The Company Commander has returned

Chapter 7 - Class 66

"Amon Coster, step forward."

Amon answered loudly and picked up his weapon.

The weapon he was most confident in handling was the sword.

Gripping the sword in one hand, he stood before the orc dummy.

Deep breath.

In the blink of an eye, he severed the orc's left arm.

Among the murmurs of awe from his peers came the instructor's remark:

"Amon Coster. Get down."

Ammon looked puzzled, as if he couldn't understand.

"What did you hear me say? I told you to use the back of the blade, not the edge."

"My apologies! But, sir…! I did use the back!"

A brief silence fell.

If he hadn't talked back, he could've just done a quick punishment and been done with it.

But Ammon, deliberately—so the others could hear—boasted loudly.

He wanted everyone to know that he could cut with the back of his sword as if it were the blade itself.

It was such a typical Amon Coster thing to do.

Seeing him act the same as always was oddly comforting.

Amon's show of bravado came at the cost of running laps around the training field.

"Mago. Step forward."

Next, it was my turn.

Sword, spear, arrows.

I could barely discern any of them properly.

Relying on Kinjo's enhancement magic at a time like this would be asking for trouble.

In my previous life, I hesitated for a long time before asking:

"Can I use my fists instead?"

For that, I got hit—hard—with fists.

To make matters worse, my weakness was exposed to the entire training camp.

It was the day I earned the nickname Unlucky Marcello.

I couldn't repeat the same mistake.

In the end, my fingertip pointed to…

"Are you picking a fight with me?"

…the head instructor.

More specifically, the staff he always carried on his shoulder.

"You've got to be kidding me."

He grabbed the staff and strode over.

"If you wanted to get hit, you could've just said so, Mago."

"No, sir!"

"Is this your choice? Hmm? So, where do you want me to jab you?"

He poked my chest hard with the tip of the staff.

"Pick one of the three. Or are you asking me to choose for you?"

Meanwhile, Kinjo cast a worried glance in my direction.

The head instructor slipped his foot beneath the shaft of a spear lying on the ground.

With a deft motion, he flicked it up into his hand and thrust it toward me.

I stared at the spear shaft.

"What good is staring at the shaft? Look at the tip. And next, at the target."

He brought the spear tip close to my face.

An unknown force pressed against my brow, sharp and heavy.

It hurt.

It hurt, but I couldn't pull away.

The tinnitus (the perception of sound that does not have an external source, so other people cannot hear it), quiet until now, rang sharply in my ears.

I took a deep breath.

"Mago, what are you doing?"

The instructor's eyes were filled with disappointment.

Lines connected into shapes, forming a point.

That point seemed ready to move at any moment.

"Get lost."

The instructor's words hit me.

"Go home."

"I can do it," I replied.

"What do you mean by do it?"

There was no room left to retreat.

I had reached my limit.

Closing my eyes, I released a burst of blue energy that swept across everything around me.

I seized the spear from the instructor's hand as though I had ripped it away.

Without hesitation, I charged forward and struck the orc dummy's head.

The spear had a single-edged blade.

Following the instructor's orders, I used the back of the blade, yet the dummy's neck still snapped cleanly.

I had cut through it with sheer brute force.

"That white-haired guy… he didn't even open his eyes, did he?"

"And he aimed precisely at the neck without looking?"

I could hear the murmurs of my peers.

"Why are you so surprised? Even with his eyes closed, there were no obstacles, and all he had to do was swing forward. Anyone could've done that."

Amon paused while running laps around the training ground and shouted, "Mago!"

The instructor barked in response, "Who said you could stop?"

The instructor strode forward, staff raised high, his movements brimming with agitation.

"Open your eyes immediately! Are you planning to face monsters with your eyes shut?"

"Yes, that's correct," I replied.

"Is that the skill level of someone aiming to join the Special Task Force as a top cadet?"

"Yes, it is."

"You little...!"

The instructor, visibly enraged, swung his arm.

The air cracked first, and then I saw the staff hurtling toward my face.

Instinctively, I extended my left arm and snapped the staff in two.

"Wh-what...?" The instructor stammered, unable to form coherent words.

When I finally opened my eyes, the lost colors returned all at once.

Blurry vision and muted sounds flooded back. I shook my head to clear the dizziness.

"Amon. Think you can do that too?"

Kinjo's voice cut through the moment, but Amon pretended not to hear and continued running.

I was punished with thirty laps around the training ground.

Thirty laps—an almost lenient punishment, considering the circumstances.

I caught up to Amon, who had already run fifteen laps.

"Hey! This isn't a race!" Amon shouted, twisting his head to glare at me.

Running side by side with Amon, I observed the other cadets.

The instructor called up the next in line, breaking the chaotic atmosphere.

"You had your eyes closed, didn't you?" Amon asked about the earlier incident.

"I did."

"No matter how scared you are, closing your eyes isn't an option. We're soldiers now. How do you expect to survive with such weak resolve?"

"What?"

"Luck might have saved you this time, but think of it as if it were an enemy. You'd already be dead."

Amon attributed my actions to sheer luck.

"You talk about joining the Special Task Force as the top cadet, but it's all just empty boasting. Closing your eyes in fear..."

"...Sure. Got it."

"I'll be the top cadet. You'll never beat me if you keep relying on luck."

"Right. Thanks for the advice."

I responded vaguely.

Just then, a familiar face stepped forward for her turn.

"It's Kinjo's turn," Amon remarked.

Kinjo's abilities outside of magic were... lackluster. That's the most fitting word.

Tall and long-limbed with decent muscle build, Kinjo's movements were awkward, betraying his inexperience with weapons.

