Chapter Twenty-Two: Still Want to Ask

Even in the strictest military units, weekends allowed for some proper rest—after all, they were men, not slaves or machines. Especially since everyone here was a new recruit, things had to progress gradually; overly intense training all at once would only breed despair and, inevitably, collapse.

Still, the luxury of sleeping in until noon was an impossible dream in the army. The morning exercise routine remained non-negotiable, but after breakfast, the time was essentially theirs to rest. Kevin had heard that leisure in the army was mind-numbingly dull, with hardly any entertainment, and there were even rumors that the barracks were filled with nothing but homosexuals—a slander that, by his current observations, was clearly unfounded.

No matter the entertainment, for these fresh recruits, simply being allowed to sit idly felt like a rare happiness. From early morning, Start had been silently praying that, by any means, today would be free from training. Yet, unfortunately, his usual misdeeds must have been too numerous, for fate ignored his pleas; not long after breakfast, the officer summoned them all to take their shields and assemble at the training ground.

Everyone wore a look of reluctance, each inwardly protesting, “Isn’t this supposed to be a rest day? Why are we back on the field?” But no one dared voice it aloud, and so they trudged in silence to a plain open space.

Marcus swept his eyes over them. "What’s with you all? You look half-dead already.”

No one replied, but they all straightened instinctively.

“I said it’s a rest day. There’s no training task for you today. Of course, if someone’s itching for a challenge, that’s another matter.” Marcus casually took a shield. “Today, I’ll teach you a game, one often played in our unit. Sometimes, on holidays, there are even large-scale competitions. The game is called—Shield Push!”

Seeing their blank faces, Marcus couldn't help but feel smug. "Kevin! Haven’t you traveled widely? You don't know this game either?"

“No idea,” Kevin replied, shaking his head. He was reminded of those baseless rumors about the camp and felt uneasy.

Marcus went on, "Shield Push is a tradition in our army. There are solo matches, pairs, group events, men’s, women’s, and mixed matches of all kinds."

Everyone looked surprised. Just from the explanation, strange images flitted through their minds.

“Simplified, you draw a circle on the ground, both sides take shields, and try to push the opponent out or knock them down,” Marcus continued.

Instantly, their interest evaporated, and it showed plainly. They were all of noble birth, accustomed to elegant pursuits—balls, chess, wine-tasting—or at least aristocratic sports like fencing and horsemanship. Who would enjoy such a crude contest as this? If it were two slaves pushing each other, they might watch for amusement, but not participate.

Marcus, however, paid them no mind. He’d already drawn a large circle on the ground with his sword. “I know you don’t like it, and this isn’t my first time leading noble recruits. But it’s a tradition in this unit, so you must learn.”

He stood in the circle, shield in hand. “The rules: only use your shield to push, maintaining basic defensive posture. No swinging or bashing with the shield—foul. No hitting with hands, no kicking, no tripping. If you’re knocked out of the circle, you lose. If you fall, you’re out.”

“Strictly speaking, no use of battle energy. But for you lot, I’ll let it slide. All six of you come at me together—if you can push me down, I’ll take you out hunting rabbits this afternoon. Or, if you prefer, you can remain in camp—just stay out of trouble. If you can’t beat me, you’ll spend the afternoon playing Shield Push against each other!”

They exchanged nervous glances, gripping their shields with no confidence at all.

“Come on! What are you afraid of? If you don’t push me, you’ll be running laps!” Marcus threatened.

“Let’s go! All together!” Start couldn’t hold back—he shouted, bracing himself for a charge. The others followed on reflex.

But barely two steps in, before they’d even reached Marcus, they collided amongst themselves. With six people trying to push a single target at close range, the ones in the middle felt increasingly squeezed, while those on the flanks desperately angled inward, all aiming for the center.

Before they could even engage, Grey tripped, bringing down Marinas beside him, and the rest hurriedly leapt away. And so, they lost the first round without even touching Marcus.

“What are you doing?” Marcus taunted. “Are you trying to make me laugh? Get your act together and try again!”

Covered in dust, they retreated. Sain stepped forward, “I’ll command! My father is a legion commander, I know all the battle formations.”

