The families were quickly driven out under the soldiers' stern command.
In the vast square, only the recruits remained—thousands upon thousands of them, lined up in rows.
Naturally, among them were the unruly and arrogant, the ones too proud to bow their heads.
But in the Legion, such "thorns" never lasted long.
"Three minutes are up! Anyone who hasn't assembled—eight hundred push-ups! Start immediately!"
The roar cracked across the square like thunder.
The voice belonged to a towering officer, nearly two meters tall.
Clad in heavy black iron armor, the insignia of the Third Legion gleamed on his shoulder.
His tiger-like eyes swept across the crowd like blades.
Wherever his gaze passed, no one dared meet it.
The recruits called out stepped forward, dropping to the ground, faces grim as they began their punishment.
But one broad-shouldered youth lifted his head, a sharp frown tugging at his brow. His voice rang out coldly:
"It's not seven yet. I'm not late."
At once, the air froze. Several sharp gazes turned toward him.
The officer's boots thundered against the ground as he strode over, each step like a drumbeat of war.
Standing before the boy, his voice cut like steel.
"Either you start now… or I'll make you."
"I won't. I wasn't late." The youth's tone remained defiant.
Bang!
Before the words had finished, the officer's palm slammed him to the ground. His hand, heavy as a mountain, pinned the recruit flat, leaving him utterly immobile.
The officer's cold voice thundered in his ear:
"Remember this. Your first lesson—In the Legion, when an instructor gives an order, you obey. No questions. No excuses."
The boy's face drained of color.
He had already touched the threshold of becoming a Martial Warrior—his strength stood far above most of his peers.
And yet here, before this officer, he couldn't even lift a finger.
Reality crushed him with brutal clarity:
This was the Legion.
Here, there was no debate.
When your superior commands you to advance—
Even if it means marching into death—you advance.
Suppressing the thorn without another glance, the officer straightened, his expression icy.
He raised his hand and barked another order:
"Distribute uniforms! Once you receive yours, change immediately. Civilian clothes away. One minute!"
Chastened by the earlier display, no one dared hesitate.
They moved swiftly, stripping off their plain garments and donning the black, iron-blooded armor of the Legion.
Born adjusted the straps of his armor, lowering his head as he tightened the buckles. His gaze drifted unconsciously toward Judy in the distance.
Judy caught it, grinning wide.
Born gave a slight nod in return.
No words were spoken, but in that brief exchange, an unspoken understanding passed between them.
By the time the recruits finished changing, the clock struck six fifty-three.
"Roll call!"
The officer's bark split the air. His aides moved swiftly, counting every line, every man.
"Report! Required number: five thousand three hundred and forty-three! Present number: five thousand three hundred and forty-three!"
The officer nodded, striding up the steps of the platform. From there he towered above the crowd, his voice deep, every word hammered with iron weight:
"From the moment you wear this uniform—you are no longer civilians. You are soldiers!"
"The mission of a soldier is simple: march to the battlefield, and slaughter the beasts!"
"Hundreds of years ago, our first ancestors stood with nothing but flesh and bone against the great calamity. Their blood bought this kingdom we stand upon today!"
"And now—you inherit their torch! You will guard this land with your blood, your sweat, and your very lives!"
"This is honor. This is responsibility."
"Do you understand?!"
"—Yes, sir!"
Over five thousand voices roared in unison, the shout crashing through the square, echoing against the stone walls until the very ground trembled.
The officer's eyes flashed cold as steel. He slashed his hand through the air.
"Board the train!"
Along the edge of the square, on the waiting iron tracks, a Legion train stood cloaked in black steel plating. The heavy armor of its cars gleamed faintly, exuding a suffocating aura of killing intent.
The crowd surged forward in a wave. Born and Judy ended up in the same carriage.
"Born."
Judy shoved his way through the mass, his face breaking into its usual goofy smile as he reached his side.
Born nodded slightly, glancing at the young recruit who had willingly stepped aside to give Judy room. He said nothing.
Judy hadn't barked, hadn't bullied, hadn't tried to force his way in. Despite his intimidating build, he was no brute drunk on strength.
—So began the life of a soldier.
"Born, I picked up some news," Judy whispered, leaning close as the train jolted faintly beneath their feet.
"This batch of recruits—they say we're being assigned to the Third Legion."
Born blinked, startled.
"The Third Legion?"
Judy nodded, lowering his voice.
"That two-meter-tall officer earlier—his name's Bobby. He's from the Eighth Division of the Beast-Taming Army, under the Third Legion."
Born's eyes widened.
It wasn't surprising to know the man's name.
But to know his exact Legion and even his division? That was something else.
Such information was considered classified—combat unit assignments were never meant to be casually known.
"Brother, impressive. How'd you even find that out?"
A voice cut in from the side.
Both Born and Judy turned to see a handsome youth watching them with clear amusement.
As their gazes met, the boy smiled, giving a small nod.
"Abbott."
"Born."
"Judy."
The three exchanged names.
At the sound of "Judy," Abbott blinked, then suddenly burst into laughter.
"Judy? If I hadn't heard it myself, I'd have sworn you were some delicate little girl."
Judy only scratched his head with that same goofy smile, unfazed by the jab.
Abbott's grin faded quickly as he steered the conversation back.
"What you said… is it true?"
Judy's face turned solemn.
"Almost certain. If Bobby belongs to the Third Legion, then it's highly likely this whole batch of recruits is bound for them too."
He glanced around, lowering his voice further.
"The Third Legion is one of the kingdom's three main forces—second only to the First Legion in strength. Their defensive line faces the wastelands, where beast tides strike the hardest. Not long ago, they put down a massive tide there, but the casualties were heavy. We're here to fill the gaps."
Born felt a weight press down on his chest.
Even Abbott's easy smile stiffened as his face paled.
"I-I'm only an A-rank Talent," he muttered. "They're not seriously going to throw me straight onto the front lines, right? I'd be way more useful in logistics, you know…"
Born: "…"
Judy: "…"
The two exchanged a look—and rolled their eyes in unison.
This guy. A moment ago he looked so carefree and confident… and now he was already showing his cracks.
Abbott cleared his throat, trying to save face.
"Anyway. What about you two? What talents did you awaken? When the time comes, maybe you could, you know, cover me a bit?"
Judy answered first, his voice steady.
"A-rank Combat Talent—Strength Enhancement."
Born spoke more quietly, his tone flat.
"E-rank Archer."
Abbott's mouth twitched. He froze for a moment before forcing a dry laugh.
"Uh… no worries, Born. When the time comes, Judy and I will cover you."
Born: "…"
Judy: "…"
The air in the carriage grew strangely awkward—yet beneath the silence, something unseen began to form. A bond, thin as thread, but real.
No one knew how much time had passed when a sharp, piercing whistle split the air.
The military train began to slow, the iron wheels grinding until the massive vehicle rumbled to a halt.
"—Disembark! Assemble!"
The iron-blooded officer's roar thundered once more, shaking the carriages like a war drum.