The next morning came far too quickly, the shrill whistle jarring me awake from a fitful sleep.
My body protested as I climbed out of bed, the bruises from the night before reminding me of the cruelty of those bastards.
But, well, the protest of the body meant nothing in the face of the order. That was what had been engraved on my head from all this constant training.
'It is cold.'
We assembled in the yard, the cold morning air biting at our skin. The atmosphere was tense, a palpable mix of fear and determination.
Stroud stood at the front, his stern expression unyielding as he surveyed the ragtag group of trainees.
"Listen up!" he barked, his voice cutting through the murmurs. "Today marks the beginning of your real test. You've had your week of training, and now it's time to put it to use. You'll be assigned to units under experienced leaders. Your job is simple: follow orders, stay in formation, and fight. Do that, and you might just survive."
Stroud began pacing in front of us, his eyes cold and assessing. "You are the expendables, the ones who will hold the line while the seasoned soldiers engage the enemy. Your lives mean nothing to the Empire, but your actions can make a difference. Remember that."
He stopped and turned to face us, his gaze hard. "Each of you will be assigned to a unit. Your leaders will guide you but do not expect any special treatment. You are here to serve and to die if necessary. The battlefield shows no mercy, and neither will we."
Brann stepped forward with a list in hand, calling out names and assigning us to different units. Brann stepped forward with a list in hand, calling out names and assigning us to different units.
My name was called, and I was placed in Unit Seven, where the captain's name was Sergeant Vance. It seemed he had the same rank as Brann, though I had yet to see his face.
"One last thing," Stroud announced. "You'll need to walk to the battlefield camp. Get your armor and weapons, and prepare to move out. Each squad has a designated sector where you'll get your gear. Once equipped, your sergeants will lead you to the front."
We were dismissed to gather our equipment. I made my way to the designated sector for Unit Seven, scanning the crowd for the old man but not seeing him anywhere close.
Most likely, he had been assigned to a different squad.
In the armory, the atmosphere was tense. The clanking of metal and the hushed conversations of trainees filled the air. I approached the quartermaster, who handed me a set of armor and a spear. The armor was crude and worn, but it was better than nothing.
As I strapped on the armor, I noticed a tall, broad-shouldered man approaching. His face was weathered and scarred, a testament to his years of service. This must be Sergeant Vance.
"Unit Seven, gather 'round!" Vance's voice was gruff but commanding. We quickly assembled, standing at attention as he inspected us.
"I'm Sergeant Vance," he began, his eyes sharp and assessing. "I'll be leading you on the battlefield. Your job is to follow orders, stay in formation, and keep each other alive. Do that, and we might just make it through."
He looked each of us in the eye, his gaze lingering on me for a moment longer. "We'll be moving out in half an hour. Make sure your gear is secured and be ready to march."
I nodded, getting ready for advancement. Everyone either relieved themselves ate some food or got their water ready.
I had already done all those things. After being in this place for a week and looking outside, I knew what kind of environment we were in.
The Valerius Plains, as the name suggested, was a landscape that was mostly flat. From what I had learned from the geography lessons at home, it was a place that was really fertile and strategically vital for both the Loria and Arcanis Empires.
The plains were not just a battleground but a symbol of prosperity and power, and control over them meant dominance in the region.
I recalled the history behind the war over these lands. The Valerius Plains had always been a coveted prize due to their rich soil, which yielded bountiful harvests year after year.
For centuries, the plains had been a peaceful and prosperous region, home to countless villages and farming communities. However, their location made them a tempting target for the empires surrounding them.
The conflict between Loria and Arcanis was not a new one. It stretched back generations, fueled by a long-standing rivalry and the desire to control the Valerius Plains. The war had seen many battles, with both empires pouring resources and lives into the struggle. It was said that the very soil of the plains was stained with the blood of countless soldiers who had fought and died for their empires.
Loria, my home, was an empire built on discipline and military might. Our soldiers were renowned for their training and discipline, and our strategic thinking as a cold weapon user was at the forefront.
The plains represented not just a source of food but also a buffer zone, a protective barrier against the encroaching forces of Arcanis.
Arcanis, on the other hand, was an empire of innovation and magic. Their mages were feared and respected, their spells capable of turning the tide of battle in an instant.
Even in the novel, Arcanis was the most developed place in the entire world, let alone the continent. Both technologically and academically, that place was the way of the future. It also hosted the world's best academy.
These plains, with their vast open spaces, provided an ideal battleground for their powerful magic, making them a formidable opponent, and eventually, this battle would be lost.
In the novel, it had been mentioned as a side setting and a small detail, but the Arcanis Empire would take these lands and establish themselves as the powerhouse of the continent, while the Loria Empire would be forced to swallow it and sign a treaty at the end.
After all, there was one clear difference between the Lorian Empire and the Arcanis Empire. The way they had dealt with their military and their systematic way of arranging the units, merging mages with knights and warriors.
In a way, the Arcanis Empire did not separate the mages from the knights but rather put them in the same block as a fighter.
However, it was not revealed for the time being, most likely, as I remember that this special formation and those special units were the ones that turned the tide down and ended the fight. At least, this was how it was mentioned in the novel.
Yes, this battle was a lost one, and I know that from the start. But was there anything that was under my control?
Could I escape this place? Many people have tried to do so this week. And all of them, yes, all of them, had their heads displayed right before our barracks. Just to remind us that if we were to do so, we would share the same fate.
And it is not like it is guaranteed that I will survive until the end of the war. After all, this war will continue for a whopping five years.
Sergeant Vance's voice broke through my thoughts. "Alright, it's time. Form up and get ready to move out."
I adjusted my gear and took a deep breath, steeling myself for what lay ahead.
We marched out of the camp in a disciplined line, the sound of our footsteps echoing across the plains. The sun was beginning to rise, casting a golden hue over the landscape. It was a stark contrast to the dark and bloody history that these lands held.
As we made our way to the front lines, I glanced around at my fellow soldiers. Each one of them carried their own burdens, most likely, but they all had one simple thing.
They were all people with rough lives, as they were commoners and criminals at the same time.
"How old are you, really?" one man asked another, his voice low but curious.
"Twenty-two," the other replied. "You?"
"Twenty-six. Been in and out of trouble since I was a kid. Never thought I'd end up here, though."
A third soldier chimed in, his tone bitter. "Same here. Thirty now, and I've seen my share of jail cells. But this... this is different. They train us for seven weeks and then send us off to die."
Another man, probably in his late twenties, laughed harshly. "Better than rotting in a cell, though. At least here, we get a chance to fight back. Maybe even survive."
"Survive?" a woman scoffed. It was the first time I had seen a woman in any place, as almost everyone in the camps were men.
She looked to be in her early thirties, with a hardened face and sharp eyes. "We're fodder, plain and simple. They don't care about us. Just bodies to throw at the enemy."
There were murmurs of agreement, the reality of our situation settling heavily over the group.
One man, who seemed to be in his mid-twenties, spoke up, his voice tinged with nervousness. "I heard the Arcanis soldiers use magic. It's really powerful stuff. How are we supposed to fight against that with just spears?"
A grim silence followed his words, the fear of facing such a formidable enemy evident in everyone's eyes.
"Doesn't matter," the woman replied, her voice steady despite the grim topic. "We do what we can stick together, and hope for the best."
Someone else, a man in his late twenties with a scar across his cheek, muttered, "Hope? Haven't had much of that in a long time."
It seemed that most people were like me here.
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I am open to any criticism; you can comment on things that you would like to see in the story.