Free Web NovelChapter 212: Chapter 205: Selection Begins
(rewriting to get a pace)
The twenty-eight candidates reached the training compound shortly before sunset, carrying nine days of mountain mud on their uniforms and just enough pride to keep their exhaustion from showing too openly.
The gates stood open ahead of them. Beyond waited paved ground, solid walls, smoke rising from the kitchen chimney, and narrow beds that didn’t need to be checked for rainwater, insects, or instructors lying in ambush with padded crossbows. For several steps, the column moved faster.
Then they saw Malen waiting in the centre of the yard.
He stood beside a long wooden table where twenty-eight covered bowls had been arranged in a straight line. Cedric waited a few paces behind him with six instructors and a record book tucked beneath one arm. None of them looked impressed.
The candidates slowed and formed ranks without being ordered. Their condition became more obvious once they stopped moving. Several favoured one leg. One had wrapped his left palm with a strip torn from his undershirt; another held one shoulder lower because the strap of his pack had rubbed the skin raw beneath it. Bruises darkened faces and forearms, and the last days of reduced food had sharpened nearly every expression.
Ten candidates had withdrawn during the mountain route — all ten reaching marked recovery points before doing so, none abandoned, none endangering the group by refusing to admit when they could no longer continue. The instructors had recorded that carefully. The twenty-eight survivors had recorded only that they were still standing.
Malen looked down the formation. "You completed the route."
A few men straightened.
"You crossed difficult terrain, followed incomplete instructions, found food and water, protected injured members, and reached every required checkpoint within the permitted time."
The smallest trace of satisfaction moved through the ranks. Malen allowed it to live for one breath.
"That qualified you to begin selection."
The satisfaction disappeared.
Someone near the rear muttered something beneath his breath.Malen looked in that direction. "You may repeat that."
The candidate stared ahead. "Nothing, Commander."
"Good. Your first useful observation."
Malen gestured toward the table. "You will eat. Afterward, you will wash, undergo medical inspection, and sleep."
Several faces changed immediately. Nobody smiled, though some came close.
Then a candidate in the second row made the mistake of asking, "For how long?"
Malen looked at him. "Until you are awakened."
The hope died quietly.
The bowls contained thick stew, fresh bread, and enough meat to make the meal feel suspicious. The candidates sat along the edge of the yard and ate with the concentration of men performing important work.
Several swallowed too quickly and were ordered to slow down. One candidate stared at half his bread for several seconds before wrapping it in cloth and pushing it toward his pocket.
An instructor stopped beside him. "You will receive food when food is issued."
"I was saving it for later."
"There is no later meal scheduled."
Three nearby men immediately began eating more slowly.
The instructor pointed toward the bread. "Finish it."
The candidate obeyed.
After the meal, they went through the bathhouse in small groups. The water was warm, though nobody had enough time to enjoy it. Mud ran from their skin, cuts reopened beneath the flow, and several men discovered bruises they had stopped noticing during the mountain route.
The medical inspection came next. Blisters were cleaned and covered. Swollen joints were wrapped. Cuts that had begun closing badly were opened and treated again. Every candidate was checked for injuries that could become dangerous under further strain.
One man emerged with his ankle bound tightly. "Fit to continue?" Malen asked.
The physician nodded. "With observation."
The candidate heard and looked relieved.
Cedric noticed. "You appear happy."
"Yes, Commander."
"You may wish to reconsider after tonight."
The relief vanished, though the man remained in line.
By the time the inspections ended, darkness had settled over the compound. The candidates were marched into a long sleeping hall containing two rows of narrow beds. No blankets had been placed on them. The room was warm enough that nobody questioned the omission.
Cedric entered after the final candidate. "Boots beneath the bed. Equipment beside the right leg. You will sleep in your uniforms."
A candidate near the centre raised one hand slightly. "When does the next phase begin, Commander?"
Cedric’s expression didn’t change. "It began when you entered the gate."
