The sun hung high in the sky, and the warm rays of light touched Tucker’s skin. With discontent, his eyes focused on the stone walls surrounding the dirt-floor training area. Before him were hundreds of soldiers forming haphazard rows that were uneven and spread out. The worn iron swords and shields were the first things that caught his attention, followed by the leather armor that seemed like it would fall apart with the slightest touch.

  Was this really the current state of the militia?

  Tucker couldn’t help but click his tongue, staring at the men who stood at attention while adjusting his triangular leather hat. Their neglect and lack of care were clear, but he didn’t think it would be this bad. His eyes moved upwards, towards the clear blue sky, and then towards the castle beyond the horizon, where the commander and the other captains rested. The grand structure with its tall spiraling towers and magnificent design would typically leave everyone in awe, but right now, Tucker felt disdain.

  How could they let their men be so poorly equipped? If they had such wealth, then they should at least arm each unit within the fortress properly. Half-ass jobs like this made him want to turn the entire castle inside out. Yet here he was, standing beside Eric, who had assembled every militia member into the open field. Now the question was, what the hell did Eric plan to do?

  Tucker nervously glanced at Eric as the watchman took a step forward. Watching as Eric lowered his hood and cleared his throat.

  “Greetings, my fellow countrymen. I’ll be blunt. Many of you will die as you are now.” Eric spoke in a calm tone with his hands behind his back. “But that’s why we’re here, to train you so you don’t die. I’ll keep this simple since we’re short on time. Those who want to live, stay. Those who want to die, leave.”

  What the fuck?

  Tucker fought back the urge to curse Eric out and kept his deadpan expression. He could see the look of fear and confusion lingering in the eyes of the men before him. However, none of them left. They all stood still and waited while whispering to one another.

  “Seeing as how none of you have left. Let me introduce you to your captain.” Eric turned to Tucker and gestured for him to take a step forward. “This is Captain Welford, and he’ll be overseeing your training for the time being.”

  The young watchman took a deep breath and wore the silver badge on the left side of his chest, hanging from his white-collared shirt. Tucker rolled back his sleeves and gazed at the militia. He didn’t know what to say. There wasn’t any crazy speech planned, and parts of him hoped that Eric would have it covered, but after seeing how Eric started the announcement, it was an awful idea to let him continue.

  “I’ll be honest with you. It's true when my colleague here says we’re short on time. The Empire will launch their upcoming assault on the fortress city within the upcoming weeks.” Tucker didn’t hide his troubled expression, and the militia, who saw this, knew that he was telling the truth. “Odds are, most of you won’t make it out in your current condition, but if you follow my instructions and training regimen, then there’s a chance that we’ll turn things around.”

  Tucker looked around and watched as a young man raised his hand. He raised a brow. “Yes? Do you have a question?”

  “Captain Welford, sir. How grim are the chances?” The young militia member’s short black hair covered his tanned forehead, yet Tucker could see the frightened light in their blue eyes.

  “If I had to guess, maybe twenty percent of you will make it if you’re lucky.”

  The words that came out of Tucker’s mouth caused all the militia to grow silent. Their pale faces and trembling eyes gazed at the watchman. Tucker knew it wasn’t a good idea to tell them the truth since the men in front of him were all still young, with many around the same age as him. But he couldn’t bring himself to lie, and in the echo chamber of despair. The young militia member’s gaze remained fixated on him.

  “And how many of us will live if we complete your training?” The young militia asked.

  “Perhaps seventy percent if we’re being generous.” Tucker calmly observed as a young militia grew quiet. He then gazed at the rest and sighed. “What’s your name?”

  “Liam, Liam Rexfield, sir,” the young militia replied.

  “Liam… that’s a good name.” Tucker nodded and declared. “The training will be hell. It is designed to break you and push your body to limits that normally aren’t possible. Healing potions will be reduced for the purpose of training unless deemed absolutely necessary. Sleep will be limited and your body will cry out in pain and agony, but if you pass, you’ll be better than most of those bastards that look down on you from above.”

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Tucker’s eyes scanned the expressions of the militia, witnessing a mix of conflicted and enthusiastic faces. He really didn’t know how many would live to see the next day, but upon seeing the young group of soldiers, he felt his heart tighten. This was why he couldn’t stand leading and was thankful that the commander had said he would find someone else. All it took was one order, one mistake, and soon a portion of the lives here would fade like a flame on a candle.

  “Then why are you training us? No one has ever cared about our lives until now,” Liam said.

