On my day off, I spent the morning swimming in the lake that fed the camp's showers. We'd passed it before on one of our longer runs, and I'd made sure to ask permission before heading up. One of my trainers assured me I wouldn't be executed for trespassing—reassuring words, all things considered. A watchtower overlooked the lake, and the guards stationed there told me I was free to swim as long as I stayed close to the bank beneath them. That was fine by me. The last thing I wanted was to be mistaken for a deserter.
After my swim, I sat on the shore, the cool breeze drying my skin as I admired the changes in my body—leaner, stronger, tougher than the man who had first arrived here. That was when I noticed someone approaching with a fishing pole.
It was Damian—a familiar face. The healer. He'd patched me up more times than I could count, recharged my translation amulet, and even helped me fumble through the local language. He gave me a brief nod, set up by the bank, and began to cast, his movements rhythmic and precise, reminiscent of fly fishing.
We chatted idly as he fished, and I finally voiced a question that had been gnawing at me.
"Damian, what's the difference between a spell form and actual magic?"
He didn't miss a beat in his casting. "To cast a spell, a mage channels aether into a construct," he explained. "Constructs come in three forms. First, physical devices with embedded spell forms—like your amulet. Second, permanent inscriptions on a mage's aether core. Each affinity on a core can hold only one such inscription. The third method, though, is what defines a true mage: creating a spell form midair using pure aether manipulation and manual dexterity."
He glanced at me. "Pass me your amulet."
I unclasped it and handed it over. He laid his fishing rod down and carefully disassembled the device, revealing six thin, rune-covered discs stacked neatly within.
"See these?" he said, orienting them on a small tab. "This spell has six layers. Reproducing all of them by hand, maintaining their structure, and channeling aether into them quickly enough? Not easy."
He reassembled the amulet, charged it, and passed it back. I turned it over in my hands with a new appreciation.
"I could maybe copy one disc's runes if I studied them long enough," I admitted. "But all six?"
He chuckled. "Some spells are simpler—just three layers—but you still have to create them fast, without letting them unravel. Even with a strong affinity, only one in a thousand people can actually manipulate aether well enough to cast in the air. That's why mages are so highly valued." His voice softened. "I'm not a true mage. All of my spells are forms inscribed directly on my core."
I perked up. "Can anyone do that? Add spell forms to their core?"
"Yes and no," he said thoughtfully. "It's mostly about intent and visualization. But you also need a strong enough affinity—at least a score of ten in a specific type of magic—to inscribe a spell form successfully. Below that, it's almost impossible."
He picked up his pole again and cast. We sat in silence a while before I asked, "So, people don't usually have affinities over ten?"
He gave me a sideways glance. "Everyone gets tested at fifteen. Don't they do that where you're from?"
I kept my voice calm. "No. Only nobles are tested."
He frowned, then nodded slowly. "That's a shame. You never know where the next great mage might come from. Everyone has some affinity, usually between five and six. Secondary affinities tend to be half that. If you've never been tested, it's possible your primary is strong enough to inscribe a form. I can try to get my hands on an affinity assessment stone when one passes through. They're rare—mostly found in big cities—but I know what to look for."
"I'd appreciate that," I said, smiling.
He nodded again, still casting. "I'm well-practiced in the process. I can't create forms in the air, but I have seven different spell forms imprinted on my core." He held up a finger, and a steady flame appeared atop it. "This one's fire. My affinity for it is eight—just enough to manage this. Not flashy, but great for starting campfires."
His expression darkened slightly. "Your affinities were time and space, right?" I nodded. "Don't get your hopes up. Rarer magics tend to come with weaker affinities."
"How strong is your healing affinity?" I asked, more curious than cautious.
He raised an eyebrow, then chuckled. "It's usually rude to ask that, but… mine's fifty-four. It's my second strongest. With it, I can heal flesh, organs, even bones."
I understood now why he was the best healer in camp.
"Could you teach me some basic aether shaping exercises?" I asked, hopeful. "My shaping potential is eight, and I'd like to build on it."
He frowned. "I suspected as much. To cast spells like a true mage, you need at least a forty in shaping. My own score is twenty-seven, and that took years to reach. I tried for a long time to cast spells manually—never succeeded."
Seeing my disappointment, he offered a gentler tone. "Still, it's not hopeless. I'll teach you the two basic exercises. And I'll see if I can borrow a shaping tablet when the supply caravan comes through."
For the next two hours, he became my instructor. The exercises centered on visualization and meditation—training the mind to feel the aether within the core and manipulate it. By the time the sun dipped low, I thanked him and returned to camp. I had skipped lunch, and I intended to make up for it at dinner.