The lamps went out. Nobody had enough strength left to think about the answer. Most of the candidates fell asleep before the last footsteps faded from the corridor.
Forty-three minutes later, a bell began ringing outside the hall.
Men woke in confusion as instructors entered and struck the wooden bed frames with short rods. "Outside. Full equipment. Two minutes."
The room erupted. Candidates dragged boots onto swollen feet, pulled packs over bruised shoulders, and tried to fasten straps with fingers that had stiffened during sleep. One man reached the door before realizing he had left his belt beside the bed. Another wore the wrong pack halfway across the room before its owner dragged it from him.
They spilled into the yard in a broken formation.
Cedric stood beneath a covered lantern with a timing watch in one hand. The last candidate arrived still fighting with his shoulder strap.
"Two minutes and thirty-seven seconds," Cedric said. "You crossed mountains faster than you crossed a room."
Nobody answered.
Cedric looked toward the man adjusting his strap. "Are we inconveniencing you?"
"No, Commander."
"Good. I would hate for selection to interfere with your evening."
The candidates were divided into groups of four and led through the northern gate.
The logging ground lay less than a kilometre from the compound, though the distance felt longer in darkness. Heavy timber sections had been placed beside the trail, each one too long and awkward for a single man to manage.
Malen stopped beside the first. "You will carry these to the ridge marker and return them here."
A candidate looked toward the slope rising into darkness. "How far is the marker?"
"Far enough."
The groups lifted.
The first climb exposed every injury that the warm meal and brief sleep had hidden. Timber pressed into bruised shoulders. Boots slipped on loose ground. Men who had spent nine days carrying packs now struggled to match their steps beneath a weight that punished even small differences in pace.
The instructors didn’t shout constantly. They watched. Whenever one man carried less than the others, his name went into a book. When a group moved well, the instructors increased the pace. If someone stumbled, they waited to see whether the others helped him recover or blamed him for slowing them down.
The candidates soon understood that the logs were only part of the exercise. The real test was what the weight revealed.
One group reached the steepest section with its tallest candidate at the rear. The man in front kept shortening his stride, forcing the timber to strike the shoulders behind him.
"Match the pace," one teammate said.
"I am."
"You are not."
The front man turned his head. The shift threw the log sideways. All four nearly fell.
An instructor stepped closer but didn’t intervene.
The tallest candidate gritted his teeth. "Stop talking. Call the steps."
The group corrected its spacing. One man counted beneath his breath, and they began moving together.
The instructor wrote something down.
At the ridge marker, the candidates were ordered to lower the logs without dropping them. The first group managed. The second lost control near the ground and the timber struck the earth with a heavy thud.
Malen looked at it. "Lift it."
The four men obeyed.
"Lower it correctly."
They did.
"Again."
Nobody laughed when the third group made the same mistake.
They returned the timber shortly before midnight.
Cedric waited beside the trail. "Drink water. Return your equipment. Sleep."
No one asked how long. They received twenty-six minutes.
The next bell sent them to the obstacle field.
The candidates crawled beneath low wire while instructors poured water across the ground ahead of them, turning the dirt into slick mud that clung to sleeves, elbows, and knees. They climbed walls made slippery with oil, crossed narrow beams in darkness, and dragged weighted sacks through a trench deep enough to catch every tired step.
The course was simple enough to understand. That made failure harder to excuse.
Men who had crossed unstable mountain paths lost balance on beams only a hand above the ground. Candidates who had carried injured teammates through ravines struggled to drag a sack ten metres because their grip had begun to fail. Every mistake sent the pair or team back to the previous station, and every repeat consumed strength they didn’t have.
By the time the eastern sky began to pale, several candidates had stopped speaking unless ordered.
Cedric waited until the last group finished before leading them to the map yard.
A terrain map was uncovered for thirty seconds. Then the cloth dropped over it.
The candidates were divided into teams and given stones, cord, and wooden markers. They had to rebuild the terrain from memory — two streams, three ridgelines, a narrow road, several structures, and a concealed approach route.
