A bell rang.

Not the nice, reverberant sound of those old bronze church bells. But the sound of an angry mother beating a wooden spoon against a dented pot.

Obnoxious.

And my wake-up call.

Though I should call it >our

Irritated, I stumbled to my feet, put on my armor, and scuffled to the outside. The other members looked even worse with their bloodshot eyes and unsteady gait. Served them right after their endless dirty talks through the night.

Our instructor awaited us on the square between the barracks and began his morning tirade. Yeah, yeah. Defenders of Gladford, proud warriors, scary enemies, important goals, blah. In through the left ear, out of the right ear. Three weeks had passed and his speech was still the same. No need to listen to it again.

Instead, my mood took a by now predictable dive for the worse. Once again, only the round-bellied instructor stood in front of us. No sword maiden today. Not one glimpse since I had enrolled. Only sweaty men and endless monologues.

And those speeches couldn’t compare to the training on the Earth. They weren’t delivered to change the recruits, to unite them, or to break and rebuild them. Instead, they only filled time while the group waited for its end. Was this motivating? Inspiring? One look around and the obvious answer was no. Not at all.

Time stood still.

Everyone would raise their head in hope each time the instructor paused, just to lose their short-lived hope when the next sentence started. A sense of unity through shared suffering? Possible. But most likely nothing more but a frustrated middle-aged man enjoying the change to his monotonous life.

And I was frustrated, too.

Day for day, I wasted the morning hours with no chance for early hunting trips. By the time I reached the nearest forest, all my traps would be useless. Emptied by other carnivores. And so both my level and my experience points had stagnated ever since I joined this troop.

Our track started outside the barracks, followed a dirt track alongside the edge of the forest, circled around a handful of fields, and returned the same dirt track back to the start. A decent distance, especially with a backpack filled with stones. The one part of the training that reminded me of the Earth. Pure physical training with easy to see results.

The route’s halfway point was enframed by a wildflower meadow filled with countless flowers. Their blossoms painted the surrounding area in white and yellow with only a few scarce patches of green in between. I had never seen these flowers before, but they reminded me of my mother’s bouquets. These thoughts alone were enough to grit my teeth, ignore the pain, and set one foot in front of the other until we made it back to the barracks.

But the majority of people would never behold this sight.

The instructor stayed in the barracks, so the majority ran to the forest, relaxed in the shadows, and rejoined the returning runners for the last stretch. In short, even the most basic training was too much for the guys who would imagine their heroic futures all night long.

Next was breakfast. Or rather lunch.

Water, lukewarm stew, and a piece of burned bread. Barely enough to fill the stomach. In fact, most recruits had to use their daily free time to return to the city and buy extra nutrition. Thanks to that, my remaining coins became fewer and fewer.

But at least the morning training had visible effects on my body. Both my stamina and leg strength rose to new heights, which allowed me to use Heavy Strike another two times before collapsing. That might sound insignificant at first, but it was another change that increased my chance for survival. Two more strikes, two more wounds, maybe even two more dead enemies.

In contrast, the afternoon session was even more underwhelming.

Sword training.

A part of me had hoped that the sword maiden would teach us, but despite its glorious description it comprised the most mundane exercises. How to grab your sword, how to raise your sword, how to swing your sword. And that was it. No sword maiden, no new skills, not even training matches. Just a long row of men doing the same movement repeatedly.

Granted, given the physical capabilities of my fellow recruits, this probably was the correct decision. No way those slackers could handle the backlash of skills. And they might just kill each other during a training match. But it still felt like a giant waste of time to me. Oh well, the sword maiden - or rather Rhoslyn - should have her reasons. Who was I to challenge her?

And so I stood in a row with the others and swung my sword. Again. And Again. And Again.

I didn’t use swords in the game, so my knowledge concerning sword fights was little. So I tried to absorb all of the few words our instructor muttered while correcting the worst recruits. Even if I fought with an ax as my primary weapon, those insights might prove critical in a fight against sword-wielding enemies. And with lowly leprechauns as our enemies the basics of swords should cover their fighting prowess.

The downside was that I had to train my ax ability during our free time.

So when the instructor ended the training, I grabbed my ax and withdrew to a quiet corner. Some others also continued sword training on their own, but silence suited me more.

Time to swing the ax. Not in a row with the others. But just as monotonous. A swing. And another. Again. And Again. And Again.

At least time flew during my extra training. Swing after swing after swing and another hour was gone.

And what else was out here? I had no interest in bonding with those sleazebags who saw the sword maiden as nothing more but a piece of well-formed flesh. The distractions in the city would cost a hefty sum and the available girls didn’t satisfy my taste, anyway. Nobody ate hard bread if cake was on the table. So besides eating and training, my options were limited. Too late to hunt, too early to sleep, and too expensive to relax.

“Aki! Over here,” the instructor’s voice echoed through the barracks.

“Yes!”

I stopped my training, grabbed my equipment, and ran towards the main building.

A slender guard stood beside the instructor. Someone I hadn’t seen before. And he mustered me with apparent interest. Did something happen?

“Another extra training,” the instructor asked when he saw my sweaty appearance.

I nodded.

“Good, good.” The instructor acknowledged in delight and turned towards the guard. “As I told you, he is one of our best. I taught him what he needs to know. A genuine success.”

“He is?” The guard mustered me again, now in more detail. “Fighting experience?”

“Only against animals,” I answered truthfully.

While I had amassed hundreds of hours in the game, those experiences wouldn’t directly translate in the game. Would the enemy swing their sword the same way? Would they wield the same skills? And would their weak points remain the same? I didn’t know the answer to these questions yet. Soon the leprechauns would serve as my guinea pigs, but for now I had to remain humble.

There was only one first impression.

I could always surprise with further victories, but a defeat would start me off on the wrong foot. And there was a high chance my results would reach the sword maiden’s ears. So for now, successful average stood above defeated heroes.

“That’ll suffice,” the guard answered, paying no attention to my inner struggle. “Our Freiherr Houdin picked you to become one of the Vinetars for this troop. It’s an honor so we expect you to accept.” He pressed a small leather pouch and a coarse dagger into my hands. “And with that, my duty is done. May you bring glory to Gladford.”

A nod to the instructor and he was gone.

“Um… Vinetar?”

“It’s an honor,” the instructor reaffirmed. “It’s time for this army to enter battle, so Rhoslyn restructured this army into five troops. And you’ll lead one of them. It’s a real honor.”

“Then… I’ll see her?”

“Of course, of course.” The confirmation came with a wry smile. “Tomorrow, all five Vinetars will hold a council and discuss further duties. But before you can think of a woman, you have to do your job.”

“Eh?”

“You need better equipment.” He pointed towards the small pouch in my hands. “Vinetars have to survive on the battlefield, so they need better protection. At least a helmet and some arm guards. It’s not much, but use it well. For now, go visit the blacksmith. If you want a girl, impress her first.”

Again with that wry smile.

But I couldn’t care less.

Three weeks of mind-numbing training ended.

I would see her in front of me, talk with her, and make sure she remembers me.

For now I was a nameless Vinetar. Better than a faceless recruit, but still so far away. But now I had my own troops and could impress her with results. No more slacking, no more wasted time. I would deliver success no matter the task.

But first I had to visit the market place and straighten my appearance.