Morning horn.
Dark outside.
Cold outside.
Pain everywhere.
I stood up and immediately regretted being alive.
My back felt like someone used it as a practice target.
Lash marks still fresh.
Resilience +1 was real, sure, but it did not come with free painkillers.
Sergeant broke-nose kicked the barracks door open.
"Up! Formation in thirty breaths!"
We got outside and lined up in mud.
He walked down the line like a disappointed god.
When he got to me, he stopped.
"You. Bastard boy. Name."
"Arlan, sir."
He stared at me for a full three seconds.
"Today you carry the front marker."
That sounded fake-important.
It was not.
Front marker is just a heavy pole with a flag on top.
You carry it while running.
So everyone can keep formation.
Meaning: I was now the human traffic cone.
We ran.
Then ran more.
Then ran until my legs became theory.
Every time I slowed, sergeant screamed:
"Flag falls, unit dies!"
No pressure.
Halfway through the route, a boy next to me whispered, "You can switch hands at the turn."
I whispered back, "Thanks."
Sergeant appeared from nowhere and smacked both of us.
"No chatting! Save breath for dying!"
Great guy.
After run drills came spear wall training.
Ten rows.
Shields up.
Spears forward.
Hold position.
Easy in theory.
In reality, my arms were shaking by minute two.
By minute four, my shield dropped half an inch.
Sergeant saw it.
Of course he saw it.
He walked over slowly, like he was enjoying this.
Then cracked his stick across my shoulder.
"Again."
I reset.
Thirty seconds later, I slipped in mud and bumped the guy in front.
Domino effect.
Three shields went down.
One spear snapped.
Silence.
Then sergeant inhaled like a dragon.
"WHO did that?"
Everyone looked at me.
Fair.
"Me, sir."
He nodded like he appreciated honesty.
Then: "Good. Honesty gets you half lashes."
Half.
How generous.
By lunch, I was dead.
Not literally.
Spiritually.
Lunch was thin soup and bread that tasted like wet rope.
I sat with two other levy boys from nearby villages.
Toma: tall, quiet, always looks tired.
Rin: talks too much, survives anyway.
Rin leaned in and whispered, "Heard upper camp got meat."
Toma said, "Heard upper camp has beds."
I said, "Heard upper camp has basic human rights."
None of us laughed.
We just kept eating rope bread.
Afternoon drills were worse.
Obstacle pit.
Climb wall, crawl trench, carry sandbag, sprint back.
I got stuck in the trench mud for like five full seconds while everyone passed me.
Rin ran by and said, "Brother, evolve."
"Trying," I grunted.
At the wall, I jumped, missed, slid down, ate dirt.
Second try, missed again.
Third try, I got one hand up, kicked, almost over—
Someone stepped on my fingers by accident.
I dropped.
Face first.
Mud in mouth.
Sergeant blew whistle.
"Bastard boy! Move or I bury you here as a marker!"
That felt unnecessary but fair.
By evening, final punishment roll call.
They read out names for mistakes.
My name came up three times.
Formation break.
Dropped shield.
Failure at wall station.
Lashes again.
Not 100 this time.
Only 20.
"Only."
I counted anyway.
At lash 14, white text flashed in my vision.
[Resilience +1]
I nearly cried.
Not from emotion.
From economics.
Way better rate than yesterday.
Progress.
Painful, stupid progress.
Night fell.
I collapsed onto straw and stared at the ceiling beams.
Across camp, trumpet calls sounded from upper quarters.
Officer cadet drills.
I heard a boy in our barracks whisper, "That's the lord's true son over there. Already training with captains."
Another answered, "He'll skip the line. Be mounted command by next year."
I shut my eyes.
Titan all over again.
Golden son upstairs.
Me downstairs bleeding into hay.
Different father.
Same plot.
I opened one eye and whispered:
"System."
A pause.
Then:
[Route: Survival]
I exhaled.
"Yeah, I know."
No other text came.
I rolled onto my side, back on fire, body wrecked, brain still running.
Tomorrow: more drills.
More pain.
More garbage food.
But now I had Resilience +2.
Tiny numbers.
Big suffering.
And for now, that was enough.