Chapter 6- Imperial Army Training Center No. 1

Chapter 6- Imperial Army Training Center No. 1

"This one, what's the deal?"

The chief instructor questioned, as though expecting an explanation.

"No family name, unknown birthplace. Why are there so many blanks? Is this guy a spy?"

"Are you referring to Mago?"

"You know him?"

"His reputation has spread so widely across the capital that even children have heard of him. Haven't you?"

"What's the rumor?"

The instructor took a drag from his cigarette.

"They say he wiped out the capital's bandits in just two weeks. Right when he was about to take down their leadership, he entered the training center."

"Is he trying to play hero? What a ridiculous stunt."

"Not alone. He did it with Kinjo. Together, they're called 'Majo.'"

"What a distasteful nickname."

With a scoff, the instructor flipped to the next page.

"Kinjo, firstborn of the Shua family."

"You're familiar with them?"

"Of course. The Shua family is that wealthy but unlucky clan whose heirs are all disasters. The eldest son caused so much trouble they sent him abroad to study. Was it Watermelon Magic Academy or something like that?"

The instructor flipped another page and added,

"One's a fake hero, and the other's a half-baked mage. Misfits sure do find each other."

He exhaled smoke in a long stream.

"They might not be fakes."

"What do you mean?"

"I've seen Mago fight in person."

"So?"

"He closely resembles Marcello Arnis, the genius of the Special Forces."

"Really?"

"I saw it with my own eyes."

"Two prodigies like that in one generation? That's unfair."

"Unfair or not, I hope they make it through."

"Indeed. Let's just hope there's nothing wrong with these two."

Meanwhile, in an inn where Mago and Kinjo were dining, both sneezed simultaneously.

The 66th batch of trainees, including myself, started by learning to stand at attention.

We held the posture for six hours straight. By the time it was over, the sun was at its peak, bearing down relentlessly.

The sunlight was so intense it felt more like an assault than mere heat.

In the north, the weather wouldn't be this harsh, I thought for a moment, losing focus.

I quickly adjusted my stance and my thoughts, firming my resolve.

The sweat-soaked collar of my navy uniform stuck awkwardly to my skin.

Wearing this uniform made it all feel real.

I had truly re-enlisted.

What madness.

In the shade, the chief instructor turned a page of his book and eventually closed it.

With his short-cropped black hair and chiseled face, he looked just as I remembered.

I never thought I'd see him again.

Uncrossing his legs, he rose slightly from his chair.

It seemed like he was about to grant us a break.

Sensing the moment, one trainee flinched prematurely.

The instructor sat back down and reopened his book.

"One more hour," he declared.

No sooner had the words left his mouth than one of the trainees, still stiffly standing at attention, collapsed to the ground.

The waiting instructors carried him out of the line.

Six down.

We had started as 150 in the 66th batch of Imperial Army Training Center No. 1.

And now, six had dropped out.

Correction—seven. Another fell moments later.

"Idiots," the instructor muttered under his breath.

An hour passed like that.

Seven hours in total.

The instructor finally closed his book and picked up a wooden staff from the ground.

Scanning the trainees, he slung the staff over his shoulder and spoke.

"What's your name?"

The question was directed at a red-haired woman whose unkempt bangs stood out.

"Vel Red!" she answered sharply.

Her name suited her striking crimson hair.

Seeing her brought a wave of emotion within me.

The same rush I'd felt upon reuniting with Kinjo.

This time, it was excitement—hope that I could save her.

"What do you have to offer?"

"Huh? I, uh…"

Vel hesitated, unable to answer immediately.

The result was predictable—she was ordered to lie face down on the ground.

Next.

The instructor gestured with his chin to the next trainee.

Failing to understand the signal, he too ended up on the ground.

Next.

This time, the trainee shouted his name without hesitation.

"Amon Coster!"

"What do you have to offer?"

"The honor of my family!"

"Good. Hold on to it," the instructor replied dismissively, moving on.

Speaking from experience, this was utterly meaningless.

What we were doing now?

Absolutely.

Utterly.

Pointless.

It was nothing more than a show of spirit—just marching around, putting names to faces.

Asking "what do you have?" was only meant to give the illusion of importance.

I still regretted how tense I'd been before, thinking I needed to answer perfectly.

My peers, unaware of the futility, were giving it their all, just like I had in the past.

Next up.

The recruit next to Amon Koster swiftly responded, "Kinjo Shua!"

"Too quiet!"

"Kinjo!" A pause. "Shua!"

"What do you have?"

"I can use magic!"

Heads turned.

A magician in our cohort?

Rare enough to make everyone stiffen in unease.

The second row was next. A few names passed, and then—

"Mago."

"No family name?"

"No."

"Orphan? Or maybe a slave?"

Both were true.

"…No, sir." That's what I used to say. This time, I was different.

"Yes, sir."

They didn't expect me to admit it outright. The instructor, flustered, quickly moved on.

"What do you have?"

I took a deep breath and replied in one go.

"I have the skills to enter the Special Forces as the top recruit."

The attention shifted immediately from Kinjo to me.

The Special Forces accepted only the top ten recruits. I just needed to make it into that group. But settling for "just making it" wasn't in my plans.

***

6:30 a.m.

