A couple of weeks after the daily drills, most of the polearm trainees were finally able to grasp the basics of spear.
"One, two, thrust!"
The training grounds echoed with synchronized shouts.
The trainees crouched slightly, shifting the center of their gravity forward while stepping in with their right foot, using that momentum to push their training spears forward into a quick natural thrust.
"One, two, thrust!"
Compared to before, the difference was obvious.
Gone were the awkward stumbles, accidental slips, and wild thrusts that nearly hit their own allies.
Even Lulu and Lala were able to perform the same uniform thrust as everybody else despite their weird weapons.
In fact, their thrusts were cleaner than most of the trainees.
Just a bit lacking compared to Davion and Reinhart.
"Good! Five minutes rest!"
The trainees immediately loosened up.
Some sat on the ground.
Some stretched their sore arms.
Some collapsed dramatically as if they had survived a battlefield.
A few minutes later—
"Gather up!"
Everybody immediately scrambled back to formation.
"Congratulations for keeping up for the past couple of weeks! You are now fully pledged spearmen!"
"WOOOOOAAAAAHHH!!!"
The trainees erupted in cheers.
"You are now at the level of common foot soldiers! But! Are you satisfied with this?!"
The cheering gradually died down.
"Are you going to stop at the first step?! Are you going to waste all of that hard work and stop right here?! Are you fine stopping at the lane of mediocrity?!"
Lambert’s voice boomed through the field.
"Aim higher! Aim to be stronger! Aim to be better!"
"WOOOOOOAAAAAHHHHH!!!"
"King of the sea! Here I come! Right, Lala?!"
"Here I come! ManBearPig! Right, Lulu?!"
"...ManBearPig?"
"Do not entertain their gibberish talk!"
Lambert pointed behind him.
"Today! We are going to the next level!"
"Fidly!"
Fidly and his men marched forward carrying strange-looking training dummies before placing one in front of each trainee.
The dummies stood sideways, each equipped with its own polearm and a spring-like mechanism below.
Most of the trainees stared at them in confusion.
"...What?"
Lambert smirked.
"Now, we actually test your fundamentals!"
He walked to one dummy and lightly tapped it.
Wooossh!!!!
The dummy’s polearm violently swung back.
Several trainees flinched.
"These dummies here! If you hit them—"
Lambert pointed dramatically.
"They will hit back!"
Silence.
Then—
"...What?"
A few trainees immediately looked significantly less confident.
"Now? What will you do?" Lambert shouted.
"Will you retreat immediately?! Will you strike again?! Will you step back?! Will you panic?! Show me what you can all do!"
---
The trainees approached the dummies for the first time.
Some inspected the dummies cautiously.
Some randomly poked them in different places.
Some toyed with them.
And some immediately regretted existing.
"OWWW!"
One trainee thrust too hard, froze, and got smacked directly in the face.
Fortunately, the dummy polearms were modified with padded cloth on the tips, making them painful—
But not deadly.
Mostly painful.
---
Davion stepped forward without hesitation.
Thrust!
The dummy immediately struck back.
But Davion was already prepared.
Clank!
His shield rose smoothly, intercepting the strike before he immediately landed a counterattack.
Thrust.
Block.
Counter.
Step.
Repeat.
His movements were efficient and disciplined.
Every strike was practical.
Every block was calculated.
Every repositioning was deliberate.
He fought like a proper soldier.
Lambert nodded.
"Reliable."
---
Siegfried lazily walked toward his dummy.
He poked it once.
The dummy struck back.
Thrust.
Before it could even properly retaliate, Siegfried’s counter already interrupted it.
Again.
Poke.
Counter.
Again.
Poke.
Counter.
Again.
After a few more perfect repetitions—
Siegfried yawned.
"...Boring."
He then started lightly poking the dummy while half-asleep, casually interrupting every counterattack with almost insulting precision.
Lambert’s eye twitched.
"Siegfried! At least pretend this matters!"
"It did," Siegfried replied lazily.
"At first."
---
Reinhart stepped up next.
Unlike Davion’s discipline or Siegfried’s boredom—
Reinhart looked serious.
Thrust!
The dummy retaliated.
Reinhart adjusted instantly.
His next strike targeted the throat.
Then the wrist.
Then the ribs.
Then the knee.
Every strike was aimed at a different vital point as if he was fighting an actual human opponent.
He was not merely reacting.
He was dismantling.
"...Good," Lambert muttered.
"That is slightly concerning... but good."
---
The members of the clown brigade showed promise too.
Lala proudly marched forward with her umbrella.
"For glory!"
She thrust her umbrella into the dummy.
The dummy struck back.
Instead of retreating, Lala thrust again—
But this time, as the dummy’s polearm and her umbrella aligned side by side—
Fwump!
She opened the umbrella.
The sudden expansion deflected the dummy’s strike off course.
"Ohhhh!"
