Re: An Age of Ashes

The sun had barely risen when Adrian stepped onto the training grounds, his boots sinking into the soft earth. A brisk wind swept through the courtyard, sending a chill across his face. He didn't mind the cold; it grounded him, kept him sharp. In a few days, Ronsweiler's army would be upon them, and he had no illusions about how brutal it would be. But this—this was the moment to prepare, to forge his men into something stronger than the sum of their parts.

The soldiers were already lined up in rows, their breath visible in the frigid air. They wore mismatched armor, some in ill-fitting chainmail, others with simple leather tunics, but all carried the weight of the same uncertainty in their eyes. Adrian had no time to coddle them. They needed to be ready, and fast.

He walked along the ranks, observing their posture, their movements. The younger conscripts looked uneasy, shifting on their feet, while the veterans had the hardened, skeptical eyes of men who had seen too many battles under the wrong leadership. They had a distance to bridge, and Adrian had no intention of sugarcoating it.

"Hold your posture straight," Adrian barked, his voice carrying across the courtyard. "Chest forward, eyes focused. You're not here to make friends. You're here to win."

He stopped in front of a tall conscript, barely a boy, whose shoulders hunched as he held a spear. Adrian placed a hand on the lad's shoulder, straightening him with a firm push. "Look me in the eyes. The moment you let fear creep in is the moment you've lost. Don't let that happen."

The boy nodded, his hands tightening on the spear. Adrian patted him on the back and moved on.

At the far side of the courtyard, Helene was overseeing the construction of the fortifications, her sharp eyes taking in every detail as men labored under her command. The makeshift walls were crude—piles of stone, wooden palisades—but they would serve their purpose. With Ronsweiler's army bearing down, every inch of defense was vital.

Adrian nodded in her direction before turning his focus back to the soldiers. Today's drill would test them, force them to break the bad habits that plagued them, to teach them to work together as a unified force.

He approached the center of the courtyard, where a handful of officers were standing by, watching the formations. They were seasoned men, most of them, but their faces showed the same weariness Adrian had seen on the soldiers. They had long since learned that their lot in life was to fight and die for their lands, but whether they would die as men or as soldiers was a question still up for debate.

"I need your men to be quicker," Adrian said to the bearded officer. "The more time we waste with slow responses, the more ground we lose."

The officer, who had taken to calling Adrian "my lord" despite the unease in his tone, offered a terse nod. "We've been working on that, my lord, but some of the men are not quick to pick up on the formations. It takes time."

Adrian shook his head. "Time we don't have. They need to move as one. Each squad is a unit, not a collection of individuals. If one falters, the whole thing falls apart. I want to see formations in action, not just idle practice."

The officer turned to the soldiers. "You heard the captain. Formations. Now."

At Adrian's signal, the soldiers began moving into position, each squad lining up in the space in front of him. The wind howled through the trees, but the soldiers stood resolute, preparing for their first real test.

Adrian watched them closely, his hands folded behind his back. The squads shuffled in the beginning, awkwardly trying to form ranks, their steps unsure and disjointed. Adrian's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. They were still learning. But learning quickly was no longer an option.

"Move faster!" Adrian's voice rang out, sharp and commanding. "Form up. Do it again."

The men groaned, their discomfort palpable, but they obeyed. The formations became more fluid with each attempt, though still lacking the smooth coordination Adrian knew they would need in battle.

He nodded slowly, assessing each squad's weaknesses. Then he called out again. "Now, I want you to pivot in formation, as though you are reacting to an enemy's charge. Watch your spacing. Keep your shield walls tight."

This time, the soldiers reacted more quickly, adjusting their positions without the awkward hesitations they had shown before. The sound of boots against the ground, shields scraping against armor, became the rhythm of the morning.

Adrian moved from squad to squad, offering small corrections. He crouched beside a younger soldier, adjusting his stance. "Your shield is too low. You're leaving your flank exposed. Protect yourself, not just the man beside you."

The soldier nodded, looking up at Adrian with a mix of awe and gratitude. Adrian offered him a brief nod of approval before moving on to the next.

The training continued throughout the day, and Adrian was relentless. By noon, sweat gleamed on the men's brows, their muscles aching from the repeated drills, but they never once faltered. Slowly, the squads grew more unified, their movements more synchronized. The men's fatigue turned into determination, and Adrian felt something shift in the air. They were beginning to believe in themselves—beginning to understand the purpose of the drills.

The first real test came after lunch when Adrian called for the mock battle.

