CHAPTER 120: SHIELDS IN THE SNOW

All the hopeful recruits stood with shields in hand before the gates of Ironhold. On the battlements above, a line of archers waited, their arrows tipped not with iron but with padded heads smeared in blue paint.

Lucen told them to run around the entirety of Ironhold, which was quite the task by itself.

It took half a day to walk from the southern gates to the northern ramparts, and in between lay streets crammed with smithies, barracks, and taverns that never slept. To run around the entirety of Ironhold might take an entire day. Exhaustion alone would be enough to break most of them.

But endurance wasn’t the only test. The archers had instructions to loose whenever they saw an opening. Anyone marked with blue paint would be considered eliminated. The arrows would not kill, but they would bruise, rattle, and shame. On the battlefield, that was all it took to fall.

The recruits were told they would start running at the sound of thunder. That was when murmurs rippled through the crowd.

"Thunder, right now?" someone whispered.

"Are they summoning a storm?" Another muttered. "That would take a fifth-circle mage at least..."

A few exchanged nervous glances, but others, the ones who had heard the rumors, tightened their grips on their shields. They knew the thunder would not come from the sky. It would come from Lucen’s weapon.

Waiting in the cold, the tension was unbearable. One young man breathed through clenched teeth, muttering a hymn under his breath.

Another boy in bright armor shifted on his feet, biting his lip until a bead of red shone against the cold.

Beside him, an older mercenary rolled his shoulders once, calm as if he’d done this drill a hundred times before. A mage muttered a spell under his breath, tracing patterns on the rim of his shield.

Erwin’s shield shook in his grip, his hammer hand unused to its weight. The time to test his resolve had come, and he was not going to let this chance slip.

Even the healers were praying to their respective deities for divine protection. Of course, depending on the deity, the divine protection granted to the clerics were different.

An example of this were the battle priests under Varkun, the God of War and Honor, who were pretty much similar to knights, but instead of aura, they used divine blessings to enhance their strength.

On the other hand, Mystic Clerics under Naerith, the Goddess of the land and forests. They are like normal clerics that heal and cure, but they also have great support, divine blessings that allow them to move through snow, mud, or anything that touches the ground like it were normal land. Depending on the strength of the blessing, they could even walk on lava or the ocean like they were walking on land.

As the recruits were done with their preparations, they were now simply waiting for the signal.

The cold gnawed at them. Breath misted in the air, rising in thin plumes that drifted like smoke over the crowd. Boots shifted against the frozen ground, the crunch of ice and snow loud in the waiting silence.

Leather straps creaked as men and women adjusted their shields, the faint sound as sharp as breaking twigs. Somewhere, a buckle snapped into place with a click that drew more eyes than it should have.

On the battlements, archers raised their bows in unison. The blue-painted arrowheads caught the pale light, dull and cold as if dipped in frost. The recruits stared at them, seeing not paint but judgment.

It was at that moment that they heard the sound of thunder. Some of the recruits were surprised by the sound, and they were momentarily stunned. There were, of course, many who, upon hearing the sound, started running.

The stunned were punished instantly. A blue-painted arrow smacked against a recruit’s shoulder, staining his cloak as he stumbled back with a curse. Another shaft struck a shieldless youth across the thigh, dropping him with a howl. The crowd surged, and in that flood, the weak were swallowed.

One of the stunned snapped awake just in time to see the man before him marked. His own shield jerked up on instinct, paint splattering across its surface as another arrow slammed against it. He didn’t wait for more. He ran, teeth gritted, legs burning already.

Above them, the archers loosed again. The trial had begun.

***

Lucen watched from the battlements to see how well the recruits were doing. Upon firing his gun, chaos ensued. Many were unable to even take a step forward before they were eliminated.

’Well, if they’re that stunned by the sound of a gun, they wouldn’t last long in Thornefang, since they need to use the arquebuses.’

Lucen stared at those who were unlucky enough to be eliminated from the very start. Many of those eliminated were the young ones with the least experience.