Exhaustion distorted details almost immediately. One team placed the northern stream on the wrong side of the road. Another remembered the structures correctly but reversed the elevation lines. A candidate insisted there had been a bridge near the western ridge, although no bridge had appeared on the map.
Cedric listened to the argument for nearly a minute. "Are you certain?"
The candidate hesitated. "I believe so."
Cedric looked down at the wooden marker. "Belief has produced an impressive bridge."
The candidate’s expression tightened.
Cedric pointed toward the running track. "Take it with you."
The man ran the perimeter carrying the bridge marker over his head while his team rebuilt the map.
Breakfast lasted seven minutes. The bowls were taken away at the end of the seventh, whether the candidates had finished or not. Several men learned to eat faster without choking. One candidate tried to hold his bowl when an instructor reached for it and earned a second run around the yard.
After breakfast, they were marched to the mock village.
Timber walls formed narrow streets, courtyards, workshops, and unfinished houses. Some roofs could support instructors. Several passages ended in gates controlled from concealed positions, and nothing inside remained fixed for long.
Cedric stopped the group outside the entrance. "Two prisoners are being held inside. Three marked objectives must be identified. Recover both prisoners, locate every objective, and withdraw with your team capable of continuing the mission."
A candidate raised his hand. Cedric looked at it until the man lowered it. "Questions are allowed. Hope remains optional."
"How many defenders?"
"Enough."
"What weapons?"
"You will discover that."
"Time limit?"
"Yes."
"How long?"
Malen answered from behind them. "You have already begun."
The teams ran.
The first entered through the main street and triggered a suspended bell before reaching the first corner — padded bolts struck two men from an upper window, and an instructor declared them out. The second team attempted the rear wall and discovered the upper edge had been greased. The third entered a narrow courtyard without securing its exit and found the gate closing behind them. The fourth watched the others fail, found a drainage opening beneath an unfinished building, and entered without being detected.
They reached the first prisoner. Then they lost him when two masked instructors attacked from a side passage nobody had checked.
Cedric ended the exercise after nineteen minutes.
The candidates returned to the entrance breathing hard and carrying fresh bruises. "You failed," he said.
No one argued.
Malen addressed each team in turn. "You treated speed as a replacement for observation." His gaze shifted to the second team. "You chose an approach because it looked concealed, without asking why it had been left unguarded." Then the third. "You entered a confined space without securing your exit." Finally the fourth. "You found the best route and stopped thinking after your first success."
Their leader lowered his eyes.
"Fatigue does not place mistakes inside you," Malen said. "It removes the effort you normally use to hide them."
He stepped aside. "Again."
The village changed before the candidates re-entered. A doorway used during the first attempt had been barred. An alley ended behind a new wall. Two instructors moved to different roofs, and one prisoner had been transferred to another structure.
The candidates improved. They moved more carefully, marked cleared passages, and began watching one another’s blind sides. One team recovered a prisoner but failed to find the second. Another located every objective and lost half its members during withdrawal.
Cedric listened when the team leader claimed success. "You completed the stated task."
"Yes, Commander."
"You lost four men."
"We recovered the prisoners."
"One prisoner is a medic. The other carries intelligence that must reach the command post quickly. You no longer have enough men to move them safely or defend the withdrawal."
The team leader said nothing.
"You completed the instruction and failed its purpose."
The next attempt began immediately.
By midday, the candidates had entered the village five times. Every repetition demanded a different answer. Instructors changed routes, objectives moved, and false information appeared in places that had previously been safe.
The village could not be memorized. Only the method could be learned.
On the sixth attempt, one team recovered both prisoners and identified all three objectives while retaining enough strength to withdraw.
Malen gave them barely enough time to recover their breathing before ordering everyone back toward the compound.
Cedric let them reach the western edge of the training ground before pointing toward a line of shovels laid out in the dirt. "Take one."
Several candidates stared at them. One looked past the shovels toward the sleeping hall.