Over the next three weeks, I stuck with the routine. Eventually, I could sense the aether nestled within my core. The feeling was faint, and control was rough—like kneading dough with numb fingers—but it was progress. Still, the effort left me mentally drained, and I struggled with morning fitness. I'd have to be careful not to let magic training interfere too much with survival.
Then, the next round of testing arrived—and I was more than ready to see what my results would reveal.
Physical
Strength (+3) 39/78
Power (+2) 37/81
Quickness (+2) 22/48
Dexterity (+2) 19/54
Endurance (+3) 49/86
Constitution (+4) 27/64
Coordination (+2) 30/59
Mental
Intellect (+1) 25/53
Reasoning (+3) 37/58
Perception (+1) 48/59
Insight (+6) 25/47
Resilience (+2) 42/70
Empathy (+0) 8/20
Fortitude (+1) 37/86
Magical
Aether Pool (+1) 8/20
Channeling (+2) 4/54
Aether Shaping (+2) 4/8
Aether Tolerance (+1) 19/49
Aether Resistance (+0) 2/18
Prime Aether Affinity - Space
Minor Aether Affinity - Time
The tester raised his eyebrows as he recorded my updated stats. I stole a glance at my magic scores and was pleased to see a noticeable improvement. My next goal was to learn how to recharge my translation amulet on my own. I could now hold basic conversations in the common tongue without it, though my vocabulary was still limited. The language resembled Latin, but I wasn't a linguist. I'd recently learned the amulet cost twenty gold—even though it was ancient—and I wouldn't be allowed to keep it after graduation. That gave me a deadline. I needed to become fluent before it was taken away.
Six more soldiers were cut after tablet testing, their names called out by Silas with all the ceremony of taking attendance. That brought our number down to sixty-eight.
Unfortunately, the rest of testing didn't go as well as I'd hoped. I placed 23rd in swordsmanship, 30th with sword and shield, 25th in dagger, and 7th in hand-to-hand. We were tested on spearmanship for the first time, though—and there, I placed 3rd. All those hours practicing with the staff and sparring with Helena had finally paid off.
Helena was now the only woman left in our barracks. The other woman had been cut during tablet testing. Without her, Helena became a target—not of violence, thankfully, but of constant and unwanted attention. Rape would have meant immediate execution, and everyone knew it. But that didn't stop the lewd comments, the "offers," or the pressure.
I wanted to stand up for her—but I was outnumbered, and I wasn't willing to paint a target on my own back. Small cliques had already begun to form among the men, and I didn't want to draw their collective attention. Some had taken to sharing each other's company at night in the absence of women. That wasn't for me, and I found myself hoping that, once I graduated, I might find someone—someone real.
Until then, I threw myself into training. The pain, the exhaustion, the relentless schedule—they all helped keep the loneliness and tension at bay.
As a reward for my third-place finish in spearmanship, I was granted an essence. The announcement came after another three men were dismissed, reducing our number to sixty-five. My name was called, and I was summoned to Commander Silas's office to select my prize.
He studied me from across the desk. "Which physical attribute do you seek?"
I considered my weaknesses in combat. Speed and agility had been my biggest liabilities—quickness, dexterity, or coordination would all help. But it was dexterity that lagged behind the most, and improving my precision with weapons could make a real difference.
"Dexterity," I answered after a pause.
My hesitation seemed to amuse him. He handed me a small, faintly glowing yellow sphere—about the size of a marble.
Seeing my curiosity, Silas smirked. "Just swallow it. Savor it if you like. First time's always the best."
Outside, I sat with the essence in my hand, examining the small sphere. It didn't look like much—but I knew the power it contained. If I wanted to survive here—thrive here—this little orb had to count. I swallowed it and focused as it dissolved, bracing myself for whatever came next.
A wave of sharp energy rippled through my nerves, like tiny electric shocks shooting down my limbs. My muscles twitched involuntarily for a few minutes, but when it passed, I felt... the same. I hadn't transformed into a warrior overnight. I didn't feel faster or more precise. Still, I hoped the change would show itself in time.
We were given a day off, and I walked back to the lake-shore, hoping to find Damian fishing like before—but he never came. So I returned to training, cutting back on my magic practice to get more rest and sharpen my weapon skills. I couldn't afford to drop in the rankings now—not with cuts still looming and the threat of being transferred to the regular army hanging over us.
By week twelve, I felt more confident than ever. When tablet testing came around again, I walked in with my head high. I'd been closing the gap, and now I was eager to see how far I'd come.
