Day 59.
The morning didn't begin with the harsh bite of the training yard, but with the rich, heavy aroma of a feast. Sir Red, Sir Blue, and Ma'am White led the recruits into the cafeteria, where they were met with a breakfast spread more lavish than anything they had seen during their two months of service, platters of thick cut meats, eggs, and dense grains designed to provide the slow-burning fuel needed for the grueling days ahead causing the recruits to drool at the sight.
As they ate, Sir Red stood at the head of the long tables, his presence commanding even without his usual shouting.
"Listen up while you shovel that down," he began, his voice cutting through the clatter of silverware.
"I'm going to break down the dangers of the Hope Forest Training Area."
"Most of what you'll encounter are manafied species, with a thin seasoning of true beast-monsters," Red explained.
"In the canopy, expect mana-eagles, falcons, and vultures. On the forest floor, you'll be contending with mana-lizards and mana-lynxes. These are the apex predators we've left in the zone, but stay sharp—everything in there is hostile, from the undergrowth to the predatory plants."
He leaned forward, his expression darkening with a rare gravity. "As for true beasts, we've culled everything but Foundation-level Goblins. But remember, we aren't omnipotent.
Nature finds a way, and other beasts may have snuck past the perimeter. Stay on your Ps and Qs, or you'll find out exactly how it feels to be part of the food chain."
"Now, the 'Donts,'" Red continued, ticking them off on his fingers.
"Under no circumstances are you to leave the designated training area. It will be marked. If you wander off, best-case scenario is we find you and you restart basic training from Day 1. Worst case? You wander into a high-tier zone and end up as a cautionary tale."
"You may team up with another squad if you encounter the same enemy, but you will not shadow each other indefinitely. If a kill is shared, the core belongs to whichever team touches it first. There will be no fighting between teams. That is not the purpose of this exercise. I don't need to explain the consequences for drawing blood from a fellow recruit, do I?"
Sir Red paused long enough for a chorus of "No, sir!" To echo through the cafateria, immediate and disciplined before continuing.
"If you can't handle the trial, scream 'I am out.' We will extract you, but that is an automatic failure. You'll be stripped of your progress and sent to the regular army to restart their basic training from the very first day. Don't be that guy—or girl."
The recruits who had been nursing doubts grimaced, the weight of two months of wasted effort hanging over their heads like a guillotine.
"One last change," Sir Red announced, his eyes scanning the room. "We've adjusted the squad sizes. It will be one group of six, one group of five, and one group of three."
The room fell silent as the recruits did the math. Just as Sir Red prepared to dismiss them, Recruit 7 found his voice.
"I have a question, sir," he muttered, so softly it was almost lost to the room.
"What is it, 7?" Red asked, his sharp ears catching it instantly despite the distance.
7 cleared his throat, standing a bit straighter. "Why the change in the numbers, sir?"
"To account for 12 and 13," Red replied bluntly. "12 is still at Level 4 Foundation, while 13 is at Level 8. We've made two groups larger to act as a handicap for them, which leaves a smaller, more isolated group for the more talented among you. It's only right, those who are ahead always carry a heavier load, in training and in life. You'll do well to remember that."
He surveyed the room one last time. "Any other questions?"
The silence stretched past its expiration point, heavy with the realization of what was to come.
"Good. Eat in peace now and use today to rest," Sir Red said, his eyes lingering on Henry with a pointed, warning glint. "And I mean actually rest. Take it easy—or else."
With the instructors finally gone, the heavy atmosphere in the cafeteria evaporated, replaced by the frantic clatter of forks and the low hum of relieved conversation. The recruits descended on the remaining food like a pack of starving wolves, finally allowing their shoulders to drop.
Recruit 4, his plate piled dangerously high with smoked meats, nudged Henry. "Hey, 14, be honest, how does a spread like this compare to breakfast back at your castle estate? I'm betting you had a personal chef just for your eggs."
Henry let out a small, rare huff of a laugh as he looked over the massive portions. "I won't lie to you, 4, this is a lot, even for a regular day back home. My father usually prioritized efficiency over feasting."
"Oh, stop," Ana chimed in from across the table, her eyes dancing with mischief. "Hey, 14, when we graduate and you head back to your fancy castle, you better not act brand new. You're legally obligated to invite us all over for a feast now. I expect at least this much food, and maybe some of that expensive wine you nobles are known to drink."
Henry offered a faint, genuine smile. "I'll see what I can do, 12."
The conversation drifted into easy, lighthearted territory for the rest of the meal, the looming threat of Hope Forest pushed temporarily into the back of their minds.
The remainder of the day followed suit, a strange, forced peace where the drills were light and the instructors stayed at a distance.
But as night fell and the barracks went dark, the lightheartedness vanished.
The rooms were filled with the sounds of shifting blankets and heavy breathing, but very little sleep. The collective nerves of the unit were taut, vibrating in the silence.
Henry lay staring at the underside of the bunk above him, his hands tucked behind his head. He was just as awake as the rest of them. This wouldn't be like his past life, where he was a non factor in his own demise, and it wouldn't be like the Rank Test against a simulated mana wolf. This was his first real chance to prove he wasn't useless.
He closed his eyes, visualizing the forms of the Lower Regium style, the weight of the arming sword, and the movements of the monsters Sir Red had described.
He had spent months grinding, bleeding, and obsessing over this moment. As he finally drifted toward a shallow sleep, his last thought was a quiet, fervent hope 'Let it go exactly the way I've envisioned it.'