Cedric noticed. "The beds remain where you left them. They are not expecting you."
White stakes marked a defensive line across the field. Each candidate received a section and was ordered to dig a fighting position deep enough to protect a kneeling man, wide enough to allow movement, and shaped so rainwater would drain away.
The topsoil came loose easily. The ground beneath it was packed clay mixed with stone. Shovels struck hard enough to jar wrists and shoulders. Blisters reopened beneath bandages. Arms that had carried timber through the night began trembling before the positions reached half the required depth.
Malen and Cedric moved along the line, stopping only to examine the work or write something in the record book.
Near the centre, Candidate Seventeen sat back on his heels and stared at the torn skin across his palms.
An instructor stopped beside him. "Do you wish to withdraw?"
The candidate looked toward the red cord tied around the instructor’s upper arm. Every instructor carried one. A candidate could end the selection at any time by touching the cord and speaking the withdrawal phrase — food, treatment, and transport back to his former unit would follow immediately, no punishment for anyone who chose to leave. That made the choice harder.
Candidate Seventeen tightened the bandage around his hand. "No."
"Then continue."
The instructor moved on.
By late afternoon, the defensive line appeared complete.
Cedric began the inspection from the northern end. The first position was too shallow. The second offered poor drainage. The third exposed the candidate’s right side. At the fourth, Cedric stepped inside, crouched, and looked toward the field. "If the enemy approaches from the road, you may survive." The candidate waited. "If they approach from anywhere else, this trench will become a grave with excellent road visibility."
Only thirteen positions passed.
Malen looked down the line. "Fill in the rejected trenches."
For several seconds, nobody moved. Cedric closed the record book. "Was the order unclear?"
Shovels moved again. The rejected earth went back into the ground. Candidates stamped it flat, reset the stakes, and started over. Those whose positions had passed were sent to help the others, revealing who resented carrying another man’s failure and who understood the line mattered more than individual credit.
The second set of positions was completed after sunset. This time, every one passed.
Food arrived in covered bowls. The candidates ate standing beside the trenches because sitting required more effort than remaining upright.
Several had managed only a few mouthfuls when the bell rang.
Malen pointed toward the road. "Packs."
The bowls were left where they stood.
The twelve-kilometre march began beneath a moonless sky.
Each candidate carried a full pack, training weapon, water, and additional ammunition weight. The pace remained moderate for the first three kilometres, allowing the groups to settle into a rhythm.
Then Cedric called three names. The selected men stepped out of formation. "You are wounded," he told them. "You cannot walk without assistance, and you cannot carry your equipment."
The three were among the largest candidates remaining.
Someone near the rear muttered, "Of course."
Malen turned his head. "Would you prefer the enemy to wound smaller men?"
"No, sir."
"Then war has considered your preference and rejected it."
The packs and weapons of the wounded men were redistributed. One team placed most of the additional load on its strongest candidate. He accepted without complaint and maintained the pace for nearly two kilometres before his steps shortened and his breathing turned ragged. His team leader ignored it. The man collapsed on the next incline, and the group lost several minutes redistributing the weight they should have divided earlier.
Another team shared the load evenly and rotated the wounded man between pairs. Their pace slowed at first, but it never broke. They reached the compound first.
Malen waited until every team returned. "Strength is a resource. If you spend it all at once, it will not be available when you need it." His gaze moved toward the team that had overloaded its strongest man. "You used one candidate as though he were equipment."
"He volunteered," the team leader said.
"And you accepted because it made the next two kilometres easier."
"Yes."
"You solved the immediate problem and created a larger one."
Malen stepped aside. "Leave your packs. Enter the classroom."
A faint sound passed through the formation. Cedric raised an eyebrow. "Was that disappointment?"
No one answered.
"Good. It lacked conviction."
The classroom contained rows of benches and a long table covered by a dark cloth.
Gandalf stood at the front. He looked far too rested.
The candidates lowered themselves onto the benches with the caution of men whose bodies had become unreliable.
