The third conscription drive in Sedona City was in full swing, a whirlwind of anticipation and ambition. By the registration deadline, over a thousand eager souls had signed up—a thirty percent increase from the second recruitment. The air buzzed with nervous energy, the city's open fields alive with the chatter and footsteps of hopeful recruits.
Lucas, the city lord, had designed the conscription process with precision, a three-stage gauntlet to sift the worthy from the chaff. The first test was an interview, a deceptively simple hurdle. It assessed physical fitness, ensured candidates were of suitable age, and probed their moral fiber with cunning questions—mental traps meant to reveal character. Passing two of the three questions was enough to advance, but it weeded out those unfit for the rigors of service.
Now, the second test loomed: a grueling physical endurance challenge. This stage was brutal, designed to eliminate roughly seven hundred of the thousand-plus candidates, leaving only three hundred—the cream of the crop destined to become infantry recruits. Among them, the top one hundred would train as elite heavy infantry after rigorous preparation. The remaining two hundred would join the ranks of light infantry. The third test, conducted during training, would further refine the group. Those who faltered would be relegated to logistics, hauling supplies during campaigns.
Outside Sedona City, the training grounds stretched wide under a gray winter sky, the frost-crisp grass crunching underfoot. Over a thousand selected candidates gathered, their breath visible in the chilly air, awaiting the second test. Gone were the days of selecting special forces-style recruits; such methods yielded too few, too elite. An obstacle course might not even produce a hundred viable soldiers. Lucas's vision was broader now—a disciplined, scalable army for a growing city.
As Sedona City expanded, so would its recruitment standards, becoming ever more stringent. The army was Lucas's cornerstone, his iron grip on power. With military might, he could quell any unrest, ensuring the city's stability. Nothing mattered more than control over his forces.
Lucas stood on a rise overlooking the training field, flanked by Mina, Annie, and Freya. Their presence drew eyes, the city lord's entourage a mix of authority and allure. Mina's cat tail flicked restlessly, occasionally brushing Freya's hip, while Annie's curious gaze scanned the crowd. Below, Aiden, the deputy director of military affairs, addressed the recruits, his voice booming like a war drum.
"Attention, candidates!" Aiden's stern face surveyed the sea of faces, his tone unyielding. "I'm Aiden, deputy director of military affairs. Congratulations on passing the first test. Now comes the second—a physical trial. Only those who conquer it will become true recruits. The rest will be sent home."
A murmur of shock rippled through the crowd. The recruits, moments ago beaming with pride, froze, their smiles fading. "A second test?" Whispered one, his voice tinged with disbelief.
"Didn't expect that, did you?" Aiden's sharp eyes swept over them, daring anyone to meet his gaze. Most looked away, cowed by his intensity. "Let me be clear: only three hundred of you will advance. Over seven hundred will be cut."
The words hit like a thunderclap, tension crackling through the crowd. Recruits glanced warily at one another, sizing up the competition. Three hundred slots meant fierce rivalry, and the stakes were life-changing—a chance to serve, to eat well, to rise in status.
"The army has no place for the weak, the lazy, or leeches looking for free meals," Aiden bellowed, his voice growing louder, pressing down on the recruits like a physical weight. "The city lord values this conscription above all else. Prove yourselves worthy!"
As one, the recruits turned to glimpse Lucas in the distance, his calm figure radiating authority. The weight of his scrutiny intensified their nerves, each silently praying to pass the test and don the title of soldier.
Aiden's hand rested on the sword at his waist, a subtle threat. "Today's test is running. No tricks, no cheating. Violators will face punishment—severe cases will be executed."
The recruits shrank back, their necks tightening at the mention of death. The fear of losing not just their chance but their lives sharpened their focus.
"Prepare the course," Aiden ordered, nodding to James, his second-in-command. James barked commands, and veteran soldiers fanned out to set up checkpoints and monitor the recruits. A lead runner was positioned to set the pace, ensuring no one slacked.
"Now, ready…" Aiden raised his hand high, then slashed it downward. "Run!"
Thud, thud, thud…
Over a thousand recruits surged forward, a chaotic mass of pounding feet and heaving breaths. They jostled for position, desperate to stay near the front, following the veteran's steady pace around the circular training field. Dust rose in clouds, mingling with the sharp scent of sweat and determination.
"Master, how long do they have to run?" Annie asked, tilting her head curiously, her fox ears twitching. "I thought recruitment tested swordsmanship or special skills."
"Until they can't run anymore," Lucas replied coolly, his dark eyes fixed on the runners. "The first three hundred to hold out are selected."
Mina's cat tail swished, playfully swatting Freya's hip. "Can't we take more, Master?" She asked, her voice laced with curiosity.
"Not yet," Lucas said, shaking his head. "We'll expand next spring when resources allow." His gaze was steady, calculating. Seven hundred soldiers already strained Sedona City's coffers, especially with the additional guards for the research division. Only when the city's economy grew could he afford a larger force. For now, seven hundred was enough to challenge even the mightiest nobles.
Lucas watched as the first stragglers fell behind, their strides faltering into trudging steps. Veterans swiftly escorted them off the field, marking them as the first of the "honorably eliminated." After twenty minutes, over two hundred had been cut, their dreams of soldiering dashed. Lucas raised an eyebrow, impressed. Only two hundred? The commoners' stamina has improved. Better harvests must be paying off.
By thirty minutes, another hundred dropped out, gasping and defeated. At forty minutes, five hundred remained, their faces etched with strain. By fifty minutes, only three hundred staggered on, their "running" more a determined shuffle, legs trembling but spirits unbroken.
"Stop!" Aiden's voice rang out. "You've endured. You're selected!"
"Yes!" A recruit shouted, fists pumping in triumph. "I made it!"
"So exhausting," Another gasped, collapsing to the ground, a weary smile breaking through their fatigue. "But we're the strong ones."
Aiden turned to the dejected crowd of eliminated recruits. "Go home," He barked. "Live better, train harder. Don't come here thinking you can coast. Today's run was just a taste of military life."
"Yes, sir," The defeated muttered, trudging back toward the city, heads bowed.
To the victors, Aiden roared, "You lot, form ranks! Move to the barracks and collect your supplies. Now!"
"Get up, move faster!" A veteran snapped, yanking a dawdling recruit to his feet. "Sandy, and you'll run extra laps!"
The new recruits scrambled into formation, the veterans' sharp commands instilling the first taste of military discipline. The air crackled with the promise of transformation—these raw recruits would soon be molded into soldiers.
"Let's go," Lucas said, turning toward his carriage. "The research division says Poison Fang's developed a new anesthetic." The news had reached him earlier, a breakthrough worth inspecting.
"Yes, Master," Mina, Annie, and Freya replied in unison, falling into step behind him, their silhouettes striking against the fading light.
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