Chapter Fifty: Vows

As for Sain’s dissatisfaction, it was understandable. The situation had looked so promising; he’d forced his opponent into a defensive ball, yet inexplicably ended up thrown and defeated? How could that be? He had so many skills he hadn’t even shown! He didn’t feel Kevin had won through tactical brilliance—he simply thought he’d been careless and tricked. Sain, hot-blooded as ever, was naturally unwilling to accept such a vague loss! With his father present on the platform, he boldly called for a rematch.

Kevin, having no influential background, dared not refuse outright. In combat, after all, victory wasn’t guaranteed each time—evenly matched opponents sometimes left the outcome to luck. Just as in chess or cards, perhaps Kevin’s “game” was a notch above Sain’s, but that didn’t mean he could dominate him. One mistake, and Kevin too might lose.

However, Kevin had long since analyzed Sain’s strengths and temperament, rehearsing all manner of tactics for various scenarios with Sain, practicing them late at night with Grey. This had given Kevin plenty of chances to hone his skills, though Grey mostly sacrificed his sleep for these sessions.

Of course, Sain undoubtedly kept some tricks up his sleeve. Kevin had once asked him, “Confident you can beat him?” Sain had replied, “Yes!” By then, after their ordeal in the Venomous Forest, both had a clear sense of each other’s true strength. Sain’s answer didn’t sound like empty bravado.

The referee beside them produced the standard weapons issued to recruits: only sword, shield, and spear. The contestants could choose, and the rules were reiterated. The blades were blunted, the spearheads removed, ensuring safety and that blows would stop short.

The referee also picked up a staff, ready to intervene at the first sign of danger.

Kevin took sword and shield; Sain chose spear and shield. Each selected their favored arms and took their positions.

“Begin!” The referee swept his staff between them.

Kevin raised his shield, standing firm, observing Sain. Normally, Sain’s style was to charge in recklessly; Kevin, lacking that kind of force, could only play defense.

Unexpectedly, Sain retreated two steps, widening the distance, then planted a hand on the ground. Before him, a white magic circle flared into existence.

Summoning magic! Sain could cast summoning? In theory, only mages of at least fifth level could do so. Even Jack couldn’t summon his parrot—he simply let it fly back on its own. Only Laulu had barely mastered the skill, as summoning was essentially a type of spatial magic. Since joining the army, Sain had never used magic, and in their one previous clash he’d only been suppressed by Kevin’s magical missiles. Now he could summon?

Kevin was astonished, but not flustered. He’d always known Sain must have a trump card to be so sure of victory. He immediately unleashed a barrage of magic missiles, trying to disrupt the summoning.

Sain had expected this; he ducked behind his shield. Magic missiles, no stronger than a farmer’s punch, held little threat for Sain.

Kevin closed in, hurling spell after spell against the shield with resounding clangs.

From the center of the summoning circle, a brown warhorse slowly emerged. Kevin swung his sword, unleashing a battle aura slash at the horse’s head—but the horse reared, and with a kick, scattered the energy.

Sain seized the chance to vault into the saddle, his ease showing he’d been riding since childhood. There was no cavalry training for recruits, but as the general’s son, Sain evidently already had his own steed.

The warhorse neighed loudly. Kevin tensed—he had no experience fighting cavalry, and seeing his battle aura dispelled made him uneasy. But one thing was clear: at this range, he still had a chance. If Sain broke away to charge, Kevin would never withstand it.

Almost instinctively, Kevin flung his sword and shield skyward, the arc passing before Sain’s eyes. Sain, startled, glanced upward, worried he might be struck.

Kevin lunged, grabbing Sain by the waistband with his right hand and the horse’s mane with his left, trying to drag Sain off the saddle.

The startled horse bucked wildly. The world spun for both riders; Kevin felt like a kite being tossed about, but Sain, in the saddle, fared no better. Too close for the spear to be useful, Sain tried to shove Kevin off with his shield, but a single bend of his waist—due to the horse’s struggles—almost toppled him, his back cold with sweat.

All eyes were riveted on them. The referee, tense, gripped his staff, ready to separate them at once—a general’s son being hurt in such a match would bode ill for his future.

At the crucial moment, a flash of white light—suddenly, the warhorse vanished. Both combatants, caught off guard, tumbled to the ground, yet Kevin’s grip never loosened; they rolled together in a heap.

Sain’s spear and shield were lost in the fall; now it was hand-to-hand again.

But Sain knew nothing of ground fighting—his first impulse was to get up. Kevin seized the moment, grabbing his lower leg and flipping him, then pinning him with a fist to the face, just as before.

“Well done! Beautiful move!” The veterans cheered—nothing delighted them more than a good bout. The recruits, though standing at attention, exchanged approving glances.

Even the general on the platform clapped, and General Fiora joked, “You’ll have to tell us later how it feels when your own son calls someone else ‘grandpa’ in front of you! Hahaha!”

The assembled officers laughed as well, and even General Od, commander of the Thunder Knights, merely smiled, saying, “Youthful spirit—he’ll need a good talking-to once he’s home.”

