The Next Morning – Fortress Training Yard
The sun had barely kissed the horizon when the gates opened.
Ten figures stepped into the yard—Adel, Finley, and Troy among them. The rest were older reserves, all just as hardened. They wore no armor, only training garb, but their gazes were sharp and focused.
A rectangular pit marked the center. Scars on the earth. Blood still darkening the sand.
Standing at the edge, arms crossed, was Captain Dareth. Thick scar over his left brow. No smile. No welcome.
He said nothing as the recruits formed a line before him.
Only after a minute of silence did he speak.
"I don't need more swords. I need wolves."
"Today, you'll show me which you are."
He raised a hand. Three soldiers dragged out wooden crates. They hit the ground with a thud—chains rattled inside.
Then came the growls.
The lid lifted, and out came four feral beasts—canine, mutated, each one half-starved and angry. Creatures captured from the outskirts, too small to be called monsters… but too dangerous to be called dogs.
"You'll fight them," Dareth said. "Barehanded."
A murmur went through the line.
Finley whispered, "He's not serious."
But Adel already stepped forward. "When do we begin?"
Dareth pointed at him. "Now."
The Trial
One by one, the ten applicants were thrown into the pit.
Adel fought first. He didn't fight with rage—but with clarity. The beast lunged. He sidestepped, grabbed its neck, twisted with all his strength, and slammed it into the dirt. Blood coated his arms. His knuckles were raw. But he stood.
Then came Troy. His fight was brutal. Less elegant. His ribs took a hit. His lip was torn. But when it ended, his opponent wasn't moving. He spat blood. "Who's next?"
Finley went third. His strength wasn't in brute force—it was in timing. He used the creature's momentum, redirecting it with sharp jabs, and finally crushed its throat beneath his knee. His hand trembled, but he didn't look away from the Captain.
Others fought. Some won. Some didn't get up.
When the dust cleared, only five remained.
Adel.
Troy.
Finley.
And two others.
Captain Dareth looked them over. Gave a nod.
"You five. You belong to me now."
The Next Morning – Fortress Training Yard
The sun had barely kissed the horizon when the gates opened.
Ten figures stepped into the yard—Adel, Finley, and Troy among them. The rest were older reserves, all just as hardened. They wore no armor, only training garb, but their gazes were sharp and focused.
A rectangular pit marked the center. Scars on the earth. Blood still darkening the sand.
Standing at the edge, arms crossed, was Captain Dareth. Thick scar over his left brow. No smile. No welcome.
He said nothing as the recruits formed a line before him.
Only after a minute of silence did he speak.
"I don't need more swords. I need wolves."
"Today, you'll show me which you are."
He raised a hand. Three soldiers dragged out wooden crates. They hit the ground with a thud—chains rattled inside.
Then came the growls.
The lid lifted, and out came four feral beasts—canine, mutated, each one half-starved and angry. Creatures captured from the outskirts, too small to be called monsters… but too dangerous to be called dogs.
"You'll fight them," Dareth said. "Barehanded."
A murmur went through the line.
Finley whispered, "He's not serious."
But Adel already stepped forward. "When do we begin?"
Dareth pointed at him. "Now."
The Trial
One by one, the ten applicants were thrown into the pit.
Adel fought first. He didn't fight with rage—but with clarity. The beast lunged. He sidestepped, grabbed its neck, twisted with all his strength, and slammed it into the dirt. Blood coated his arms. His knuckles were raw. But he stood.
Then came Troy. His fight was brutal. Less elegant. His ribs took a hit. His lip was torn. But when it ended, his opponent wasn't moving. He spat blood. "Who's next?"
Finley went third. His strength wasn't in brute force—it was in timing. He used the creature's momentum, redirecting it with sharp jabs, and finally crushed its throat beneath his knee. His hand trembled, but he didn't look away from the Captain.
Others fought. Some won. Some didn't get up.
When the dust cleared, only five remained.
Adel.
Troy.
Finley.
And two others.
Captain Dareth looked them over. Gave a nod.
"You five. You belong to me now."
A Week Later — White Spear Barracks
Adel, Finley, and Troy stood at attention inside the Centuria's barracks. Their uniforms were plain gray—no insignias, no armor yet. Just recruits with names sewn in crude black thread over their hearts.
They were now part of the 1st Centuria, commanded by Captain Dareth.
The barracks weren't what they expected. It wasn't a mess hall of laughter and stories. It was quiet, deadly so. Soldiers moved like machines—strict lines, sharp turns, perfect form. No wasted motion. No softness.
On the first day, they learned the rules.
"You speak only when spoken to. You eat last. You never question orders."
The training was brutal.
Sword drills at dawn. Formation shifts under heatstroke. Night runs with full packs and sand in their mouths. Half of it wasn't about strength—it was obedience. Dareth didn't want heroes. He wanted hounds on command.
Finley collapsed twice in one day. Troy broke his left pinky and didn't even report it. Adel's hands bled from the training blades. Still, they said nothing.
They weren't the worst.
One of the other two recruits who passed the beast trial—Miran—got caught talking back to a sergeant. Dareth didn't punish her with drills. He just sent her out on a patrol alone. Two nights in monster territory.
She didn't come back.
Her name was never mentioned again.
Third Night – Inside the Barracks
Troy lay flat on the wooden bunk, arm over his eyes.
"We left hell just to join a colder one."
Finley sat on the edge of his bed, wrapping his knee with cloth. "No one's yelling. No one's friendly. Even the older soldiers look at us like we're lice."
Adel didn't sit. He was by the window, staring out.
He finally said, "They were forged here. We're still iron waiting to be shaped."
Finley scoffed. "Easy to say when you don't limp."
But he didn't argue.
Because they all knew. The barracks wasn't training.
This was the real test.
Two Days Later – Inside the Command Tent
Captain Dareth stood over a war table, flanked by maps and casualty reports.
Garran entered without knocking.
"They're adjusting," Garran said.
"Barely," Dareth replied. "I give them a week before they crack."
"They won't."
Dareth looked at him. "You're that sure?"
Garran shrugged. "The one with the axe has hate in him. The quiet one has ghosts. And the one called Adel... he's something…."
Dareth grunted. "We'll see. Patrol's in two days. Let's see if they come back from that too."
The next morning, a horn sounded through the yard.
Orders were posted.
A live patrol mission had been assigned.
Five squads has been created.
Fifth Squad has been assigned with full of rookies.
Among them: Adel, Finley, and Troy—finally given steel. Real weapons. Real armor. And for the first time…
Real death waiting beyond the gates.
Because monsters weren't the worst thing out there.
Sometimes the worst things wore the same uniform.