After parting ways with Judy, Born and Abbott returned to their barracks.
Night had not yet fallen, the lamps still burned—but the dormitory was unnaturally quiet.
Every recruit was racing against time, cultivating the War Spirit.
Even at the most basic stage, they could already feel the changes in their bodies: bones hardening, blood surging, strength, speed, and endurance all rising by leaps and bounds.
And after witnessing Instructor Dwight on the training grounds—his War Spirit Method manifesting as spectral battle armor behind him—none dared slacken for even a moment.
This was the power of the Legion's secret art.
If they wanted to survive the battlefield, they had no choice but to fight for every breath of progress.
Even Abbott, usually the loudest braggart of them all, now sat cross-legged in rare silence, his breathing steady, his focus absolute.
…
Not long before, Born and the others had each been issued a Legion martial technique from the logistics office.
As he had planned, Born chose a spear technique.
—With a longbow on his back and a spear in his hands.
He would strike from afar, yet fear no enemy up close.
From that day forward, their lives fell into a rhythm: cultivate the War Spirit Method, drill their martial techniques, push their limits again and again.
Day by day, their strength grew visibly.
In just a few short weeks, Born's entire squad had crossed the threshold into the First Realm of Warrior.
Abbott, with his A-rank Thunder talent, surged even further ahead, breaking into the Second Realm:
Qi and Blood: 42
Explosive Strength: 1,300–1,900 kg per punch
Speed: 27 meters per second
As for Born—though he still hid the truth of his gift—he secretly devoured resources with the Blessing of the Moon Goddess, his cultivation skyrocketing.
Now, he had already reached the Third Realm of Warrior:
Qi and Blood: 61
Strength: 2,300–2,700 kg per punch
Speed: 32 meters per second
Even he hadn't expected his growth to be this terrifying.
…
Three days remained before the end of the recruit training period.
That evening, the sudden blare of the assembly horn split the air.
Class Thirty-Two lined up swiftly on the training field.
Dwight stood before them, hands clasped behind his back, his gaze sharp as frost, his voice heavy with power.
"A month of recruit training is nearly complete. Your strength has indeed improved. Every one of you has stepped into the Warrior's path."
Abbott and Born exchanged a glance, a silent smile passing between them. In just one month, they had not only grown stronger, but forged something deeper—true brotherhood, tempered in sweat and training.
Yet Dwight's next words struck like thunder, sending a jolt through every heart present.
"Strength alone is meaningless without battle."
"So from this moment on—you will face your recruit assessment."
The training field fell utterly silent.
Every breath quickened, the air heavy with tension.
"This will be your first battle as soldiers. Not a drill. Not an exercise. Real combat."
"You will enter the wilderness in your squads… and hunt beasts."
"Some of you may be injured. Some of you may die."
Dwight's voice was cold iron, cutting straight into their bones.
"But only through the baptism of blood will you earn the right to be called warriors!"
He lifted his wrist, glancing at the tactical crystal strapped there. Then he raised one finger.
"One minute. Follow the markers on your watches. The coordinates have already been transmitted."
Every recruit lowered their gaze—and sure enough, crimson markers flared across the face of their tactical watches.
"Move out!"
…
At the edge of the wilderness—
Abbott walked with spear in hand, Born at his side. His lips curved in barely contained excitement.
"Born, are you scared?"
Born only shrugged, his gaze steady, his voice calm.
"Not really."
But in truth, anticipation was already surging in his chest.
Since receiving the Blessing of the Moon Goddess, he had never once unleashed its true might. Until now, the only advantage he had tasted was speed of cultivation.
—Battle. Real battle. That was the only way to measure his gift.
His blood roared like the tide, surging to be tested.
"Ha ha ha!"
Abbott spun his spear in a sweeping arc, scattering dust across the earth as his laughter rang loud and wild.
"From this battle onward—I, Abbott, will shake the eyes of the world!"
Born could only shake his head in helpless silence.
This guy—handsome, talented, and without arrogance—had made plenty of friends in just one short month.
The only problem? His mouth loved to brag far too much.
Sure enough, the nearby recruits immediately started heckling:
"Abbott, cut the crap already!"
"Yeah, unless you're taking me along too!"
Abbott only grinned, flashing his perfect teeth, and tossed out two words with casual disdain:
"Get lost."
The crowd burst into laughter, scattering in good spirits.
Within this batch of recruits, A-rank talents weren't exactly rare. Besides Abbott, six others had awakened them. One bore an A-rank healing talent, another an A-rank enhancer, the rest were combat types.
Even with his "Thunder" ability, Abbott wasn't without pressure. His peers were strong enough to make any slip fatal.
And on top of that, his squad carried an "E-rank Archer"—Born.
Abbott drew a long breath, his face uncharacteristically serious as he laid out orders for the squad:
"Born, you take point on scouting and long-range support. In combat, focus on backup—be careful."
No one objected.
Though Born's talent was only E-rank, an archer could still play a vital role in a team.
…
Night fell deeper as they arrived at the coordinates flashing on their tactical watches.
What greeted them was the shattered skeleton of an ancient stronghold—a town reduced to rubble, overgrown with weeds.
Once, it had been a fortress against beasts. Now, it was nothing more than a trial ground for fresh recruits.
Around the perimeter, steel-clad guards stood like statues. Their cold eyes swept across the new soldiers, making hearts pound and spines stiffen.
A burly officer, rank insignia gleaming on his shoulder, strode forward. His voice cut like a blade:
"Assessment duration: two days."
"Within those two days, you will fight as squads. Your points will be based on the number of beasts you kill."
He paused, letting his gaze rake across the crowd.
"Different beast levels, different points. First rank: one point. Second rank: two points. And so on."
"Your tactical crystals will automatically record the points upon each kill."
His tone sharpened, hammering into their bones:
"Remember this—no striking your comrades. Any who dare… will be executed on the spot!"
The silence that followed was absolute.
Every recruit understood—stronger officers were hidden in the shadows, watching.
"Go in."
The sergeant waved his hand, and the guards stepped aside.
One by one, the squads filed into the ruins, boots crunching over shattered stone as they crossed into the desolate fortress town.
…
Elsewhere, atop a high platform—the command post of the assessment grounds.
Bobby stood with hands clasped behind his back, his cold gaze sweeping down over the scattering squads of recruits below.
Behind him, Dwight and several squad leaders stood in solemn silence.
"How many of them do you think will survive this trial?"
Bobby's voice was low, like iron grinding against stone.
"Hard to say." One leader shook his head, his tone devoid of pity.
"New blood with no experience—when faced with beasts, squads collapsing isn't uncommon."
Dwight thought for a moment before replying:
"Sixty percent, maybe."
Bobby turned his head slightly, the corner of his scarred lips lifting in the faintest, most dangerous of smiles.
"And your squad, Dwight? Will they survive?"
"They will." Dwight's answer was instant, without hesitation.
In this month, he had come to know his recruits inside and out.
Abbott, with his A-rank Thunder, was a natural core. Their squad also had a B-rank fighter. The rest were C and D ranks, but their overall balance was solid.
And more importantly—Born.
That boy… there was something about him that defied reason.
In just one month, Born's mastery of the War Spirit Method had nearly reached the Second Level—Spirit Condensation.
His cultivation speed rivaled that of an S-rank.
Dwight's eyes flickered with a strange light.
He suspected that this youth, who on paper carried nothing more than an E-rank Archer talent, possessed an affinity for spirit energy far beyond ordinary men.
That was why he had reported Born without hesitation as a "special recruit."
—And through it all, Born himself remained utterly unaware.