Overwhelming Firepower-Chapter 62: A day in the life of a soldier of Thornefang

Milos Brenwick opened his eyes, and when he saw the ceiling, he felt that it was different, but then he remembered where he was.

It had been several weeks since he joined Thornefang. In the beginning, just waking up was a battle. His muscles used to scream just from standing. Every breath reminded him how untrained he was.

But now, it was different. He swung his legs off the bed and rose without hesitation. The stiffness was still there, but it no longer ruled him. He stretched, slow and steady, feeling the tension loosen in his shoulders, his back, his legs.

The Thornefang Regiment, led by Lucen Thornehart, had been granted private quarters, spacious and far grander than any inn Milos had ever seen.

Due to the small number of the current Thornefang, they had many empty rooms. It had clean beds, proper ventilation, and a training yard right outside.

The room Milos was in was one of the smallest, but even then, it was bigger than the room he had back home.

He walked to the corner of the room, where a simple basin of clean water stood waiting. Next to it, a bar of scented soap that was provided by Lucen, and a neatly folded dry rag.

He cupped the water, splashing his face with the cold clarity of morning. Then, he rubbed the soap between his hands until it foamed lightly, the subtle scent of pine and citrus rising with the steam. He wiped down his arms and neck, relishing the simple luxury of being clean.

Once he was done, he belted on his sword and slung his arquebus into place at his side. He stepped into the hallway, where morning light spilled through the open windows.

There, leaning against the wall with a mug in hand, was Mark. A veteran with a crooked grin and a voice like gravel soaked in ale.

"Oh, lad," Mark called with a grin. "You headin’ out for yer run?"

"Yes," Milos enthusiastically replied.

"Ya do know we train later, right?" Mark raised a brow.

"I do," Milos said, clenching his fist with quiet resolve. "But to catch up to everyone else... I need to double my efforts."

Mark couldn’t help but sigh, shaking his head with a smirk. "Sure, sure, go on then, lad. Just talkin’ to you is makin’ me tired." He waved Milos off lazily with his mug. "Don’t trip on your way down."

As he reached the common room, he spotted two familiar faces. At the corner table, Harlik and Sarah were hunched over a wooden game board, Territory War, the game their leader, Lucen, created.

Small black and white pieces were already laid out in battle, and judging from Sarah’s expression, Harlik was winning again.

"Hoh, going for your morning run?" Harlik asked without looking up, placing a piece down with a decisive clack.

"Yes," Milos nodded, pausing at the bottom step.

"Don’t push too hard," Sarah chimed in without lifting her gaze from the board. "Sir Thalos will be pushing us harder later. You could act like Renz, who used to be the youngest before you came. Even now, he’s still snoring upstairs."

"But if I don’t push myself hard, I won’t be able to catch up," Milos replied, already moving toward the front door.

"No need to hurry like that, kid. You’ll get there eventually, but if you push too hard, you might break." Harlik spoke while glancing up.

"I’ll keep that in mind," Milos said as he exited the place.

***

The cold wind of the North greeted him the moment he stepped out. Snow clung to the stone roads and rooftops of Ironhold, but the morning sun cast everything in gold.

Milos had already adapted to the chill. His coat was thick, his steps sure. He started jogging deeper into the city.

People were already stirring. Shopkeepers opened their shutters, blacksmiths stoked their morning forges, and carts rolled in from small nearby farms. In front of a tavern, a few drunkards snored beneath woolen blankets, remnants of last night’s revelry.

In some areas, he saw some old men playing Territory War on a bench. Milos, who was running, couldn’t help but once again admire Lucen.

Even though the other party was a few years younger than him, he had already accomplished so much.

’I guess all nobles should be like that. Able to do things others can’t do.’

Milos thought to himself as he sped up a little. He caught the scent of freshly baked bread. The baker noticed him running.

"Morning, lad! Early as always! Here, catch!" The baker threw a small loaf that flew through the air. Milos snatched it mid-run.

"Thank you," Milos responded without stopping from his run.

