The basic training crash course was incredibly dull. She would wake up in her nice room, then light exercises, some basic education in military fluff, an actual break for lunch, and then more light exercises. Nothing was particularly complicated or physically taxing though [Ranger’s Lore] leveled quite a few times and surprisingly [Fast Learner] even got a couple of levels.

  Ranthia also discovered a bizarre weakness, something she seemed to be utterly incapable of. Something that literally every other trainee that hadn’t dropped out had figured out effortlessly.

  “Trainee Ranthia, are you trying to be funny?!”

  “Trainee Ranthia, why are you chosen by the gods to be the single stupidest fucking worm here?”

  “Trainee Ranthia! Did I tell you to leave your position in the formation!?”

  “Trainee Ranthia! Eight laps around the island, now!”

  No matter which instructor taught her. No matter how carefully she paid attention. She even tried shifting to a mirror image hidden out of sight and trying to make it work with [Reflective Motility] out of desperation. Nothing worked.

  She was just wholly incapable of marching in military formation.

  “Seriously, what is going on with you? I don’t think you’re trying to act out, but I don’t understand how this can be so hard for you.”

  The female instructor (still ‘Sir’) had sat down with Ranthia late one evening. The hell months would be beginning soon, and several other instructors seemed to have already written Ranthia off and were doing their best to get her to drop out (she had clenched her teeth through so many urges to hurl obscenities right back at the men). Oddly, the extra—harder—exercises actually helped her feel more comfortable. That was more in line with her expectations, after all.

  “Honestly, Sir? The only thing I can think of is my skill from my covenant with Xaoc. I had thought nothing in it restricted my actions, except for sparing the chaotic, but…”

  “I see, thank you trainee. I will inform the others, and we shall see what happens.”

  Well that certainly came off as ominous.

  As if marching hadn’t been problematic enough, Ranthia soon discovered a second, far more inexplicable problem: spears. She couldn’t even blame this one on her covenant. She hadn’t ever really used a spear since she had drilled with the traitorous bandits back when she was a child, and back then she could barely even thrust with a spear, let alone do anything fancy.

  At first she assumed she had gotten a badly made spear. Its weight and balance just felt completely off in her hands. She could thrust with it, but the sweeps or other movements… Her instructor had her swap weapons, but there was no change. The instructors themselves even verified the spears were properly balanced.

  She was fine when she did simple jabs or had to brace it, but any time she had to swing it, she had to struggle against an overwhelming sense of wrongness about every aspect of how the weapon handled. Her body wanted to overcorrect due to how wrong it felt, which resulted in her being mispositioned almost every single time.

  It was weird, but she still managed to do slightly better than some of the physically inept [Mages]. Thankfully she too was [Mage] tagged, so the instructors took significantly less umbrage to her struggles with the spear than they did to her complete inability to march. It just drove her up a wall since she had no explanation for it!

  The hell months began with a bang—a far more literal one than Ranthia would have ever expected. A great explosion rocked the entire island in the middle of the night. Instructors barreled through the halls yelling only the word ‘Move!’ on rapid repeat.

  Ranthia was up immediately, then armored and armed herself as quickly as possible with practiced efficiency. She checked her gear and her arcanite a final time, and then she moved.

  All while she carried a single (foolish) thought in her adrenaline-fueled mind: Who would be stupid enough to attack the island?!

  “Trainee Ranthia, what took you!?”

  …Of course, there was no attack.

  “Sir, I prepared for a combat engagement due to a misinterpretation of the wake-up call!”

  One of the instructors off to the side—Artillery Mage C—nearly chuckled, his hard-ass mask cracked under the strain of his grin.

  The instructor that had yelled at Ranthia seemed to have no idea how to respond. He could hardly yell at her for what was, ultimately, a solid instinct. Outside of the Adventurers only a few others had armor and equipment of their own. Ranthia seemed to have been the only one of them that was the right mix of jumpy, prepared, and paranoid that resulted in getting geared up for a fight. The rest had either remembered the hell months were beginning or just blindly followed the instructors’ orders.

  Kaesios looked like he was struggling not to laugh. Yeah, he was going to give her plenty of shit for that mistake.

  “Trainee Ranthia, your punishment will be that you will have to do what comes next in your full armor!” Another instructor saved the instructor that she had stumped.

  Inwardly, Ranthia was thrilled. She would much rather go through ‘hell’ in her second skin, no matter how practical the tunics they had been issued were.

  While the bulk of the instructors swarmed the next late trainee, the sole woman instructor pulled Ranthia to the side and quietly whispered to her that she would be failed if she drew her knives or so much as touched any of her potions, rations, or other useful equipment at any point during the hell months. They weren’t about to let her have any advantage from her equipment.