Several trainees stared in surprise.
Lala immediately landed another thrust before dramatically hopping backward.
"Behold! The sea queen’s secret technique!"
Lambert stared.
"...Ridiculous."
A pause.
"...But effective."
---
Lulu stepped forward next.
Unlike Lala’s dramatic nonsense—
Lulu looked oddly focused.
"Observe."
She thrust her fishing rod into the dummy.
Before the dummy could properly strike back, Lulu hooked part of its polearm with her rod.
With a sudden pull, she redirected its attack, dragging it off balance.
The dummy’s strike veered off course.
Then—
Thrust!
A direct follow-up.
Rather than simply attacking—
She controlled spacing.
Fidly blinked.
"...That’s weird."
A pause.
"...Keep doing it."
---
That being said—
The other trainees were having a terrible time.
Some thrust and immediately froze.
Some panicked and forgot how legs worked.
Some retreated too slowly.
Some retreated too quickly and fell on their backsides.
And some simply accepted pain as a lifestyle.
Smack!
"OW!"
Smack!
"AGH!"
Smack!
"I HATE THIS TRAINING!"
---
And then—
There was Leon.
Leon took a deep breath.
"Okay..."
Thrust!
The dummy struck back.
Leon immediately tried to retreat—
Smack!
"GAH!"
Direct hit.
A few nearby trainees snickered.
Leon frowned.
"...Again."
Thrust!
Retreat!
Smack!
"OW!"
Still too slow.
Leon gritted his teeth.
By the third attempt, he stopped relying purely on instinct.
"If stepping back fails..."
He adjusted his grip.
"...Then don’t step back."
Thrust!
This time, instead of retreating backward, Leon pivoted his right foot and moved sideways.
The dummy struck back.
Leon swung his spear horizontally—
But his strike knocked the dummy in a different direction than he expected.
Smack!
"AGH!"
Another hit.
Leon stumbled—
But this time, he froze for a different reason.
"...Wait."
He stared at the dummy.
"The way I hit it..."
Fidly stepped beside him.
"...Good."
Leon blinked.
"Huh?"
Fidly poked the dummy high.
The return was different.
He struck low.
Different again.
He swung sideways.
Another variation.
"Do not just think about hitting the enemy," Fidly said.
"Think about where your strike will force them to move next."
Leon stared at the dummy again.
For the first time—
It stopped looking like a target.
And started looking like a problem.
"...I see."
Leon reset his stance.
This time—
His eyes sharpened.
"Again."
From the sidelines, Lambert crossed his arms and watched the chaos unfold.
Bruised trainees.
Weird geniuses.
Clown nonsense.
Natural talent.
Pain.
Failure.
Adaptation.
And slowly—
Growth.
A grin slowly formed on Lambert’s face.
"Good."
He watched another trainee get smacked.
"Now..."
Another trainee finally countered properly.
"...They’re starting to think."
---
Another couple of weeks passed.
What started as simple spear thrusts and basic dummy counters had already moved far beyond beginner drills.
The trainees were now deep in specialized polearm training.
By this point, nobody was merely learning how to thrust anymore.
They were learning shield integration.
Spacing.
Footwork.
Recovery.
Weapon adaptation.
How to strike.
How to reposition.
How to think.
Each trainee was slowly beginning to lean toward their own strengths.
Davion naturally leaned toward shield and structure.
Reinhart focused on precision and lethal targeting.
Siegfried somehow treated every lesson like a mild inconvenience while still outperforming most of his peers.
Lulu and Lala continued proving that absurdity and effectiveness were apparently not mutually exclusive.
And then there was Leon.
Leon was not the strongest.
Not the fastest.
Not the most talented.
But after weeks of repeated drills, bruises, failures, corrections, and stubborn effort—
He was improving.
Noticeably.
"Again!"
Leon thrust.
His wooden spear shot forward with much more control than before.
His opponent deflected.
Leon immediately pivoted instead of freezing, adjusting his footing and following with another strike from a different angle.
Not perfect.
Not clean.
But better.
His sparring partner barely blocked in time before stumbling backward.
Nearby, Fidly folded his arms while observing from the sidelines.
"...Lambert."
"Hm?"
Lambert was currently smacking another trainee’s bad stance into correction with the butt of his polearm.
"He is starting to look like you."
Lambert barely spared him a glance.
"...Who?"
Fidly deadpanned.
"You know exactly who."
Leon overcommitted slightly, corrected mid-motion, then shifted his weight and forced his partner back with a much more practical thrust.
Fidly smirked.
"Your number one disciple."
Lambert snorted.
"Do you honestly think I have enough time to specifically cater to one brat?"
He pointed toward the rest of the training field where multiple forms of chaos were naturally unfolding.
Lala was somehow spinning.
Lulu was attempting something suspicious with a hook.
One trainee got hit in the face.
Another forgot how feet worked.
