Kapitel 14: Arrival 2
I lay on the cold, hard ground, my body throbbing with pain from the assault. My throat ached from the strangulation, and my face felt like it had been smashed with a hammer. But none of that compared to the horror unfolding before me.
Brann's swift, brutal justice left me paralyzed with shock. The severed heads of the three men rolled on the ground, their lifeless eyes staring blankly.
Blood pooled around their bodies, seeping into the cracks in the stone floor. The metallic scent filled the air, mingling with the stench of sweat and fear.
I wanted to look away, but my eyes were locked on the gruesome scene. The prisoners around me were similarly stunned, their faces pale and their expressions a mix of terror and disbelief. Brann's words echoed in the silence, a grim reminder of the ruthlessness that governed this place.
The sergeant's gaze swept over the room, and his eyes met mine for a brief moment. There was no sympathy in his expression, only a cold, unwavering authority. He had made his point, and the message was clear: obedience or death.
And then his gaze shifted to me, taking in the bruises and cuts on my face from the assault. His expression felt like it softened slightly(?), though his voice remained authoritative.
"Soldier Lucavion, follow me to the infirmary. We need to get those wounds taken care of."
I nodded, still in shock from the brutality I had just witnessed. As I moved to follow Brann, he turned to the rest of the prisoners, his eyes hard and unforgiving. "The rest of you, clean this place up. You stood by and did nothing while this happened, so you are all responsible for this mess. If I come back and see any remains of this, every one of you will be whipped."
The prisoners murmured amongst themselves, their faces pale with fear. They quickly began to move, gathering cleaning supplies and starting to scrub the blood-stained floor.
Brann led me out of the room and down a dimly lit corridor.
I couldn't shake the image of the brutal execution from my mind, the cold efficiency with which Brann had dealt with the attackers.
"Are you surprised?" Brann asked, his voice breaking the silence.
I nodded, still processing everything that had happened. "Yes, I am."
Brann glanced at me, his expression unreadable. "Are you disgusted? Is your body churning with what you just saw?"
Again, I nodded. "Yes."
He sighed a weary sound that seemed to carry the weight of countless experiences. "Get used to it. Things like this will be a part of your life from now on. Once you're sent to the battlefield, you'll see much worse. Things that are much more churning, more brutal. The battlefield never tolerates hesitation or weakness."
His words were a harsh reminder of the reality I now face. I knew he was right, but it didn't make it any easier to accept. The thought of what lay ahead filled me with dread, but I forced myself to push it aside. I had to survive, no matter what.
We continued walking in silence until we reached a small room marked "Infirmary." Brann pushed the door open, and we stepped inside.
The room was dimly lit, with a single lantern casting a warm glow over the space. A woman in her thirties, maybe forties, stood by a cot, tending to a soldier's injuries. Her skin was wrinkled, and her hair fell slightly to the right side, giving her a somewhat disheveled appearance. Her face was ordinary, especially compared to the beauty of Isolde, who I had known for so long.
'Tsk.'
I clicked my tongue inwardly, as just seeing a random woman made me remember her. Now, I feel like anger and disgust rising from my chest. Whenever I remembered her existence, it seemed this was going to happen for a while.
"Laila," Brann said, his tone softening slightly. "Please check this."
Laila looked up, her eyes meeting Brann's with a familiarity that spoke of a long-standing acquaintance. She nodded and turned her attention to me, her expression professional and compassionate.
Somehow, it looked like they were in a relationship. I did not know since I was not familiar with such things.
Even now, when I was in the mansion, I had not attended many social gatherings or events. I failed on that part.
"What happened?" she asked, her voice gentle as she gestured for me to sit on a nearby cot.
"Assault," Brann replied succinctly. "He needs to be patched up for tomorrow's training."
Laila nodded again, moving to gather her supplies. As she worked, her hands moved with practiced ease, first starting with cleaning my wounds. Her touch was gentle yet firm, and I could feel the sting of antiseptic as she worked.
Despite the pain, there was something soothing about her care.
And that made me remember the touch that Mother would give to me…..But then, once again, I was forced to remember what they did to me and what situation I was in.
'Never forget, Lucavion. Never.'
After a few moments, she began to channel her healing magic, a soft glow emanating from her hands as she passed them over my injuries.
As the healing warmth spread through my body, I could feel the pain ebbing away. It was a strange sensation, almost like a gentle wave washing over me, mending the damage from within. Laila's brow furrowed in concentration, and I couldn't help but marvel at the power she wielded so effortlessly.
"You're really young," Laila remarked, her voice gentle and filled with curiosity. "How did you end up in a place like this?"
The question hung in the air, and I felt a knot form in my throat. The memories were still too fresh, too painful to share. I remained silent, my eyes downcast.
Brann stepped in, his voice matter-of-fact. "This kid is a criminal and a fallen noble. Name's Lucavion Thorne."
Laila's eyes widened slightly, and she looked at me with renewed interest. "Thorne? Never heard of that family before."
"It was just a viscounty in the countryside," I replied quietly, the words bitter on my tongue.