  “Welcome, trainees to the hell months! If you can restrict your aura to yourself, keep it active, otherwise all aura skills off! Only one of you worms has an exception and trust me, being close to that aura will provide you with no benefit! You may freely use your skills and spells to help yourself, so long as no one else is aided by them! Trainee Statia has a restriction skill that requires she offer assistance to anyone who asks for it! This skill requires the word ‘help’ to be used while requesting it! If any of you maggots use the word ‘help’ in any context while speaking to her, you will be removed immediately! We will be listening!

  “Now with that out of the way! I hope you all enjoyed your previous accommodations because they are now part of your past! Except if, at this time, you finally come to your senses and realize that you are unworthy to become a Ranger! I hope each of you maggots always remember that with just one little tap of that little silver gong you get to return to the warmth, comfort, food, and pleasures that are offered here while you get paid cold, hard currency for having an ounce of sense!”

  Two other trainees looked at each other, then jogged for the silver gong. Gods, some people were pathetic.

  “Very well then, the rest of you are clearly as stupid as you look! On me!”

  The sky had seemed clear, but moments later they seemed to pass through an invisible barrier at a jog. Out of nowhere a storm ripped the air apart. Constant lightning lit up the sky, each flash accompanied by painfully echoing thunderclaps. The rain was bizarrely hot, each drop at an unnatural temperature that was just barely too low to scald the skin. The sands of the island were already a thick mud, thicker and stickier than beach sand alone should have made.

  Skills, meant to help make their lives worse. Not entirely surprising.

  “Now run! Run as fast as you can, as hard as you can, as long as you can! You do not slow! You do not stop! Not without my permission; I’m your god here!”

  Fucking blasphemy too! Ranthia was more sour about it than she was about the obstacles, but she still ran. The footing was eternally treacherous. More than one speedster ran ahead yet most went down, only to be pulled out of the mud by an instructor and berated while they were thrown back in. Ranthia too slipped several times but she recovered, either by the grace of [Dodging] or something in [Knives & War].

  Three laps of the island later they emerged from the too-hot rain just as they returned to their starting position, where one of the instructors was signaling them to stop. Those further behind were still getting drenched, only the small area was freed of the rains.

  Ranthia was vaguely impressed with the skill control on display.

  “Burpees! Three hundred!” The instructor that had outrun all of them yelled as they arrived, before they could even come to a complete stop.

  Ranthia had a certain grudging respect for the instructors. They didn’t sit somewhere comfortable and wait, they ran the circuit with the trainees. …Though she noted that none of them bothered with the burpees and instead stood and carefully watched the trainees as they dropped, pushed themselves up and then sprang to their feet with a jump, only to repeat the process. Actually, some of the instructors sat down to watch in chairs that Ranthia hadn’t even noticed!

  Ranthia had never known what a burpee was until the basic military stuff. In her mind, it was one of the more interesting things that she learned so far. It was an exercise that combined strength, endurance, and finesse—Tatius and Pupius had held out on her! There was no way they hadn’t been familiar with them!

  The mud was thankfully restored to its natural state of simple wet, sticky sand, but they quickly became coated as they exercised under the sun. Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, the sand dried into scratchy splotches of annoyance. And yes, it was much worse where it got under leather armor.

  Ranthia pushed herself. She fully expected a chance to catch her breath once she was done with burpees, if she completed fast enough that there was time until the other trainees finished their sets.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  She underestimated the hell months.

  “Back to running!” The instructors barked at the more physically inclined classers as they finished. Ranthia wasn’t the first, but she soon grudgingly joined them.

  Ranthia’s physical stats were lower than they would have been had she walked the path of a pure [Warrior] or [Ranger]. But she had a different advantage. She was, by a good margin, one of the highest leveled trainees present. Only the other three A-Rank adventurers and four other trainees beat her level, but none of them were higher than 256. Perhaps they too were waiting for the academy to finish before they classed up. With her levels, Ranthia was able to stay within the top 16 trainees as they cycled through brutal exercises.

  Run. Burpees. Run. Sit ups. Run. Run more maggots! Chin ups with equipment that hadn’t been there during the prior lap. Run. Something Ranthia couldn’t even remember. Run.

  The weather changed constantly, sometimes hot and cold alternated so fast that it felt like they were just barely giving the trainees’ body temperatures enough time to regulate before they were plunged into another extreme. Fog. Howling winds that somehow didn’t pick up the sand and shred them. A thick downpour of flurries of something white and bitterly cold, like impossibly tiny, soft flecks of ice.

  Finally, after half the day, they were allowed to stop. Trays of bread were brought out and stacked near a sand dune while one of the instructors yelled at them. A gentle breeze washed over the trainees, bringing sweet cooling relief from the heat that had dominated the last leg. …It also blew sand all over the bread, which had to be intentional.

  The animal companions—which Ranthia largely ignored—were fed properly based on their needs. More than a few trainees watched their bonded companions jealously while the beasts eagerly feasted.

