Orcs' ears are color-coded for what weapons they use and how strong they are. I wonder what they perceive as strength from us. Am I strong to them?
"Come with me."
The sun had hardly crossed over the partifold walls. On the ground below, soldiers yelled in unison.
"Swing!"
Their swords cut through the air as they replied, "Swing!"
The instructor turned to the boy.
"From today, until you leave this place, you will join them every morning for training."
"Yes, sir."
"You're forbidden to use weapons until I say so. Understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good." He turned to walk away.
"Sir!"
His head turned slightly, "Yes?"
"W- What is your name?"
"Captain Fowler."
The boy became rigid and imitated Elias' gesture.
"Yes, Captain Fowler."
"Good," he replied through a smirk.
"Milo! Get your ass down here!"
"Milo!"
The second shout made the boy look down. He dropped his fist and turned to the soldiers.
Milo?
The leader of the training was looking at him. He tucked both hands behind his back, and his chest poked out confidently.
"Ah- uh, yes, sir! Coming!"
Milo...
He ran down the stairs quickly and passed Fowler.
"Hey!"
The shout stopped him in his tracks. He turned to Fowler.
"I believe you owe Major Erwal forty-two more laps."
Disappointment shrouded the boy's face, but he didn't object. If anything, Fowler could only see how determined he was to learn how to fight.
Jackson walked by with his hair soaked from sweat.
"Jackson!"
Jackson stopped.
"W- Why is that guy- Major Kael, calling me... Milo?"
The man laughed in response.
"Well, it's because you landed a hit on Elias by sprawling-," he imitated the motion, "-through his legs like a rat."
"Like a rat?"
"Yeah, like a rat. Y'know?"
"What does 'Milo' have to do with that?"
"Ah, I think some of the boys just thought the best name for an actual rat would be 'Milo', so." He shrugged.
Jackson could see that the answer was upsetting.
"Hey, raise your head."
The boy looked up.
"It means they've acknowledged you."
Just as the sun set, the boy crossed an artificial line in the dirt. Thousands of footprints outlined the partifold. All of them became illuminated by the torches as they lit up.
Every day, the laps became faster and faster. Perhaps it was the boy's newfound determination, or maybe it was the repetition.
His hands fell to his knees, but he quickly stood up and clasped them behind his head.
Through his shaky breath, he screamed out.
"Major Kael, sir! I have finished!"
"Augh!..."
He dropped back down, but before he had any time to rest, Major Kael had already appeared.
His hands flew all around the boy's legs. He poked and prodded and squeezed his calves and quads. Only a minute or two of this ensued before he looked to the boy.
What is it with these men and grabbing me?
"I can see you're not lying."
He walked away and came back with a wet pen and paper. He scribbled and looked at the boy's physique—accompanied by the occasional mumble.
"Seven and a half centimeters to the upper legs..."
"...two and a half to the calves..."
Milo stood there awkwardly as Kael kept to himself. Eventually, Kael walked away.
After standing for a bit longer, the boy began making his way to the rocks.
It's almost time for Rings. I need to watch.
Before he could take more than ten steps, he heard Kael once more.
"Hey! You're with me."
He waved the boy over to an area in the corner of the open arena. There were small and large rocks on the ground. Two square stones protruded from the wall.
"For the next three weeks, you will do exactly as I say."
Major Kael didn't bother to look up from his papers.
"But, what about Captain Fowler?"
"What about Captain Fowler?"
"Well... he said he'd train me. Teach me to fight, y'know?"
Kael laughed, but realized the confusion on Milo's face.
"Oh, you're serious."
"Well, the Captain wouldn't bother with the basics. He knows I'm well enough to do that much."
He continued to scribble on his paper.
"I see," the words trailed off.
"Here."
Kael handed him the sheet of paper.
"Keep this. It has everything to do with your training."
Milo read through the paper quickly.
Pushes, sprints, pulls, up-downs, squats...[1]
"So you can read."
The boy nodded.
Kael explained all the exercises and how to do them correctly. He walked Milo through the basic routines, rest times, and how to progress if it was too easy.
"How long do I go for, sir?"
"...Even after you bleed."
A comment that made the boy shiver, but he knew his inexperience with such intense training could only be met with resolve. Milo clenched his fists.
"And what after this?"
Kael glared at him. If it weren't for the wall behind him, Milo would have backed away. He always felt he knew who was strong just by how scared he got from their looks. Fowler's was the scariest.
"Survive my training," he said.
"Then we'll see if you deserve to fight."
He walked away without another word.
Each exercise felt foreign, and every muscle reacted differently to the movements.
His regimen was as follows:
One lap around the partifold.
Fifty consecutive pushes.
A sprint to the end of the partifold and back.
Rest.
One lap around the partifold.
Fifty consecutive pulls.
Fifty consecutive up-downs.
One hundred squats.
One lap around the partifold.
Thanks to the days of running, one lap around the part of the track was only half as exhausting as before, but the only other exercises he could do were the pushes and the single sprint.
The grip on the wall was especially tough to hold. The two bricks that poked out were covered in dust, making it difficult to hold on to them for very long.
By the end of the day, the boy felt every muscle in his body was worn and torn from the stress. His head dropped to the ground as he fell to his back.
The sun was gone, and a sea of stars sparkled throughout the sky. The foreign smell of sweat, blood, and metal had become numb to him.
He closed his eyes.
Only a week, but it feels like forever.
He caught himself smiling. The smile fell to a frown.
Amy, Paul, Garrison, Leena, Mikey, Lee, Julia, Leo, Richie, Aaron, Cassie...
Am I really letting myself feel okay here?
"Due to Major Kael's reports, I'd assumed we had a hard worker among our ranks."
Milo's eyes jolted open to see Fowler walking over to him. He quickly stood up and brushed himself clean.
"S- Sorry, sir! I was just taking a short break before another round."
Fowler smiled, "No worries, boy."
"I guess I should call you, Milo, now? How does the name suit you?"
He sat on the ground beside the boy and patted his hand against the dirt. Milo complied and sat with his legs tucked to his chest.
"Good, I guess..."
"You should be proud of it. To have a name at all is to be alive, even after death."
The boy smiled, but tried to hide it.
"I have a mission for you."
"A mission?"
"Yes, but you won't do much."
Fowler passed him a folded piece of paper. As Milo unraveled it, a map began to show itself. The lines were smooth, and the detail was strong.
"A map..."
"You know why that is special, yes?"
The boy nodded.
"Keep it for now. You'll need to memorize it by the end of the week."
"I-"
"..."
"Speak. With confidence."
"I don't understand. This is a map of the world, right? You want me to memorize it? What am I supposed to do on this mission?"
"You will watch. You will observe. You will do no more and no less than what I've assigned you to do."
The boy looked down at the paper—seven islands, stacked on top of one another.
"In three days, you and ten others will venture down to the fourth layer."
He continued in a brash tone, "There, you will kill someone for me."
[1] Push-ups, sprints, pull-ups, burpees, and squats respectively