Second Life as a Soldier

The training was brutal.

By the end of the first day, my entire body screamed with pain. Shoulders ached from holding spear stances. Calves cramped from the weighted running. Even my fingers were sore from throwing drills, spear throwing had been introduced now, and my form was barely passable.

I wasn’t alone. The effects were visible everywhere: gritted teeth, trembling legs, and silent whimpers. But the ones who started wavering fastest weren’t the street rats or village boys.

It was the sons of merchants, the ones who thought this was going to be some romantic test of character. Varik’s relentless training and psychological warfare shattered that illusion by lunch.

Leaving was allowed, technically. But it came with a cost.

A high one.

A recruit who left had to pay a fine, five gold coins per month. That meant if you quit after six months, you owed thirty gold. By the time I’d finish this training cycle, the fee would be fifty-five.

Fifty-five gold.

That was enough to buy a year of tuition at a small knight or adventurer academy. Enough to bribe your way into a city guard captain’s good graces. Enough to start a trading caravan.

For me? It was a fantasy number. I had never seen a gold coin in my life. My father’s income, back when he was alive, had been two, maybe three gold a year. Leaving wasn’t an option. Not for someone like me. And to be honest, even for most merchant and adventurer families, fifty-five gold wasn’t pocket change.But it wasn’t just the physical punishment that broke recruits. It was the constant verbal barrage.

Private Varik never stopped. He mocked us, named us, tore down every excuse and moment of pride. Mistakes were punished not just with extra laps or stances, but with public humiliation. If you flinched, he made sure everyone saw it. If you cried, he made sure everyone remembered it.

And then came the survival drill.

After dinner, when we thought we were finally free from the day’s torture, Varik had other plans. Night formation and sentry duty were canceled, not as mercy, but misdirection.

Instead, he marched us out beyond the city wall.

Still in full gear.

Still exhausted from the day.

We were tasked with setting up a camp as if it were a forward military outpost, defensive layout, watch rotations, scouting paths, field combat prep. This time, though, he explained everything clearly: how to position the tents for protection, how to stagger watch shifts, what terrain features to use for scouting routes, and how to prepare fallback points in case of ambush. Then he stepped back and watched us put it into practice.

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It was a valuable learning experience, setting up tents under stress, dividing responsibilities, digging in, but it felt more like mental warfare than education. The forest around Stonegate was safe, especially near the outer perimeter, but the constant cries of birds, the distant howls, and the eerie silence between sounds…

All of it turned that night into a nightmare.

We got maybe four hours of sleep, and that was being generous.

By the end of the week, a few recruits had cracked. They were reassigned to logistics as errand runners. They would still participate in drills, but not with us. For the next month, until Private Varik’s training cycle was finished, they’d be drilling with the city watch instead.

How Varik had convinced the quartermaster and the City Watch to take them in was beyond me. Especially the old man, he wasn’t known for his generosity.

But I wasn’t planning to give up. This wasn’t just training, it was preparation for survival.

Inside the Main Barracks Office

“I’m telling you,” grumbled the quartermaster. “After this month, I won’t tolerate these greenies disturbing my work. Not one.”

His voice was sharp and brittle, like an old saw blade still trying to cut steel. If anyone else had said it with that tone, someone would have taken offense. But not him.

The old man was Quartermaster Hubert, the grumpiest, most reclusive man in the entire city garrison. Some said he had once been a sergeant during the last beast tide. Others said he had always been the quartermaster.

“Old man Hubert,” said Lieutenant Clifford, trying not to smile. “You’re talking to a Royal Army officer. Show some respect.”

The lieutenant was the highest-ranking royal officer stationed in Stonegate. A mid-level Adept, with an attitude as polished as his sword. He was young for his rank, and maybe a bit too friendly for a commander, but he got things done.

“And it’s not like they’ll be with you all day,” he added. “They’ll still do training. You’ll get them for two, maybe three hours at most.”

Hubert grunted, unimpressed.

Clifford turned to Varik. “What do you think of this batch?”

Normally, a lieutenant wouldn’t ask a private for their opinion. But Varik wasn’t just any private. He was Vanguard, one of the few who had survived three full deployments beyond the northern ridgelands.

Even injured, he was more respected than most supply sergeants.

Varik crossed his arms.

“I’m not sure yet, sir. This is my first time training unawakened kids,” he admitted. “Some have potential. But potential doesn’t mean anything without willpower. I’m applying the most basic Pressure methods, we use them in the Vanguard. Just enough to crack someone a little. What happens next… that’s what reveals what kind of person they really are.”

He glanced back toward the training field.

”One thing’s certain, anyone who makes it through this month won’t just be a soldier.”

He paused, voice low and firm.

”If they survive, they’ll be goddamn tough soldiers, tough enough to stand against the beasts beyond these walls.”

Hubert raised an eyebrow. “You’re not pushing them too fast? This kind of training usually starts after six months.”

Clifford snorted. “Tell him that.”

Varik didn’t miss a beat. “The Count and the Intelligence Office both confirmed it, next year’s beast tide is likely a grand-class tide. Those only come once every twenty to thirty years, and it’s been twenty-five since the last one. The signs are there. Even the barbarians have stopped raiding and are reinforcing their own borders. The northern forts are already reporting an uptick in beast swarms. If we only have two years, that means we need awakened fighters ready in one.”

Lieutenant Clifford sighed. “You’d know about the last one, Hubert.”

He glanced at the older man, then added, “You think the City Watch agreed to all this without a reason?”