The howling grew louder.
AWOOOOOOO! AWOOOOOOO!
Through the pre-dawn darkness, shapes began emerging from the forest. Dozens of them. Moving with coordinated precision that suggested intelligence.
"Veterans, to the walls!" Instructor Salmosa commanded. "First-years, defensive formation in the training grounds! If anything breaks through, you engage!"
Christ. Day one and we're already dealing with a monster wave.
This is insane. Back at Benning, they at least gave you a few weeks before the real shit started. Here? They throw you in immediately.
But looking at the instructors' faces, Arden realized this was completely normal for them.
Northern Military Academy wasn't located in the frontier by accident. It was here specifically because monster attacks were common. Real combat experience wasn't something you scheduled—it was something that happened whether you were ready or not.
The veteran students—second, third, and fourth years—moved with practiced efficiency. They grabbed weapons from the armory, formed squads, and headed to defensive positions without panic or hesitation.
That's what real training looks like. No fear. Just execution.
"First-years!" Instructor Valen shouted. "You were told to come fully armed! If you only brought your primary weapon, you're already fucked! Check your equipment NOW!"
Arden had everything he needed. His steel sword at his hip. The basic military dagger on his opposite side. And tucked in a shoulder holster—something most nobles wouldn't bother with—a compact mana-shot pistol his father had insisted he take.
Magic bullets. Basically a .22 caliber equivalent. Won't kill anything big, but it'll stagger and disorient. Perfect for creating openings.
Around him, most recruits had just their swords. Maybe a dagger. Garrett looked like he was about to pass out.
Serra had her sword and what looked like a few mana crystals in a pouch—probably for emergency spell casting.
Rykard had his three swords floating around him in that slow, controlled orbit.
And Thrain... Thrain had somehow acquired a club the size of a small tree trunk.
"Where did you even get that?" Arden asked.
"Found it," Thrain said cheerfully.
CRASH!
The sound of impact echoed from the wall. Something massive had just hit the academy's outer defenses.
"HOLD THE LINE!" an instructor shouted from the walls.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
More impacts. The monsters were testing the defenses, looking for weak points.
Then Arden heard it—the distinctive sound of mana-shot pistols firing in rapid succession.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The veterans were engaging. Using ranged weapons to thin the monster numbers before they could breach the walls.
Smart. Same principles as suppressing fire. Keep them pinned, pick off the weak ones, conserve your stamina for when they get close.
"First-years!" Salmosa's voice carried across the training grounds. "Watch and learn! This is how real soldiers fight!"
From their position, Arden could see flashes of combat on the walls. Veteran students moving in coordinated teams. One group would suppress with ranged fire while another group prepared melee positions. When monsters got close, the melee fighters would strike and immediately fall back while ranged support covered their retreat.
Beautiful. Textbook fire-and-maneuver tactics. These kids know what they're doing.
But there were too many monsters.
Even with the veterans fighting efficiently, the sheer number of creatures was overwhelming the defensive positions.
CRASH!
A section of the wall's wooden palisade splintered. Three howlers burst through the gap, moving with terrifying speed.
"BREACH!" someone shouted.
The howlers didn't head for the veteran students. They were smarter than that. Instead, they veered toward the training grounds—toward the cluster of terrified first-years who represented easy prey.
"DEFENSIVE POSITIONS!" Instructor Valen commanded. "First-years, prepare to engage!"
Alright. Time to earn that Rank 1 spot.
The howlers charged across the open ground. Behind them, more creatures were pouring through the breach—frostfangs, a pack of smaller creatures that looked like rabid dogs with serrated teeth, and something that might have been a bear once but was now just wrong.
Arden drew his mana-shot pistol with his left hand, sword with his right.
"FORM UP!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the panic with the authority of someone who'd actually commanded troops in combat. "Melee fighters front line! Ranged support rear! If you have a gun, USE IT! Stagger them first, kill them second!"
Some recruits responded immediately—trained to follow orders. Others were frozen in fear.
"MOVE!" Arden barked. "NOW!"
That got them moving.
The first howler reached them.
It lunged at the nearest recruit—a boy who'd dropped his sword in panic.
Arden was already moving. He closed the distance at an angle, fired three times in rapid succession.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The first shot hit the howler's shoulder. The second caught its jaw. The third punched through its eye.
Center mass, head, eye. Create the opening.
The creature staggered, more stunned than injured. Magic bullets weren't designed to kill monsters this size—just disrupt them.
But disruption was all Arden needed.
He closed while the howler was disoriented and drove his steel sword into the gap between its ribs. Mana reinforcement flowed through his arms, adding force to the strike.
SQUELCH!
The blade sank deep. Azure blood poured over his hands.
The howler collapsed.
One down.
"Did he just—"
"He's using a gun AND a sword?"