  Another group of trainees left once the instructor finally ordered them to line up for half a loaf of stale, sand-covered bread per person. The instructors gleefully reminded them while they collected their morsel and warm water of the tasty food at the villa.

  …Ranthia began to grudgingly admit their honey trap might have better teeth than she had assumed.

  The next leg of exercises was done in the island’s natural weather, clear and beautiful. This time the instructors warned them about the trick. Small pellets of soft, foul-smelling mud would be launched at random. If it struck you, the mud wouldn’t come off until this leg was finished. It would stink, it would accumulate and was heavy enough to burden you, and worst of all it would impede your mana regeneration.

  [Mages] could shield it if they could spare the attention and handle the mana strain. Everyone else had to see it coming and dodge it. Or, as no doubt some would, let it pile on and try to power through it.

  Ranthia felt like she had an absurd edge with her speed, vitality, and dexterity, especially when they were combined with [Combat Awareness] and [Dodging]. Oddly, [Divine-Touched Identify] seemed to be unable to locate the caster(s) behind the mud, but the island was a major military installation that had existed for a long time. Top-notch facilities were to be expected.

  It didn’t take long for the caster(s) to realize she had an edge over most of the other trainees. Not that it was all that hard to notice—Ranthia was pretty sure that she was the only one still clean after her first lap; in hindsight she wished she’d taken a hit or two on her armor just so she stood out less. Instead, like an idiotic show-off, she had gracefully dodged around each bit of mud that was aimed in her direction with ease.

  Her second lap had a much higher concentration focused on her. Some of the slower, less maneuverable trainees already resembled clay monsters as they shambled forward. The other trainees tried to avoid being in her vicinity, since she was such an obvious target.

  At first, she was still able to cope, but the intensity increased. Finally, she was forced to start to take hits. Ranthia did her best to make sure that she took the hits on her armor, ideally in locations that wouldn’t be fatal had the mud been a real attack. Two laps later she suspected that nearly every shot of mud was aimed in her direction.

  In the end, Ranthia was heavily splattered and reeked from the mud, but she still took some small satisfaction in the fact that she had kept her face and most of her chest more-or-less free from direct strikes.

  The weight and stink still made the push-ups they had to do after absolutely miserable. Couldn’t they have at least been burpees so she could get some fresh air?!

  The days continued. The bread and bits of other foodstuffs were never appetizing. Sometimes it was burnt, sometimes it was damp, sometimes it was frozen, sometimes it had extremely bitter additives, once it was served so hot it scalded her mouth even through her vitality.

  The exercise continued to be brutal. Literally almost the entirety of each day was spent in grueling exercise. Then they would eat, drink equally foul—though abundant—water and collapse for an all too brief rest.

  This actually taught Ranthia a new skill (though she didn’t take the actual Skill it also offered): the ability to fall asleep almost instantly, no matter how uncomfortable she was. Most of the other trainees either already had the ability or learned it around the time Ranthia did.

  Their numbers continued to dwindle with each passing day.

  “Trainees! Look alive!”

  Each instructor ran through and called out names for trainees that would follow them, their numbers supplemented by a couple of members from Ranger Team 1. They ran a half lap in groups of eight (plus an instructor) to where gigantic inscribed logs waited. They were told to line up by height at their assigned log, and the instructors were swift to punish even the briefest mistakes.

  Ranthia was, somehow, right in the middle of her group of total strangers. She was pretty tall, but they had stuck her in a team with some true giants among men. They lifted their log while the inscriptions that covered them glowed, then had to run as a group while they managed the heavy burden of the massive piece of some grand tree.

  Several laps—and yet more trainees that gave up—later, Ranthia realized something. While the weight and endurance training probably did her some good, there were other Skills that could get significantly better mileage out of it. The exercise had physical strain, coordination, and complex movements… it was perfect!

  There were a few spare logs stacked near where they stopped for their brief snooze and food break (Ranthia was among the group that was starting to favor more time to sleep and tried to choke down the terrible food as quickly as possible). When they began again Ranthia started to channel and, as soon as the log was up, for the first time since the hell months began, Ranthia threw a mirror image out between two piles and shifted into it. Careful not to be seen, she hid while she focused her attention on her real body that was under the log and made use of [Reflective Motility]. It was an absurdly manual process with something so complex and she could almost feel the strain on [Persistent Imagery]… which almost made her abandon the plan.

  She could be vigilant, she decided. She’d watch her body and the terrain. If there was any danger of them tripping, she just had to shift back. It was safe. It was worth doing.

  She hoped.

  [Reflective Motility] was capped, but the exercise was tremendously valuable for practical experience with the skill. Ranthia constantly improved how her true body moved and the precision she controlled it with. Gradually pieces of the process became second nature to her.