Start glanced doubtfully at Kevin, skeptical of the boy’s abilities—Kevin seemed much more reliable. But Kevin kept silent, so Start let it go. Kevin himself didn’t know if Sain had any real skill, but considering his military family, he shouldn’t be bad. And after all, this was only a game.

Soon, Sain had them arranged in a triangle formation—Start, the heaviest, at the front, Sain himself behind, inside the triangle. With a head-on push, even an officer shouldn’t be able to topple them; the only worry was if Marcus dodged aside.

If that happened, Sain, positioned centrally, could quickly react to pressure the flanks and block any counterattack. Supposedly, this was one of his father’s simpler charge formations for the Knights of Thunder, hence he remembered it.

“Come on then!” Marcus, seeing their formation, was mildly interested.

“Go!” they shouted, advancing shield-first. At such close range, they didn’t charge too fast, wary of losing control.

But this time, Marcus charged first, letting out a battle cry as he surged forward, overtaking their six. They failed to react in time; he burst into the formation, and with a resounding clash of shields, Sain stumbled back six or seven steps and landed outside the circle.

With their leader down, the others’ morale collapsed. Marcus darted left and right, scattering them in panic.

“What is this?” Marcus laughed. “Six of you, and this is all you’ve got? Again!”

“We’ll keep trying,” Sain called, climbing to his feet and reorganizing the formation. They charged, only to repeat the same defeat—Sain was sent flying once more, and the rest broke ranks in flight.

“Forget the formation,” Start suggested. “Let’s just attack freely!”

They all looked at one another, but since no one had a better idea, they agreed. Each entered the circle, shouting as they crashed shields together. Yet it was still a tragedy. Even when their shields connected with Marcus, it seemed to have no effect—he’d simply sidestep, leaving them off balance.

With so many people, they collided more with each other than with their target. Kevin, a little slower, tried to find an opening but saw only his own teammates running back and forth—there was no way in.

Bang, bang, bang! Marcus hit Start three times, knocking him out of the circle. “If you’re out, stay out,” Marcus said, immediately turning to engage the others.

They went from eager attackers to desperate runners in an instant—how quickly the situation inside a small circle could change was astonishing.

“What are you doing, running like that?” Marcus seized the chance to topple Sain again. “Get out, don’t come back.”

“Sir!” Grey suddenly shouted, “Let me challenge you one-on-one!” The impetuousness of youth.

He was promptly eliminated as well. Kevin was tempted to use his magical shield—did it count as a shield in this game? But then he thought, it’s just a game; why cheat? In that moment of distraction, Marcus charged straight at him.

Kevin panicked, instinctively turning to run. The shield struck his back, sending him seven steps forward and out of the circle. Behind him, Marcus scoffed, “Showing your back to the enemy? You’re no soldier.”

“Don’t bump into me!” Marinas yelled at Sain. “I was just trying to hit you and then ricochet into him,” Sain explained.

“On the battlefield, do you have time to explain?” Marcus charged again, and both were knocked out. Only Oka was left, and he’d lost all will. “I surrender. I give up.”

“Pathetic!” Marcus tossed aside his shield and shook his head. “Playing games with you is no fun at all. Anyone still interested in challenging me?”

They glanced at each other. Kevin was actually quite interested—he sensed there was a lot to be learned here—but seeing the others’ bored faces, he chose to keep quiet.

“In that case, you’ll be playing Shield Push all day. Pair up three-on-three, or go solo, whatever you like. When you hear the bell, come eat. Don’t roam off. I’m off to play cards. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!” The moment the officer announced his departure, everyone's spirits soared.

The officer snorted and left. The six of them instantly relaxed; several yawned, stretched, and rubbed their aching arms. “That really hurt,” one muttered.

“Pointless,” Oka declared, flopping to the ground. “If the officer comes, just say I was knocked down.”

“That’s not really proper,” Kevin replied. “At least pretend—walk around with your shields a bit.”

They sighed, but Kevin had a point. If the officer happened to check on them and found they were slacking, they’d be sent running laps—a bad bargain.

Reluctantly, they picked up their shields and paced from left to right, and back again. Sain and the others looked bored out of their minds. “Is the rest of our military career going to be like this?”

“At least we’re not running,” Start said, quite satisfied. “I was afraid the officer would suddenly change his mind and order us to run. That’s truly terrifying.”

