Second Life as a Soldier

Lela’s words echoed in my head. It wasn’t that I wanted to remain alone. After losing my father, I’d been searching, quietly, stubbornly, for somewhere to belong. Somewhere that didn’t just tolerate me but truly accepted me. I still hoped the army might become that place, though the hope felt thinner by the day.

Sometimes, I regretted the way I’d kept to myself during the early days of training. Back in that first month, I was a scrawny shadow at the bottom of the ranks, dead last in almost everything. I could barely keep up during drills, and the other recruits could see it. And when you’re fifteen and struggling, few people want to risk slowing themselves down for your sake. You become the kid no one volunteers to partner with, the one people glance at when the instructor asks for “someone who needs extra work.”

But time changes things. My body hardened under the constant strain, my footing grew steadier, and eventually I wasn’t the last one to finish every run. Along the way, I found a few who stuck around, Leif, Henry, Erik, Farid, and even Lela, in her quiet, guarded way. They weren’t always at my side, but they were there enough to matter. Still, that elusive sense of belonging remained out of reach, like a campfire’s warmth I could see but not feel.

Lately, I’d caught myself wondering if a noble house could offer that. A place. A family. Direction.

The thought lingered more often than I cared to admit. I could picture it: wearing a house’s colors, training in their courtyard, being addressed by name instead of “recruit.” Eating at their table. Answering to someone who valued me not because I was in the same squad, but because I was theirs.

But then the other half of the picture would creep in, the part that twisted like a knife. Nobles, in my eyes, were closer to the politicians from my old world than to the heroes from storybooks. Their generosity wasn’t without strings. Joining a house wouldn’t be loyalty; it would be signing a contract I couldn’t break. A tool kept sharp until it was no longer useful, then discarded without ceremony.

If that was the price of stability, I’d rather serve my years and retire quietly in Oxspell.

The thought sat with me until another question surfaced, one that felt heavier now than it might have a few months ago.

“Hey, Lela,” I asked, glancing over, “you mentioned most ranks above lieutenant are filled by nobles. Do you know why that is?”

She glanced up from her book, her pale green eyes catching the lamplight. “Army rank structure goes: Private, Sergeant, Lieutenant, Captain, Commander, General,” she began. Her voice shifted into the steady cadence of someone reciting something learned by heart. “Captains are generally required to have an Expert-class or, at the very least, the potential to reach it. That’s when real command responsibilities begin, leading squads, managing logistics, making battlefield decisions.”This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

“That still doesn’t explain why nobles get those positions,” I said. “Don’t commoners have the potential to reach Expert class too? What about those sponsored by the Royal Army for Knight or Mage academies?”

“They can,” she admitted, closing her book just enough to hold her place with a finger. “But most of the time, those with real potential are recruited by noble houses before they even awaken. Especially by higher nobles. The Royal Family does it too, and nobles don’t mind paying severance penalties if they see value. It’s not really a problem for them.”

My brows furrowed. “How do they even know who has potential before Awakening? Isn’t that determined by our class and affinity?”

Lela hesitated, tapping the cover of her book. “Well… it’s not exactly public knowledge, but people with high elemental affinity start showing signs before Awakening. Physical ones. The stronger the affinity, the earlier it shows.”

She began listing them off like facts from a field manual. “Fire affinity is most commonly associated with red hair, most of the royal family has it. Death affinity appears as red eyes and very pale skin. Nature shows as green hair. Lightning, silver hair. Earth, dark skin tone. Water, blue hair. Wind, pale green eyes.”

She paused, then added almost shyly, “Like mine.”

I turned to face her, caught off guard. Her eyes really were a pale, luminous green, like spring leaves lit from within. I’d never paid attention before, most people I’d met had black hair and black eyes. Common. Forgettable. Lela was different.

“Wait… are you, are you not a commoner?” The words stumbled out before I could catch them.

She smiled, a small thing that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I am a commoner. But a Royal Army captain, distantly related to a count, noticed my eyes two years ago. He said I had potential and gave me a specialized breathing method. He also sponsored my education back in my town: reading, writing, martial training, all of it.”

She looked down briefly, fingers brushing the page of her book, then back up. “If I awaken with 80% or higher wind affinity, I’ll be assigned as a personal guard to the count’s third daughter. It’s part of the deal. Until then, I’m here learning guard formations and battlefield tactics. My Awakening is one month after this training ends.”

Something in my chest twisted. It felt like a door had slammed shut behind me without warning.

In a half-whisper, I asked, “Is your breathing method the same one the army gave us? The one we started in month five?”

She shook her head. “No. Not even close. I wasn’t allowed to use the army’s method. Mine was designed to refine mana without damaging affinity. The army’s method is for building warriors. It increases recovery, stamina, and physical stats, but it dilutes elemental affinity. Not much, five, maybe ten percent. But enough.”

I sat back, suddenly light-headed.

During training, I’d believed I was the architect of my future. That progress came from effort. That if I trained hard, studied harder, and survived long enough, I could shape my own destiny.

But now…

Even the breathing exercise I’d been so proud of, my personal discovery, the one I thought gave me a recovery edge, had been quietly sabotaging my path.

The mana core required for Expert-class progression demanded an 80% elemental affinity. And since I showed none of the physical traits associated with high affinity, that path was likely closed to me.

Tier 3 in class. Adept level. Tier 3 in cultivation. No higher.

That was the end of the road.

And I hadn’t even realized I was walking toward a wall.