The sky was painted in shades of dull orange as the sun rose reluctantly over the jagged peaks surrounding the military grounds. Cold wind swept across the vast, cracked field known as the "Training Grounds." The surface was hard-packed earth and stone, scorched black in places from old battles and trials. This was where soldiers were made—or broken.
Ashen stood silently, arms folded tightly, watching the other recruits stumble out of the dorms. His stomach grumbled again, as it always did in the mornings, but he ignored it.
Unit 9 stood together, not by choice, but because everyone else seemed to avoid them. Sera—the cold, calculating top-ranker—stood slightly apart, arms behind her back like she didn't belong here. Reynar smirked at those who glanced at him, clearly proud of his second-place ranking. Elira offered a polite greeting to a few nearby squads, but her warmth wasn't returned. Kerr and lin chattered in low voices, trying to keep spirits up. Ashen simply kept his head down.
The ranking board from yesterday still burned in everyone's memory.
He was second last.
A weakling. A joke. A mistake.
"Stand straight! Form a line, you worthless sacks of meat!"
The voice cracked like thunder.
Everyone turned.
A tall, broad-shouldered man in black armor marched across the training ground, his boots echoing with force. His scarred face, crooked nose, and razor-sharp glare gave off the aura of someone who'd killed men with a stare alone. His hair was short and graying, his eyes a piercing steel blue. A jagged blade hung across his back.
This was their instructor.
He stopped a few paces in front of the recruits, scanned them once, then snorted like he'd stepped in something foul.
"My name is Instructor John. You will refer to me as 'Sir' or 'Instructor.' Anything else, and I will personally feed your tongue to the hounds."
Silence.
"Good. You're not entirely brain-dead."
He paced in front of them like a wolf inspecting sheep.
"You lot were picked from trash heaps, noble halls, war orphanages, and street gutters. Some of you think you're strong. Some of you are hiding behind ranks you don't deserve. But out here, on this ground, ranking means nothing."
He stopped in front of Reynar, who stood tall with an amused smirk.
"You."
"Yes, Sir."
"Second on the board. Reynar viros, son of House Viros, hmm? What are you smirking at?"
"Nothing, Sir. Just amused at the...quality of companions you've placed me with."
A few laughs escaped from nearby units.
Instructor John leaned in. "You'll be the first to cry when your limbs snap like twigs. I've seen brats like you die by the dozens. Smile again, and I'll break your nose for practice."
The smirk disappeared.
He moved to Princess Seraphine next.
"And you... Miss Royal Iceblock. Think you're special because you ranked first? You'll find no crowns here. Bleed like the rest or be buried like the rest."
She didn't react. Her eyes stayed locked forward, cold and unreadable.
Then he stopped in front of Ashen.
The instructor looked at the boy with deliberate slowness, as if trying to remember where he'd seen something so pathetic.
"You."
Ashen said nothing.
"Name."
"Ashen."
"No last name?"
"...No, Sir."
A pause.
Instructor John looked at the roster in his hand, then at the board behind him.
"Second last on the weapon board. No bloodline. No known powers. No history of service. No training. No heritage. No use."
A few recruits snorted.
Ashen remained silent. His face betrayed nothing, but inside, the words sank into his ribs like dull knives.
"You'll be the first to die."
Ashen raised his head slightly, eyes dark.
"No, Sir. I won't."
Silence.
The instructor stared at him, eyes narrowing. Then, instead of exploding, he let out a cold laugh.
"We'll see."
He moved on.
"All of you! Drop and give me 50. Then we'll see who's worth molding."
Groans echoed through the field, but everyone obeyed. Ashen hit the dirt, hands steady. Kerr next to him was already panting after twenty. Lin struggled after thirty. Elira was steady and focused. Reynar muttered curses under his breath. Sera completed hers as if it were routine.
Ashen's arms trembled near the end, but he refused to stop.
"Good. You're not as hopeless as you look," the instructor muttered. "Now stand. And listen."
They rose. Dirt stained their uniforms. Sweat clung to their faces.
"You six," Instructor John barked. "Unit 9. Step forward."
All six did.
"The worst ranked unit on the field. A princess with secrets, a noble with a mouth, a military mutt, two laughing idiots, and a walking grave."
He pointed directly at Ashen.
"But you know what's funny?"
They stayed silent.
"You'll be going through your first live drill today. Right now."
Murmurs broke out among the recruits.
"Live drill?" Kerr whispered.
"That means real weapons, real danger," Elira muttered.
Instructor John turned to address everyone.
"This world is dying. You don't get time to warm up. You either fight, or you die. And today, Unit 9 fights. Everyone else, watch and learn what failure looks like."
He gestured toward the black stone gate on the far end of the field. It creaked open with a grinding sound, revealing a wide underground tunnel lit with crimson torches.
"Inside that tunnel is your test. Six opponents. One for each of you. No teamwork. No calls for help. Finish or fall."
Ashen's stomach twisted—but not from fear. From something else. Anticipation, perhaps?
"Move out!" the instructor bellowed.
They walked forward. One by one, Unit 9 disappeared into the darkness.
As Ashen entered the tunnel, the torchlight flickered around him. The air was warm, tinged with metal and old blood. The ground beneath his boots echoed with each step.
He didn't know what was waiting inside.
But he was done being mocked.
Done being called weak.
Done hiding.