We were all growing restless as the final week closed in. The written exam and the beast hunt were no longer rumors; they were a shadow hanging over camp. Still, the details remained maddeningly out of reach.
When word came for an evening assembly, everyone knew why. This would be the moment we finally got the answers, the moment the waiting ended.
The air itself seemed to carry that tension. Cookfires sent thin trails of smoke curling into the cooling dusk, the faint smell of damp leather drifting from drying gear. Beyond the outer wall, the sinking sun painted the clouds in streaks of molten gold and bruised crimson. Conversations were quieter than usual, broken only by the clink of mess tins and the shuffle of boots. We stood waiting, not for orders yet, but for the weight that always comes before them.
Sergeant Kestrel stood in front of us, arms folded, his silhouette framed by the firelight. His voice cut through the air with the sharpness of a drawn blade.
“As you all know, your final exam will be conducted on the last week of the sixth month.”
A ripple of quiet went through the gathered recruits. Even without his next words, everyone knew what was coming; this was the moment we’d been training toward.
“Those who are taking the written exam will have to do it tomorrow, during the break day. For the beast hunt, we leave Stonegate at first sunlight the day after. It will be a six-day expedition.”
The way he said it, steady, matter-of-fact, made the hunt sound less like an adventure and more like a responsibility we were being trusted not to botch.
“Your job is to follow my orders. We will be accompanied by a ten-man scout squad from the city watch to point out the wolf pack we’re hunting. Their orders are simple: observe, advise, and pull you out if things go to hell. You’re here to learn, not die.”
That last part got a few dry chuckles, but no one looked particularly reassured.“The pack is reported to be led by a high Tier 1 alpha with twelve mid-Tier 1 wolves. They’ve been spotted far too close to Stonegate’s northern grazing lands. In the last two weeks, the logistics division has reported several supply losses, mostly meat caravans. Normally, the city watch would deal with it. But with your training nearly finished, the Royal Army has decided this is an opportunity. You’ll learn to track, engage, and adapt to real-world battlefield conditions.
Once the wolves are dealt with, the expedition will continue for several more days. You’ll be split into smaller groups and sent after other Tier 1 beasts, deer for food supply drills, foxes for speed and tracking practice, and cat-like predators for close-quarters combat training. These will serve as both a test of your endurance after the initial battle and a lesson in how different prey moves, fights, and flees. Learn these habits well; near the frontier forts, most beasts you’ll face will be Tier 2 or higher, faster, stronger, and far more intelligent.”
The fire cracked, spitting sparks into the dark.
“Know this,” he jabbed a finger toward us, “I will not directly involve myself in the fight unless you’re seconds from being torn apart. This exercise is to show that, with proper formation and tactics, even unawakened recruits can kill a higher-tier opponent.”
A few heads tilted up at that; there was a strange thrill in hearing it stated so plainly.
“Until now, your rankings have been at the county level, not batch level. That was deliberate. We didn’t want you competing with each other before you understood the value of trust. Out there, on a battlefield, your comrades are your lifeline. Trusting them is more important than your skill, your weapon, or your class. But…”
He let the pause drag just long enough for it to sting.
“…after five months, if you still haven’t figured out where you stand in your batch, I’d advise you against joining the scouts, intelligence, or even logistics, because your brain capacity is lower than a mule’s.”
A few nervous laughs, a few grimaces. I wasn’t sure which category I belonged in.
“Tonight, I’ll post the batch rankings. The top four will serve as acting sergeants. Each will lead a group of ten recruits, and one group will have eleven. These acting sergeants will follow my orders but will be responsible for maintaining camp, dividing duties, and ensuring discipline. The rest of you will observe. Pay attention to how they make decisions. Think about what you would do differently. Many of you will never lead a squad, but even a little understanding of command can keep you alive. If you know the kind of choices a leader has to make, you can anticipate orders, support them faster, and adapt when things change.”
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That, at least, made sense. I’d seen it in training, when someone understood the reasoning behind an order, they moved quicker, argued less, and the whole unit flowed better. In battle, a moment’s hesitation could be the space where a blade or a beast’s teeth found you.
