Crack! Thud!
In the heart of the military camp, inside Aiden's barracks, the burly commander snapped his eyes open, his voice booming with irritation. "Who the hell is making that racket?!" He bellowed, his deep tone cutting through the stillness of the night.
Aiden leaped from his cot with the agility of a seasoned warrior, his massive frame moving with purpose. He dashed to the wooden clothes rack, yanking his uniform off its pegs and throwing it on with practiced speed. Grabbing his heavy armor, he began buckling it onto his broad shoulders, each motion precise despite the urgency. The camp, though only a short distance from Sedona City, was his domain. He only returned home once every seven days unless summoned by Lucas himself. Otherwise, his life was here—training soldiers, honing their discipline, and ensuring they were ready for battle.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
"Captain! The City Lord is here!" A night-duty soldier burst into the barracks, panting from his sprint. Without missing a beat, he dropped to his knees beside Aiden, deftly assisting the commander in fastening the cumbersome armor.
"The Lord is here?" Aiden froze for a split second, his mind racing to piece together the situation. Lucas's unannounced visit meant one thing: a surprise inspection. With his armor secured, Aiden grabbed his trusty sword from its hook on the wall and jogged out of the barracks, his heavy boots pounding the ground. Thud! Thud! Thud!
From a distance, Aiden spotted the open clearing of the camp, illuminated by the flickering glow of torches. Several large bonfires roared, casting dancing shadows across the ground. There, standing calmly to one side, was Lucas, his piercing gaze fixed on the approaching commander.
"City Lord!" Aiden skidded to a halt and snapped a crisp salute, his chest heaving slightly from the run.
"Time," Lucas said coolly, his voice steady and authoritative, betraying no hint of emotion.
"Two minutes," Mina, Lucas's ever-present aide, responded instantly, her tone sharp and precise.
Lucas gave a slight nod, a rare sign of approval. "Good," He said, satisfied with the speed. In an era where donning armor was a laborious task—leather straps, metal plates, and buckles all requiring careful adjustment—two minutes was commendable.
Aiden let out a barely audible sigh of relief, his broad shoulders relaxing just a fraction. Lucas's surprise inspections were notorious, and even a veteran like Aiden felt the weight of the City Lord's scrutiny. In this camp, rank meant nothing if you couldn't lead by example. Lucas demanded excellence, and slacking off was not an option. A commander who couldn't set the standard had no business leading an elite force.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Moments later, more soldiers poured into the clearing, their armor clanking as they ran. They swiftly assembled into seven neat phalanxes, each consisting of fifty men, their weapons gleaming under the firelight. They were only a tad slower than Aiden, their movements disciplined but betraying the haste of being roused from sleep.
"Time," Lucas demanded again, his face an unreadable mask, his sharp black eyes scanning the ranks like a hawk.
"Three minutes," Mina replied, her voice steady but carrying a hint of approval. For soldiers to don their armor and assemble in such a short time was impressive, given the complexity of the gear.
Lucas gave another faint nod, his expression softening imperceptibly. The time was satisfactory, but speed was only half the equation. Now came the real test: their appearance. If any soldier's armor was incomplete or improperly worn, their swiftness would mean nothing.
"Listen up!" Lucas's voice rang out, low and commanding, resonating across the clearing. "I'm here to make your lives difficult tonight. If I find anyone lacking, you'll be running twenty kilometers with full gear. Understood?"
The soldiers stood straighter, their spines stiffening under the weight of his words. The air crackled with tension as they awaited his inspection.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Lucas strode toward the first phalanx, Mina trailing closely behind, holding a lantern that cast a soft glow over the soldiers' faces. Their eyes, some still crusted with sleep, met Lucas's unrelenting gaze. He moved with purpose, his presence commanding absolute attention.
Slap!
Lucas stopped in front of one soldier, his hand shooting out to smack the man's chest plate, the sound echoing sharply. "Where's your helmet?" He snapped, his voice like a whip. "Planning to get your head cleaved off on the battlefield?"
The soldier's eyes dropped, his face burning with shame as he pressed his lips into a tight line, unable to respond.
"Twenty kilometers, full gear. Go," Lucas ordered coldly, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"Yes, Lord!" The soldier barked, his voice strained but resolute.
"I can't hear you!" Lucas's black eyes bored into the man, unrelenting.
"YES, LORD!" The soldier roared, his voice cracking with effort.