"Who fights like that?!"
Arden ignored the comments. "Anyone with a ranged weapon, fire at their heads! You don't need to kill them, just stun them! Then close with melee!"
The second howler was already engaging other recruits. Three kids were trying to hold it off with swords, getting pushed back, about to break.
Not on my watch.
Arden fired twice more.
BANG! BANG!
Both shots hit the howler's head. The creature flinched, momentarily distracted.
"NOW! Strike together!" Arden commanded.
The three recruits struck simultaneously. Their coordinated attack brought the howler down.
Two down.
The third howler was circling, smarter than its packmates. It had seen them fall and was looking for an opening.
Then Rykard stepped forward.
His three swords stopped their gentle orbit and shot forward like missiles.
WHOOSH! WHOOSH! WHOOSH!
The blades moved with impossible precision—throat, eye, heart. The howler collapsed in a spray of azure blood.
Three down.
"FROSTFANGS INCOMING!" someone screamed.
The wolf-like creatures with ice-coated fur were pouring through the breach now. Maybe fifteen of them.
Shit. That's a lot.
"LISTEN UP!" Arden's voice cut through the chaos. "Frostfangs are pack hunters! They'll try to isolate and surround! Don't let them! Stay in groups of three minimum! Use your numbers against theirs!"
Some recruits actually listened. They clustered together, forming impromptu defensive positions.
But most were still panicking.
Need to demonstrate. Show them it can be done.
Arden moved forward, engaging the nearest frostfang. It lunged at him, ice-coated fangs aiming for his throat.
He fired once.
BANG!
The shot hit its snout. The creature yelped and jerked its head sideways.
Arden sidestepped the disrupted lunge and slashed across its exposed flank.
SLASH!
The frostfang went down.
Four down overall.
"SEE?!" Arden shouted. "Stagger them with ranged, finish with melee! It's not complicated!"
Another frostfang charged him. He repeated the process—one shot to disrupt, one sword strike to kill.
BANG! SLASH!
Five.
"He's making it look easy..."
"How is he doing that?"
A third frostfang tried a different approach, circling to attack from his blind side.
Nice try.
Arden spun and fired without looking—muscle memory from thousands of hours at the range in his past life.
BANG!
The shot caught it mid-leap. The creature crashed to the ground, disoriented.
Thrain finished it with his club.
CRUNCH!
"Thanks!" Thrain called out.
"Cover your sectors!" Arden responded. "Watch each other's backs!"
More first-years were adapting now. Following his example. Using whatever ranged weapons they had—throwing knives, small hand-axes, even rocks—to create openings before closing with swords.
Good. They're learning fast.
Group 1-A was holding together particularly well. Thrain's massive strength made him a natural anchor. Serra's ice magic provided area control—she'd created a barrier that was funneling the frostfangs into a kill zone.
Rykard's telekinetic swords could strike from unexpected angles, covering gaps in their defense.
And Arden's commands kept them coordinated.
"Garrett, stop panicking and SHOOT! You have a gun, use it!"
Garrett, hands shaking, raised his mana-shot pistol and fired wildly.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Two shots missed completely. One hit.
But that one hit staggered a frostfang long enough for the girl with silver hair (0045) to finish it.
"See? You can do this!" Arden called out. "Just keep shooting!"
The smaller dog-creatures—razormaws, someone called them—were streaming through the breach now. Fast, aggressive, but not particularly strong.
I know these. Low-level pack hunters. Target acquisition priority: weakest prey first.
"RAZORMAWS!" Arden shouted. "They target isolated victims! Stay in groups! Don't let them separate you!"
One razormaw made the mistake of charging directly at Arden.
He shot it in the face.
BANG!
The creature's head snapped back. Arden's sword took it in the throat.
SLASH!
Six.
Another razormaw. Same process.
BANG! SLASH!
Seven.
"How many bullets does he have?!"
"He's reloading while moving!"
Damn right I am. Tactical reload during movement. Basic CQB.
Arden dropped the empty magazine, slapped in a fresh one, and kept engaging.
BANG! SLASH! BANG! SLASH!
Eight. Nine.
Around him, the other first-years were starting to find their rhythm. The initial panic was fading, replaced by focused aggression.
This is what happens when you give panicked troops clear commands and a demonstration that the enemy can be killed. Fear turns into anger. Anger turns into action.
"KEEP PUSHING!" Arden commanded. "Don't give them space to regroup! Press the advantage!"
Then something massive pushed through the breach.
It was... Arden didn't even have a name for it. Eight feet tall, covered in matted fur and scales, with too many limbs and a head that split open to reveal three separate mouths.
What the fuck is that thing?
"CHIMERA!" an instructor shouted. "Fall back! That's not a first-year threat!"
Chimera. Right. I wrote about these. Mid-tier monsters. 3rd Stage equivalent in power.
