26 The Price of Failure (1/2)
”That's not fair, Sir!”
Bucket stood up and yelled indignantly.
”The decision has been made.” Tycon responded coolly. ”Sit. Down.”
”But, Sir!?”
Tycon sighed and rubbed his glabella.
”Listen well, young man. The three of us are your superiors concerning Rank, Time-in-Service, Age, and above all, actual Combat Ability. If you have issue, you write a clear and concise FORMAL rebuttal.”
Wroe shrugged, ”If you fail, you get punished.”
Dragan chimed in, ”Yeah! Shut up, Bucket!”
Tycon glared at the two. They looked away.
Horse neighed, ”(Yeah, shut up, newbie!)”
Tycon glared at the horse. Horse focused his attention elsewhere.
Bucket thought for a moment.
”Can I ask why?”
Dragan groaned loudly. He was tapping his foot impatiently, obviously annoyed. Bucket began to subconsciously shrink, curling up his body in response to Dragan's growing frustration.
”Bucket, I thought I told you to shut up! You don't question orders, especially from a noble! You just--”
Tycon raised an open palm, interrupting Dragan.
”No, Mister Dragan. This is fine.”
Dragan crossed his arms, emitting a low, feral growl, like a beast. Bucket's shoulders trembled slightly as he looked up towards the adults. The young boy was not immune to fear, after all. Barza looked equally troubled, unsure of whether or not he should speak up for himself.
”Young man, there is a time and place for questions. Usually, sensitive questions are asked in private, as to not question the integrity of those who pass judgment...
”Mister Dragan was trained in a harsher environment. The general speaks. The troops listen.
”Understand that he is not wrong. It is possible that I will ask you to act on my command on trust alone-- Pray to your gods that that time never comes.”
Barza looked on, guilt and worry apparent in his eyes. Bucket looked as if he was about to cry. He gripped his small fists in resolution and looked up with moist eyes.
”But I trust Sir Tycon!! I trust all of you guys!”
Tycon closed his eyes, feeling a surge of pride. He was almost certain that Wroe and Dragan were touched, as well.
Tycon did not feel deserving of the boy's sincerity. The boy was a weapon. He would be sharpened with the whetstones that were training and suffering. And when Tycon was finished, the boy would be strong-- of that, he had no choice in the matter. But afterwards, would he still be the same boy? Tycon was wholly uncertain.
”Invictus is a small group of elites, not a thousand spears moving as one. As such, I need you to think, to analyze, to react to situations with intelligence and cunning.
”We are training you as best we can. At the very minimum, you need the strength of a Bronze-Ranker.”
Tycon noticed that Barza's face turned gloomier at the thought. The man had a confidence issue. The only Bronze-Ranker he was able to compare himself to was Guard Captain Varen, who he soundly lost against in one-on-one combat. Tycon grinned inwardly, realizing that he could take the credit when he realized how strong he was.
”Your weaknesses will be strengthened. Your strengths will be fine-tuned. And you are finally not a burden, you will learn to work as a team. As a team, we will be able to contend with challenges above our rank...
”That stated, you may ask about our criteria. We have nothing to hide.”
Barza stood up, having regained his confidence.
”Sir Tycon. Boss?”
Tycon raised a palm, motioning for Barza to speak.
”Why did you--”
Barza opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He stared at his boots, deep in thought. And with a confused but helpless look, he slowly sat back down.
”Never… mind.”
Tycon sighed and crossed his arms.
”Mister Barza, your biggest weakness is experience. You know how to swing a blade by instinct, but not had a militarized regimen of endurance or combat training-- that is, you cannot handle drawn out, physically-taxing combat. Over several training sessions, we've pushed your physical and mental endurance to your limit. And once you used every bit of strength, lost every last onze of willpower, we demanded more. And in that precarious state, we forced you to fight against nigh impossible odds.
”Mister Dragan is thrice your size-- he's less of a man than a charging, feral beast, or perhaps a two-tonze boulder falling off a cliff. You don't fight that kind of man, you avoid him at all costs.
”Mister Wroe is a spellcaster-- a wielder of chaos and entropy. By his words and will, he can twist and in some cases even deny the Laws of this world. You don't fight that. You hide in your bedsheets and pray for the nightmare to end.
”And me…”
Tycon gave a slight shrug, ”Well, you'll never defeat me.
”Anyroad, I'm certain that you know that every fight thus far, you've risked severe injury and an unclean death.
”If you didn't have the talent... If your instinct didn't force you to stand and fight…
Tycon had walked up to seated Barza. The clean-shaven man had paled from Tycon's words.
”Well, to place a positive spin on it: You've survived thus far. You do have the potential, Mister Barza.”
Tycon patted Barza's shoulder.
”Today, you gave up at the last moment. This is training, Mister Barza. You're not allowed to die during training or otherwise. When the world falls apart around us, the training takes over.