Lucas stepped aside, his expression unchanging. "Execute."
"YES, LORD!" The soldier saluted sharply, then jogged out of formation, heading off alone to begin his grueling punishment run.
Lucas continued his inspection, his piercing gaze missing nothing. The soldiers stood rigid, their hearts pounding as the City Lord's presence loomed over them. To these men, Lucas was more than a leader—he was an idol, a symbol of discipline and strength.
"Soldier!" Lucas stopped before another man, his voice cutting through the night. "Where's your arm guard?"
"Lord! It's in the dormitory, Lord!" The soldier shouted, his voice loud but tinged with embarrassment.
"Twenty kilometers, full gear. Go," Lucas commanded, his tone as cold as steel.
"Yes, Lord!" The soldier saluted and sprinted out of formation, joining the growing number of those facing punishment.
As the inspection wore on, more soldiers were singled out, all for incomplete or improperly worn armor. Lucas overlooked minor issues like slightly crooked straps—soldiers often worked in pairs to don their gear, helping one another in the chaos of a sudden muster. But missing pieces? That was unforgivable.
"Twenty-three," Lucas said finally, turning to Aiden after completing his rounds. His voice was calm but carried an edge of disappointment. "I expect zero next time."
"Yes, Lord!" Aiden bellowed, his voice echoing through the night air. He felt the weight of Lucas's words settle on his shoulders. As commander, the responsibility for these lapses fell on him.
"Next, barracks inspection," Lucas announced, turning on his heel and striding toward the dormitory area. Mina and Aiden fell in step behind him, the lantern casting long shadows as they moved.
Lucas entered the first dormitory, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the room. The floor was relatively clean, but towels hung haphazardly on hooks, and water cups were strewn carelessly across a table. It was a small but telling sign of lax discipline.
"Whose dormitory is this?" Lucas's voice was low, but it carried the weight of iron, demanding an answer.
Aiden stepped forward, his face grim. "Dormitory One leader, get over here!" He roared toward the open door.
"Yes, Lord!" A soldier from the phalanx responded immediately, jogging over with quick, precise steps.
"You're slacking," Lucas said, pointing to the disheveled towels and scattered cups. His tone was stern, his eyes unyielding. "You think you can leave this mess before bed? Tidy up in the morning just to pass inspection?"
The soldier's head bowed, his face flushed with guilt. Lucas had hit the nail on the head.
"Look at me!" Lucas snapped, his black eyes blazing. "My soldiers don't bow their heads, not even in death!"
"YES, LORD!" The soldier shouted, his voice raw with effort as he snapped his head up.
"Entire dormitory, twenty kilometers, full gear," Lucas ordered, his voice a low growl.
"Yes, Lord!" The soldier saluted, then turned and jogged out, gathering his bunkmates to begin their punishment run.
"You're getting sloppy," Lucas said coldly to Aiden. "Tomorrow, I want a thorough inspection."
"Yes, Lord!" Aiden replied, his face tightening. He hadn't realized how much the soldiers had let slide, and the lapse stung his pride.
Lucas moved to the next dormitory, his expression unchanging. The second room was no better—wooden basins were scattered carelessly, clearly tossed aside before bed the previous night.
"Unacceptable," Lucas said, his voice clipped. "Get them running."
"Yes, Lord!" Aiden nodded, raising his voice to a thunderous roar. "Dormitory Two, you lazy bastards, start running!"
"YES, LORD!" Came the immediate response from the phalanx, followed by the sound of boots hitting the ground as the soldiers took off.
"Discipline must never waver," Lucas said as he walked, his voice firm and deliberate. "It's the backbone of swift, coordinated action. Especially with new recruits—they need to have their laziness beaten out of them."
"Understood, Lord," Aiden said earnestly, his mind already turning to the recent focus on warhorses that had distracted him from barracks oversight. He wouldn't let it happen again.
"I don't want an army that crumbles at the first sign of pressure," Lucas said, pointing to Dormitory Seven. "Get them moving."
"Yes, Lord!" Aiden roared. "Dormitory Seven, you sorry lot, start running!"
"Keep a close eye on them," Lucas continued, his tone icy. "We're expanding the army soon. If they can't hack it, send them to the reserves."
"Yes, Lord!" Aiden's heart skipped a beat. Another expansion? The Lord's ambitions were relentless.
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