Physical
Strength (+2) 41/78
Power (+1) 38/81
Quickness (+1) 23/48
Dexterity (+4) 23/55 (+1 Potential)
Endurance (+1) 50/86
Constitution (+2) 29/64
Coordination (+3) 33/59
Mental
Intellect (+0) 25/53
Reasoning (+0) 37/58
Perception (+0) 48/59
Insight (+1) 26/47
Resilience (+0) 42/70
Empathy (+0) 8/20
Fortitude (+2) 39/86
Magical
Aether Pool (+0) 8/20
Channeling (+2) 6/54
Aether Shaping (+0) 4/8
Aether Tolerance (+0) 19/49
Aether Resistance (+0) 2/18
Prime Aether Affinity - Space
Minor Aether Affinity - Time
I was pleasantly surprised to see my dexterity had increased by four points—and even more surprised to see my potential in it had gone up by one. The tester paused when he reached that stat, flipping back and forth between my previous readings and the current ones before shrugging and jotting it down. He didn't comment, but the numbers spoke for themselves.
My physical stats were finally shaping up, and I was eager for the upcoming combat rankings. As expected, my magic hadn't improved much. I'd mostly given up on the dream of becoming a mage—now I just practiced shaping aether while I was on the crapper, more out of habit than hope. The nightly sessions left me mentally drained, and that fatigue was starting to bleed into my daytime training.
I didn't pay close attention to who got pulled during testing, but I noticed only 58 beds were filled when we returned to the barracks to prepare for the weapon evaluations. With our numbers reduced again, they told us testing would only last two days this time.
I finished 15th in sword, 19th in sword and shield, 22nd in dagger, and 5th in hand-to-hand. My improved accuracy caught people off guard—after weeks of sparring together, they weren't expecting that kind of leap. We were also tested in polearms for the first time, and I came in 11th. It stung a bit that I didn't place high enough to earn another essence, but with spear not included this round, there were just too many men ahead of me in the other categories.
Only two more were cut after weapons testing, bringing us down to 56.
Helena was still with us. We continued practicing in the evenings. She didn't talk much, but I think she appreciated the training partner—and maybe the company. She still liked beating on me, anyway.
Twelve weeks down, seventeen to go. Nearly half of us had been eliminated.
I talked to Helena about her standing. She was near the bottom of the rankings, but she didn't seem worried.
"Female legionnaires are rarer than horns on a horse," she said plainly. "If I've made it this far, I'll probably be assigned to guard some minor noblewoman—someone related to a Count or a Duke." It was the most she'd said in a week, and that was all I got from her.
On our next rest day, I ran into Damian again by the lake, fishing like before. I took the chance to ask a question that had been weighing on me.
"Damian, do you know how they decide who gets cut during tablet testing?"
He reeled in his line slowly before replying. "The commander makes the final call. Sometimes it's based on the lowest summed physical attributes, but not always. He talks to the trainers and cuts those he believes won't make good legionnaires. Laziness is a death sentence here."
I hesitated. "How am I doing?"
Damian thought for a second. "Last I saw, you were around 25th or 26th in total physical stats. That was about three weeks ago."
My heart sank a little. If only thirty men graduated, I was toeing the line.
Damian must've seen my reaction. "Don't panic. The commander places a lot of weight on weapons testing—especially sword and shield. That's the primary weapon used by the Royal Legion in the capital. If you rank in the top twenty there, you're generally safe for the next cut."
That gave me some comfort. I'd just ranked 19th in sword and shield—not great, but not terrible either.
Damian added, "Actually, the instructors were talking about you the other day. Said you made a big leap in your weapon skills since the last round."
I nodded, knowing exactly why. The essence had sharpened my control—especially with the blade. No wonder they were so valuable.
Damian went back to fishing, assuming I was done with the questions. He caught two decent-sized fish while I sat in the shade and enjoyed the breeze.
But I wasn't done yet. I rarely got the chance to speak with someone knowledgeable. Most of the other soldiers were either clueless or just complete assholes. This wasn't like any militia I'd ever heard of. There was no camaraderie, no esprit de corps. It was all competition.
"Damian," I said, "what are typical gains between tablet readings?"
He considered it. "Between weeks three and six, you'll usually see a jump of ten to fourteen points total. After that, six to ten is more common."
I did some quick math in my head. I'd probably gained thirteen or fourteen this round alone. Not bad. Maybe even ahead of the curve.
Damian caught a third fish and started packing up. As he stood, he gave me a knowing look.
"I heard the commander's planning something for your cohort. Seems there have been some red goblin attacks near a village about a hundred miles away. He thinks you all could use a little adventure—a training patrol."
He smirked, slung his gear over his shoulder, and walked off to cook his catch.