Do you ever think about what's out there? Beyond the islands, I mean. There has to be something.
"I'm fighting someone, sir?"
Kael nodded and continued pointing out errors in Milo's form as he threw slower punches.
I'm fighting someone.
"Don't worry, kid. They'll explain it all tomorrow. I think Elias is spearheading the tournament."
Tournament? Elias?
Milo didn't push for any answers. When Kael said something, he knew he could trust it.
A quick jab reeled his focus back into the training.
Throughout the day, Kael did nothing but critique Milo's form. Soon, torches began to light the surrounding walls. With the moon rising, Kael halted Milo's training.
Sweat blew away from his lips as he panted. The boy collapsed to his butt and leaned back on his hands.
I can't believe he made me run a lap every time I messed up.
"Your body will only learn from pain. At least now..."
Kael looked at the boy as he grabbed his paper and began writing.
"...you can jab pretty well."
The comment made Milo look back down at his trainer.
Praise? From Kael?
His head dropped back as a smile formed on his face.
"Moving forward, someone else will take over your training. You will also be joined by someone new."
Again, Milo looked at Kael. His face quickly lost its smile.
"But, I thought I'd be learning from you and Captain Fowler, sir?"
Kael scoffed.
"It's good you don't seem concerned with the new addition of a training partner, but have a little competition. It'll only help you."
Milo sighed and looked down.
"As for the trainer, don't worry. When it comes to free-hand fighting, he's even better than me."
Kael smiled, but did his best to hide something underneath.
A little competition.
Milo stood and walked to the weight training area.
"Hey! What are you doing?" Kael called.
Milo turned, confused at Kael's disapproval.
"Um, training, sir."
"Training's done after I say it's done. Get over here."
Milo jogged back and stood in front of Kael with his head down. Scribbles continued above.
"I'm making notes for your next training session. Given how busy this week is going to be, you won't have training for around another five days."
Kael tucked the paper under his arm and bit down on the pen. He used both hands to feel Milo's body as he measured once more.
"It's just as I thought..." Kael mumbled.
"The bond is helping you progress a couple of times faster than you would without it. I've never seen such regenerative abilities from a goblin bond. But then again, I've only seen a couple..."
His voice faded as he sank into thought.
Kael's eyes shot around before settling on a section of the wall near the weight training area. He gestured for the boy to follow behind him as he walked over.
"Back against the wall."
A little scratch was marked above Milo's head with a small knife from Kael's boot.
"Right now, you're about one hundred and fifty-two centimeters. A little above average for kids your age. Given your bond, I expect you to grow pretty tall."
"But aren't goblins short, sir?"
"Still, the enhanced regeneration and strength will force your body to grow beyond what it was originally intended... I think."
Milo smiled, thinking of Jackson's height.
"Does that mean Jackson has a bond, sir?"
Kael sighed and looked at Milo.
"Even if I did know, I wouldn't tell you. And I suggest you keep yours to yourself. Bonds are personal, revealing, and show your cards if people know about it."
Milo nodded and apologized.
He's right. If common bonds are studied, powers you think are hidden from your opponent might be known.
"Get some rest. Training is done for the day. I know it's earlier than usual, so if you'd rather stay and watch others, you can."
Without much thought, the boy ran to his room. Dark bags sagged beneath his eyes, and his mind felt foggy. Despite his attempts to keep himself composed, he was exhausted from the training.
All of his belongings sat against the wall beside his door. He laid them out neatly as he looked at each one. He slipped his shirt back on and stared at the wall.
The dark scabbard of the shortsword made him feel uneasy.
I feel so awkward wearing it. I'm not used to the weight.
He crossed his arms and thought for a moment.
Now latched on to his back, the sword accompanied the boy in his bed. He shifted and turned, but endured the uncomfortable feeling.
He smiled and sat back up.
Next, Milo pulled a blue vial from his bag.
I need to give this to Elias when I see him again.
Before tucking it back away, he spun the bottle around, watching the bubbles rise and fall in the viscous liquid. A small glow emanated from the glass as the liquid moved.
