Chương 20: A New Threshold

Today marked the end of the second month. The transformation was undeniable. The final days under Private Varik had been brutal, punishing our bodies and minds beyond what any of us thought we could endure. And yet, I felt a strange kind of relief. Varik was leaving. I wasn't the only one thankful for it. You could see it in the way the other recruits stood a little straighter today, as if even the idea of a new instructor lifted a weight off our backs.

But as much as we loathed Varik, none of us could deny the truth. He had made us stronger. More resilient. Sharper. The ten who had dropped out would be rejoining us now, reassigned from the logistics division, but they had already walked away once. The thirty-five of us who stayed through it, who endured Varik's torment day after day, stayed because we had something to prove. Some wanted to rise above their pasts. Some wanted glory. Me? I wasn't giving up. Not when I had already come so far.

I remembered what it felt like to be helpless, waking up in a garbage heap with nothing to eat, nowhere to go. I remembered the sting of a noble's whip for being a few seconds too slow to kneel. But more than fear or pain, what kept me going was something simple, something undeniable: progress. When I started, I was the worst in the class. Last in runs, last in drills, barely able to hold formation. But now... now I rank somewhere around twentieth. I had clawed my way up, slowly and stubbornly.

STATUS: Name: Edward Class: Unawakened Affinity: N/A HP: 105 / 105 HP Regen: 5/day MP: N/A Attributes: Constitution: 10. 5 Strength: 9. 5 Agility: 7. 2 General Skills: Writing (17) Reading (17) Math (25) Running (18) Meditation (17) Marching (13) Meditation and breathing had helped more than I expected. I recovered faster than most. I couldn't see their stats, but I could feel it. The others looked tougher, stronger, most of them had started in better shape than me. But they burned out quicker.

They needed longer to get back up. As I stepped onto the training ground, something unexpected caught my eye: all forty-five recruits were assembled. The ten who had been reassigned had returned. But more surprising was the presence of two new figures. The first man stood tall and commanding, wearing a uniform I'd never seen before. He looked younger, but something about him radiated authority.

The second was a scar-faced man in a standard sergeant's uniform, average height but stocky, and he moved like someone who had marched through hell and made it back with mud still on his boots. The scar-faced man stepped forward.

"I will be your new instructor," he announced.

"Sergeant Tharn. I spent the last five years posted on the Western Front. Now I am stationed in the north. After your training ends, I will be assigned to Fort Darrow." His gaze swept across us.

"If any of you think the hard part is over, think again. My job is to make sure you do not die in your first week out in the wild." The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. Then the man in the unfamiliar uniform stepped forward. His posture was upright, movements precise, like every motion had been drilled into muscle memory. When he spoke, his voice was calm but carried across the entire field.

"I am Lieutenant Clifford, Royal Army liaison for this region," he said, his eyes sweeping over us.

"Some of you may have seen me around the command post, but today I speak to you directly." He paused, letting the air settle.

"I have an announcement. We've compiled a performance ranking of 305 recruits from all training barracks across the county. Based on your performance, each of you has been assigned a rank." He folded his hands behind his back.

"I cannot offer you the division of your choice, that is not within my authority. Division placement is determined by the class you awaken into and your elemental affinity. I don't control those factors." He let the words settle before continuing, voice steady.

"But what I do have is an opportunity, one that only the top performers among you will receive." He paused, letting the weight of his words hang.

"The top one hundred recruits will be offered the chance to join the fort garrisons directly after Awakening. Specifically, Fort Darrow." A ripple of whispers moved through the ranks.

"If you're wondering why that matters," Clifford continued, "I'll tell you. Recruits deployed to Fort Darrow receive five low-grade mana crystals per year." Silence.

"For those unfamiliar with coinage," he went on, his tone sharper, "here's the scale: one hundred copper makes one silver. One hundred silver coins make one gold coin. And ten gold coins equal one low-grade mana crystal. Mana crystals are essential for progressing your cultivation after Tier Two. Soldiers at the fort receive five of them every year. That's more than some officers get." My breath caught in my throat. Five mana crystals. That was fifty gold coins a year. I had never even seen one.

Just a single crystal could feed a family for a year. Just one could buy a decent sword, or even a share in a merchant caravan. Fifty gold. It was an amount that was hard to comprehend, but I knew what it represented. Freedom. And I wanted it. After the speech, a list was posted near the barracks, and I made my way over as soon as we were dismissed. When I finally found my name, my heart skipped a beat, Rank 140 out of 305. Not bad. Better than I expected, actually. Top 100. That was the goal now.

Later that night, Inside the Main Barracks Office Lieutenant Clifford stood near his desk, arms folded.

"I knew you'd come." Sergeant Tharn stepped in, his face set in stone.

"Sir, I've taken all kinds of orders over the years. I've marched under fools and heroes. I know when to shut up and carry out the mission. But this..." He shook his head slowly.

"Sending these kids to the front? It's a death sentence. They'll be freshly awakened, most of them stuck with novice-tier classes. No matter how hard we train them, they're not ready for active deployment. Without reaching at least level 15 in their class, they wouldn't even survive a simple Tier One beast. And the way the creatures are moving lately? The next tide won't give them time to catch up. If that fort survives, it'll be a miracle." Clifford exhaled, rubbing a hand over his brow.

"I don't like it either. But the order comes from the Count himself. He's not just the noble in charge of the northern region, he's the commanding officer for this entire front." Tharn's jaw clenched, but he didn't interrupt.

"They won't be placed on the front lines," Clifford added.

"At least, not immediately. The directive says no direct combat until after their first class promotion." Tharn scoffed.

"With respect, sir, we both know that just surviving at the fort is combat. They'll be deployed as runners, scouts, or logistics aides, titles that change nothing when a beast gets through the perimeter. Even if they're kept from the front lines, they're still in the line of fire." He paused, voice low.

"And we both know more than ninety percent of them will end up in the infantry. The casualty rates there are higher than any other division." Clifford's fingers tapped against the wooden desk, slow and deliberate.

"I'm not blind, Tharn. I know exactly what I promised them. The top hundred get five mana crystals a year. Fifty gold worth. Enough to dream about a better life." His voice dipped into something more bitter.

"I'm manipulating them, yes. Luring them with wealth and status to walk into the fire willingly. And the worst part? It's working." Tharn didn't speak for a long moment. Then:"You think gold and glory will keep them standing when the walls start to fall?" Clifford looked out the window, toward the dark northern horizon.

"I think the truth won't. So I give them something else to hold on to." Tharn gave a slow, bitter nod.

"Let's just hope it's enough." And without waiting for dismissal, he turned and walked out, the door shutting behind him with a quiet finality. Clifford remained still, alone with the silence. His eyes lingered on the northern stars, barely visible through a veil of thin clouds.

"Let's hope they prove us all wrong."