Noble Problems

The wind carried the scent of sweat and dust as the duo stepped onto the training field.

Cadets grouped together as they prepared to look presentable before the First Sergeant the next day, their platoon sergeants all present, watching and correcting their cadets when they made errors.

And then—there it was, at the very end of the field: the Graveyard Platoon.

The cadets sat on the grass under the shade of a training shed, looking deserted. At least they were spared the view the duo had seen inside their very able platoon sergeant's office.

"So what now, Sergeant?" Balair asked, smirking as he looked at their platoon, teasing Dustin for the work ahead of them.

Dustin looked at him, then at the group of half-interested cadets waiting under the shed.

"We lead," Dustin exhaled, resolving himself as he walked on to meet their platoon under the shade. They were both tired, but they knew their day was far from finished.

"Damn, that went hard," Balair chuckled, unable to contain himself, patting Dustin on the back. Dustin was a bit flustered at Balair's reaction but steeling his face as they reached their platoon.

"Everyone, eyes front!" Dustin called .

A few heads turned. Most didn't. One cadet even yawned.

On closer look, the already demoralized platoon seemed to be segregating itself—a group of seven nobles sat apart from the commoners. The problems plaguing the platoon just kept piling.

Balair's jaw tightened as he looked down at the still complacent cadets.

"Are you lot deaf or just dumb?"

That got more attention—though not the kind Dustin had been hoping for—as two from the group of older noble cadets stood, approaching with domineering strides trying to undermine their efforts.

"Who does this commoner think he is, speaking to us with that tone?" one of them asked, teeth clenched as he violated Balair's space, staring him down.

Balair was tall, yes, but only when compared to others his age. But the guy before him dwarfed him by a foot. Even so, Balair stood his ground, looking the aggressor right in the eyes as if asking for a fight.

"Mall," the second said mockingly, "I'd advise you keep the leash on this little toy of yours short, before something unfortunate happens to him you know." He had one hand in his pocket and attempted to place the other—his right hand—on Balair's head.

Slap!

The sound of Balair slapping his hand away resounded.

"What the fuck are this kid's hands made of?!" the noble cried, pulling his other hand from his pocket to rub the sore one.

"If you wouldn't like your face to meet the same date as his hands, I suggest you step back, Noble," Balair said, his voice thick with ferocity as He locked eyes with the noble in front of him, the air around him shifting from light to heavy in an instant—frightening the noble enough to make him stumble backward.

Dustin was surprised by this side of his friend. Even at the mess hall, he wasn't this intense.

"Now I'll repeat what our de facto platoon leader said," Balair said, walking around the two now-sulking fools to address the cadets behind them.

"Eyes. Fucking. Forward!" he screamed, drawing the attention of uninterested cadets and even nearby platoons, who looked over to see what the commotion was about. They soon returned to their routines after seeing it was just the Graveyard Platoon.

"Thank you, Cadet Balair," Dustin said as he stepped forward, continuing the momentum Balair had built.

"You two can return to your positions. Balair, stand next to me."

He waved the two nobles away. They walked back to their previous spots with disgraced shoulders.

Dustin cleared his throat.

"This is your only warning," he said, his voice firm.

"We don't care what your house is, where you're from, or who your parents are. You're Graveyard now. And Graveyard has work to do."

The cadets blinked at him. Some frowned. Others narrowed their eyes. But no one spoke.

The silence felt fragile—like glass waiting to shatter. The only thing holding it together was Balair's stabbing gaze, hovering over them like a hawk waiting for even a bit of rebellion, ready to pounce.

Dustin clearly had a way with words, and he was going to use that to his advantage.

"I'm sure we've all heard rumors about the Graveyard Platoon—the platoon that always racks up the highest casualties in every mission they take on. All those rumors are true. Our sergeant is just as useless as the rumors say he is infact even more."

A new, learned frustration crept onto his face as he remembered Sergeant Hansen.

"Now with all those rumors confirmed, do you still not want to work together—if only to survive your service?" Dustin asked, directing his gaze at the nobles, who in turn stared back with hostility.

A few nobles scoffed, crossing their arms. Not one of them answered Dustin's question.

Dustin shook his head and let the silence hang.

"Fine. Don't answer. Just know that out there—" he pointed toward the distant walls of the base, "—no one gives a damn about your pride. Not the enemy, not your title, not even your noble friends." He paused again as if he wanted his speech to settle properly in it's listeners ears.

"If you can't trust the people standing next to you—the ones you call lowly born—you're already dead."He added this time stopping to look at the reactions of the platoon.

Some nods came from the commoners, who looked at the nobles with visible disdain.

Balair stepped forward, seizing the little ray of progress that had just appeared.

"We're not asking you to hold hands and sing. Just fall in line. Train hard. Watch each other's backs. You want to survive? Start acting like soldiers. Because the person who's supposed to teach us all that is as useful as actual garbage."

Even with the lengthy speeches, the nobles didn't seem inclined to change.

But the commoners? They were standing with more resolve. They'd been convinced.

"Not perfect," Dustin muttered under his breath, "but it's a start."

Balair grinned.

"That's leadership, Sergeant."

Dustin didn't smile back. He didn't feel like he'd earned that title yet.

"Fuck the nobles. Let's just leave them for that other fucker Torren to handle when he gets back," Balair added, trying to ease the stress clearly weighing on Dustin's mind.

"Yeah… Let's just begin our training for tomorrow. Other platoons are basically done already," Dustin said, pointing to the now-emptying field they had taken too much time in the personnel building they had to catch up quickly.

"Alright then, let's begin!" Balair exclaimed, the intense aura around him calming as they made the decision to ignore the noble group and work with what they had.