“No need for that,” said Colonel Orson of the 254th Legion, trying to smooth things over. “It’s just a contest—winning and losing are normal. Young people need to experience failure; it does them good.”

Even as he finished, Kevin and Sain separated again, and the referee had no choice but to declare Kevin the winner.

Sain stood frozen. His ability to use summoning magic came from the magical tattoo on his hand. No magical equipment was allowed upon enlistment, but tattoos couldn’t be removed. High-level mages often tattooed one or two magic circles onto their bodies, allowing them to cast instantly, bypassing chants. Some tattoos were invisible unless activated.

Nowadays, even non-mages could use certain magic circles—though expensive and less effective than a true mage’s spell, they provided another means of attack, albeit with drawbacks not worth detailing here.

Sain was not a true mage; forcibly using summoning magic, though successful, couldn’t last long. The warhorse vanished after mere moments, and their fall handed Kevin another win. Using techniques beyond one’s capacity was always risky. Sain had never summoned his horse or practiced coordinated tactics in the camp; even if he had, three months without training, plus a mismatch between his growing strength and old skills, left him rusty and unprepared.

Trying to keep the tattooed magic as a secret weapon was naïve.

“That’s enough. I don’t need you to call me grandpa. Let’s call it here,” Kevin said, waving magnanimously.

“No way!” Sain was still unyielding. “Since we’ve already fought, let’s go again!”

“What now?” Kevin asked.

“A head-to-head push!” Sain blurted out a new contest.

Kevin turned to the referee, leaving the decision to him. The referee didn’t dare decide alone and glanced up at Colonel Orson, who nodded his assent.

The referee announced, “Very well, for training and entertainment, we’ll hold a pushing contest.”

Two soldiers handed them shields, and a large circle was drawn on the ground. At the referee’s signal, the head-to-head contest began.

On the platform, General Od’s face darkened—his son was becoming a laughingstock. But the other commander seemed in no hurry to end it—was he intentionally embarrassing him?

Kevin felt no pressure; the pushing game was a favorite among recruits. Aside from the fat Stutt, Kevin almost always won. Sain’s challenge was a sign of desperation—he’d lost his composure.

“Hey, is your dad up there?” Kevin whispered as they closed in.

“Shut up!” Sain snapped, clearly furious.

“Big families must have family rules, right?” Kevin pressed. “What’s the punishment for public humiliation?”

Sain faltered, and Kevin struck, driving him back step by step. About to cross the boundary, Sain hastily stepped back, trying to brace himself.

But Kevin shifted direction to Sain’s right, and with a sudden shove, toppled him—Sain’s step had been too large to recover his balance.

“Kevin wins!” the referee declared.

Sain got up stiffly. Kevin, still relaxed, said, “Really, you don’t have to call me grandpa. Enough is enough.”

“No!” Sain clenched his fists. “Archery contest!”

“This isn’t an archery range,” Kevin replied, spreading his hands.

“So what? Can’t we just set up a target against a tree?” Sain retorted.

Veterans began to cheer them on—“Shoot it out!” “Let’s see who hits!” “Throw a ball if you want!” “Go for it!”

The generals above laughed, “Lively atmosphere.” “This is the spirit of competition.” “Your son is full of fire—I wish mine had half his drive. Hahaha!” Od could only force a smile.

“No,” Kevin raised his hand to refuse. “You’ve chosen two events favoring you, and lost both. For fairness, I should pick the next contest.”

Sain had no argument—he couldn’t keep dictating the terms.

The referee, seeing Sain’s silence as consent, turned to Kevin. “What do you choose?”

“A shield-lifting contest,” Kevin said.

The army did have such contests—not just as punishment. But no one would hold the shield up all morning; typically, the challenge was to lift fifteen shields at once, without straightening the arm or supporting the shields atop the head. The shields must hover a fist’s width above the head; too high or too low, and it was a failure.

Fifteen shields simply stacked, with no rope to bind them. If the pile tilted, the top shields would slide off, signaling defeat. For most soldiers, it was a real challenge, and the outcome was quickly decided.

“Do you dare?” Kevin taunted crudely.

“Bring it on! Afraid of you?” Sain fell for it at once.

At a gesture from the referee, guards brought fifteen shields, stacked them, and let both contestants inspect them for fairness. Four soldiers held the stack aloft while Kevin and Sain positioned themselves beneath, hands ready.

At the referee’s signal, the guards stepped away, leaving the two to bear the weight alone.

Truthfully, this had never been part of recruit training. Neither Kevin nor Sain had practiced it, but the contest required little skill—just strength, stamina, and willpower.

Within moments, both men’s arms trembled, backs soaked with sweat, perspiration running into their eyes and stinging their lips. It was summer, and though cooler here than in Leboziir, standing in the sun holding shields was grueling.

“Come on!” “Hang in there!” “Don’t drop it!” The veterans cheered—either outcome was entertaining. The recruits stayed motionless, and the generals chatted above.

Kevin and Sain faced each other, as if back on the training ground three months earlier—only now they were the main event.

Their arms grew numb and weak; both clenched their jaws, determined to outlast the other—no other thought remained. Battle aura did no good here; it was an explosive force, enough to hurl the shields skyward, but not to endure over time.