Here, they called it "0600 and 30 minutes."

The reveille blared—a sound so grating it twisted my expression. At times, it felt more like noise than a signal.

"Wake up!"

The senior instructor's voice cut through the walls of the four-person rooms.

"Get up!"

It was the second day of training.

Groggy peers opened their eyes, but only barely.

Adjusting to the abrupt schedule change had left many dazed, and those who hadn't slept well stumbled and groaned.

The door slammed open as the instructor stormed in.

"Etch the wake-up time into your body!"

Those still lying down were struck with his stick, ensuring their bodies learned the lesson firsthand.

Even the top bunks weren't safe.

Kinjo jolted awake, wincing in pain.

"At this pace, do you think you can even kill a single goblin?"

The instructor scanned the room for his next target and locked eyes with me.

I was sitting straight, my blanket neatly folded.

Wake-up time?

I'd been rising naturally five minutes early for years.

For a moment, I thought I'd scored points with him.

"Oh, Mago…"

But no.

He glared at me like he wanted me dead.

"If you're up early, shouldn't you wake your comrades?"

I didn't escape the stick either.

Mornings were tough.

Evenings were worse.

By the second night, the guard duty schedule began.

Kinjo and I were paired together, much to my fortune.

"Mago, are you even human?"

"What?"

"Don't you get sleepy?"

"Not really. At this hour, I find it harder to sleep."

"Lucky you," he yawned.

"Kinjo."

"Yeah?"

"Got any fun stories?"

The First Imperial Training Camp's initial week was a grind of motionless endurance.

Standing at attention.

Holding a squat.

Lying flat on the ground.

Of the 150 who began in the 66th cohort, only 100 remained.

During dinner, I quickly shoveled a spoonful of food and sat with my peers at a table.

As usual, Kinjo was right beside me.

"Kinjo Shua, is it?"

The speaker was a man with light blond hair and blue eyes similar to Kinjo's.

"Yeah. And you're… Amon, Amon Coster, right?"

"Correct. Kinjo, where are you from? You seem like a noble."

"I was from the heart of the capital. But when my father was granted a fief, we moved up north. After that, I went abroad to study."

"Oh, I lived north of the capital too! We might've been neighbors."

"I already knew about you, Amon. We definitely lived nearby."

"Really? Sorry, I didn't notice. I was too busy training to pay attention to anything else. Never even heard of the Shua family."

Amon let slip a comment laced with unintentional arrogance.

"That's fine. I'd heard of the Costers—a prestigious family of monster hunters. But these days, they've gone quiet, not even participating in wars. If they're not going to join battles, I wonder why you've spent all that time training."

Kinjo countered with even sharper sarcasm.

The tension between them was palpable.

I just chewed on my bread and watched.

Amon Coster.

Second son of the Coster family, one of the empire's three great noble houses.

In my previous life, he graduated from the training camp as the top recruit.

A talent I needed to protect, even at the cost of my life.

"Well, here I am now," Amon said, puffing his chest with pride.

Kinjo's mockery didn't faze him in the slightest.

The duller one had won.

"Why's he just eating?"

Amon pointed at me with his chin.

"Oh, Mago… uh…" Kinjo fumbled for a response.

"I'm just a food enthusiast," I interrupted, cutting him off.

Kinjo, seemingly uninterested in arguing, lazily nodded.

Before the words even settled, the dining hall doors burst open.

"Emergency! Everyone assemble in the drill yard immediately!"

It was the head instructor, as expected.

Even knowing it was a false alarm—a surprise test to evaluate the recruits' reflexes—I bolted outside.

My fellow recruits stumbled after me, scrambling to obey.

"Whether you're eating, in the restroom, or asleep, when an emergency is called, you move immediately! If this were real, Mago would be the only survivor. The rest of you would be dead. Got it?"

The slower you were, the harsher the punishment.

No matter how skilled my peers were, they were still teenagers—clumsy and inexperienced.

In contrast, I had lived longer.

I'd been through all of this before. Nothing fazed me.

And so, naturally,

"This is too easy."

Knowledge was power.

***

Red hair.

Red eyes.

Vel Red gripped the longsword lying on the ground and charged straight at an orc.

The orc was twice her size, but she relentlessly stabbed at it.

Vel's eyes were wild with fury.

The orc's body exploded in several places—not sliced, but ruptured.

Instead of dark blood, yellow sand spilled out.

Realizing the situation, Vel froze in place.

"That's a dummy, Bell Red," the head instructor said, motioning for her to return the sword.

Another instructor swapped the damaged dummy with a fresh one.

"S-sorry!"

Bell bowed deeply, handing over the sword with both hands.

Her hair, eyes, and even her cheeks were bright red.

"Mago, Vel seems a lot like us," Kinjo muttered.

"I know."

"You do?"

"She's blinded by vengeance."

"There was some commotion, but ultimately, Vel Red set the example," the instructor said, gesturing at Vel, who was now doing push-ups as punishment.

"Strike the orc dummies with your weapons. But don't tear them apart again; use the flat side, not the edge. Let's see how awful your skills are."

The instructor tossed weapons onto the ground—swords, spears, and bows with arrows.

All sharp and deadly.

Guns weren't an option yet, as firearms hadn't become widespread.