He then looked at the ones in the lead. There was one that looked like a mercenary veteran. He had a scar down his jaw, movements disciplined. His shield angled just right to catch the arrows, his pace steady. He edged away from the walls, trading distance for survival. It was obvious this person was smart and experienced.

The one behind the mercenary veteran was an unusual person. It was a young man with hair matted, eyes feral. He ran on all fours like a beast, his shield forgotten in the snow behind him. Arrows whistled past as he twisted and darted with uncanny instincts. Reckless... But effective.

The one who came behind was a young lady who seemed to be trying her best to catch up to the two in front of her.

Her body pitched forward as she ran, her great round shield tilted beside her like a moving wall. Only her legs were exposed, kicking through snow with determined strides. Clumsy posture, but clever use of cover.

Lucen then shifted his attention to the last among the front-runners. It was a man with messy black hair. He was actually yawning as he jogged forward.

Despite not being the first place, Lucen became very interested in this person. The way he was jogging through the snow made it look easy.

There was also the fact that he was not raising his shield at all times. Only when an arrow was truly going to hit him did he lift it up. He didn’t even glance at the direction of the arrows, but it seems like he could sense them in a different way.

’That guy has the aura of those lazy protagonists. But I’m sure I haven’t seen him in the game. It’s another character like Milos who has a protagonist look and feel, but isn’t. Now this is interesting.’

Lucen observed how effortlessly the man was at blocking the arrows while lightly jogging. The sleepy look he had made it seem like he didn’t even want to be here.

’I wonder what his reason is for wanting to join Thornefang... Was he forced, or did he really want to join? Well, these types of characters, if they’re not forced, usually only do things like this so that they can maximize their laziness. I guess he came here since he thinks the benefits he would gain are worth the effort.’

Lucen then looked at the middle of the pack and saw that something was happening. There were quite a few people who were purposely trying to get the others hit by the arrows. Lucen sighed as he took a mental note of each individual who did such a thing.

Well, since he couldn’t see every angle of the run, he had other members of Thornefang monitoring the situation. He would ask them later about it.

’I guess I never did say they couldn’t make others lose. Still, to do something like this to people who might become your teammates isn’t going to work out. On the battlefield, trust is a must.’

***

The first stretch of the trial was cruel enough. But as the recruits rounded the eastern curve of Ironhold’s walls, they realized Lucen’s intent ran deeper.

Arrows no longer came only from the battlements above. New volleys hissed down from wooden scaffolds that jutted over the outer road, where Thornefang archers crouched like hawks. From arrow slits in the gatehouses and the narrow murder holes above the fortified archways, more shafts poured down in surprise angles.

The recruits quickly learned there was no safe side. Ironhold was a fortress designed to kill anyone approaching, and Lucen had turned that merciless design against them.

One young aspirant tried hugging the wall, pressing his shield tight against the stone. A sharp cry followed as an arrow lanced down from a slit above, smearing blue paint across his cheek. He stumbled back, out of the trial.

Others made the opposite mistake, straying too far into the open road. Arrows loosed in sweeping arcs that peppered the snow around their boots. Those who lacked balance went down hard, trampled by the flood of bodies rushing past.

As for the four at the front, despite the increase in difficulty, their pace remained the same as they continued onward. It was obvious that these four were a cut above the rest.

It was at this moment that something incredible happened. A few of the recruits started grouping up and forming a shield wall. They protected each other’s backs. Seeing this scene, even Lucen was quite surprised.

’I was not expecting them to do that... But I guess if somebody asks later, I’ll tell them that’s what I wanted to teach in the first trial.’

Lucen nodded his head in approval. Lucen made a mental note of the ones who talked to the others to create the shield wall.

The archers above noticed too, and without waiting for orders, they tested the wall. A flurry of blue-tipped arrows rained down, striking against the interlocked shields with dull, echoing thuds.

The formation shuddered, knees buckling, but it held. Behind the barrier, a few gasped with relief, while others shouted encouragement. For the first time, the recruits weren’t merely prey scattering in panic. They were fighting back, if only by refusing to break.