Second Life as a Soldier

After the third month, most training continued without major hiccups. The overall intensity increased slightly, but it still paled in comparison to the hell Varik had put us through. My personal training regimen, particularly agility drills using weights, was starting to pay off. By the end of the fourth month, my Agility had climbed to 8.5, Strength to 10.5, and Constitution to 11.4. The growth, though steady, was slowing. This was the first time my monthly increase was less than 0.5 points in Constitution.

Still, it was progress. Tangible, hard-earned progress.

My routine visits to the library continued, and though my interactions with Lela remained mostly casual, her presence was a steady reminder of what quiet discipline looked like. She rarely spoke unless spoken to, but she always read with purpose. If I arrived early, I’d sometimes catch her midway through a book on tactics or elemental theory, flipping pages with the kind of focus that made you feel like every second you wasted was a second lost forever.

By the end of month four, my name appeared at rank 108 out of 305. It was a big jump. The surprise? My improved performance wasn’t solely due to stats. I’d scored high on drill assessments, particularly battle formations, geography, and beast classifications. All the topics I had drilled in the library, day after day. It turned out strategy mattered just as much as stamina.

Month five brought new challenges.

The physical intensity ticked up again, especially during agility and sparring drills. Staggered stances and precision strikes under time limits became the norm. But the biggest change was more subtle. Midway through the first week, we were introduced to a breathing exercise. At first glance, it looked like a refined version of the technique I’d been practicing since month one, deep, rhythmic inhalations and exhalations meant to aid in recovery. But this version was more structured, with specific pauses and muscle contractions at each breath stage.

It was designed to pull in ambient mana and stabilize it within the body. I was quietly proud; I’d stumbled onto something similar on my own months ago. But now, I had a more efficient pattern to work with. A teacher to refine the instinct.

The difference showed. My recovery times have shortened. My stamina during night drills improved. I started finishing the obstacle courses earlier, not with ease, but with control.

Then came something unexpected.

Offers.Around the middle of the month, a wave of interest swept through the recruits. Nobles, mostly minor barons, knights, and wealthy merchant families, began extending recruitment contracts. Nothing grand. Just offered to become house guards or caravan escorts after our military service ended. The only immediate benefit? A modest signing bonus. One of the higher-profile offers came from a small baron who ruled a town west of Stonegate.

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Even I received a few offers, two from merchant families, and one from a knightly house. They all sounded simple enough. Commit to serving their household after your ten-year military service. In return, you receive a handful of gold coins now and the promise of future stability.

But I have yet to respond.

Why? Because the contracts required mana-binding oaths. Because once signed, you forfeit eligibility to join the knight orders. Because I didn’t trust the smiles of rich men offering coins to poor boys. The sting from my earlier run-in with noble customs still lingered, not on my skin, but in my memory.

Most of the contracts were straightforward. Serve as a guard. Obey commands. Don’t attack the family. But something gnawed at me. Nowhere in the contracts was a clause about quitting.

And the other recruits? They were thrilled. Some had already accepted. I overheard conversations in the mess tent, boys gushing about their future posts, the prestige of serving under a knight’s banner, the gold they’d send home. There was no room for doubt. To them, being chosen by a noble was proof they mattered.

I needed advice.

So during one of our shared library sessions, I caught up with Lela.

“Hey,” I said, catching her just as she was reshelving a book on beast classifications.

She turned, slightly surprised. ”Looking for a book recommendation?”

“Not today! But I had a few questions regarding these noble offers, why would they hire us now? What if their investment dies on the battlefield?”

Her eyes sharpened. “Sit. You’re a commoner, right?”

Her tone wasn’t dismissive, if anything, it carried a quiet pride. Not the pride of arrogance, but of someone speaking about a tradition worth honoring.

“They hire young because it’s easier to get kids to sign mana contracts, not to exploit them, but to shape them early. Coins aren’t the priority; loyalty is. Nobles recruit from all over, city guards, small knight academies, because it strengthens the realm. Most positions above lieutenant in the army are held by nobles for a reason: they’ve been trained their whole lives to lead.”

She paused, her gaze softening. “And when they bring in commoners, it’s not charity, it’s unity. It helps their young heirs understand the people they’ll command. On the battlefield, those bonds can turn the tide of a fight. A loyal company isn’t just an asset, it’s a shield for both soldier and commander.”

I blinked. “Why not just recruit veterans? Wouldn’t that be safer?”

“Perhaps,” she allowed, “but veterans are harder to sway. Young recruits learn the right way from the start. They grow into soldiers the nobles can trust with their lives, and their banners.” She gave a small, almost fond smile.

I was silent for a moment.

“And those kids brag about it,” I muttered.

She nodded with a soft smile. “Because serving a noble is considered an honor. A privilege, really. To be chosen by someone powerful means you’re not just another commoner anymore. It means you’re valuable.”

Her words lingered in my ears. Not just because of what she said, but how she said it.

She meant it.

Her voice carried no sarcasm. No bitterness. Just quiet belief. For her, being noticed by a noble wasn’t a threat; it was a sign of fate. A gift.

I leaned back, letting the weight of it settle. For all my cynicism, I realized something then: I was the minority. Most recruits didn’t see the chains. They saw crowns.

And maybe, in another life, I would have too.

But now… now I couldn’t unsee it.

The contract with no escape. The smiles with hidden teeth. The idea that value was assigned by birth or benefactor.

For them, loyalty bought security. For me, it felt like trading one cage for another.

Lela looked up from her book, one last thought lingering in her eyes.

“You know,” she said, “if someone powerful believes in you, it’s not a weakness to accept it. It’s a chance.”