Laila nodded slowly, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Well, Lucavion Thorne, you're not the first noble I've seen fall from grace. But remember, everyone gets a second chance here. It's up to you what you do with it. Either you fall on the battlefield, or you survive and prove yourself."
Her words were kind, but they carried a weight that pressed down on me. The idea of a second chance was both a comfort and a challenge. I knew I had a long road ahead, filled with trials and dangers, but I was determined to seize whatever opportunity came my way.
As Laila finished her healing, the warm glow of her magic faded, leaving my body feeling rejuvenated. The pain had lessened significantly, and the bruises and cuts were now just faint marks on my skin.
"That should do it," Laila said, stepping back to admire her work. "Just be careful next time, as this place will not be this empty in the daytime."
I nodded, rising from the cot. "Understood, Miss Laila."
Laila smiled softly at my formality, a faint hint of amusement in her eyes. "Miss Laila, huh? It's been a while since anyone called me that," she said with a small chuckle. "You can go now. And remember, be careful."
"I will."
She waved her hand dismissively, and Sergeant Brann gestured for me to follow him. We walked back through the dimly lit corridors in silence, the weight of the day's events heavy on my mind.
As we approached the barracks, Brann glanced at me. "Try to get as much sleep as you can," he advised. "I know it won't be easy, but you'll need it. Tomorrow, your training begins, and from what I've seen, Captain Stroud is likely to make things harder for you."
I nodded, understanding the gravity of his words. "I understand, Sergeant. I'll do my best."
Brann gave a curt nod and clapped a hand on my shoulder. "Good. Keep that determination, Lucavion. It will serve you well."
With that, he left me at the entrance to the barracks. I stepped inside, feeling the eyes of the other prisoners on me. Their expressions ranged from indifference to curiosity and then to anger, but I ignored them, focusing on getting to my cot.
As I lay down, the events of the night replayed in my mind. Brann's advice and the brutal reality of my new life—all of it swirled together, creating a maelstrom of emotions.
But despite everything, I felt a small spark of hope. I would endure. I would survive. And I would prove myself, no matter the cost.
Closing my eyes, I forced myself to relax, willing sleep to come. The barracks were quiet now; the other prisoners settled into their own uneasy rest. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, and I needed every ounce of strength to face them.
As exhaustion finally overcame me, I drifted into a fitful sleep, my resolve firm. This was just the beginning, and I was determined to make it through, one day at a time.
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Kapitel 15: First day in camp
The shrill sound of a bugle pierced the silence of the barracks, jolting me awake. It was still dark outside; the sun had yet to rise. Groggy and disoriented, I quickly realized that this was our wake-up call.
"Up and at 'em, everyone!" Sergeant Brann's voice boomed through the room, his footsteps heavy as he moved among the cots. "You have five minutes to get dressed and assemble in the yard. Move it!"
I scrambled to my feet, my body protesting with every movement. The other prisoners were also stirring, some grumbling under their breath, but the fear of Brann's wrath spurred us all into action. I pulled on my rough uniform, the fabric coarse against my skin, and laced up my boots as quickly as I could.
The barracks was a flurry of activity as we hurried to comply with Brann's orders. The air was thick with tension, everyone aware that any delay could result in punishment. I grabbed my belt, fastening it around my waist, and joined the stream of prisoners heading toward the door.
Outside, the air was cold and biting, a stark contrast to the stuffy warmth of the barracks. The yard was illuminated by flickering torches, casting long shadows across the ground. We lined up in neat rows, shivering slightly in the pre-dawn chill.
Captain Stroud stood at the front, his presence as commanding and intimidating as ever. His eyes swept over us, his expression hard and unforgiving.
"Today marks the beginning of your one-week training," Stroud announced, his voice cutting through the stillness. "You will have only one week to learn the basics. This is not because we believe you can master anything in such a short time, but because time is a luxury we do not have."
He paused, letting the gravity of his words settle over us. "Each of you will be taught how to use a spear. It is the simplest and most effective weapon for those with limited training. It requires less skill than a sword and allows you to keep your enemy at a distance. Consider yourselves fortunate that you will have at least this much instruction before being sent to the frontlines."
A murmur of apprehension rippled through the ranks. The thought of being thrust into battle with such minimal preparation was terrifying, but there was no room for protest.
Stroud's gaze sharpened. "You will be taught to march, to follow orders, and to fight as a unit. You will learn to trust your spear and the man beside you. There will be no time wasted. Any failure to keep up, any sign of weakness, and you will be left behind or worse."
Sergeant Brann stepped forward, a bundle of spears in his hands. He began handing them out, one by one. "These are your lifelines," he said. "Treat them with respect, or they will be the last thing you ever hold."
As I took the spear, its weight felt both foreign and familiar in my hands. Foreign because the spear that was in my hands was not the one I had used while training.
It was different, with a slightly different center of gravity. But a spear was a spear. The weapon that I had used all my life, even though I was never good at it.
'Indeed, even here, it all comes to this, isn't it?'
I thought to myself, feeling the weapon in my hand.
It had been a while since I had fought with a spear, and the ache in my muscles reminded me just how long it had been since I had properly moved my body.
The week of confinement, the beatings, and the lack of proper nutrition had taken their toll. Every muscle felt sore, and the weight of the spear, though familiar, felt almost too much to bear.
