Fort Octus was even more massive than Fort Lauder, perhaps because it was a logistics hub. 

It was both a school for Intelligence and a hub of bureaucracy. Learn in the classroom, walk outside to practice. What better situation was possible?

It was also behind the River of Desolation, which didn’t matter to me. I didn’t come here to fight. In fact, I was only interested in earning an Intelligence rank because of the perks and insider information access. If I could keep my Intelligence Rank on par with my Infantry Rank, I’d be able to command my own soldiers when I rose to the appropriate level. It was responsibility, but it was also influence and power. I’d need friends and people who could protect me if I was going to be here long-term. 

It was with those thoughts that I was thrown into the deep end of the intelligence academy. 

By the time I arrived, settled in, and finally got to the first class, I was 11 days behind. The total duration was only 40 days, so it was an entire quarter of the class that I had missed, not to mention that most of it was introductory and contextual procedures. 

On top of that, it was the summoner academy. They separated summoners and ordinary people because they obviously learned at different paces. Because there weren’t as many summoners who came through, class sizes were smaller. I wouldn’t be in a class with 100 summoners like I was with the warlocks.

As for why the class had only started 11 days ago and not when basic training did, that was because they often waited to accumulate a large enough group of summoners before sending them off. It wasn’t cost effective to send batches of five or ten when you could just wait and send all 40 at the same time. 

When I got there, I was told to report early in the morning so my instructor could brief me. 

Turns out, I didn’t miss as much as I thought. 

“Ensign Cooper?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good to have you here. Find a seat.”

I gave a quick salute before turning and finding a desk in the front row. It was a classroom setting, quite the opposite of basic. 

Once seated, the instructor went to a chalkboard and started scribbling down words. 

“A majority of the first week here was merely teaching the new recruits military basics. I’ve taught them the chain of command, how to conduct themselves, and much of what you learned during the first half of your time with the warlocks at basic training. The next two weeks, the first of which we’re halfway through now, will be about the job description of the Intelligence officer. What we do here is simple. Depending on your rank, you will often be responsible for collecting, filing, and transferring mission reports, keeping inventory at places like armories or warehouses, maintaining complex gear, weapons, and systems like Nodes, debriefing superior officers, acting as a communications liaison, and, eventually, managing command of troops and resources. We’ll teach you everything you need to know about these except the last one. Know, though, that you usually won’t be responsible for any but one or two, and what jobs you’re given depend entirely on the needs of the base that you may be stationed at. Now, here’s your books, what we call the ‘Silver Six’. We’ve gone over the entirety of the first and half of the second. I’ll be working with you personally, but we need to catch you up quickly. I hope you’re a fast learner.”

“... Yes sir.”

I nodded after looking down at the stack of six books. I was beginning to understand that the teaching style for summoners was inherently different. I should be able to keep up just fine though. 

My information retention was honestly rather unbelievable. I was finding myself memorizing even the minutest details of things I came across on a whim, not to mention an incredibly sharp recall of previously blurry memories. And creating new memories, as opposed to remembering them, was far easier. 

Needless to say, I was going to do just fine. I had both a mind that was dozens of times more powerful than an ordinary mind, as well as a secondary Spark that acted as a miniature mind itself, multiplying that overall power. 

I wasn’t a genius before, but I couldn’t say that now. Put me on Earth and I’d likely outperform all intellectuals, past and present. The only department I could possibly lack in was creativity, and perhaps only a savant could hope to match me in sheer processing ability. 

Memorizing a book? That’d be too easy.

I picked up the first book in the stack, scanning the first page for about a minute before closing my eyes. I could almost perfectly remember every word. Another one or two more looks and I’d be able to recall it word for word, and that was if I memorized it passively. 

That was just one page. Given less than a day of casual reading, I could probably memorize most of the book word for word. 

“Have you created your first Spark, Cooper?”

“Yes sir.”

“Then this will be easy. We have an hour before class. Follow along and we’ll get through this quickly.”

With that the instructor started going through the first book. We jumped through multiple pages a minute, and I got a summary of all the knowledge I needed to know. Every book had fluff in it that was unnecessary to truly retain, and the instructor flew past all that. 

The instructor only said things once, and, after seeing how well I retained everything, never even bothered with clarification. Every word that flew out of his mouth was promptly soaked up and stored in my mind. 

Through the process, I assigned my Spark to do what he didn’t, which was stimulating my brain with repetitions of information, making everything that came in stick the first time. It was like rereading something over and over again, but happening in the span of seconds instead of minutes or hours. This was active memorization instead of passive, something that wasn’t so difficult to do given my control over my own mind. 

