Garion raised his hand and pointed sharply.
"You. Front."
The boy he pointed at flinched like he'd been stabbed by lightning, then shuffled forward with stiff legs.
The entire hall held its breath.
Garion pointed again.
"You. And you. Next."
He went through them one by one slowly, calmly, and absolutely unreadably.
Every time his finger moved, the recruits swallowed hard.
Some whispered prayers to ancestors they didn't even like.
None of them knew why they were chosen.
By the time he hit 300, the whispers grew louder.
"Is he choosing randomly…?"
"No, maybe it's destiny?"
"Shut up, idiot, destiny doesn't make sense!"
"Then why didn't he pick the guy who was flexing earlier?!"
"That's exactly why. He flexed too hard."
By 450, a few smart ones finally noticed something.
"…Why was the number of people chosen exactly 450?"
"No way… Is this intentional?"
Garion smirked, pretending he didn't hear any of it.
He stepped back and clapped once.
