In the Dalimarcus Territory, including the city of Kopetsk, the residents were obligated to participate in military training as a group once a month. The collective operation was maintained at a higher standard than Walm had anticipated.

“They’re more competent than I expected.”

As the drumbeats and the commander’s shouts echoed, a group of about 100 people advanced, turned direction, and simultaneously thrust their spears downward. They would be considered a combat unit in formal terms.

For conscripts who were newly summoned and inexperienced in battle, this was an impressive feat. Walm’s own first battle experience was marred by vomiting, leaving only sour and bitter memories. He didn’t remember anything from the first time he killed an enemy soldier. All that remained was the unforgettable sensation of twisting the guts through the spear when he came to his senses, and the enemy soldier was dead.

“Prepare to launch!”

Walm, who had been observing, was given the signal to start. He kneaded his magical power, concentrated it in the palm of his hand, and materialized a fireball.

“Make sure you don’t hit anyone.”

Another regular soldier put pressure on Walm.

“I won’t hit anyone.”

“Commence launching!”

Following the commander’s order, Walm landed the fireball beside the small group. Of course, he had no intention of hitting them. If he did, he would likely be lynched by his furious comrades.

The firework that signaled the end of the play practice drew the eyes of the battle virgins to Walm. The fireworks were launched beside the advancing group to lessen their fear of magic, as per the order.

The blast, which struck the eardrums, and the heat wave that pressed against their skin distracted the conscripts. While no one wet themselves, the disruption in their steps and spear alignment led to severe rebukes and punches from the accompanying regular soldiers.

Walm was deeply relieved that he didn’t have to participate in that farce, as magic soldiers were operated separately from the infantry. It was like an amusement park, and Walm was like a cast member welcoming guests.

Distracted by the blue flames, a young soldier, barely more than a boy, tripped. A regular soldier grabbed him by the chest to lift him up and then slapped him hard on both sides.

“Falling in battle means getting trampled to death. Do you want to be crushed under hundreds of feet and die? Your mistake could kill others too! If you’re going to die, die alone! Focus!”

“I-I’m sorry!”

The young soldier, with a swollen face, shouted and returned to formation. Walm once again fired the fireball close to where the young soldier was.

The ground was dug up, and dirt rained down from the sky, while the hot wind agitated the group. The young soldier endured without falling this time. Ironically, other conscripts, who had let their guard down thinking they wouldn’t be targeted again, ended up causing a domino effect.

“It’s like bowling.”

The regular soldier, his veins near bursting with anger, ranted. Walm muttered in sympathy. It seemed he might die of anger before the battle with the Meizenaf family.

The regular soldiers were desperate. If the conscripts fell apart, their own lives were at risk. Walm had no pity for the conscripts who continued their strenuous training. A mistake in training would at worst lead to harsh treatment, but on the battlefield, it could mean death. Walm continued to fire fireballs mercilessly, out of respect for the regular soldiers who were desperately trying to turn a flock of sheep into a formidable force.

◆

Kuwen was born as the fourth son of a farming family and was about to turn 15.

His family was a typical farming household, barely making enough to feed themselves and pay taxes, with little money left over. Clothes and shoes were hand-me-downs from his older brothers, and naturally, they were worn out from farm work. Despite repeated repairs, they were nearly in tatters.

He complained, but he was grateful to his parents and brothers who had raised and looked after him. Still, Kuwen was not satisfied with his situation.

As time passed, his parents’ land would be inherited by his eldest and second brothers. It was customary, and Kuwen had no intention of intervening.

For Kuwen, as the fourth son, there were few options. One was to stay at home like a servant. His brothers would not remain unmarried for life. As they married and had children, Kuwen’s place in the household would become even more cramped.

The other option was to join a pioneering group that cleared the Demonic Territory and turned it into habitable land. Frankly, it was a path of hardship. Competing for survival against sporadically appearing monsters, cutting trees, digging out roots, clearing weeds and stones was a never-ending task.

Even then, success wasn’t guaranteed. There was no assurance that the land would be suitable for crops, and the costs of keeping low-ranking adventurers or regular soldiers on standby, as well as the initial funding for the development, which was a loan from the lord, had to be repaid.