I quickly found out how much stimulation was necessary to make sure the information was memorized. Some things stuck more than others, other things needed a few repetitions to make sure my brain got a handle on it. 

However, I found this wasn’t without cost. My head was noticeably warmer from the activity, and sweat started dripping. Compared to my more passive use of this ability before, this used a noticeable amount of Psyka, to the point where it felt like it was radiating from me as I used it. 

Before long, an hour passed. By that time, we were halfway through the book, pausing for a second as all the other summoner trainees walked in. 

The instructor shouted. 

“All of you sit down, seal your mouths, and take a good look! Talk about the pinnacle of summoners. John, are you alright to continue?”

“Yes sir.”

I nodded. I still had plenty of Psyka and more than enough energy. 

With that, the instructor continued flying through page after page. There had to be at least 500 within the first book, which was definitely the largest. It went over every facet of the military’s logistical system, from top to bottom, detailing how every log, record, and report was filed, accessed, or disposed of. It detailed all the features and how those records were organized, why they were like that, and the methodology to fill out and file said records. There were also plenty of legalities to learn. 

And I was burning it all into my brain on the fly. In the process, I affirmed that this was where summoners really shone. 

I was a damn genius. 

The classroom was silent as the instructor talked without end. He bounced from topic to topic, chapter to chapter, without even stopping to breathe. He was also a summoner, after all, and had been over all of this countless times. He could easily recite everything, and I took it in just as easily. 

And then, after another hour, he snapped the book shut. 

I sat there for a few seconds before looking up from my own book, my forehead glistening. 

The instructor smiled. 

“Chapter two, second paragraph.”

“... A report has four basic sections, consisting of the Header, context, personnel information, and repository designations. The Header will be detailed with the names of those involved, as well as the commanding officer, jurisdiction, location, time-”

“Chapter five, paragraph six.”

“A communication relay can go through two-”

“Chapter 11, conclusion.”

“Repositories within a forward operating base will differ from those within an established stronghold, namely by their lack of thoroughness. Yet they must still be compiled and kept, preferably in the hands of the highest commanding officer or their assistant.”

“No shit. You all see that?!”

The instructor looked up to the rest of the class, sneering. 

“Ensign Cooper just memorized the entire first book in two hours! And for that, guess what he’s getting?!”

I sat there and watched as the instructor dropped a pin and insignia on my desk, that of a Corporal. I had just been promoted twice. 

I took them slowly, looking up at the instructor and catching a wink. 

“Now he’s Corporal Cooper! Just keep in mind that he’s already ranked beyond all of you, so treat him accordingly! Do you understand, trainees?!”

“Yes sir!”

A resounding response shook the room. 

I saw the instructor wave, so I stood. 

“Go ahead and head down to the cafeteria and get some food inside you. Then take the rest of the day off. We’ll continue tomorrow. Also, head down to requisitions and grab your summoner fatigues. Can’t have you walking around looking like a warlock.”

“Yes sir.”

“Dismissed.”

With that, I was let go. I left the classroom and headed to the cafeteria. 

I was in fact getting really hungry. All the energy I used up just thinking had taken its toll. The brain consumed a ton of calories, after all, especially when stressed to such a degree. I was also dehydrated. 

So I went to the cafeteria and got myself some breakfast. Thankfully, they still had some out. After eating, I went to requisitions as I was told. 

I checked in with the clerk, who was already expecting me. I guess a General’s orders weren’t taken lightly. Everyone involved was brought to attention. 

Warlock fatigues were slim attire. The pants were a dark red while the shirt was black. That’s what I had been walking around in since it was the only pair of fatigues I had. But now, I got what the summoners wore. 

Similar to the Glimmers, summoner fatigues were made of black pants and a white button down shirt. There was also a long winter coat for relevant weather. Considering summoners were effectively office workers here, it was no surprise to me that their attire reflected that. At least it didn’t stand out like Glimmers did, merely being plain colors. 

I went back to my room with four pairs of them and put one on. It was surprisingly comfortable, easily worn all day. I unbuttoned some of the buttons along the long sleeves and rolled them up. After buttoning my pins and insignia onto my shirt, as well as placing a small patch with my name on it, I finally settled down. 

First day here and I had memorized an entire book in two hours. It was a hell of an introduction, and hopefully not a repeat experience. 

I had a bit of a headache from the whole thing, but at least now I could rest. Though, since I still had some energy, I decided I could break open my advancement formation and take some peeks. 

It was a long road ahead, but I still needed to walk it. Since I was here to learn, I may as well do as much as I could. I’d have enough fighting later on. Relaxed settings like this wouldn’t be available every day. 