  Even if the entire process felt much more dangerous once the sun set, Ranthia persisted. She was learning too much, and the darkness added further imperative for improvement.

  “Oi, got another Mirage classer trying to slack off.”

  “She’s Mirror. Come on, haven’t you read the trainee profiles yet?”

  “Nope.”

  “Ugh, should we inform one of the instructors?”

  “Bet you two rods I could knock that pile down on top of her from here.”

  A more annoyed voice cut through from much further behind them.

  “That is not someone at leisure. Pay attention. Her concentration is obvious. Note her eyes. Further, you will note the double that she uses. Its movements began rough but they are slowly being refined. I expect better from all of you than to miss such obvious signs. She has encountered an exercise that may have offered her less benefit than others, yet she found a way to make it into something to help her grow. This is to be commended, not punished.”

  Every time they did log sprints, Ranthia alternated. Sometimes she ran it for real. Sometimes she watched from her hiding place, a mirror image that she replaced every time she rested, left lying half-buried in the sand. If the weather was particularly challenging, she made sure to carry it herself of course; she only trusted [Persistent Imagery] so far.

  Oddly, Ranthia sometimes swore the log felt heavier when she intended to run herself.

  “Logs down!”

  “Logs up!”

  “Logs down!”

  “Logs up!”

  …Each repetition the log felt heavier. She had no idea how they manipulated the inscriptions from afar, assuming it even was the inscriptions. Could they have a Gravity [Mage] hidden somewhere?

  Each log team felt random, but Ranthia suspected there was some rationale in play that she couldn’t find. Some logs were run by nothing but physical classers. Some were mixed. One was all [Mages] and one of the two [Healers]. One had two [Rangers], two [Warriors], two [Mages], a [Healer] and a [Laborer], which almost had to be deliberate.

  Superficially, Ranthia’s own team was [Rangers] and [Mages] only, though she saw the truth thanks to [Divine-Touched Identify]. Her group was actually comprised of only split classers, not a single one of them was purely a [Ranger] or a [Mage]. Not that they talked much, except to call out orders or hazard warnings.

  The teams that finished ahead of others on the laps got to rest until all of the teams completed their runs, which made everyone motivated to grab even a precious few moments of sleep. And since everyone pushed, it only further increased the pace.

  Ranthia felt that it would have made more sense to continually shuffle the teams, but it never happened for some reason. As people dropped out, logs were lightened to accommodate and groups continued as they were. Even when there was a log that only had a single [Warrior] awkwardly running with it.

  When the mud returned for a log carry lap, the caster(s) involved didn’t even pretend to be fair. The mud bombarded Ranthia’s team until the lot of them were so encased and the log was so slippery that progress became literally impossible.

  Somehow this was their fault. The instructors screamed at them, freed them, and then the same thing happened yet again. It wasn’t like Ranthia could fucking dodge while she was carrying a log!

  At least the other teams seemed to enjoy their unusually long break while Ranthia’s team struggled to finish.

  When one of her team dropped out (cursing at Ranthia, specifically, of course—as if she had wanted any of this horseshit), the instructors just lightened the log a little and forced them to continue.

  As the days progressed the instructors got downright mean. They descended en masse on each recruit and verbally pummeled them with threats and insults. When it was Ranthia’s turn she had a different reaction; she had to struggle to keep from laughing. It was probably exceedingly arrogant, but Ranthia was pretty sure that she could have taken any of the instructors one-on-one in a real fight. Depending on the composition there were probably even groups of them that she could handle if she struck fast enough before they figured out how her abilities worked. Threats of violence from people she was willing to confidently fight always amused her.

  Eventually they hit a sort of break-even point. Trainees had stopped leaving and it had been days since the last dropout. Already the instructors had stopped going out of their way to be awful. The more extreme weather like sandstorms or ice storms stopped. Best of all, the mud bombardments disappeared!

  From there the exercises went back to merely brutal with crap—though maybe slightly improved—food and drink. It didn’t feel like they were out to crush the trainees’ will anymore. As a group they had been broken down, and she supposed that it was time to build them back up.

  “Fall in!”

  The trainees gathered.

  “Congratulations, you’ve all passed the hell months! Get some rest!”

  Quite a few trainees dropped on the spot and fell asleep immediately, out of habit.

  “For those of you still on your feet, congratulations! You get to help us get your peers back to the villa.” The instructor added in a quieter tone.

  Ranthia successfully suppressed the urge to groan and instead dismissed her hidden mirror image and created a new one next to her. With her practice with [Reflective Motility] she was able to pick up one of the female trainees by her shoulders while her mirror image grabbed the girl’s feet.

  She barely even noticed the instructors’ reactions, except to finally release the groan she had held in when one of them spoke.

  “We should have had her carrying a log with herself this whole time.”

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  Nozomi Matsuoka.

  Sarah "Neila" Elkins.