Powerful monsters could annihilate the pioneering group. He had heard of such hardships repeatedly from his third brother. The light at the end of the tunnel for the troubled Kuwen was the war between the Dalimarcus and Meizenaf families.

It was war. Naturally, it involved risking one’s life. But for Kuwen, it was the only way to break out of his current situation. Along with others from his village in similar circumstances, Kuwen responded to the draft. Receiving a copper plate as a promissory note, Kuwen was already a part of the conscripts and could no longer excuse himself as a mere farmer.

The pre-war drills started abruptly. Fortunately, Kuwen was able to line up with his village friend, Karim. In the village, Karim was known for his laid-back attitude and sloppiness, often not even bothering to fix his bed hair.

Kuwen adjusted his pace to match the others. Confident in the strength he’d developed from farm work, he still found his arms screaming in protest from holding the spear. Yet, he knew he could manage it.

“It’ll work out somehow,” Kuwen said with a sense of pride. His chestnut-haired friend agreed.

“Yeah, it will.”

They continued, somehow managing to turn and, on cue, strike down with their spears in unison. The spears cut through the air, leaving a whistling sound in their wake. It was an impressive sight. Kuwen had trained with a dozen villagers in spear drills before but doing so with a hundred others felt incredibly empowering.

Kuwen felt his presence magnified. He was about to step forward in high spirits when suddenly the ground beneath him exploded. The booming sound assaulted his eardrums, and a wave of hot air pricked his skin.

He couldn’t grasp what had just happened. A regular soldier leading them shouted, “Stay focused, don’t break formation!”

Kuwen slowly realized, albeit belatedly, that even the column of fire shooting into the sky was part of the drill. “They’re really going all out,” he thought, his concentrated mind now scattering with extraneous thoughts.

He stumbled, his foot caught in a small dip, and his world turned upside down. As he realized he had fallen, Karim, unusually fast in speech, urged him, “Kuwen, get up!”

His heart pounded like a fast bell. He calmed his confused mind and picked up the training spear. Before he could fully stand, an instructor, a regular soldier, grabbed him by the collar.

“What are you doing?” the soldier demanded.

Pain shot through him as he realized he had been slapped on both cheeks. Kuwen was unable to return from his confusion, but the soldier, looking fierce, screamed as if to burst his eardrums, “Falling in battle means getting trampled to death. Do you want to be crushed under hundreds of feet and die? Your mistake could kill others too! If you’re going to die, die alone! Focus!”

“I-I’m sorry!” Kuwen stammered.

The previously upbeat atmosphere around him had turned ice cold.

“You okay?” his friend asked, concerned.

Kuwen clenched his teeth and showed determination, “I won’t fail again.”

Dirt, upturned by the explosion, rained down from above. He hadn’t been overconfident, but perhaps he had underestimated the drill.

He felt the heat on his skin and refocused on walking. Then, another shockwave hit him, this time from a fireball even closer than before.

This time, not alone, four or five of his comrades fell together. The enraged soldier ran up and started throwing punches.

Kuwen looked towards the magic-using soldier who had cast the blue flames. The worn armor didn’t belong to anyone from the Archipelago Countries. “A mercenary, or perhaps one of those recently talked-about former Highserk soldiers,” Kuwen surmised.

Even at a distance, Kuwen felt their gazes meet. The man’s eyes were said to be golden, but to Kuwen, they appeared strangely dark and cloudy.

Feeling a chill run down his spine, Kuwen averted his eyes from the man. The man continued to launch fireballs, bombarding the group’s surroundings. Any optimism had vanished.

Several others made mistakes, and with each one, the regular soldier’s fists roared, leaving more faces swollen. The tension never waned until the drill was over. They threw their exhausted limbs to the ground and gasped for water like dogs.

“This is just training,” Kuwen thought. “What will happen in the real thing?” Feeling a sudden chill, he shivered.

“We can do this,” said his carefree friend, as usual.

Kuwen couldn’t show weakness to Karim. He braced himself and replied with conviction, “Yeah.”

Translator – Lyxxna