For every new recruit, before they could truly stand as soldiers of the kingdom's legion, they had to endure the Trial of the Legion.
And before that trial came a month of brutal, unrelenting training.
Discipline was one part of it. But the true purpose was something far greater—
to learn a secret cultivation art passed down only within the Legion itself:
The War Spirit.
Legend said it was first conceived by the kingdom's earliest sage, Neil, who carved it from the echoes of an ancient battlefield.
It strengthened qi and blood, tempered the body, hardened defense, hastened recovery. At its higher levels, it could even forge battle intent into armor, with each breath rumbling like thunder.
This method was the heart of the army—strictly forbidden to be spread beyond its ranks.
…
On the training grounds, the instructor Dwight stood tall before the recruits, legs planted firmly, posture like an unshakable boulder.
There was a glint of reverence in his eyes.
"The War Spirit was passed down personally by our kingdom's first great warrior, the sage Neil."
"Every soldier of the Legion must cultivate it. It is the very root of our strength."
At his words, the recruits could not help but recall the statue in the square—the scarred giant who gripped a greatsword, carved in eternal stone.
Neil.
In the hearts of all warriors, he was a legend.
In the Legion, he was nothing less than a god.
Dwight's gaze sharpened like a drawn blade, his voice cold as winter steel:
"Remember this. The War Spirit must never be taught outside the Legion. Any who betray this law—are cut down where they stand!"
That single sentence sent a chill racing down every recruit's spine.
…
"The War Spirit is divided into ten levels," Dwight continued, lowering himself into a stance. His breathing slowed, steady and heavy.
"First Level: Spirit Recognition.
Empty the mind. Find calm. Draw the spirit into your body, breath by breath."
As his voice faded, Dwight's aura shifted. His breathing stretched long and deep, its rhythm pounding like war drums. A faint phantom of armor shimmered across his body.
Third Level of the War Spirit—Manifestation of the Armor.
Gasps rippled through the recruits. Their hearts trembled at the sight, yet none dared to look away. Almost as one, they mimicked his posture, following him into the state of cultivation.
Born sat cross-legged, adjusting his stance.
And then—
he felt it.
The faintest wisp of spiritual energy… drawn slowly into his body.
In that moment, every fiber of his flesh seemed to tremble, every cell bursting with joy, as though rain had finally returned after a long and merciless drought.
…
Dwight opened his eyes, beginning his inspection.
The act of drawing spirit energy into the body—Spirit Recognition—was the very first step, yet also the hardest. Some recruits could labor for an entire day without success. He himself, back in his youth, had taken a full day and night.
"Mm, this one looks promising. He should succeed today."
"Oh? That one as well, not bad…"
But when he stopped before Born, Dwight froze. Surprise flickered across his stern features.
He could feel it—spirit energy already circulating within the boy's body.
"He's… already succeeded?"
Shock jolted through Dwight's chest. This training had only been going for a few minutes!
Holding his breath, he focused, and what he saw nearly made him doubt his senses. The ambient energy of the world was surging toward Born in torrents, rippling the air as if disturbed by invisible waves.
And Born himself—he was like a vast whale in the sea, swallowing the breath of heaven and earth without the slightest resistance.
Around him, the other recruits should have been gently guiding spirit energy into their bodies, but instead their progress faltered. Born was consuming so much of the flow that their cultivation was being dragged down.
"Such speed!" Dwight's heart pounded violently.
"This child… he cannot be ordinary!"
What should have been a process of an hour at best—drawing in the first thread of spirit energy—was being devoured by Born in mere minutes, while the rest struggled for hours.
Dwight stood in silence for a long moment, then stepped forward. He placed a firm hand on Born's shoulder, jolting him gently out of his meditative state.
Born's eyes opened slowly, confusion flickering across his gaze.
Dwight didn't explain. He simply gestured for the boy to sit aside.
"What is your name?"
"Born."
Dwight studied the youth before him—a face still fresh, yet marked with quiet resolve. His brows rose slightly.
"If I recall correctly, your registered talent was… E-rank, Combat type, Archer. Isn't that so?"
As a legion instructor, it was his duty to know every recruit's record, to shape their training with precision.
Born nodded lightly, offering no further explanation.
That simple gesture only deepened Dwight's curiosity.
An E-rank archer… yet his absorption speed is this monstrous?
He considered pressing further but ultimately held his tongue. History had recorded the occasional anomaly—those of average talent who nonetheless cultivated at astonishing speeds. Perhaps Born was simply one of those rare cases.
"Wait until the others are finished before resuming," Dwight ordered at last. If Born kept devouring the surrounding energy, the rest of the recruits wouldn't even have a chance.
…
Two hours later—
Abbott's eyes snapped open. Spirit energy coursed smoothly through his body; the first step was complete. He exhaled sharply, exhilaration sparking in his gaze.
As expected of an A-rank talent—his speed outstripped most of the recruits.
Lifting his head, he noticed Dwight standing nearby… and Born, seated calmly at his side.
"Rest for now," Dwight instructed with a nod. He already knew Abbott's file by heart—A-rank combat talent, thunder attribute. Men like him would rise quickly once placed in a unit. There was no need to push him here.
Abbott turned, spotting Born still seated, strangely quiet.
"Born, why aren't you cultivating?" he asked with a frown.
Then, remembering Born's record, he sighed, patting his friend's shoulder with a trace of helplessness.
"Don't worry. Spirit recognition may be slow, but as long as you persist, you'll succeed eventually."
Dwight's expression twitched at the words, his eyes flickering with amusement.
If Abbott knew Born had already succeeded long ago… his face would be priceless.
Born only smiled, offering no explanation.
Abbott might love to show off, but deep down, he wasn't a bad guy.
…
"That's enough. You've all been introduced to the War Spirit Method," Dwight finally declared, his voice like iron.
"From here on, it's endless repetition. Tomorrow, I'll take you to choose your martial techniques."
His gaze swept over the recruits, sharp and commanding.
"Remember this—when choosing a technique, pick one that covers your weaknesses."
As he spoke, his eyes lingered deliberately on Born.
"For example—an archer. Long-range attacks are your strength, but once an enemy closes the gap, you'll need close-combat skills to survive."
With that, training was dismissed.
…
"Born, come on! Let's go find Judy."
No sooner had Dwight left than Abbott hopped off his bunk, grabbing Born by the arm and dragging him along.
Though assigned to different squads, they all lived in the same barracks building. Born and Abbott shared a room on the second floor, while Judy's quarters were up on the fifth.
Born followed reluctantly, a sigh echoing in his heart.
This guy… no doubt he just wants another excuse to run over there—and brag in front of Judy again.