…..

…

“Fucking MOVE! Dress and get in the damned line!”

Vetsmon’s eyes snapped open when the voice rang in his ears. Two months, and it never got any less grating. 

His head throbbed a bit as he jumped out of bed, sprinting to his locker where he yanked out his prepared dress. It was a full set of heavy armor. And by heavy, he meant heavy. 

It was at least double his bodyweight, amounting to nearly 500 pounds by itself. And it was his daily wear. Just about every waking hour was spent in the metal coffin, and simply existing inside it required him to spend Vigor. Without the minimum strength granted by his power, he would collapse after just some steps, let alone hours of activity. 

And it never got easier to wear, mainly because they kept increasing the weight whenever he got used to it. In this place, being comfortable was a sin. 

“Five seconds!”

“Huhh…”

He let out a sharp breath, strapping on the last plate before running with all his strength. 

And he stepped behind the line, at attention, right as the instructor clicked his stopwatch. 

Vetsmon wasn’t the only one. There were 39 others. They were all lined up square on the line, all in heavy armor, dead silent in front of their instructors. 

There were only three instructors, but each of them radiated the gut wrenching might of Authority 10. They were also relatively old, veterans who now found value in teaching the younger generations instead of fighting on the front lines. 

The one in the middle sneered. 

“Well would you look at that?! All of you made it, and right on time! Usually we’d have one or two stragglers! But not today! Congratulations! You’ve all earned 5 flights! Starting fucking now! Last one to the deck gets double! MOVE!”

Everyone sprinted off the moment the instructor yelled, bolting out of the barracks and off toward one of the decks in the distance. 

The deck was an elevated metal platform that led to a series of massive stairs. Each step was four feet tall, like a staircase for a giant instead of humans. 

There were 99 steps in total, and one flight was one ascension up all the steps. They would have to ascend nearly 500 steps in order to complete their workout. 

So long as they weren’t last, of course. The instructor always carried out his threats. 

Vetsmon put in his full effort to reach the deck, as did everyone else. They bound across the grounds before climbing up. Different people had armor weighing different amounts, and thus had different speeds. Vetsmon was never one of the fast ones, at least not with his armor on. He had the heaviest by far, but, although it was torture at first, the benefits were becoming clearer with time, or so he begrudgingly admitted. 

And thankfully, he barely managed to make it a step before the last guy. The poor bastard jumped on top of the deck just after him, his foot landing a moment later than everyone else's. 

“Jackson gets double! Congrats, slow ass! You lost to the Tank again!”

“...”

Jackson took heavy breaths. He had been losing a lot recently. Vetsmon had stopped allowing himself to be last, despite all the disadvantages. 

But it was getting frustrating. The pain was mind numbing, day and night. Something like this would screw him for the rest of the day, cascading into the next like it had been for weeks now. 

He couldn’t take it anymore. 

Jackson’s breathing hitched, his rage bubbling forth until it could no longer be suppressed by his metal casing. 

Vetsmon shivered a bit when he saw how joyful the instructors got. Poor Jackson. They were practically begging him to break down. 

“FFUUU-!”

“Hah!”

The instructor dove forward right as Jackson yelled, sending out a kick and sending him flying several feet, his body thrashing against his own armor. Vetsmon could only continue as he heard the yelling. 

“What is it, little punk?! You got something to share with me?! Come on, let me hear it! You know how much I love it!”

“Hahh… Hahh…”

Jackson’s heavy breathing stirred up winds as he picked himself up off the floor. The pain, the wrathful anger, the desperation and fatigue. All of it came crashing down on top of him. It had been relentless for two months, and never got easier. None of it did. 

Once he stood, despite emotions that almost blinded him, he snapped off a salute and yelled. 

“NO SIR!”

“Then what the fuck are you standing around here for?! You getting lazy on me?! Do an extra three since you like taking your sweet time!”

“YES SIR!”

The hand came down, and Jackson jumped up the platform and began the flight. Vetsmon, already halfway up, could only grit his teeth. 

He had been doing that. He knew how difficult it was. Not even Jackson had dealt with the oppression he had. If anyone was most hated, it was him. And yet, he wasn’t allowed to compare himself. He wasn’t allowed to be a victim in this hellish place. 

He had no friends here. Nay, he had no friends in the Church. Dare he say there were none anywhere. 

His parents had sent him off to this place, a special camp with no name, for ‘re-education’. But not before stripping him of his family name, no questions asked. He wasn’t even allowed to process Anarchy in peace. The moment he woke up, he was shipped off. There was a period of about eight hours between the time he woke up after collapsing in the middle of Saint’s Walk and the time he arrived here. After that, it was nothing but hell. 