"You lot already waste enough of my time. I do not even have enough room to laze off."
Fidly chuckled.
"Really? Because from where I’m standing, he pretty much looks like a little Lambert."
Leon blocked low.
Adjusted.
Countered.
Got parried.
Adjusted again.
He was still rough.
Still amateur.
Still nowhere near Lambert.
But there was something familiar in how he approached mistakes.
He did not stop after failing.
He adapted.
"...Well," Fidly added, "he is still ugly."
Lambert stared for a second.
"...True."
A brief pause.
"...But maybe."
Fidly’s grin widened.
"Maybe?"
Lambert clicked his tongue.
"Maybe it is time to send him to Theron."
Fidly blinked.
"...Theron?"
That got his full attention.
"Why?"
Lambert casually stepped forward and corrected two distracted trainees at once with a single sweeping strike that knocked both wooden weapons aside.
"Because if he keeps copying me for another month or two, he’ll just become a smaller, uglier version of me."
"...You say that like it is a bad thing."
"It is."
Lambert jabbed his spear toward Leon again.
"The kid has decent instincts."
At that exact moment, Leon attempted to imitate Reinhart’s precision thrust.
Smack!
"...Ow!"
Fidly winced.
"...Fair."
"But instincts alone are predictable," Lambert continued.
"If he is going to learn properly, he might as well learn everything we actually have available."
Fidly slowly nodded.
"...A little swift arsenal."
Lambert shrugged.
"Depends."
"On what?"
Lambert’s grin slowly widened.
"If the kid has decent mana aptitude..."
He dragged the words out.
"He miiight..."
THUD! THUD! THUD!
The thunder of frantic hooves suddenly tore through the gate road.
Every head turned.
Three horsemen burst through the gates at full speed, their horses drenched in sweat and foam.
Dust exploded behind them.
Their armor was scratched.
Their breathing ragged.
One of them nearly collapsed off his horse before catching himself.
"Goblin wave!"
The nearest guards immediately stiffened.
"Goblin wave!"
The second rider shouted so hard his voice nearly cracked.
"A big one!"
The entire atmosphere changed.
Instantly.
Lambert’s relaxed posture disappeared.
Fidly’s grin vanished.
Both men’s expressions sharpened with veteran instinct.
"...How big?" Lambert barked.
"Hundreds!" the lead rider gasped.
"Maybe more! Multiple packs! Scouts confirmed mixed variants!"
For one brief moment—
Silence.
Then—
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
The emergency bells erupted across the gates.
Everything exploded into motion.
"Close the outer gates!"
"Alert the barracks!"
"Call the adventurers!"
"Get civilians inside!"
The guards moved immediately.
No hesitation.
No confusion.
Years of drilled response activated all at once.
Gate guards rushed to reinforced positions.
Messengers sprinted.
Nearby merchants panicked.
Civilians began screaming.
Children cried.
The once noisy training field transformed into organized chaos.
The trainees froze.
"...Goblin wave?"
"...Wait..."
"...Actual goblins?"
"...A big one?!"
Fear spread quickly.
Some went pale.
Some tightened their grip.
Some looked ready to throw up.
And somehow—
"King of the sea versus goblins?!" Lala shouted.
"ManBearPig would never lose to goblins!" Lulu yelled back.
"THIS IS NOT THE TIME!" Fidly roared so loudly even nearby guards flinched.
Lambert stepped forward.
"Silence!"
The field froze.
Immediately.
Gone was the ridiculous shouting instructor.
Gone was the overdramatic trainer.
Gone was the man who made spear drills feel like punishment.
What stood before them now—
Was a real battlefield veteran.
His voice dropped.
Cold.
Sharp.
Precise.
"This is not training."
No one moved.
No one laughed.
"If the walls fall, people die."
The trainees stiffened.
"If the goblins break through, civilians die."
Leon felt his grip tighten.
"If you panic—"
Lambert’s eyes swept across every single trainee.
"You die."
Silence.
Heavy.
Real.
For the first time—
Every bruise from training.
Every dummy strike.
Every correction.
Every drill.
Every painful lesson—
Made sense.
Fidly immediately stepped forward.
"Advanced trainees with combat readiness, rear support positions!"
"Shield users, secondary defensive line!"
"Runners, supply support!"
"Non-combatants, inside!"
Davion immediately straightened.
Reinhart’s expression hardened.
Siegfried—
For once—
Actually looked awake.
Leon swallowed hard.
His chest felt tight.
This was not dummy practice.
Not bruises.
Not mistakes.
Not drills.
This—
Was real combat.
Lambert slowly turned toward the outer walls.
Far beyond them—
Dark smoke was already beginning to rise in the distance.
The first warning signs of what was coming.
"...Congratulations."
A few trainees looked confused.
Lambert pointed his spear toward the horizon.
"You wanted the next level?"
His voice did not rise.
It did not need to.
"...Here it is."