"Form up!" Brann commanded. "We'll start with basic stances and movements. Follow my lead, and pay attention. Your lives depend on it."
We arranged ourselves into lines, trying to mimic Brann's posture as he demonstrated the fundamental positions. He moved with a fluidity and precision that spoke of years of experience.
The newcomer, on the other hand, was different. Many tried to mimic Brann's posture as he had demonstrated the fundamental positions.
"Feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent," Brann instructed. "Hold the spear with both hands, one near the base and the other about halfway up the shaft. Keep the tip pointed forward, ready to thrust."
As everyone moved through the exercises, I noticed Captain Stroud weaving through the ranks, his cold eyes assessing each of us.
Eventually, Stroud stopped directly in front of me, his presence commanding and intimidating. He watched me with a sneer, his gaze flicking to the spear in my hands.
"It seems you know your way around a spear, Thorne," he said, his tone mocking as he emphasized my surname. "Isn't that right? A fallen noble from a 'spear family,' if I recall correctly."
His words stung, but I kept my expression neutral, refusing to rise to his bait. Stroud smirked, clearly enjoying the tension.
"Wouldn't it be fitting for someone from a 'spear family' to demonstrate how it's done?" he continued, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Let's see if you can show us all how a noble handles a spear."
The eyes of my fellow trainees were on me, their expressions a mix of curiosity and resentment. I took a deep breath, steadying myself. This bastard was mocking me, but I already knew even if I wanted to go against him, I could do nothing.
Thus, despite the pain and exhaustion, I stepped forward, gripping the spear tightly.
I took my position, feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent. I held the spear in the normal stance, one hand near the base and the other halfway up the shaft. I focused on the tip of the spear, feeling its weight and its balance.
With a swift motion, I executed a series of thrusts and parries, each movement deliberate and controlled.
The spear felt more natural in my hands with each passing second, muscle memory guiding me through the maneuvers. The soreness in my muscles faded to the background as I concentrated on the task at hand.
At least, that was what I thought I did.
Suddenly, my spear was wrenched downward, and I lost my grip. My eyes widened as I realized another spear was pressing down on mine, its tip aimed directly at the ground. I followed the shaft up to its wielder and found Captain Stroud smirking at me.
"Is that all you know?" Stroud mocked, his voice dripping with contempt. "Seeing this, I can understand why your family has abandoned you. With such measly talents, how did you dare to assault the heiress of the Duke?"
Laughter erupted around us, the trainees' eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and disdain. The sound of their derision cut deep, but Stroud wasn't finished.
He raised his spear, pointing it directly at my chest. "If you're angry, how about you show me your place?"
Rage flared within me, a burning inferno fueled by the injustice and humiliation I had endured.
I had been framed and cast aside by my own family, and now this bastard was making my life even harder. I gritted my teeth, snatched up my spear, and faced Stroud head-on.
"Fine," I spat, my voice steady despite the fury boiling inside me. "I'll show you."
Stroud's smirk widened. "Let's see what you've got...Ex-Thorne."
The onlookers fell silent, their curiosity piqued as the two of us squared off. I assumed my stance once more, this time my emotions getting the better of me.
Stroud moved with a fluid motion, his spear poised and ready. Even with my measly experience, I knew he was good at spearing.
I was not able to see any openings at all.
–SWOOSH!
Stroud made the first move, a quick thrust aimed at my midsection. I parried it, the force of the blow vibrating up my arm. The strength of the attack was so much that I felt like my hand would break.
For the first time in a while, I felt such an attack.
'Thorne Style. Rapid Fangs.'
In such a state, I countered with a series of rapid jabs, trying to force him to step back. This was one of the moves that I learned. It was normally supposed to be supported by mana, but I was not in there.
Stroud's eyes narrowed, and he came at me with a series of precise strikes. I blocked and dodged, my body moving on instinct. The soreness in my muscles was forgotten, replaced by a singular focus: to prove myself.
CLANK!
For a moment, it seemed like we were evenly matched. The sound of clashing spears echoed through the yard, and the trainees watched in rapt silence. But Stroud was relentless, his attacks growing more aggressive.
And after a bunch of seconds, with a sudden, powerful strike, he knocked my spear aside and aimed a thrust at my shoulder. I twisted away, but his spear grazed my arm, the pain sharp and immediate. I gritted my teeth and fought through it, refusing to back down.
"Is that all you've got?" Stroud taunted, his voice low and mocking.
I lunged forward with a fierce jab, catching him off guard.
PAT!
My spear scraped against his side, and he hissed in pain, but the wound was superficial. Stroud's smirk vanished, replaced by a cold fury.
He came at me with renewed intensity, and I struggled to keep up. His spear moved with deadly precision, and he did not even hide his intent, and because of that, I wasn't even seeing what was before me.
The force of his strike pushed me back, and I stumbled, my grip faltering.
CLANK!
With a final, powerful thrust, Stroud disarmed me, my spear clattering to the ground. He pressed the tip of his spear to my throat, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
"Remember your place, Ex-Thorne," he hissed. "You're nothing but a disgrace."
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