His conclusion on Anarchy? He didn’t know. He had been riding a dangerous line for a long time after arriving, filled with rage and indignation every hour of every waking moment. And yet, he wouldn’t stoop to the level they wanted him to. 

They seemed to know exactly what he was going through. They knew how pivotal the moment was. And yet, they seemed to be doing everything in their power to make sure he became a monster. It was like they wanted him to be driven mad so they could just put him down like a dog. 

He knew why this had all started. He wasn’t stupid. But he didn’t believe anything warranted such treatment. He didn’t care what he did. 

Yet something inside him didn’t allow him to believe it. He wasn’t allowed to give in, yet couldn’t seem to rectify the troubles within himself. 

It was perpetual, a constant agony that never ceased, not even when he slept. 

Each step up the Flight took almost his full effort. He could barely put in enough strength to ascend the step in a single bound. But he did it, because if he didn’t, or was too slow to proceed up the next, then he would only get more. 

His legs spasmed, still not completely recovered from the day before. It was like knights were never strong in the first place with how he had been feeling recently. Or, perhaps it was precisely their strength that made all of it so damn difficult. 

A body that didn’t let you break, that endured the tribulations of the flesh that would otherwise bring death. A body that would persist even beyond the mind. 

Vetsmon turned his head, his eyes catching a stele with only two lines of text on it. 

“For we build our sanity upon our faith in Christ, that His Light may forever blind the insanities of the Beast.”

“Pray, oh children. May your battles become prayer, so that you may not become monsters, so that the Light of your heart purifies the abyss of the unholy flesh, for it is no longer Man.”

Vetsmon read them and shook his head. Those two verses were the foundation of the philosophy of this place. That was, driving you to the point of insanity, so that you learned to endure it. Supposedly, there was no stronger man than the one who was broken. 

He didn’t know if that was true. He didn’t care. He was just trying to keep up, every minute a fight to keep himself in check. 

With each flight, his joints and limbs creaked under the stress. His body could barely take the strain, but he pushed on anyway. 

And once he finished all 5 flights, he ran back to the line, standing in front of it and waiting while taking long, deep breaths. Jackson continued in the distance as the instructor walked up to them. 

The instructor took one look between each person before scoffing. 

“Hurry up and go eat. You’ve got 20 minutes! Go!”

“Sir!”

They all saluted before sprinting off, heading to the chow hall. 

It was there that they grabbed massive portions of food and shoved it down their throats. 

Vetsmon almost felt emotional. He always did while eating. The chow hall was the one place they didn’t have ridiculous restrictions. It had one rule. Eat as much as you could. There was enough food to fill a city here, all of it imbued with vigor. It was the only reason they could survive the hell that was this camp. 

Because of that, they filled buckets instead of tiny plates. Entire pounds of meat and fruit were stuffed inside before getting devoured at a table. If someone placed a butchered animal in front of them, it would get cleaned down to the bone in minutes. 

Everyone who had come here didn’t eat in such a barbaric way… at first. But given enough time, all of them lost their manners. There was little time and their bodies were desperate for fuel. Missing a meal was deadly. Jackson would be having a hard time today, which was exactly why he had almost broken down. 

A minute before 20, everyone rose from their tables, buckets empty, and disposed of them before sprinting back to the line. There, the instructor was ready to give another command. Jackson stumbled to the line. 

A large rack of swords, spears, bows and arrows, knives, axes, halberds, maces, flails, shields, and more appeared. 

He barked. 

“Grab your shit and head to the Arena! It’s Live Fire today!”

“Yes sir!”

Everyone went to the rack, grabbing their choice of weapons. Vetsmon looked around before grabbing a longsword and shield. 

The longsword made his shoulder hang. It was heavier than any weapon he had ever wielded, completely unusable unless he applied his full strength. The shield was the same, almost as heavy as his entire set of armor. 

With those two things, Vetsmon was forced to actively spend Vigor just to stay standing. 

And when they got to the arena, they all heard the growls, howls, and cries of live Scourge beasts. 

Live Fire training. That meant there were very real monsters prepared to kill them. Even bringing Royals here wasn’t out of the question. It had happened once before, the instructors turning it into a team project that they almost failed. That day, a few people lost a few limbs.

The instructor yelled. 

“All of you, JUMP IN!”

“...”

They were silent, anxiety radiating through their Auras. Yet they jumped in anyway, all the trainees including Vetsmon gathering in the center of the arena. 

Then, all the surrounding gates started to roll open, revealing the monsters hidden within. 

