One by one, the selected recruits from the week-long recruitment process walked through the camp’s gate, carrying their luggage. However, only a few had belongings; most came empty-handed. Damian recognized several who had been with them during the trials, but most were unfamiliar faces.
The tests had been conducted over the entire week, with Sam occasionally observing them. Damian had only glanced once before becoming too engrossed in his own tasks. A tall, thin boy with a slightly handsome face and dirt-blonde hair approached them, waving.
“You guys are already here?” Yovan asked, finding a place to stand beside them.
“We never left,” replied the overly enthusiastic Sam.
“What?” Yovan asked, just as two more buff-looking guys with similar features walked over, smiling and waving. They were the pugilist boys who had participated in the third trial with them.
“Yeah, after the Spellsword captain sent Maximus flying—hilarious, by the way—we were allowed to stay here until everyone was officially summoned,” Sam explained.
“You were allowed to live here for a week?” one of the pugilists asked, surprised.
“There was an option for that? Why didn’t anyone tell us?” added his lookalike.
Damian noticed many other exceptional kids with good mana signatures. More than the mana, however, the green and white hair on some unknown faces caught his attention. There weren’t many with hair colors other than black or blonde, but occasionally, people like this appeared in Eldoris.
They were closer to their elvish heritage, more beautiful than the average human, leaner, and with above-average mana. Aside from that, there were no other differences. They were still human, and it wasn’t necessary to look like that to inherit elvish traits. The black-haired ones also had impressive mana and were equally attractive, but the unique hair colors made some stand out more.
Because of this, exceptions to the ordinary drew Damian’s attention. He noticed a short boy with a thin frame and a beautiful, innocent-looking face with fire-red hair and another boy who was quite healthy around his belly with white hair. Unlike others with similar features, this one was more plus-sized.
Damian turned his gaze away from the gate and the incoming strangers, focusing on the group around him.
“If we’re going to live together for a while, why don’t we introduce ourselves?” Damian proposed.
Everyone looked at him and nodded slightly.
“I’m Samuel, but you can call me Sam. I’m from Dawnstar,” Sam said. Damian nodded; it was safe to assume they were away from any Faerunian spies by now. Besides, they couldn’t pretend to be from the Empire or Eldoris.
“Maximus, from Dawnstar…”
“Yovan, from Eldoris, Pyron City…”
“Jorven, from Eldoris, Kamirna Village in the west…”
“Galdric. Same as him. We’re cousins.”
“You both trained as pugilists? Alone?” Damian asked curiously.
“My uncle—his father—is a pugilist soldier in our lord Edorin’s service. He trained us and sent us here,” Galdric explained.
Three pugilists in one commoner family—that’s not something you see every day. With some luck, one of them could become a knight and truly start a noble line. The father or uncle is a smart one.
“What are you two doing here so far from home?” Yovan asked.
“We’re orphans. Tired of the streets, we found work on a ship heading to Pyron. After landing, the captain felt we were a burden,” Damian lied.
“You didn’t do a good enough job?” Jorven asked.
“He wanted us to work like men, but we were just kids.”
“Yeah, those Faerunian drunkards are like savages,” Yovan added, being from the city.
“Let’s go. The captains have arrived,” Sam said, hurrying them along.
Everyone had indeed gathered at the center of the large training ground. Damian and his companions followed the remaining few to join in. The three captains, along with several sergeants and soldiers, were gathered at the front, talking among themselves and occasionally glancing toward one of the finer-looking tents nearby.
After a few minutes of awkwardly standing and waiting, the group watched the captains, who were, in turn, watching the ornately decorated tent. A stout, middle-aged man in noble attire emerged from the tent, his face proud and angry at the world. Three people—two men and one woman in civilian clothes, likely butlers and a maid—followed the proud noble, who walked as if performing on stage.
Damian could barely sense enough mana in him to qualify as a second-ranker, and even then, he was low in standing. All three captains had more capabilities than him. Even the aura of the pugilist captain, without any mana, felt more impressive than this man.
The captains saluted with the noble salute and joined his entourage. The whole group finally stopped a bit farther from the gathered recruits. The stout, fat-faced noble coughed twice to get everyone’s attention and began speaking loudly, looking at the gathered teenagers as if they were wasting his precious money and time.
“Alright, listen up, you lot! I am the commander of this newly awakened unit of pathfinders. You can call me Lord Theoclys Viranil or Lord Commander.
“Now, you might think you’re something special, but let me tell you, you’re not. I don’t care what you were doing before you got here—this is war, and that means you’re under my command now. And believe me, I don’t tolerate nonsense.
“Look at you, barely out of short pants, and now you think you’re soldiers. Ha! The truth is, you’re just fodder, and I’m the one who has to whip you into shape. Not that I care much about it. You’re here to serve the kingdom, so serve at my command, and if you can’t, that’s on you.
“I didn’t ask for this command, but someone up top saw something in me—brains, probably. They know I’ve got the cunning to navigate this mess. You’re lucky to have me. You’ll do what I say, when I say it, no questions asked. Step out of line, and you’ll regret it.
“I don’t need to explain myself to the likes of you. You’re here to follow orders and make sure I come out of this looking like a hero. And if some of you don’t make it? Well, that’s the way it goes. War isn’t for the weak, and it’s certainly not for the stupid.
“Now, don’t think I’m here to coddle you or give you some grand pep talk. You’re not worth the effort. Just keep your heads down, do as I say, and maybe—just maybe—you’ll survive long enough to see me rise through the ranks. Because that’s what matters here—getting noticed by the right people, showing them I’ve got what it takes to climb up the ladder. And you?
You’re just the rungs I’ll use to get there.
“So, get ready, boys. It’s time to show those idiots up top that I can handle whatever they throw at me, and you’re going to help me do it. Whether you like it or not.”
‘Wow! Talk about getting straight to the point…’
Everyone murmured among themselves after the bizarre speech ended. Damian noticed the three captains growing paler with each word the ‘Lord Commander’ said. He couldn’t believe how stupid this was. Were they really supposed to serve under this joke of a man? How had someone like this even reached such a position?
Damian had thought that in a society where power was everything, a self-centered, pompous fool would never climb the ranks. But then again, a hundred years of peace would do that to those in power, leaving them with no enemies to occupy their time.
After finishing his speech, the proud noble walked back to his tent with the same exaggerated swagger.
“Is that guy really our commander?” Sam asked the question on everyone’s mind.
“If he is… we’re screwed,” added Jorven.
“Hey, careful now… speak quieter. He’s the lord of Pyron,” Yovan cautioned the group.
“He is? Then why hasn’t anyone challenged him and taken his seat in the ‘Monarch’s Trial’ yet?” Galdric asked.
“He’s an Esper with a weird ability. The man has a fool’s luck,” Yovan said, spitting on the ground. It seemed there was no love lost between the subjects and their lord.
“Is there a dungeon in his seat?” Damian asked, curious if there was a dungeon so close by.
“Yes, they say it’s filled with water. Only people who know the underwater breathing spell can enter. Even the lord himself can’t get in.”
Interesting indeed—an underwater dungeon. It would be foolish to try sneaking in, too much risk and barely any reward unless one had a map of the dungeon. Not that it was much use to Damian; his leveling was tediously slow. Even if he killed monsters day and night, he’d be caught long before he could level up significantly. However, he could learn new spells by observing various magical monsters.
Not all monsters used proper magic—some just had weird anatomy with magic in use. However, some high-level monsters used spells in unknown ways, forming runic circles that Damian could see, like that Goblin Shaman and the Giant Spider he had encountered in the Goldilock Forest.