"Ah well pity you poor souls but well anyways now you will study the objects on this table for one minute," Gandalf said. "Afterward, the cloth will be replaced, and you will record everything you remember."
A candidate near the back stared at him. "Everything?"
"Number, position, colour, material, damage, and any relationship between the objects."
The candidate looked toward the dark windows. Gandalf followed his gaze. "No, dawn has not arrived out of sympathy."
He lifted the cloth. Coins, coloured stones, sealed bottles, pieces of wire, broken tools, scraps of cloth, and unfamiliar mechanical components covered the table. The candidates forced their attention toward it. Some counted from left to right. Others grouped objects by type. One whispered colours beneath his breath until Malen tapped the back of his bench.
The cloth fell after one minute. Writing boards were passed around.
The first answers were poor. Several candidates remembered the objects but placed them incorrectly. Others recorded colours and forgot damage. One man confidently described a blue bottle that had never existed.
Gandalf read the answer twice. "You have added an object."
"I remember it."
"That is quite unfortunate."
A few men laughed. Gandalf handed back the board. "Memory becomes imaginative when tired. Intelligence gathered from imagination is usually called fiction."
The objects were rearranged. "Again."
The second attempt introduced subtler changes — a knife moved position, one bottle lost its seal, a red stone became brown. On the third attempt, instructors moved through the corridor outside. Doors opened and closed. Boots passed the room. Someone dropped a metal tray hard enough to make several candidates look away. Those who turned missed the removal of a small brass gear.(Candidates giving full support to instructors and gandalf in their heart by giving every good word they have learned till now)
By the fourth attempt, the lantern had been dimmed. By the fifth, one candidate fell asleep while holding the chalk, his head lowering until it touched the writing board.
Gandalf tapped the desk. The candidate woke and nearly overturned the bench.
"An enemy may value your ability to sleep anywhere."
"Sorry, sir."
"Do not apologize to me. I was visible."
The exercise continued until grey light appeared beyond the windows.
When the candidates were finally released, they returned to the sleeping hall without speaking. Nobody lay down immediately. They sat on the edges of the beds and watched the door, waiting for the bell they were certain would come.
Ten minutes passed. Then twenty.
One candidate lowered himself onto the mattress, though his hand remained wrapped around the strap of his pack. Another followed. Soon the hall filled with uneven breathing.
The bell did not ring. That became another test.
Every sound from the corridor woke someone. A distant hammer from Titanworks brought three men upright. The closing of an outer gate sent another reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there. Sleep came in fragments because none of them trusted the silence.
Malen watched through the narrow observation opening. Cedric stood beside him with the first-day records.
"Five considered withdrawing."
"They remained."
"For now."
Malen studied the room. The mountain route had tested judgment under hunger and uncertainty. The village had exposed impatience. The trenches had measured whether frustration became carelessness. The march had shown which leaders spent their strongest men without thinking beyond the next kilometre. Fourteen days of pressure would reveal the rest.
Cedric turned a page. "Candidate Seventeen is favouring both hands."
"The physician cleared him."
"He may not remain cleared."
"Then he will be removed when continuing becomes dangerous."
"Not before?"
"No."
Cedric closed the record book. "How many do you expect to finish?"
"The number that can still think when exhaustion removes the performance."
"That is not a number."
"It is the only one that matters to us."
The bell rang.
Twenty-eight men surged awake. Several stood before their eyes had fully opened. Equipment was lifted, straps tightened, and boots checked without the confusion of the previous night.
Malen opened the door. "Outside. Two minutes."
This time, the final man crossed the threshold with six seconds remaining.
Cedric checked the timing watch. "Improvement."
Nobody smiled. They had already learned that improvement only earned a harder problem.
The second day began without announcement or any clear boundary separating it from the first.
By midday, the candidates had completed a timed run, carried ammunition crates through a flooded trench, and crossed the obstacle field in pairs while one member wore a blindfold. The blind candidate had to trust directions. The sighted candidate had to give them clearly.
