spear aside and aimed a thrust at my shoulder. I twisted away, but his spear grazed my arm, the pain sharp and immediate. I gritted my teeth and fought through it, refusing to back down.
“Is that all you’ve got?” Stroud taunted, his voice low and mocking.
I lunged forward with a fierce jab, catching him off guard.
PAT!
My spear scraped against his side, and he hissed in pain, but the wound was superficial. Stroud’s smirk vanished, replaced by a cold fury.
He came at me with renewed intensity, and I struggled to keep up. His spear moved with deadly precision, and he did not even hide his intent, and because of that, I wasn’t even seeing what was before me.
The force of his strike pushed me back, and I stumbled, my grip faltering.
CLANK!
With a final, powerful thrust, Stroud disarmed me, my spear clattering to the ground. He pressed the tip of his spear to my throat, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
“Remember your place, Ex-Thorne,” he hissed. “You’re nothing but a disgrace.”
———————–
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