We can't handle that.
But then someone moved past the defensive line.
A figure vaulted over the front ranks and landed directly between the first-years and the chimera.
Number on the chest: 0002.
It was a girl. Maybe twelve or thirteen, with short dark hair and a lean, athletic build. She wielded twin short swords with the kind of casual confidence that suggested she'd been using them since she could walk.
The chimera roared—all three mouths shrieking simultaneously—and lunged at her.
She moved like water. Fluid, precise, impossible to pin down.
Her swords flashed.
SLASH! SLASH!
Two of the chimera's limbs hit the ground, severed cleanly.
Holy shit. That's insane speed and precision.
The chimera tried to adapt, its remaining limbs lashing out in a frenzy.
She was already gone, repositioning, striking from a different angle.
SLASH! SLASH! SLASH!
More limbs fell. Azure blood sprayed.
She's surgical. Every strike is targeting joints, tendons, vital points. That's not raw power—that's perfect technique.
Then another figure joined the fight.
Number 0003.
A boy, maybe thirteen, with short blonde hair and visible tattoos on his forearms and neck. He was wielding a massive mace that looked too heavy for someone his age to lift.
But he lifted it just fine.
The chimera, now missing most of its limbs thanks to Number 0002, tried to retreat.
Number 0003 didn't let it.
He swung the mace in a wide arc.
CRACK!
The impact sounded like thunder. The chimera's entire body was sent flying backward, crashing into the breach with enough force to collapse part of the damaged palisade.
Jesus Christ. That's not normal. That's accumulated force or something. Each swing building on the last?
The chimera tried to stand.
Number 0003 hit it again.
CRACK!
And again.
CRACK!
By the third hit, there was nothing left of the chimera's head except a crater and blue paste.
The training ground went completely silent.
Number 0002 cleaned her swords with a casual flick, barely breathing hard.
Number 0003 rested his mace on his shoulder, looking almost bored.
Those are the top two. That's what I'm competing against.
A surgical assassin and a walking demolition crew.
Wonderful.
"First-years, fall back to secondary positions!" Instructor Valen commanded. "Let the veterans and top-rankers handle cleanup!"
Arden retreated with the others, watching as the veterans and the top two recruits systematically cleared the remaining monsters.
It took another ten minutes, but eventually, the wave was repelled. The breach was sealed. The surviving monsters fled back into the forest.
Arden stood among the other first-years, breathing hard, covered in azure blood.
His pistol was empty. His sword was chipped. His shoulder ached where the howler had nearly gotten him yesterday.
But he was alive. And more importantly, his group was alive.
Around him, other recruits were staring at him.
"Did you see how he fought?"
"He was using a gun and sword at the same time..."
"Who fights like that?"
"And those commands—where did he learn to command like that?"
"He's like a veteran or something..."
Instructor Valen approached, her expression unreadable.
"0001. That was... unconventional." She paused. "But effective. Your tactical awareness and command presence kept your sector organized. You saved lives."
She looked at the dead monsters scattered around their defensive position.
"Where did you learn combined weapons fighting?"
Can't tell her I was a Captain in the US Army. Need a cover story.
"Reading. Tactical manuals from the frontier wars. And practice." Arden kept his voice steady. "Seemed logical to use all available tools instead of limiting myself to just a sword."
Valen studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Logical. Most nobles consider guns beneath them. You're not most nobles."
She turned to address the entire group.
"That was a small wave. Maybe fifty creatures. A real frontier assault can be ten times that size." Her expression hardened. "Remember this feeling. Remember that fear. Because out here, this is normal. This is what you signed up for."
After she left, Garrett approached Arden, still shaking slightly.
"Thank you. For... for the commands. I would've frozen if you hadn't..."
"You did fine once you started shooting," Arden said. "Just keep practicing."
Other recruits were gathering now, looking at him with new respect. Or maybe wariness.
Great. Now I'm getting attention. Should've held back more.
But looking at the corpses, at the recruits who were still alive because he'd given them structure and commands...
No. I did what I had to do. These are kids. Twelve-year-olds thrown into combat. They needed someone to tell them they could survive.
Even if that someone is technically a forty-something reincarnated author pretending to be twelve.
Arden looked toward where Numbers 0002 and 0003 were standing, talking quietly with instructors.
But those two... they're on a completely different level. Natural combat geniuses with skills far beyond their years.
0002—surgical precision, perfect technique. 0003—overwhelming accumulated power, each strike building on the last.
And I'm supposed to compete with them for Rank 1?
He checked his weapons. Reloaded his pistol. Cleaned his sword as best he could.
This is going to be harder than I thought.
But that's fine. I've got experience they don't. Knowledge they don't. And forty-plus years of life they haven't lived.
Let's see how far that takes me.