Several pairs failed because the guide shouted too much. Others failed because the blind candidate ignored instructions and moved according to memory. One pair reached the final wall without a mistake. Then the guide said, "Jump."
The blind candidate obeyed immediately and struck the wall chest-first.
Cedric stopped beside them. "What happened?"
"I meant jump and grab the upper edge."
"You gave half an order."
"Yes."
They were sent back to the beginning.
In the afternoon, teams received sealed orders and entered the forest to establish observation posts without being detected by instructors already inside.
Half chose high ground. The instructors expected that. Three teams were discovered within twenty minutes.
One group concealed itself beside a shallow stream, using the sound of water to cover movement. They remained unseen for nearly two hours, then ruined the position when one candidate shifted to escape the cold water gathering inside his boot.
Malen found them before the man finished moving.
The evening brought close-combat drills. The candidates fought in short rounds that continued until technique began to collapse. The instructors watched for the moment fatigue replaced discipline with anger.
Candidate Eleven reached it first. After taking three consecutive blows, he abandoned his stance and rushed his opponent. The opponent stepped aside. Candidate Eleven struck the ground hard.
Cedric stopped the round. "Why did you charge?"
"He kept hitting me."
"That is a habit enemies sometimes develop."
The candidate remained on one knee, breathing heavily.
"You stopped solving the problem and decided to punish it."
Candidate Eleven lowered his head. "Again."
The round restarted. This time he lost without losing.(Improvement).
The candidates received one hour of sleep that night. No bell interrupted it.
The following morning, the hour was reduced to nineteen minutes.
By the fourth day, no one asked how much rest they would receive.
By the fifth, they had stopped measuring time by sunrise and darkness. They measured it by exercises, meals, and the brief moments when instructors were not speaking to them.
The pressure never remained constant long enough for them to adapt. Some days began with running and ended with classroom work. Others began with careful map exercises before turning abruptly into forced marches. At times they received enough food to feel almost normal, only to lose half of it because they missed a checkpoint deadline. The instructors changed the rhythm whenever the candidates began predicting it.
On the sixth night, the men were allowed three uninterrupted hours of sleep. They woke almost cheerful.
Cedric sent them into the mock village again. This time the prisoners were enemy scouts, the objectives were false, and the real task was hidden inside a line of instructions that most candidates stopped listening to after hearing the word rescue.
Only one team understood. They watched the village from outside, identified the trap, and returned without entering.
Cedric looked at their leader. "Why did you refuse the mission?"
"We did not refuse it. The instruction was to determine whether the prisoners could be recovered without compromising the larger operation."
"And?"
"They could not."
"What made you certain?"
"The approaches were too open, the guards were positioned to be seen, and the prisoners had been left near the centre lane."
Cedric nodded once. For the first time, he did not order them to repeat the exercise.
By the eighth day, three candidates had withdrawn. One left after his hands —
One left after his hands stopped closing properly around a weapon.
Another withdrew after making the same navigation error twice and realizing he could no longer trust his own judgment.
The third stood beside the red cord for almost a minute before touching it.
None of the remaining men mocked them.
They had learned too much for that.
Twenty-five candidates entered the ninth day.
Malen gathered them in the yard before dawn.
They stood straighter than they had on the first night, though exhaustion had hollowed their faces and slowed their movements.
"You have completed half of the attrition phase."
Several men looked surprised.
The days had become too blurred for them to count.
Malen continued.
"The next half will be harder."
A candidate in the rear gave a tired laugh before he could stop himself.
Malen looked toward him.
"Something amusing?"
"No, sir."
"Then preserve your strength."
The gates opened behind Malen.
Beyond them, instructors waited beside loaded packs, climbing ropes, and covered crates.
Cedric stepped forward.
"Move."
The candidates lifted their equipment.
Twenty-five men crossed the gate without asking where they were going.
The first week had taught them that the destination rarely mattered.
What mattered was who they became before they reached it.