Lastly, he took hold of the letter stashed away in his satchel.
"Hm."
The red seal on the front looked familiar—a chipped sword.
There's no knight like the one on the coat.
The thought of his false crimes made him scowl.
His finger slid under the lip of the paper. Slowly, he pulled his finger across to pop the wax from the surface.
His hand stopped.
What?
Not because he wanted to, but because it refused to budge. No matter how hard he tried to scrape away at the seal, it didn't damage. Even the paper itself showed no sign of change despite his attempts to tear it in half.
Ah, whatever.
Milo flicked the paper back into the corner of the room and lay down in his bed.
"I hate that symbol," he murmured.
Through the bars on his door, the soft moonlight reflected on the seal. A glimmer that almost made it look like the wax was blinking.
Milo woke to the sound of footsteps outside his door. His shoulder was sore from bearing his weight all night. As he rose, he spun it in circles to rid the stiffness.
The sky was still dark, but the blue had lightened as the creeping sun rose behind the walls.
He grabbed his shoes and slipped them on before leaving. One look back, and out the door he went.
Lines to food storage doors along the walls were too much for Milo to bear. After training started, they didn't allow anyone to eat until lunch, but waiting in such lines seemed no different than waiting until noon anyway.
Milo instead began his routine. He drank water, stretched, ran a lap, stretched, and began weight training.
Soon enough, everyone was called over.
In the center of the partifold, the soldiers stood in lines. Men of all ages stood in an orderly fashion. Given Milo's height, they placed him in the front.
"Today... we start the Trials of Gilva."
Gilva? Like the God?
The men around cheered and held up their hands. Some even hugged one another.
"Compose yourselves!" The man shouted.
Without missing a beat, the men regained order and shouted in unison.
"Yes, Sergeant!"
Sergeant...
The sergeant coughed before continuing his speech.
"The order will go as follows: Tournament, Flag Bearer, and Gilva's Hand," he said.
"You have five minutes to find your groups. After that, you have fifteen minutes to warm up. Despite your readiness, the tournament will begin," Elias chimed in.
"Yes, Sir Landser!"
The session broke, and men began talking loudly to one another. Old friends and new shook hands and bumped fists. Milo scoured around for anyone familiar.
Find a group? Of how many?
As he walked around, the men flicked their eyes at him, but quickly averted their gaze. Milo scowled at their reactions.
I'm stronger. I can help now.
After around five minutes, small coalitions had formed around the center of the arena. Groups of five or six huddled together—awaiting orders.
The sergeant called out again.
"Does anyone not have a group?"
No one responded.
"Step forward now, or fight alone."
"Me!"
A higher-pitched voice rang through the crowd as Milo pushed through men at the front.
"I— I don't have a group."
"Me either."
Another man stepped forward.
"Would anyone like to take these two into their groups? You don't have to," the sergeant said.
Milo looked around as no one responded.
I'm going to be alone?
His knees were shaking. In an attempt to stop it, he slightly bent his legs.
"Is— Is he shaking?!"
Someone from the crowd called out. The men started laughing. The boy blushed and looked around, but quickly realized where their laughs were directed. They weren't pointing at Milo, but at the man standing next to him.
He looked over to see a man, roughly one hundred and seventy-five centimeters, shaking at the knees. His muscles were visible through his shirt, but strength didn't seem to matter in the face of nerves. Compared to the man next to him, Milo must have looked composed.
"We'll take 'em!"
A group in the back called out and pointed at the man. The rest of the crowd stopped laughing, but continued shortly.
"Seems funny," one of the men in the group shouted as he shrugged.
The man jogged over to the men who had picked him up. The rest of the soldiers' laughter drowned out the conversation he started with his group.
"Anyone wanna take the kid?"
Silence washed over the soldiers. No one responded to the sergeant's question.
The sergeant turned to the boy.
A deep sigh could be heard coming from the back of the crowd.
"Sorry, kid. You're on your—
"Yeah!" Flio shouted.
Everyone turned, revealing the faces behind the call.
"We'll take him," Jackson finished.