The training ground of the Takeda estate stretched wide beneath the morning sun, its earth trampled flat by years of drills and sparring. Wooden dummies stood scarred and battered, the air carrying the sharp tang of sweat and steel.
Here, fifty men waited in ranks—samurai, ashigaru foot soldiers, and a handful of seasoned veterans. Some were young and eager, others scarred from past campaigns, their expressions skeptical. They had been assigned to Eugene, the lord's son, but loyalty was not yet earned.
Eugene stood before them, armor stripped down to his training gi, a bokken in hand. Hiroshi stood to his right, spear in grip, eyes burning with pride.
[Analysis: Composition—30 ashigaru, 15 samurai retainers, 5 veteran warriors. Morale: uncertain. Respect for Eugene: low but malleable. Recommended course: establish authority through demonstration, then inspire loyalty with shared hardship.]
Eugene's gaze swept the fifty. "From today, you are mine. Not as servants, but as warriors. Together, we will forge a spear that pierces any foe. But first—" He planted the bokken in the dirt. "—I will test you."
Murmurs rippled through the line. One samurai, tall with a narrow scar across his chin, stepped forward. "Test us, my lord? Do you doubt our skill?"
"I doubt nothing," Eugene replied evenly. "But I must see your limits before I break them."
The man smirked, bowing mockingly. "Then allow me the honor of showing you."
The duel began swiftly. The samurai charged, katana flashing. His strikes were fast, powerful, enough to make the ashigaru gasp in awe.
Eugene, however, moved like flowing water. Each strike was deflected, each thrust turned aside with precise economy.
[Opponent's stance: overly aggressive. Weak point—left guard. Recommended finish: counter at third overextension.]
On the third overextension, Eugene slipped inside the man's guard and struck his chest with the bokken. The impact sent him sprawling onto the dirt.
Gasps echoed.
Eugene looked over the fallen man calmly. "Your skill is fine. But reckless pride will kill you before the enemy does."
He turned to the fifty. "Understand this—I will fight beside you, bleed beside you, and if need be, die beside you. But I will accept no weakness, no sloppiness. Under me, you will not be fifty men. You will be one blade, sharp and unbreakable."
His voice rang with conviction. Even the veterans exchanged looks of surprise.
Training began.
For hours, Eugene drilled them not only in traditional forms but in patterns drawn from his AI's databanks—formations, rotations, and tactics centuries ahead of their time.
"Spearmen—hold wall!" Eugene commanded.
Rows of ashigaru leveled their yari, forming a bristling hedge of steel. Eugene walked among them, correcting grips and stances.
"Too wide—your spear will be slapped aside. Closer—your wall must breathe as one!"
Then: "Archers! Rotate fire!"
Instead of the usual single volleys, Eugene had them practice firing in staggered waves, ensuring constant pressure on a target. It was exhausting, unnatural to them, but soon arrows rained in rhythmic succession like drumbeats of death.
Hiroshi watched in awe. "My lord… no army fights this way."
"They will," Eugene murmured, "when I'm done."
By midday, sweat drenched the men. Some collapsed to their knees, gasping. The veterans frowned, muttering about harshness.
Eugene dropped his bokken and picked up a spear. Without a word, he joined the formation, standing shoulder to shoulder with ashigaru.
"Again!" he barked.
Shock rippled through the men as their young lord braced his weapon and drove forward with them. Sweat poured down his face, dirt smeared his hands. When they faltered, he faltered with them; when they pushed, he pushed harder.
"Your lord… he fights with us?" one ashigaru whispered.
"Not above us. With us," another breathed.
Something shifted that day. Doubt gave way to respect. Respect, to loyalty.
As the sun dipped low, the fifty collapsed around the training ground, exhausted. Eugene stood before them, chest heaving, sweat dripping, his gi soaked through.
"You hate me now," he said, voice hoarse. "Your muscles burn, your bodies ache. You think I ask too much."
The men remained silent, panting.
"But listen well. The enemy will not wait for your rest. The enemy will not pity your weakness. If you endure here, you will endure there. If you break here, you will die there. Which do you choose?"
One by one, heads rose. Eyes hardened.
"Live," a man muttered.
"Endure," another said.
Eugene's voice rose, fierce. "Then together, we will carve our survival. Together, we will carve our glory. You are not fifty men—you are my Fifty Spears! And the world will tremble at your step!"
The ground shook with the roar of their answering cry.
"Fifty Spears! Fifty Spears! Fifty Spears!"
That night, around the fire, the men shared food and drink. Eugene sat among them, not apart, laughing when they laughed, eating the same coarse rice and fish.
One of the veterans, an older man with a missing finger, leaned forward. "My lord… I've served three commanders. None fought with us like you did today. If you keep this path, these men will follow you into hell itself."
Hiroshi, seated beside Eugene, grinned. "Then it is settled. We are his blade. His Fifty Spears."
The AI whispered quietly in Eugene's mind.
[Unit cohesion achieved. Loyalty levels increased significantly. Probability of desertion: near zero. Combat effectiveness—projected to exceed standard units by 45%.]
Eugene stared into the flames, determination burning in his chest. Fifty Spears. The first piece of my army. The first stone in the foundation of a kingdom.
He clenched his fist. "This is only the beginning."
And as the fire crackled, the men around him—his men—drank, laughed, and shouted his name into the night.
The legend of Takeda Eugene was no longer carried by whispers alone. It now had fifty voices, bound together in steel and fire.