Grey sighed, “Are we really just going to walk back and forth all morning? This feels so stupid!”

“What else can we do?” Marinas replied. “Shall we dance instead?”

“I don’t dance with men,” Oka interjected.

That killed the conversation. They wandered aimlessly in the circle, eyes glazed, bored to death. Finally, Kevin’s shield bumped into Start’s.

“What are you doing?” Start asked. “I’m bored,” Kevin replied. So Start bumped him back, and Kevin returned the favor. Gradually, the others joined in, and soon the circle was filled with the sound of clashing shields. A pointless game, revived by sheer boredom.

They didn’t bother much with rules—whoever was knocked out soon came back without protest. It became obvious that Start was the strongest; in one-on-one Shield Push, no one could beat the fat man—his weight was an unbeatable advantage.

Start finally regained his confidence. Always accused of being a burden, now he was the one knocking everyone down, showing them the power of a “burden.” He enjoyed the game more than anyone.

And so, the dull morning passed in bouts of Shield Push. After lunch, Kevin sought out the officer with a question. “Sir, why couldn’t six of us beat you alone?”

“That’s strength. You have much more to learn,” Marcus replied.

“But technically, why not?” Kevin pressed.

“First, your movement. You look alike, but your force is all wrong—you need practice. Second, strength. Enough said. Third, awareness of the fight. You all act tough, but as soon as one falls, the rest lose their nerve.” Marcus chuckled, then addressed everyone, “You’re a long way off.”

Kevin asked again, “The Shield Push game was invented to train blocking skills, right? Or maybe charging? And the team version is like a group charge formation, only without weapons.”

Marcus was silent.

“I know even when we tried a formation, we failed twice. The gaps between us became a fatal weakness. That’s because of our lack of skill, but I wonder—if we could predict where the attack would come, and have someone in reserve behind the formation, as soon as you broke through, that person could counterattack from the flank. Would that tactic work?” Kevin rambled on.

Marcus’s face darkened. “Come here.”

They went to the grove again, where Marcus gave him a beating without explanation. Kevin just shielded his head, not daring to ask why—he knew he’d asked too many questions and annoyed the officer.

When they returned, Start asked with concern, “Are you alright?”

“Got beaten,” Kevin replied bluntly.

“Tsk, haven’t you figured out this is the army?” Start frowned. “You’re asking for trouble.”

“Hmph,” Kevin snapped, still angry. “Is he going to kill me? Cripple me? I can’t even ask questions? Ridiculous. I’ll just wait until he’s in a better mood and ask again.”

Start said nothing.

And so the afternoon passed in the same tedious game. Now only Start seemed enthusiastic, relishing his newfound pride. The others grew bored and sat out, leaving just Kevin and Start to continue.

Kevin was knocked down again and again, but each time he got up, though no one knew why. For glory? It all seemed so pointless.

In the evening, Kevin approached the officer once more. “Sir! I have a question... I want to keep asking... I have more to ask... I won’t stop asking…”

Marcus was silent.

“Sir, you said we have more freedom during rest time,” Kevin insisted. “I won’t ask during training, but now it's rest.”

Marcus was silent.

Kevin’s years of travel hadn’t given him much fighting practice, but he’d seen a lot. He’d even written “Lives of the Assassins,” and had invented many techniques in his mind. Combining all he’d seen, what was in his father’s books, and his own imagination, Kevin could always come up with strange and peculiar questions.

He had a knack for asking, too—the first question would be simple, something the officer could easily answer. Once the officer replied, Kevin would gradually introduce all sorts of bizarre follow-ups. If the officer could answer, great; if not, it didn’t matter.

Of course, not everyone appreciated this—least of all the officer himself, who felt deliberately tormented and dragged Kevin off for another beating, but couldn’t seem to beat the curiosity out of him.

The next morning, they all rose on time as usual. After breakfast, the officer, in a rare good mood, announced, “Today, I’ll teach you to hunt rabbits.”

“Sir,” Kevin started, “I have a question... I want to keep asking... I have more questions... I won’t stop asking…”

Marcus’s face darkened. “Fine, no rabbit hunting. Shield Push for the rest of the day.”