"Feels pretty average," Amon said with a nod.

The instructor likely scribbled something similar in his evaluation notes:

No understanding of swordsmanship.

Physical abilities: average.

The instructor then called the next name.

"Vel Red. Step forward."

She rose and gripped her sword.

"Does Vel even have the strength to swing anymore?"

"Vel?"

"She's been lying flat from exhaustion. Tried attacking the dummy earlier, thinking it was real."

"Now that you mention it, Vel hasn't shown her true skills yet."

"True skills?"

Vel stepped in front of the orc dummy and drew a deep breath to steady herself.

A faint white mist began to rise from her body.

"What... is that?" Amon frowned.

The other cadets shared similar expressions of confusion.

Vel twisted her sword with her thumb, angling the blade's back downward per the instructor's orders.

Then, in one swift motion, she struck.

A sharp, chilling sound pierced the air.

The orc dummy shimmered as if caught in a heatwave, and then it happened—the dummy, stitched together with fabric, was shredded into pieces by her strike.

Sand rained down like a fierce storm.

The cadets murmured in astonishment. Some even looked visibly shaken by her overwhelming strength.

Drawing on knowledge from my past life, I knew Vel Red was one of the key talents I had to recruit.

Among the 66th cadet class, she was pivotal.

"No way... That brute force is considered swordsmanship? I guess the Red family really is one of the Empire's top three houses..." Amon's voice quickened and grew more erratic, revealing his dismay.

Kinjo's earlier words echoed in my mind:

Mago, Vel seems a lot like us.

It wasn't just vengeance driving her.

Like a soldier with a crippling fear of sharp objects or a mage without any offensive spells, Vel was much the same.

It implied she had a weakness.

"Ugh…"

Vel collapsed to the ground, completely drained.

The instructor rushed toward her.

From his perspective, it must have seemed like Vel had given it her all and fainted.

However, her soft, steady breaths soon reassured everyone.

She had merely fallen asleep.

Vel possessed her family's unique magic but died without ever mastering its use.

She hadn't even had the chance to figure out how to overcome her weaknesses.

This time, it wouldn't happen like that.

"Hah…"

Amon let out a chuckle.

His expression seemed to say, That was intense for a moment, but the top spot is still mine.

"Next. Louis Murphy, step forward."

Louis Murphy.

His hair was a soft blonde, much like Amon's.

It was long, straight, and devoid of waves.

His golden eyes matched the shade of his hair.

Additionally, his pale skin stood out.

Louis aimed his bow at the orc model.

The arrow pierced its left eye with precision.

"Not bad."

Amon commented as though he was genuinely pleased.

By the time Amon and I had completed another lap around the training yard, all the trainees had taken their turns.

The instructor marked the evaluation sheet and announced,

"Everyone, except for those two, line up."

By "those two," he clearly meant Amon and me.

"Basic training ends today. Starting tomorrow, you'll prepare for the trials."

He raised his right hand, holding up four fingers.

"There are four trials in total."

He gestured to the evaluation sheet in his hand.

"Additionally, your individual evaluation scores will also impact your final rankings."

The instructor surveyed the assembled trainees.

"Only those ranked first through tenth can apply for the Special Forces. The top twenty will qualify for the Knights Order. Going forward, rankings will be assigned to you all, and these rankings will be displayed on the bulletin board."

The first door to the Special Forces had been opened.

It felt as though a new vertical line had been drawn on the timeline of my life.

"That's all. At ease."

The instructor turned to Amon and me.

His expression suggested that his words didn't apply to us.

We kept running.

"Amon."

"Yeah?"

"Let's at least finish another lap first."

I sprinted at full speed, overtaking him.

"This isn't a race…!"

***

The head instructor sat on the steps of the staircase.

He lit a match to light his cigarette and watched the resting trainees.

It had been a month since the 66th batch had entered the camp.

The characteristics of the 66th trainees were beginning to take shape.

He started to document them.

The first entry:

[Kinjo Shua]

He wrote the name on a blank sheet.

Meanwhile, Kinjo tapped Mago on the shoulder.

He cast repeated, nervous glances to the side.

"Mago, eleven o'clock."

Kinjo whispered in a low voice.

It was a signal to look without making it obvious.

"What?"

"Just look quickly…!"

Mago reluctantly turned his head with an annoyed expression.

Eleven o'clock.

Blonde hair, golden eyes.

It was Louis Murphy.

"I've never seen anyone so beautiful."

"Not even in Aquella?"

"Nope. I'd wager there aren't many people as stunning as Louis in the entire world…"

"No matter how pretty Louis is, don't go watching guts again."

"These days, it's not guts; I can see muscle fibers."

[Possesses Fire Enhancement Magic and Perception Magic]

"When did you even test that…?"

"Not on Louis, on you. Your monstrous physique really stirs my curiosity."

"That's… unsettling."

"Anyway, about Louis. Did you know he changes the way he ties his hair every day? There's even a betting pool among the trainees guessing his next hairstyle. Wanna join?"

So, they're doing that again this time.

"Not a chance."

While Mago and Kinjo continued their conversation, the instructor's pen moved swiftly.

Under Kinjo Shua's name, he wrote:

[Louis Murphy]

Then began documenting the traits of other trainees.

"Mago, Louis is insanely good with a bow."

[A hunter from the outskirts of the capital]

[Exceptional archery skills]

"Well, he's a hunter."

[No notable traits aside from that]

"He probably knows a lot about herbs and traps, too, which could be really useful. He's not just a good archer."

Mago, recalling his past life, disagreed with the instructor's assessment.

"Useful for what exactly?"

"Well… for something. Somewhere down the line."