"Remember your place, Ex-Thorne," Stroud hissed, the tip of his spear pressed firmly against my throat. "You're nothing but a disgrace."
–THUD!
Before I could respond or even brace myself, Stroud's spear swung back and then struck my cheek with the blunt end.
The force of the blow sent me sprawling to the ground, pain exploding across my face. My teeth throbbed, and my vision blurred. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth as I tried to gather my senses.
Stroud turned away from me, addressing the gathered trainees with a harsh tone. "Let this be a lesson to all of you," he declared, his voice ringing out across the yard. "On the battlefield, no one cares if you're a noble or a peasant. Your fancy spear techniques mean nothing when you're facing an enemy intent on killing you."
He gestured disdainfully in my direction. "You are all expendables from now on. Your only focus should be on piercing forward and staying in formation. Do not think for a second that any of you are special. You are here to serve, to fight, and to die for the Empire."
Stroud's gaze swept over the trainees, who were watching with a mix of fear and determination. "You are worth nothing," he continued coldly. "Your lives are forfeit the moment you step onto the battlefield. Remember that."
I struggled to push myself up, my body aching from the assault. The humiliation and anger burned within me, but I knew there was nothing I could do at this moment. Stroud had made his point, and I had to endure it.
"Now, if your stupid, lowly brains are capable of understanding this, then you are dismissed," Stroud barked. His gaze swept over the trainees one last time, making sure his point had been driven home. "You will eat your breakfast and have one hour of rest. After that, we will continue with your training. Dismissed."
The trainees, including myself, moved toward the mess area with a mixture of relief and trepidation. The breakfast that awaited us was far from luxurious: a piece of stale bread, a boiled potato, and a hard-boiled egg. It was a meager meal, but it was sustenance, and that was all that mattered now.
I took my rations and found a quiet spot away from the others to eat. My cheek throbbed where Stroud had hit me, and the pain in my teeth made chewing difficult. I gingerly bit into the bread, wincing as the hard crust scraped against my swollen gums.
Each bite was a reminder of my humiliation, but I forced myself to eat, knowing I needed the energy for the grueling day ahead.
The boiled potato was dry and tasteless, but I ate it quickly, trying to ignore the discomfort in my mouth. The egg was slightly better; its blandness was a small mercy against the pain.
As I finished my meal, I considered visiting the infirmary. The thought of Laila's healing magic was tempting, but even the idea of walking there felt like a chore.
Every part of my body ached, and the exhaustion was setting in. I decided to endure the pain for now and focus on getting through the day.
I sat in the quiet spot, trying to gather my thoughts and calm my mind. The events of the morning had been a harsh reminder of the reality I faced, but I couldn't let it break me.
'The spear of my family, huh?'
The techniques of my family, whether you consider them fancy or not, did not matter when it did not involve mana in them.
"Lucavion, our family's spearmanship consists of two things: explosiveness and area control," my father had told me once. His voice was steady and authoritative, the weight of generations behind his words. "With the spear, we have range, and the Thorne family has always been born with the aptitude to control fire better."
I remembered standing in the training yard, a much younger version of myself, wide-eyed and eager to learn. My father's spear danced in his hands, the flames licking around the blade with a controlled ferocity.
"Our family spear style makes use of fire's explosiveness and area control with the spear's range," he had continued. "A spear is a long thrusting weapon, giving you high control of the space before you. But we also use slashes and other techniques to spread fire across our enemies, to dominate the battlefield."
His spear moved in a wide arc, flames trailing behind it, creating a wall of fire that encircled him. The heat was intense, even from where I stood, and I felt a thrill of excitement and awe.
"The spear is not just about thrusting," my father had said, his eyes locking onto mine. "It's about control. Control of your weapon, control of your fire, and control of the battlefield. The explosiveness of fire can break through defenses, and the area control can keep enemies at bay."
I watched as he demonstrated a series of thrusts, slashes, and sweeping motions, each one precise and powerful, the flames responding to his every move.
"Remember, Lucavion, the spear is an extension of your will. It moves as you command, and the fire is your ally, your weapon. Master both, and you will be unstoppable."
At that time, I was very hyped by his words. I started practicing the spear at the age of five, contrary to other people.
At the start, everything was good. I was able to grasp the basics and spear control well. My control over my body was also good, and I was able to move smoothly with the spear in my hand.
But then, everything changed when mana entered the equation.
The moment I started using my family's art, the [Serpent Flame Art], everything completely fell apart.
The [Serpent Flame Art] was a special technique that required practitioners to engrave fire rings over their Mana Core. The process was intricate and required immense concentration and control.
Each level was represented by the rings.
The moment you would be able to engrave the first ring to your own body would mean the moment when you would be recognized as a mana user in the world.
'First Stage Core.'
Another explanation for this was global wording.
Though, for our family art, it was called the 'First Ring.'