Vetsmon’s arm flexed, standing at one end of their formation. They were surrounded, and it was his job to hold his end. The others would hold theirs, hopefully. 

Spears occasionally tapped his sides, sticking out in front of him as the knights behind him held their positions. That’s when the monsters were released. 

A few hundred of them came surging forward, of all shapes and sizes. Some could fly, others slithered. Some of them launched poisonous or fiery projectiles. They were bombarded from all sides and angles, yet they didn’t move an inch. 

Vetsmon held up his shield, protecting his head from a compressed fireball. The flames exploded over everyone's heads as he glanced forward. 

A behemoth, Authority 7 and towering 15 feet high. It rushed at Vetsmon on massive hands and skinny hind legs, its head grossly disproportional to the rest of its body. Angry red marks of recently-released chains crisscrossed its body. 

With every stride, it left craters on the ground. Once it arrived, both hands raised, it slammed its full weight straight down. 

Vetsmon held fast, his shield meeting both fists. 

His legs almost buckled, a crater forming under him. But he stood, and, with gritted teeth, drove his longsword into its chest. 

Several spears followed up from behind, all of them severing or impaling the beast and sending it recoiling back with bloody wounds. 

Vetsmon let out a breath, feeling his arm swell with an injury. But he ignored it. Several more beasts were trying to break the line. 

They were a small group, outnumbered and overpowered. But they had dealt with situations like this before. 

Vetsmon held his side, occasionally shifting a bit to intercept anything that might threaten the integrity of the formation. Otherwise, he was rooted to the ground, refusing to buckle even when the soles of his feet split open. 

Gradually, the beasts started to die. One by one they were whittled down and killed, either dying to a phalanx of spears or a few well placed arrows. 

When they had been culled to a suitable number, the formation split, a shout echoing in their ears. 

Their captain, the leader of their squadron, gave his command. 

“Expel!”

With that word, Vetsmon launched himself forward, throwing his shield against several beasts and knocking them away. 

His team behind him shot through the opening, those with swords, knives, and maces spreading out to do battle with anything they could lay eyes on. 

Arrows fell by the dozen as the archers used the spearmen as cover, rapid arm movements launching arrows like beams of light. Spearmen moved outward in measured paces, killing anything that dared rush them and the archers. 

And at the forefront, Vetsmon continually swept out with his sword. With every swing, glimmering blades of Vigor flew across the air, bisecting entire rows of beasts within a dozen feet. 

Then, when all the remaining beasts were killed off, they all went around and confirmed their kills, hacking up vital organs and limbs. When every beast was confirmed dead, everything went silent. 

They all looked up at their instructor, breaths heavy and bodies aching. 

He nodded. 

“Acceptable. Take 30 minutes for reflection, and then head to the line for further orders.”

“Yes sir!”

They all saluted before everyone kneeled in their places. The odor of blood and the disgusting monsters around them served as its own kind of tempering as they closed their eyes. 

Vetsmon did just as everyone else. However, he couldn't manage to reflect on the most recent battle. 

In his mind flashed memories of Anarchy and their retreat. The sight of that monstrous icon was one thing, but perhaps a greater shame was his inability to protect his team. 

He still remembered the words of his guard. 

“This is war, boy! This is what you need to prepare for!”

His words were true. The true face of the war with the Scourge, Vetsmon had gotten a rare taste of it, and survived. The real battles were with those things, not the mindless armies under them. 

He was a fool. How could he have ever been lazy? He may as well have killed himself and his friends. His pitiful efforts beforehand had been nothing but a lousy joke. The fact that he was alive was a miracle he didn’t deserve. 

But he had survived, and only because there were some people smarter than he was who had led them out of that hell, and people stronger than him who could defeat those that tried to kill them. 

He was a knight, and yet had been at the mercy of his enemies. He was supposed to be a shield, and yet had buckled under a few hits. He was supposed to protect, and yet had almost lost his love, and his team. 

“To the line.”

The captain’s words roused Vetsmon from his reflection. His eyes snapped open. He stood and marched. 

His body screamed at him. His spine felt twisted, his arms broken, his boots leaked blood from his soles. 

He had almost lost everything, and yet the pain he was feeling now was hardly bearable. 

He grit his teeth. He hated having to decide. He didn’t want to. He knew he couldn’t just have things come to him. Strength and success wouldn’t just lay down at his feet. 

But did it have to be so agonizing? Why did he have to trade his sanity for the strength to defeat his enemies? Why did he have to walk through this hell to protect his loved ones? 

He whispered. 

“Oh Lord, help me… even just a little bit…”