A few weeks ago, Ironhold had reeked of piss and vomit in the mornings. But now? With everyone using Thornefang’s scented soap, the city was starting to smell... Pleasant.

Milos took a bite of the bread in his hand. He then passed by a group of craftsmen going to the thing called a waterwheel. He did not know what they were doing, but it should be something incredible.

***

After finishing his run through Ironhold, Milos returned to the training yard behind their quarters, where he had his sword drawn.

Harlik and the others had taught him a few moves, which he practiced every day. Thrusting and slashing, he was also taught some footwork. Each day, even though it was only a little bit, he felt like he was improving.

After some sword practice, the next thing he would do was clean his arquebus. He carefully wiped down each part.

Unlike sword practice, he couldn’t practice too much using the arquebus since the lead balls and black powder had a limited amount.

Still, he continued to go through the motions as if he were loading the arquebus and then firing it at an enemy.

He stared into the barrel, seeing more than his reflection, a scared farm boy trying to become something more.

"One day," he whispered to himself, "maybe I can be... Just like him..." The image of Lucen after defeating Rugar came to his mind.

"It’s good to see you so dedicated to training."

Sir Thalos appeared behind him without making a sound. This was a man who treated his body like a palace, and his muscles were its walls.

"Sir Thalos!" Milos quickly got up and greeted Sir Thalos with a knight’s salute.

"Greetings, young one, it is time for our daily training. I have already called the others."

As he finished what he was saying, the other members of Thornefang came out of the house and were now in the training yard.

Boots hit the earth in rhythm as figures emerged, some yawning, others already geared. Swords glinted in the morning light. It was a ragtag bunch, but each of them wore the same mark on their chest: the emblem of Thornefang.

"It’s another great day to forge our bodies into weapons that the young master may use as a shield of Norvaegard and a sword to slay our enemies!"

Sir Thalos looked at the members of Thornefang after weeks of his training. They were finally looking like proper soldiers in his eyes.

"Now that you have barely acceptable bodies, it’s time for the true training."

The moment those words left his mouth, every member of Thornefang stiffened, except for Milos, whose eyes only burned brighter.

They then noticed the sack beside Sir Thalos, as he took something out of it. The item taken out looked like a bracelet.

"Starting today, you’ll wear these. During training. After training. All day. I know what you’re thinking, am I giving you jewelry? In a way, yes. But these aren’t ornaments, they’re weights. Custom-made for each of you, based on what I’ve observed." freeweɓnøvel~com

Sir Thalos cleared his throat and spoke again.

"When I call your name, step forward. First off, of course, it’s Harlik."

Harlik stepped forward without hesitation. Sir Thalos clasped a bracelet around each of his wrists.

The moment he let go, Harlik’s arms dropped slightly from the unexpected weight. Not enough to pin them, but enough to make his muscles twitch in protest.

"Next, Mark"

Sir Thalos did not even let Harlik adjust to the weight, but instead called another member. As each one of them stepped forward, even though they had already expected it after seeing Harlik, they were still surprised by the sudden increase in their arms.

"If you can’t even handle this much weight," Sir Thalos barked, "how do you expect to be the young master’s swords and shields?!"

When it was Milos’s turn, he stepped forward with great determination and, upon receiving the bracelets, unlike the others, he did not succumb to their weight and lifted his arms into a knight’s salute.

"Hoh, I like that fire in you, young one." Sir Thalos responded while also giving a knight’s salute. "Now that everyone has their bracelets, it’s time for the true training to begin."

***

As the sun set, the members of Thornefang dragged their aching bodies off the training field, every muscle screaming as if torn from within.

Yet even then, they did not remove the bracelets from their arms. Partly because they felt like they would be punished by Sir Thalos if they did, and another reason was that they didn’t want to fail Lucen.

They groaned, limped, and laughed, all dragging their aching arms like proud fools, into the warm haze of roasted meat and mead in the light of their favorite tavern.

"Still breathing, huh? Grab a seat, I’ll bring the usual to refill what’s left of your souls." Upon entering, the voice of the tavern’s waitress, Brina, was like sweet music in their ears.

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