I still remember the day my father taught me how to find my Mana Core. He had guided me through the process, his hands steady and his voice calm.
"Lucavion, the Mana Core is the organ responsible for the accumulation and control of mana in your body," he had explained. "It is located near your heart, deep within your chest. You must focus and find it, feel its presence."
I had closed my eyes, concentrating as hard as I could. Slowly, I felt a faint warmth deep within my chest, a pulsing energy that resonated with my heartbeat.
"That's it," my father had said, his voice encouraging. "You've found it. Now, you must learn to accumulate mana using our family art. It's a process of engraving fire rings around your core, enhancing your control and power."
He had demonstrated the technique, his body glowing with a fiery aura as he channeled mana into his core. The flames danced around him, controlled and precise.
"Focus on the warmth, on the energy," he had instructed. "Visualize the fire rings forming around your core, one by one. This is the essence of the [Serpent Flame Art]."
I had tried my best to follow his instructions, but the moment I attempted to channel mana, everything went wrong. The fire ring was unstable, flickering, and sputtering, and the mana refused to flow smoothly.
The warmth in my chest turned to a searing pain, and I gasped, clutching at my chest. My father had been there, his expression a mixture of concern and disappointment.
"Lucavion, you must focus," he had said, his voice gentle but firm. "You have the potential, but you need to control it. Try again."
But no matter how many times I tried, I couldn't master the technique. The fire ring would always collapse, and the pain in my chest would intensify. My father's disappointment grew, and my own frustration mounted.
Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and still, I struggled. My siblings, Alistair and my elder sister, excelled in their training, mastering the [Serpent Flame Art] with ease. Their flames were strong and steady, a testament to their skill and control.
I, on the other hand, was a constant failure. The art that was supposed to be my family's legacy, my birthright, eluded me. My father's patience wore thin, and his words of encouragement turned to reprimands.
And just like everything that would end, the efforts also reached their end. From a certain moment onwards, they completely abandoned the idea that I would be reaching the first stage soon.
After all, everyone had limits, and I could understand. Though I never stopped trying at the end of the day, it could only take me to this place….
'How Ironic.'
I could only mutter to myself.
But just as I was thinking about it, I suddenly heard a commotion on my side…..
-----------------------
You can check my discord if you want. The link is in the description.
I am open to any criticism; you can comment on things that you would like to see in the story.
"Please, I need this. I'm hungry," a frail voice pleaded.
Curiosity piqued, I rose to my feet and walked toward the source of the disturbance. As I approached a secluded corner of the yard, hidden from most of the others, I saw two young men circling an elderly, fragile man. The old man clutched his meager rations tightly, his face etched with desperation.
"You're going to die on the battlefield on the first day anyway," one of the young men sneered. "Might as well hand over your food now."
The other man laughed cruelly. "Yeah, old man, you won't need it where you're going."
The sight of this scene stirred a deep anger within me, reminding me of Stroud's earlier mockery and my own helplessness. The two bullies looked rough and dirty, their bodies not overly muscular but intimidating enough. They were taking advantage of someone weaker, just as Stroud had done to me.
The old man protested weakly, "Please, I just want to eat."
The bullies ignored him and tried to snatch his rations forcefully.
'These bastards…..'
I couldn't stand it. I saw Stroud's smug face in theirs and knew I had to act. The fact that these stupid fuckers were doing such a thing made me mad. I felt the pain on my cheek and the humiliation I felt. It made me feel the need to take my anger out of someone.
But I also knew that taking on both of them head-on was a losing battle. At least many things could happen, and there was no reason to take such a risk.
Then, an idea struck me. I remembered how Brann had handled the attackers in the living quarters, using surprise and strategy. I picked up a small, jagged stone from the ground and approached the bullies silently from behind.
–THUD!
With a swift motion, I brought the stone down hard on the head of the one in the middle. He yelped in pain, staggering forward and releasing his grip on the old man's rations. The other bully turned to face me, rage contorting his features.
Before he could react, I spat in his face and bolted, running as fast as my legs could carry me. "Get back here, you little shit!" he yelled, giving chase.
The first bully, now partially recovered, joined in the pursuit. The adrenaline surged through me, dulling the pain in my body. I ran, weaving between the makeshift tents and training equipment, the sound of their footsteps pounding behind me.
I didn't look back. My focus was entirely on escaping. The terrain was rough, but I used it to my advantage, ducking under low-hanging branches and leaping over obstacles. My pursuers were relentless, but their anger clouded their judgment, making them slower and less coordinated.
As I rounded a corner, I spotted Sergeant Brann standing nearby, overseeing some trainees. With a final burst of speed, I sprinted toward him, the bullies hot on my heels.
"Help! They're trying to kill me!" I shouted, hoping to draw Brann's attention.
Brann's sharp eyes snapped to me and then to the bullies chasing me. His expression darkened, and he stepped forward, placing himself between me and my pursuers.