As for magic, Kevin could have used a magical shield above his head to cheat—but that was against the rules. This was about stamina and will, and with so many generals present, Kevin dared not risk it.

Sain, however, had already fought several bouts before this one; Kevin was fresh, while Sain had expended more energy in each match, whether unarmed, armed, or in the pushing contest.

If Kevin still lost in shield-lifting under these circumstances, he’d never forgive himself.

To the audience, it was only a short wait; for the contestants, each second stretched to eternity. Both silently cursed the other—Why won’t you drop it? Fall already, damn it!

At last, Sain’s arms sank lower, almost below the required fist’s width. Kevin’s spirits soared, and his strength surged back. Sain, gritting his teeth, angled his head to fool the measurement.

But it was clear to all—Sain was at his limit. Unless Kevin collapsed from heatstroke, the result was inevitable.

In a final burst, Sain shouted, igniting his battle aura and raising the shields again. But when the aura faded, exhaustion crashed down; he staggered aside and the shields clattered to the ground.

Seeing Sain yield, Kevin dropped his own shields, both men shaking out their arms, sweat dripping from their brows, hands too numb to wipe it away. The only difference was that Kevin could still smile, while Sain looked about to explode.

“Kevin wins!” the referee announced again.

“Archery contest!” Sain roared.

“Fine, let’s do it,” Kevin grinned.

The referee brought two bows and three arrows each, and set up a target at a hundred paces. Archery was Sain’s pride; during recruit training, he’d been the first to hit the mark. He only hesitated to suggest it because it wasn’t the official range. But now, infuriated, he was determined to win at least one round, no matter what.

Both checked their bows. Sain, regaining his confidence, nocked an arrow—only to find he couldn’t draw the bow.

He glanced over. Kevin was equally unable, loosing three feeble arrows that barely flew ten meters before falling—then laughed and turned to Sain.

It dawned on Sain why Kevin smiled so. Kevin knew he couldn’t outshoot Sain—his eyesight was mediocre, and his archery skills barely adequate. Under normal circumstances, he stood no chance. But by choosing shield-lifting first, he ensured that both were too exhausted afterward to even draw a bow.

“Why aren’t you shooting?” Kevin prompted. “Giving up? Or planning to rest a while?”

Gritting his teeth, Sain managed two shots, both dropping short, to the veterans’ amusement. But everyone understood—after that shield ordeal, who could shoot straight?

“One arrow left—hurry up,” Kevin prodded. No easy breaks here.

Yet Sain, ever stubborn, sat down, gripped the bow between his feet, and used his teeth to draw the string, steadying the arrow with one hand. Though his arms were weak, he could at least guide the shot.

The crowd howled. Even Kevin was surprised at the trick.

With a twang, the arrow flew and stuck at the edge of the target—scoring a single ring!

Sain stood, spitting in discomfort from biting the string, but his face showed a trace of pride.

“Sain wins,” the referee finally announced a different verdict.

Applause erupted, even from the generals. At last, after losing at unarmed combat, weapons, pushing, and shield-lifting, Od’s son had clawed back a victory—restoring a bit of dignity.

Even Kevin clapped, acknowledging a worthy opponent. Whatever else, Sain’s indomitable spirit deserved respect.

The referee stepped in to wrap things up. “The final event of the recruit competition is over. Sain and Kevin are both elite among the new soldiers, and the matches were fierce. Both sides had their victories. There’s no need to dwell on who is stronger—everyone has their own strengths, and you’ll all be comrades-in-arms. Helping each other—that’s what brotherhood means.”

The veterans applauded as a matter of course—whoever made the speech would receive cheers. It was best to forget all about the “grandpa” business.

As the elite new recruits, both were invited to make brief remarks, according to custom.

Sain said, “I thank my officers for their guidance. I will train hard and strive for merit, to serve my country.”

Not all stuck to the script. Kevin said, “I’ve written a book called ‘Lives of the Assassins.’ Its values are sound—I recommend it to everyone.”

The entire army: “…”

“Of course, I also thank my officers,” Kevin added, returning to the formula. “I’ll train hard, study diligently, and contribute greatly to our army’s magical modernization.”

With their speeches done, they returned to the ranks. Then the senior generals each gave a few words—though all similar, everyone shouted their responses at the top of their lungs.

“Do you have confidence?”

A wild roar: “Yes!!!”

“Can you do it?”

Another wild roar: “We can!!!”

After that came the collective oath of the recruits.

“Humility, integrity, compassion, courage, justice, sacrifice, honor, soul! In the face of powerful foes, we shall not fear, but act bravely and loyally, true to the heavens, steadfast and upright, preferring death to dishonor, protecting the weak, upholding what is right!”

“I swear to fight for my country! To defend every inch of our land, to protect every citizen! Taking the nation’s honor and disgrace as my own, I willingly become its sword, to cut down every invader!”

“Oath-taker: Kevin In Qiu Si Ting!” At the end, everyone announced their names. Their voices echoed through the camp, stirring the hearts of the veterans who saw their own youthful selves in them.

With the oath complete, the recruits’ days as trainees were officially over. They had become true second lieutenants of the kingdom.