TCOB: CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Training Montage

Neverna,

Ashcol Duchy,

Eris - Ethania.

…

Nine weeks later…

It was common knowledge that the world was at its darkest just a few hours before dawn. Sombre shadows stalked a mostly empty field. The golden hue of the rising sun stained the horizon crimson as dark, gloomy clouds drifted lazily in the gentle late summer breeze, carefree and unrestrained.

It was a quiet morning in the town of Neverna. The willowy tune of the travelling winds meandered across the town, ushering in the soothing awakening of dawn.

In an open field, a figure—muscular and bare-chested with faint scars crisscrossing his back—laid prone on a patch of open soil amongst the dry grass as he rhythmically cycled through push-ups. Clyde's gaze held no emotion—stoic—as he performed his daily morning routine.

In the distance, two men stood watching him silently. Common guards, given the poor quality of their leather armour. Whispering to himself, Clyde ignored the individuals who stood observant in the highly unlikely scenario he might attempt to escape.

"two hundred and forty-seven," Clyde gasped slightly with each cycle. "two hundred and forty-eight, two hundred and forty-nine, two hundred and fifty!"

With a relieved sigh, he collapsed onto the floor, sand and bits of dried grass sticking to his sweaty skin. With another heave, he pushed himself to his feet before walking back into the portion of the field that had long been converted into a rudimentary barracks.

The possibly once grassy floor of the barracks' compound had been stamped bare over years of use. From what Clyde heard, the location had stood since the inception of Neverna itself to train yeomen(cannon fodder) who would later be sent alongside the better-skilled squires and knights on dungeon-delving expeditions.

As such endeavours were usually lengthy affairs that tend to last weeks―involving the securing, exploitation and magical rehabilitation of underground caverns filled with man-eating creatures―there is a constant demand for the required manpower, hence the creation of the barracks and its other training facilities.

Lines of linen tents dotted the wood-fenced compound. Clyde looked around to see a few of his fellow yeomen already awake and up to one thing or the other. Shaking his head as his gaze met more than one despairing stare, Clyde walked away towards his tent. A gloomy aura hung in the camp as rumours had been going around since a week ago that their first expedition would commence sometime during the next few days.

Pathetic, Clyde mumbled as he arrived at his tent. He was disappointed to see these men had already consigned themselves to a self-imposed fate without even first seeing what laid ahead.

He glanced inside to see his three 'roommates' still lying on their woollen bedrolls. One seemed to still be asleep, while the other two were clearly awake. The older of the two, a man seemingly in his late thirties, stared at the ceiling with a blank look and dark circles under his eyes―just as Clyde had awoken to see him an hour earlier. The other one―possibly to be in his late teens with a head of curly brown locks―curled up on his side where he sobbed mutedly.

Clyde didn't say a word to either one of the two. Without giving them another glance, he pulled out a wooden pail filled with water from the side of the tent before leaving. Returning outside the barracks, he glanced around to see no one in the fields yet with a small sigh he walked off to a suitable place where he fully undressed and began to wash his body clean of dirt.

It wasn't like he had no intentions of escaping. It was just that the risks were simply too high. Sir Justin wasn't jesting when he mentioned a few men would be flayed alive for attempting desertion. A few did try, but none succeeded. If Clyde listened hard enough, he probably would still be able to hear their screams from that day.

He wasn't a fool, nor was he suicidal. There was no way he would believe he could escape from a containment as old as the town itself that had been built almost specifically to hold individuals such as himself. There was also the issue regarding that weird status with the system.

Something about receiving bad karma?

Clyde wasn't certain, but it seemed like the system was deliberately targeting him. He asked around―at least from those who wouldn't immediately shoo him off for 'fraternising with demons'―only to discover his condition was quite special. At the very least, it appeared no one else had been stupid enough to curse an entity who had mind-reading abilities AND the power to decide their fate.

With another sigh, Clyde washed himself clean before returning to his tent. There he saw a squire walking around the tents while ringing a gong. He quickly dropped the empty pail before joining other members of his platoon to run laps in the field outside.

"Move maggots! Move!" Sir Justin yelled as he walked up to stand by the side. His stern gaze counted as all twenty-nine remaining members from Longboat village joined the exercise.

One of the villagers had been stupid enough to try fleeing during the second week.

He didn't make it past this very field before an errant arrow crippled his right leg. The man was flayed alive the next morning before the entire barracks.

"I said move it, dammit!" Sir Justin shouted to one fellow who groggily lagged behind. Clyde was starting to understand why the mortality rate for yeomen dungeon delvers was so high.

Forty laps later, without even being given a chance to rest, squires thrust wooden swords into the hands of every man gathered before they were paired up by Sir Justin. Standing in front of Clyde was a larger-sized man with a cruel scar across his nose bridge.

"Start!"

CLANK!

Immediately upon hearing Sir Justin's shout both men struck, their weapons colliding with a heavy clatter. The larger fellow attempted to forcibly parry Clyde's weapon, but Clyde just slid smoothly out of the engagement before reinvesting with another cleave.

Clyde's attack was blocked and his opponent reattempted another parry, this time succeeding in leaving Clyde's torso open to the stab that came immediately afterwards. Clyde responded by leaning back, downwards, as he narrowly avoided the attack.

With a bit of footwork, he immediately regained his balance, but the larger man was still pushing the assault. Another cleave descended towards Clyde's head and once more, he narrowly pranced out of the weapon's range. A glint shone in Clyde's eye as he faked out missing his steps, luring his opponent to attempt a follow-up, only to overextend and lean off balance.

Seeing his chance, Clyde abruptly crouched before pouncing, ramming into his opponent's torso shoulder first. Taking a sharp intake of air in response to the sudden pain in his ribcage, the larger man stumbled backwards, only to look up and see Clyde cleaving his weapon in a wide, sideways arc towards his head.

THUNK!

The former inspector was ruthless. As he glanced down, he saw the side of his opponent's face swelling and turning purple where his sword struck. His opponent didn't move much, barely twitching, but Clyde wasn't too surprised. He fully expected that strike to knock the man unconscious.

Looking away from his opponent, he glanced towards Sir Justin, who silently observed his fight from a distance. An approving glint shone in the knight's gaze as he gestured with his chin towards another individual who also happened to have ended his fight.

Clyde turned to look at his new opponent, but the fellow didn't seem to be looking at him but at the unconscious man at Clyde's foot. A second later, the fellow looked up to meet Clyde's gaze, gulping. He took a few subconscious steps back in fear before steadying his steps.

"He is just a man, no need to be scared," the fellow seemed to recite to himself. He repeated these words like a mantra. Over and over again…

A minute later, Clyde moved on to meet his next opponent, leaving another unconscious man in his wake.