"Enough!" Brann's voice boomed, stopping the bullies in their tracks. "What is going on here?"
The bullies skidded to a halt, their faces pale with fear. "He... he attacked us!" one of them stammered, pointing at me.
But I already knew what to do. Since I was a child, Stroud had put me forward as a target. Thus, it wouldn't be weird if someone were to try to take what I had. I took a deep breath and spoke up, my voice steady despite the tension.
"No, I didn't. They were trying to take my rations, and I just wanted to defend myself," I said, pointing to the torn and ruptured pieces of potato and bread they held. "When I couldn't defend myself, I spat on their faces and ran. They chased me because of that."
Brann's gaze shifted to the bullies, who were holding the damaged food. The evidence was clear. The half-eaten and torn rations were a testament to their actions. Brann's expression darkened further, his anger palpable.
"You two," Brann growled, his voice low and menacing. "You think you can steal from others and get away with it?"
The bullies stammered, trying to come up with excuses, but Brann cut them off. "For the next week, you will both give one of your rations to him as punishment. If I hear of any more trouble from either of you, the consequences will be much worse."
The bullies' faces fell, and they nodded reluctantly. "Yes, Sergeant," they muttered. But their eyes contained hatred all across the place. It was evident that they hated being played by me, but there was nothing they could do.
Brann turned to me, his expression changing slightly. "This was the second time." He said, his face cold.
"You did well to stand up for yourself, Lucavion. But remember, this place is full of people who will take advantage of any perceived weakness. Stay vigilant."
"Thank you, Sergeant," I replied, genuinely grateful.
Brann nodded. "Now, get your wounds checked at the infirmary. Say to Laila that it was me who sent you there. If she doesn't believe me, tell her it was on my order. She'll understand."
"Understood, Sergeant," I replied, my voice steady.
Brann turned his attention back to the trainees, barking orders to get them moving again. I took a moment to catch my breath before heading towards the infirmary. The bullies glared at me as I walked past, their hatred palpable, but I held my head high. I had won this round, and I wasn't going to let their anger intimidate me.
As I approached the infirmary, the familiar scent of herbs and antiseptics filled the air. I stepped inside, and there was Laila, busy tending to another injured soldier. She looked up as I entered, her expression softening when she saw the state I was in.
"Miss Laila," I said, my voice slightly strained. "Sergeant Brann sent me. He said it was on his order."
Laila nodded, setting aside her current task. "Come here, let me take a look at you."
I moved to the cot, she indicated, sitting down with a wince. The pain in my cheek and ribs was sharper now that the adrenaline was wearing off. Laila examined my injuries with a practiced eye, her hands gentle yet firm.
"You've had a rough start, haven't you?" she said, her voice filled with a mix of sympathy and professionalism.
I nodded, feeling the exhaustion settling in. "It's been... challenging."
She hummed in acknowledgment as she began to work. Her healing magic felt like a soothing balm, easing the pain and closing the wounds. As the warmth spread through me, I felt some of the tension melt away.
"Brann's right, you know," Laila said quietly as she worked. "You need to stay vigilant. This place is harsh, and people will try to take advantage of you. But you have a good heart, Lucavion. Don't lose that."
"...Why did you think so?"
"I know when I see one."
"…..I see…." I just got the words out and then lowered my head to look down.
After a few minutes, she finished her healing and stepped back. "There, you should feel better now. Just try to avoid any more trouble for a while."
I nodded, standing up and testing my newly healed body. The pain was mostly gone, replaced by a dull ache that I could easily ignore. "I'll try my best."
"Good," Laila said with a small smile. "Now, go get some rest. You'll need it for the training ahead."
I thanked her once more and left the infirmary, heading back to the place where we would be training once again.
After all, I knew I would not be able to avoid what would be happening there.
As I returned to the training yard, Stroud was waiting with the other sergeants. His eyes narrowed as he spotted me, but he made no comment. Instead, he barked out his orders.
"Back to those spears! Training resumes now."
We all grabbed our spears and resumed the drills. The rest of the day was a blur of relentless training, broken only by a brief lunch break. We practiced thrusts, parries, and stances until our muscles screamed in protest and our bodies ached from exhaustion.
By evening, the sun was setting, casting long shadows across the yard. Finally, Stroud called an end to the training, and we were dismissed to get our evening meals.
I collected my rations along with the extra ones from the bullies as per Brann's order. Despite the exhaustion, the additional food was a small victory that lifted my spirits.
I made my way back to the same quiet spot where I had eaten earlier. As I settled down, I noticed the old man from before sitting nearby with his own meager meal.
I didn't want to bother him, as he was quietly eating his meal, so I started eating mine.
But then, he suddenly turned to look at me.
"Why did you do that?"
-----------------------
You can check my discord if you want. The link is in the description.
I am open to any criticism; you can comment on things that you would like to see in the story.