The men lined up in their respective formations—infantry in the center, archers on the flanks, cavalry positioned behind them, ready to charge. Adrian stood at the head of the infantry, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

"Remember," he shouted to them, "we fight for each other. This is not about individual glory. It is about winning as a unit. Do not break formation. Do not break your trust in one another."

The signal was given, and the mock battle erupted with the clash of wooden swords against shields. Adrian charged into the fray, directing his men with quick, sharp commands. The infantry held steady, the archers unleashing a coordinated volley that forced the "enemy" to take cover behind their shields.

Adrian's eyes never left the battlefield, watching for any signs of weakness. One of the squads on the right flank was beginning to waver—its formation breaking apart as the men were pushed back by the "enemy." Without hesitation, Adrian shouted for reinforcements, rallying a nearby unit to support the struggling squad. The extra manpower stabilized their position, and the line was restored.

As the mock battle raged on, Adrian could see the soldiers' progress. Their movements were faster now, more precise. The coordination between the infantry and the archers was improving, and the veterans began showing the younger soldiers how to adapt to the changing battle.

But the true test came when Adrian called for the cavalry charge.

"Prepare for the cavalry charge! All units, hold the line!" Adrian's voice rang out, and the mock cavalry, a handful of volunteers on horseback, thundered toward the center.

The wind bit at Horst's face as he lined up with the other soldiers in formation. His fingers were numb, the cold making it harder to grip his spear, but he didn't dare show weakness. Not today. Not after what Adrian had drilled into them over the past few days.

He'd never expected to be here. A simple farmer's son, barely out of his teens, suddenly thrust into the harsh realities of war. But when the call had come, when the Duke's men had come through the village, Horst hadn't had a choice. His father's pleading didn't matter. His mother's tearful embrace didn't matter. Duty had called, and like every other man in the duchy, Horst had answered.

His legs were stiff from the early morning drills, the repetitive movements making his joints ache. The past few days had been grueling—endless hours of marching, drills, formations. At first, he'd thought it was pointless. After all, how could someone like him—just a farmer—ever hope to fight alongside the veterans, men with years of bloodshed behind them?

But Adrian… Captain von Rabenfeld, as he was called… he had a way of making them believe. The captain had not only shown them how to fight, but why they needed to. He spoke of unity, of survival, of victory—and in those words, Horst began to feel a flicker of hope.

Today would be the ultimate test. The mock battle. It wasn't real, of course, but it didn't matter. In Horst's mind, this was as close to the real thing as he'd ever get. They had to prove themselves.

"Eyes front!" barked one of the officers, snapping Horst from his thoughts. He straightened instinctively, his eyes locking onto the line of men ahead of him. The other soldiers were already in their positions, shields raised, spears poised, waiting for the signal. His heart thudded in his chest.

The captain was walking along the line, his gaze sharp as he observed each soldier. Horst could see the determination in his eyes. There was something different about Adrian. Something that made the man feel like a leader. He didn't just bark orders—he led. The soldiers didn't just follow him out of duty. They followed him because they believed in him. It was a strange thing, this feeling of unity among a group of men who had once been strangers.

"Formations, now!" another officer shouted, and Horst barely had time to react before he was swept into motion. He adjusted his stance, making sure his shield was locked with the man to his left, the veteran soldier who had shown him the proper way to hold it the day before. Horst's hands were sweaty now, but he didn't care. His mind was focused.

He could hear the sound of the other squads moving into their positions—steel scraping against steel, boots shuffling in the dirt, the creak of armor as men readied themselves for what was to come.

Adrian stood before them, his back straight, his expression unwavering. "Today, we fight as one," he said, his voice clear across the courtyard. "No hesitation. No breaking the line. Push forward. We either win together, or we lose together."

Horst could feel the weight of those words. The captain had said this before—every day, in fact. But today, it carried more meaning. The mock battle wasn't just about learning to fight. It was about proving they could hold their own, that they were no longer just ragtag villagers, but soldiers—worthy of the name.

"Ready yourselves!" The officer's voice cut through the tension.

The mock enemy—the other half of the training squad—lined up across from them. Horst's breath quickened. They were coming, and soon, everything would become real.

The signal was given.

"Charge!"

With a primal roar, Horst surged forward with the rest of the infantry, the ground trembling under the weight of their boots. The clash of shields and weapons rang out as the two forces collided in a blur of steel and sweat. The shock of the impact was like a jolt of lightning—loud, jarring, overwhelming.

