Chapter 14 – Special Training (a.k.a. Accelerated Death)

There are many places a man can find tranquility. 

 A calm grassland. 

 A heated bath. 

 A bed with twenty blankets and no responsibilities. 

 You know what's not peaceful? 

 A training field at 6:00 a.m., supervised by a literal combat hero and populated by two of the most scary students in the Academy. 

 "I hate everything," I murmured as I stumbled onto the field. 

 Rael Astoria stood like a poster boy for divine grace and deadly efficiency, already stretching with the effortless elegance of a man whose abs were presumably personally blessed by the gods. 

 Elara Vaelmont was levitating little fireballs around her like orbiting moons. Just casually. Like a walking war crime. 

 And then there was me—still in my hastily thrown-on outfit, hair resembling a botched lightning experiment, gripping my training blade like it owed me rent. 

 Commander Velhart greeted us with the kind of passion generally reserved for doomsday cult leaders. 

 "Congratulations," he remarked gruffly. "You three have been selected for Advanced Combat Group Theta." 

 I raised my hand. "What happened to Groups Alpha through Eta?" 

 He ignored me, naturally. 

 "This group will face live scenario simulations at increasing difficulty levels. You are here because you exhibited potential over your peers. Or in Roy's case, weird effectiveness." 

 I coughed. "I tripped artistically." 

 "Indeed," Velhart answered. "Today's scenario: village defense." 

 He snapped his fingers. 

 Suddenly, the scene around us shimmered—and altered. 

 Stone houses sprouted from the mud. Holographic villagers came into reality, screaming in high-resolution panic. A war horn blared from somewhere nearby. 

 "Oh, great," I mumbled. "A full VR hellscape. Because reality wasn't hard enough." 

 "Enemies will attack in waves," Velhart explained. "You must protect the village core. Fail, and you'll be hauled out after simulated death. Begin." 

 The ground trembled. 

 In the distance, grotesque figures—bandits? Orcs? Tax collectors?—rushed toward us, yelling. 

 "Positions!" Rael demanded, sword drawn. 

 Elara rocketed into the air on a flash of flame. 

 I stood transfixed for exactly one second too long. 

 Then Rael tossed me a sparkling blue stone. "Barrier anchor! Place it by the gate!" 

 "Uh—yes! Totally knew that!" 

 I ran for the gate, tripping over a fake chicken and nearly died from shame before pounding the stone into the earth. 

 A dazzling dome stretched outward. 

 "Anchor set!" I yelled, just in time for a bandit illusion to scream in my face. 

 I panicked and swung my sword. 

 It connected, somehow. 

 "Down!" Rael called. "Behind you!" 

 I spun. 

 Another attacker. 

 I moved on impulse. 

 Time… slowed. 

 No. I made time slow. 

 I ducked, swung, halted time just long enough to readjust and deliver a fully unearned headshot, then released the effect mid-blow for dramatic effect. 

 It was clean. Too clean. 

 Rael's head shifted toward me. 

 I trembled and cried, "I've been watching squirrels fight! Incredible reaction time! Nature is the best teacher!" 

 Rael blinked. "You… study squirrel combat?" 

 "Daily." 

 Elara blasted a dozen illusions out of the sky and landed near us. "Roy. Do you want to trade sides with me? You seem like you're spiraling." 

 "I'm fine," I wheezed. "Just violently allergic to pressure and expectations." 

 The next wave hit harder. Commander Velhart's illusion machine evidently felt "Bandits with knives" wasn't enough, so now there were magical artillery troops and at least one sky-dragon made of shrieking lightning. 

 "How is this an Academy-level simulation?" I yelled, flailing madly behind a false cart. 

 Rael was a blur of action, taking down adversaries with the level of accuracy often found in final bosses. 

 Elara was mid-air again, spewing meteors like a joyous apocalypse. 

 And me? 

 I rolled into a haystack, time-skipped two seconds, and resurfaced behind an enemy commander, whacking him with a barrel. 

 "Roy!" Rael called. "Good positioning!" 

 "Thanks! Barrel-fu! Ancient art!" 

 Somehow… somehow we won. 

 The final illusion ripped apart, leaving only smoke and scattered pixels. 

 I slumped into the ground, breathing. 

 Velhart approached, arms folded. "Acceptable performance. Astoria, Vaelmont—expected results. Roy… complicated, but efficient. You'll continue." 

 Continue? 

 I whimpered. 

 Rael assisted me to my feet, grinning. "You really are full of surprises." 

 "I contain multitudes," I croaked. "Mostly anxiety." 

 Elara smirked. "You're either secretly powerful or cosmically blessed with dumb luck." 

 I didn't reply. 

 Because both were true. 

 And neither was safe to confess. 

 Back in the dorm, Carvis listened to my account with wide eyes. 

 "Dude. You're training with the ace squad now?" 

 "Against my will." 

 "Can I have your blanket when you die?" 

 "No." 

 I flopped into the bed. 

 So much for remaining low profile. 

 Now I was in the top program, being commended for "unpredictable" motions and "unusual" tactics. 

 Rael was observing me like I was some type of unsolved puzzle box. 

 And Elara was definitely composing a mental report titled Strange Behaviors of Stick-Wielding Roy. 

 My only plan now? 

 Pray no one caught me using time-stop again. 

 And maybe… start training for real. 

 Because if I couldn't get less suspicious, maybe I could at least get good enough to endure the suspicion. 

 And also not die by barrel next time. 

 Maybe.