I crashed to the ground, dust clouding around me, pain blooming through my limbs. Disoriented, I looked up to see a circle of adults in sleek, high-grade combat suits, their faces hard and unreadable. I was the only one not in uniform, not standing tall. The only one on the floor.
"So here comes the newbie," someone muttered with a dry chuckle.
"Yeah," another voice chimed in. "And he looks really young. Hey kid, how old are you?"
I pushed myself up slowly, still winded. "I… I don't know my current age," I said honestly. "But I was fourteen when I first entered this hell."
A few raised their brows, murmurs spreading like fire.
"Fourteen?"
"Then he must be fifteen now."
"Damn. That makes him the youngest ever."
"The previous record was seventeen."
So… a year had passed. Without me even realizing.
"You're right," one of them confirmed, nodding. "He's the youngest newbie on record. That's something."
They all turned quiet as a heavy presence entered the room. A tall man, his gaze like steel, walked in with two others flanking him. Instantly, the room snapped to attention. The air thickened with tension.
"I heard there's a new recruit," the man said, his voice calm but commanding.
I stepped forward. "That's me, sir."
His eyes locked onto mine. Just a glance, and a chill ran down my spine.
"You look young," he said. "But that means nothing here. You won't get special treatment. You'll work as hard as everyone else. If you slack off, if you fail your training, you'll be sent to the Servants' Village. That's where failures belong."
Despite the fear surging inside me, I straightened my posture and answered, "Yes, sir."
He gave a small nod, then turned to leave. "Get your basic training from the seniors," he added before walking out with his men.
One of the seniors approached, his tone more casual. "So, you ready?"
"For what?" I asked.
"For weapon training," he said. "We're not soldiers yet—just candidates. Only those who complete weapon training become full-fledged soldiers. So, what weapon do you choose?"
I thought for a moment. "Something like a sword."
"Then take a Steel Blade," he said, pointing to a rack of glowing weapons. "They're the most used and the most practical."
"Okay," I nodded. "I'll take that as my first weapon."
"Good. I'll train you in the basics."
---
And so it began.
For three long months, I trained under him—morning to night. The Steel Blade was elegant but deadly. It hummed with power, cutting through air with a high-pitched whir. The basics were brutal. Every form, every movement, every stance had to be perfect. Mistakes were met with punishment—not just physical, but mental.
It wasn't as torturous as what I'd endured before, but it was close. Every night, I collapsed into a dreamless sleep, only to rise and do it all over again.
After the initial training, I was on my own.
From then on, I had to fight everyone. Every trainee, every senior. Day after day, match after match. I sparred with each newcomer and dueled against the veterans.
The rule was simple.
Defeat 100 opponents, and you earn your place as a soldier.
I fought.
Lost.
Got back up.
Fought again.
Defeat came often, especially from the seniors. But I never backed down. I learned from each fall, adjusted every move, studied every style. I carved my way forward, one battle at a time.
And finally, I stood on the edge of victory. Ninety-nine opponents defeated. I was the youngest to come this far in a single year.
Only one stood between me and freedom.
The man who taught me everything.
He was the strongest in the room. Respected. Feared. Unbeaten.
Not once had he ever lost.
But tomorrow… tomorrow would be different.
Because tomorrow, I would fight him.
And tomorrow, I would win.