The sun had long dipped below the horizon by the time the last recruit staggered across the finish line. What had begun as a mass of hopefuls was now barely half of its former size. The first trial had carved away the unready, leaving only the stubborn and the strong.
Erwin was one of the few who passed the first trial. He was also the one who had the idea of forming a shield wall. It was a trick he heard from one of the mercenaries who came to his forge.
Erwin bent forward, hands braced on his knees, drawing ragged breaths that burned his throat raw and came out in steaming clouds.
Every inhale scraped like sandpaper against his chest, and every exhale trembled, weak, a reminder of how close his body was to simply shutting down. His legs felt like molten lead poured into cracked iron, heavy, unyielding, impossible to lift again without sheer will.
