Another three months passed after the events of the ancient tomb, and still, I have found no answers to what happened there. We had arrived at Wunderberg yesterday in preparation for the tryouts to join the 1st legion. As one would expect, my exit from the destroyed tomb caused quite a ruckus as they had labelled me dead. Assuming I had met my end due to the fall. When I returned to the tavern we had stayed at, my party members had already been packing their bags in preparation for leaving. Without going into unnecessary detail, the reunion was a bit too sappy for my liking. Especially from Bjorn, my supposed death had hit him the hardest. Apparently, he blamed himself for my fall. Although it was partly true, the fault was mostly my own for not reacting in time.
Even after three months, the topic still surfaced every now and again, usually when Bjorn had too much to drink. Each time, I dismissed it the same way. Dwelling on the past would not change it, and there was little point in burdening oneself with guilt over something that had already happened. Bjorn eventually stopped arguing the point, though I could tell the matter still weighed on him.
The following months were largely uneventful. We took on smaller contracts while traveling west toward Wunderberg. Most of them were nothing worth mentioning, simple monster exterminations or caravan escorts. The pay was modest, but it allowed us to move steadily toward our destination without drawing too much attention.
During that time, I tried to understand what had happened inside the tomb. Unfortunately, every attempt proved fruitless. The wound on my hand had healed within days, leaving behind nothing more than a faint scar across my palm. No new skill appeared in my status, nor had any of my affinities changed. If not for the memory of the event itself, I might have believed the entire encounter to be nothing more than a fever dream.
Still, I could not shake the feeling that something had changed.
The sensation was difficult to describe. It was not something tangible like mana or prana. Rather, it felt as though there was a weight buried somewhere deep within my source, something dormant that I could neither reach nor fully sense. Every now and then, when circulating mana through my body, I would feel a faint resistance, like a door that refused to open no matter how hard I pushed against it.
For now, I decided it was best to leave it alone. Whatever the tome had done to me, forcing the matter without understanding it would likely do more harm than good.
Which was precisely why I turned my attention elsewhere.
The 1st Legion.
Wunderberg itself was a city built with war in mind. Tall stone walls surrounded it on all sides, reinforced by thick watchtowers that overlooked the surrounding plains. Even from a distance, one could see the banners of the Empire flying proudly above the battlements. Soldiers patrolled the streets in organized groups, their armor polished and their weapons well-maintained.
Unlike the towns we had passed through during our travels, there was a sense of discipline here. The chaos and noise typical of mercenary settlements was noticeably absent. Instead, everything moved with a certain order, as though the entire city operated according to a strict routine.
It was exactly the sort of place where a legion would be stationed.
Early the next morning, we made our way toward the training grounds where the selection trials were being held. The closer we drew to the center of the city, the larger the crowds became. Adventurers, mercenaries, and wanderers from all over the continent had gathered here, each hoping to secure a place within the Empire's most prestigious military force.
The 1st Legion was not just another army unit. It was the spearhead of the Empire's military might. To serve within its ranks meant access to better training, better equipment, and most importantly, opportunities that would never be offered to ordinary soldiers.
Naturally, that meant the competition would be fierce.
By the time we arrived at the training grounds, hundreds of applicants had already gathered inside the massive arena. Some were stretching their limbs in preparation, while others sized up the competition with cautious eyes. A few groups stood together quietly discussing strategy, though it was obvious that once the trials began, alliances would mean very little.
Bjorn let out a low whistle as he looked across the field.
"Well," he muttered, resting his warhammer against his shoulder. "Looks like half the damn continent had the same idea."
Magnus folded his arms, scanning the crowd with a thoughtful expression. "That was to be expected. The 1st Legion does not accept just anyone."
Jurgen merely shrugged. "Which means most of them will be gone before the day is over," I said, and I observed the crowd.
Most of the participants carried themselves with confidence, but confidence alone meant very little in a place like this. Strength, discipline, and the ability to survive were what truly mattered. And judging by the sheer number of hopefuls gathered here, the trials would likely be designed to eliminate as many candidates as possible in the shortest amount of time, which suited me just fine. As my eyes continued to wander, I noticed a familiar figure. The long face and skinny body were impossible to forget. Anger rose in my chest as my eyes narrowed while looking at Baron Thomas Antoinette. But a single breath allowed me to quell the raging fire in my heart. If fate had it, then his time would come, but I would not risk my chances by confronting him now.
Standing at the far end of the arena was a raised platform where several officers dressed in dark blue uniforms observed the gathering crowd. Their expressions were cold and indifferent, as though they had already decided that most of us were not worth their time. One of them eventually stepped forward. The man was tall, broad-shouldered, and carried himself with the kind of presence that demanded attention without a single word being spoken. A long scar ran down the left side of his face, disappearing beneath the collar of his uniform.
When he finally spoke, his voice carried easily across the entire field.
"Listen carefully," he said. "Only those who survive the trials will be allowed to join the 1st Legion."
A murmur passed through the crowd. The officer continued as if he hadn't heard it.
"There will be no second chances. No exceptions. If you lack the strength to stand among us, you will be removed."
His gaze swept across the arena before settling briefly on the crowd in front of him.
"Those who wish to withdraw may do so now." Not a single person moved. The officer gave a faint nod, as though this was the response he had expected.
"Very well," he said. "Then let the trials begin." With a wave of his hands, the large braziers on the edge of the arena lit up with blue fire. The entire atmosphere within the arena shifted as cautious tension spread through the crowd.