Horst's shield slammed against another, and he was almost knocked back by the force of the blow. But he held firm, his legs braced against the earth, his body pushing forward. He could feel the press of the enemy against him, the push to break their line, but he would not break. He couldn't.

A spear whizzed by his ear, missing by mere inches. His heart hammered in his chest, and he nearly lost his footing, but he righted himself quickly. To his left, a veteran had already raised his shield to block an incoming strike, and Horst followed suit. They were working as one now, every movement calculated, synchronized.

But it was the cavalry—always the cavalry—that Horst feared most.

He didn't have to wait long. The sound of hooves thundered from behind, a high-pitched shriek of the enemy's mock cavalry charging straight at them. He could hear Adrian's voice in the distance, shouting orders.

"Hold the line! Do not break!"

The earth shook as the horses neared, their riders screaming in a rush of bloodlust. Horst's heart pounded harder in his chest. This was it. This was the moment he had been trained for.

He gritted his teeth and locked his shield with the men around him, forcing himself to focus. He wasn't just holding the line for himself now—he was holding it for them all. His family. His fellow soldiers. For Adrian, who had shown them the way.

The cavalry hit.

Horst's shield jolted under the impact, the force almost knocking him off his feet. He managed to hold firm, but he could see the cavalrymen's spears thrusting, aiming for gaps in the formation. His instincts took over as he sidestepped and thrust his spear forward, jabbing at one of the riders.

The spear point glanced off the rider's armor, but it was enough to make him veer off course, avoiding the full force of the cavalry charge.

"Don't let them through!" shouted the veteran beside him, and the rest of the line pushed forward, shields clashing against the cavalry's charge.

Horst could feel the sweat dripping down his brow, his muscles aching from the strain, but he held his ground. The cavalry were relentless, but so were they.

The charge finally started to wane. The cavalry, unable to break the line, began to fall back, their horses rearing as the infantry pressed forward. The sound of hooves slowly died down, replaced by the ragged breath of men fighting to hold their position.

Horst's body screamed in protest, but he ignored it. They had held. They had won.

The officer called for a retreat, and the mock battle slowed to a halt. The noise of the fighting dimmed, leaving only the heavy breathing of men who had given everything they had. Horst stood there, his shield still raised, sweat pouring down his face, but a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

They had done it. They had won.

As the mock battle came to an end, Adrian appeared at the front of their formation, his eyes scanning the men with the precision of a hawk. He said nothing at first, his gaze locking on Horst's squad.

Horst's heart skipped a beat. What would Adrian think? Would they be good enough?

Finally, the captain spoke.

"Well done," Adrian said, his voice firm but not without pride. "You held your ground. And that, men, is the first step. Now we will only get stronger."

Horst's chest swelled with a feeling he hadn't expected. Pride. He hadn't just been part of the line—he had mattered.

As the men began to break formation, exhausted but with a new sense of purpose in their eyes, Horst couldn't help but feel that for the first time in his life, he had truly found his place among them.

And maybe, just maybe, he was ready for whatever came next.

It was a test of endurance, of will. The infantry held their ground as the cavalry bore down on them, shields raised and swords ready. For a heartbeat, the two forces collided, the sound of metal clashing against metal ringing in Adrian's ears.

His squad stayed firm, their shields locked together. There was no hesitation this time—no wavering. They had become a single, unyielding unit.

Adrian's heart raced as the cavalry began to retreat, their assault failing against the strength of the line. The soldiers roared in triumph, their voices hoarse but filled with newfound pride.

The mock battle ended as the sun dipped low in the sky, casting long shadows over the courtyard. The soldiers stood panting, their bodies sore, but there was a fire in their eyes now—a fire that hadn't been there before. They weren't just men anymore. They were soldiers.

Adrian walked along the lines, his eyes scanning their faces. He could see the progress—their resolve had been hardened, and their unity, forged in the fire of training, was stronger than it had ever been.

He turned to Helene, who was watching from the side, her arms crossed.

"They're ready," he said, his voice low but filled with certainty.

Helene gave a small nod. "We've made great strides today. But there's more to do. You know that, don't you?"

Adrian looked back at the men—his men—and nodded. "We'll keep pushing. Until there's nothing left to push."

As the last light of day faded from the sky, Adrian knew that his soldiers had crossed a threshold. The battle to come would be their true test—but they were no longer the same ragtag force that had stumbled onto the training grounds just days before. They were an army, forged in the heat of effort and tempered by the promise of victory.

And now, they were ready to face the storm.