  Everyone stood at attention, waiting for an answer. Tucker kept his gaze on them and steadied his heart. The commander had asked him to and if he didn’t, then odds are he wouldn’t have bothered with the militia because he would have assumed they were already cared for. However, reality was often different. That wasn’t the case and seeing this he couldn’t standby.

  “It's to give you guys a fighting chance.” Tucker’s words were simple but resonated with every member there. “Now it’s time to get started. Seeing as how all of you stayed, that means you agree to the training, so grab a set of weights from the racks on the side and start running.”

  The group remained frozen under the warm sunlight of the courtyard. They all felt the breeze blow through the area and the dust carried away with the wind. Yet none of them moved, unable to shake off the reality that was before them. But after a short moment, Liam stepped forward and moved to the weapon racks that held the wet sandbags and lifted them in his arms. He then looked at Tucker, who nodded and pointed at the green arrows painted on the walls.

  “Follow those and don’t stop.” The captain’s words were short and simple, and like gears in a machine, Liam began running. His boots kicked up a trail of dust as he moved past his comrades with a determined glare in his eyes, and seeing this, they couldn’t stay still. One after another, the militia grabbed their bags and started running with their swords resting in their scabbards and shields on their back. Not knowing where the path would take them and what awaited them in the end.

  The only problems left were getting better equipment and the support of the other watchmen.

  .

  .

  .

  The sound of the militia moving through the area entered the watchmen’s ears. Luka gazed out the window and knew that Eric and Tucker had managed to convince the militia to participate in their training exercises, but unlike them. His situation had taken a turn for the worse. The remaining watchmen were seated in an open room around a stone table with various treats and tea laid out on the surface. The sweet delicacies had been prepared with great effort, and what was supposed to be a cheerful and camaraderie-filled conversation was instead a suffocating silence.

  The first one with long brown hair that was tied into a small bun was Jess, while the other with messy red hair and freckles was Ray. Luka didn’t know their story or why they’d been sent to the bastion, but a single glance told him enough—one had murky and clouded eyes devoid of motivation, and the other simmered with anger. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have approached them since they were exactly the kind of people he struggled to get along with. But given their situation, there was no other option. The only other occupant at the table was an old man whose legs were too short to reach the floor when seated.

  “Guys, can’t you help Tucker out just this once?” Luka asked, but before he could say another word. He was met with a coldhearted gaze devoid of compassion. Before he knew it, Jess and Ray had already stood from their seats, leaving the room without uttering another word. Only the sound of the door slamming shut entered his ears. Parts of him wanted to persuade them to stay and talk, but he knew they both needed space. He didn't know what their story was, but it was enough to impact their actions.

  The only one that remained was a short old man who had a white bushy mustache and short hair that barely reached his shoulders. Luka knew about the legends of the retired ranger, a figure known as Benjamin Dalestrum, who single-handedly wiped out a knight battalion on his own. However, from his brief encounter, he knew that something was wrong with the old man. There was a reason that such a figure was no longer participating in missions beyond the enemy lines, and it was clear that Benjamin’s age had gotten the best of him.

  “Hmm… sorry, I don’t know what you just said. Could you repeat it for me, young man?” Benjamin asked, taking a small sip of his rich green tea.

  “I was wondering if you could help train the militia with us.” Luka gazed at the retired veteran with eyes full of doubt. Even if Benjamin agreed, he didn’t know if it was a good idea whatsoever.

  ”I… think I can help you folks, but who are you again?”

  “I’m Luka, one of the recruits stationed here with the other watchmen.”

  “Ah yes… I see, and we’re tasked with supporting the garrison, yes?” Benjamin revealed a bright smile as he looked out the window to the side. “It seems like the training has begun, so should we head down as well?”

  “No… not yet at least. We need help with managing the militia, and we were wondering if you could lead fifty or so men.”

  “Oh my, I haven’t led in years!” Benjamin’s lips curled upwards, forming a pleasant smile. “But I’m afraid these old bones of mine can hardly move. I don’t think I’ll be of any help in this endeavor.”

  “That’s alright, we need your experience and guidance. Besides, we can have someone carry you, and having anyone at this point is better than having no one.” Luka held out his hand and watched as Benjamin merrily shook it. “So I take it you’re on board?”

  “Of course! I don’t see why I can’t be of service.” Benjamin released Luka’s hand and held onto the teacup once more with a troubled expression. “But I forget, who are you again?”

  Luka took a deep breath and slowly exhaled with his eyes closed. He had managed to convince one more watchman to join their ranks, but after meeting Benjamin in person, there was no telling if this was a good idea. He could only pray that it would be enough and that the aged wisdom of a hardened veteran would return when they need it most.