My own name sat at rank eighteen when the list went up. No surprise, I’d seen my county ranking every month. But I couldn’t help feeling a quiet pride that I wasn’t in the bottom half.
That night, though, the pride gave way to something heavier. Anxiety crept in the way cold air seeped through the seams of a tent.
Tomorrow was the written exam. The day after, that would be my first real taste of battle. I’d be facing creatures that wanted me dead, with no instructor stepping in to shield me unless the situation was desperate.
A part of me kept telling myself I was prepared. Another part kept whispering that preparation meant nothing when the enemy could rip your throat out in a single lunge.
I lay on my cot, staring at the canvas ceiling, running scenarios through my head. I tried to imagine the wolves, fast, coordinated, their eyes catching torchlight just before they struck. My palms felt slick just thinking about it. There was also the weight of my own odds. I’d been stacking every advantage I could find, extra study time, training beyond what was required, but I knew the odds were still against me. I couldn’t afford to add laziness or indecision to that stack.
Sometime after replaying the same thoughts for the hundredth time, exhaustion won.
Morning came cool and gray, the camp quiet except for the distant clang of a pot being set on a cookfire. Around eight, I made my way toward the supply office where the written exam was to be held. My boots crunched on gravel as I joined a small trickle of other recruits, only eight of us from the batch of forty-five.
I noticed Lela wasn’t among them. At first, I was surprised. She was sharp, disciplined, the kind of person you’d expect to seize any opportunity. But then I remembered, she’d already been selected by the Count’s household. Her path was secure, and in a month, she’d be gone from Stonegate. Why bother with an exam she didn’t need?
The exam room was a converted supply tent, the scent of parchment and ink mixing with the faint smell of oiled leather. Tables were set in two rows, each with a single sheet and an inkwell.
I took my seat, the paper in front of me both threatening and inviting. My first real test since starting down the path of a soldier.
When the signal came to begin, my nerves evaporated under the familiar weight of concentration. I started with the math section. It was easier than I expected; most problems were the equivalent of grade five level from my previous world, with one or two closer to grade eight. My past life’s schooling gave me an edge.
The reading section required us to go through several short passages, mostly accounts from past military campaigns, and answer questions about tactics, supply lines, and outcomes. Again, manageable.
The writing portion asked for an essay on the Royal Army and the King’s recent conquests. My training as a scribe before coming here made it almost enjoyable; I knew how to structure an argument, how to keep my script neat and quick. I even sprinkled in some of the propaganda-flavored phrases I’d overheard in barracks talk, just to play to the graders’ tastes.
The history and geography sections were basic, including kingdom borders, major rivers, and key battles in the last century. Anyone who’d paid attention to lessons or barracks gossip could scrape by.
By the time I put down my pen, the weight in my chest had eased. I couldn’t be sure of my score, but I knew I hadn’t failed.
That night, as we prepared for the hunt, I found myself lingering by the posted rankings. The top four acting sergeants were already drawing up duty lists. Their squads would be responsible for setting camp, cooking, organizing watches, and making sure every man knew his role before a fight.
Even though my role would be to follow orders in the field, I paid close attention. Watching the way a leader delegated, who they trusted with certain tasks, how they handled questions, taught me as much as any drill.
My acting sergeant was Halvern, a broad-shouldered recruit with a no-nonsense way about him. My duties were tent preparation and cooking. At one point, he caught a couple of grumblers in his squad complaining about latrine duty. He didn’t shout or threaten. He just told them, “If you can’t dig a hole right, why should I trust you to hold the line when the enemy’s in front of you?” The grumbling stopped.
That’s when it clicked for me, this was exactly what Sergeant Kestrel meant. Even if I never led a squad, understanding that logic meant I could work better under whoever did.
By the time I crawled into my cot, the camp had fallen into that peculiar quiet before something important, the low murmur of voices fading to nothing, the wind pressing softly against the tent walls.
Tomorrow, we’d march beyond Stonegate’s safety and into the wild. The wolves we’d face wouldn’t be straw dummies or sparring partners. They’d be fast, coordinated, and trying to kill us.
I didn’t know if all the bruises, drills, hours of study, and lectures from hard-eyed sergeants would be enough. But I knew this, by this time tomorrow night, I’d have my answer.