Once I return to the crowd, he looks out over our group, saying "Who's next?"
When no one volunteers for a good minute, he simply points at the soldier closest to him. "You."
Looking as though he has just received a death sentence, the unlucky pick slowly trods towards the instructor.
Once they start fighting, a fellow soldier turns to me. "You must have done something pretty bad to make him so mad at you, eh? But really, I don't think that he was expecting such a powerful opponent. When he declared the fight conditions, I assumed that he was just going to kill you and attribute it to you being too weak. But you were able to put up such a good fight that he was unable to do that. Still, it was pretty disrespectful of him not to heal all of your wounds."
I nod in response to this observant fellow, but I do not say anything. Once his focus turns to the fight, I give him a closer look, and find him to be very generic in appearance. Short brown hair, a muscular physique, about six feet tall; exactly what I would expect in a soldier.
"What's your name?" I ask.
"Jorgenson," he replies. "And what is yours?"
After thinking for a moment, I come to the realization that I don't actually [have] a name. I could use my name from my previous world, but that does not seem like it would be fitting in this one. In this world, I am simply nameless. Even my stats sheet refers to me as 'unnamed.'
So, I respond truthfully. "I have no name. Entirely nameless."
He looks at me with a look of shock, which quickly morphs into suspicion. "The unnamed do not often mention that that is the case. So, what is your name? If you don't want to tell me, I suppose that that is fine. However, I refuse to be lied to."
I respond with considerable confusion "I am not lying to you, I am truly nameless. Why exactly is that a problem?"
"Could you not know that those who are nameless can be enslaved through naming by a powerful mage, the same as how weak monsters can be enslaved by power mages? Thankfully for you, there are probably no mages here at the level that name someone as apparently powerful as yourself."
[Now is that so? I better find out a bit more about this.] "I apologize for my ignorance, for I come from a small town that is mostly isolated from the knowledge of the world. However, I must inquire as to how naming functions?"
"Well, whoever gives a name will have influence over the one that is named. The more powerful the namer, and the weaker the named, the more control the namer will have over the named. It is for this reason that children at younger ages tend to mindlessly obey their parents, while when they get older, and thus reach a power level more on par with their parents, they become less obedient. Of course, this isn't usually the case with children of powerful mages, who can control every action of their children until the death of the mage. For those not named by their parents, they could theoretically be named by anyone with a great enough level of power over their own (or, if they accept it, anyone of any power level). However, there is still some technique involved in this that makes mages more adept. Forgive me, I do not know the specifics. Anyway, the greater the power gap, which must already be great for naming to work in the first place, the greater control that the name giver will have over the name receiver. To be honest, the fear that the nameless carry is pretty unrealistic. The odds of encountering someone so powerful in an entire lifetime is very slim. Furthermore, there are considerable benefits to being named. The more powerful the name giver the more powerful the name receiver will have the possibility to… Oh, my apologies. I have been rambling for much too long."
I shrug, and reply "I'm the one who asked for the information, there is no need to apologize. Thank you."
By the time that our conversation comes to a close, the next fight has ended. The soldier had put up a valiant effort, but only survived a minute before being forced to surrender by his own impending doom.
I stand silently as one by one the soldiers are called forward to be 'tested' by our trainer. [Though he has maintained a blank face for the whole of this exercise, it seems that he truly enjoys this. But the question is, does he enjoy the feeling of combat or the feel of bullying a significantly weaker opponent?]
I pay close attention to every fight, with the intention of improving my own techniques by observing those of a man much more capable than I.
One of the contestants, a particularly scrawny one, a boy not older than 17, is the last to get his turn. As soon as he steps onto the field, visibly trembling hands holding his sword in a white knuckled grip, he is hit with a brutally strong attack. He just barely manages to bring his sword up in time to block the attack, the jolt of which sends his sword flying from his hands.
He turns and starts to run from the instructor. "I sur-" he just manages to get out before a sword is thrust through his heart from behind, instantly killing him.
The trainer pulls his sword from the boy's corpse, a blank expression still adorning his face. "Two lessons can be learned here. First, never drop your sword under any circumstances. Second, never turn your back to your opponent. Seemingly simple messages, yet apparently this group has yet to learn them. Dismissed."
The soldiers are at first frozen in horror. Then Jorgenson yells at the back of the retreating commander. "You just killed him! While he was surrendering! How low is this military that the cowardly murder of our own soldiers by our commanders is permitted?"
The commander responds without turning to face him. "Insolent one, criticism of this institution shall not be tolerated. In light of the unfortunate circumstances, I shall let this slide this one time. Furthermore, I would like to remind you of the warning I gave you earlier—this is not a joke, and your life is on the line even while training. In battle, your opponent will not be obligated to accept your surrender. If your own incompetency leaves you disarmed, the opponent loses all motivation to even offer surrender. This was an opportunity to teach that lesson, alongside the others mentioned, and for your collective development I seized this opportunity. I am simply doing my job. And I'll have you know, the swordsmen I train are often among the best in the military; certain benefits have certain costs. Now, as I have said, you are dismissed."
Our group quickly scatters, preemptively heading towards our next training location, each individual hoping that he won't be used as the next example by the madman.
I am a bit surprised to realize that I have no particularly strong feelings towards the incident. A man was just killed, and yet I feel nothing. And that is even with the skills madness and wrath which have been violently strengthening my emotions of late. Perhaps they are capable of reducing my emotions as well as strengthening them? Well, I guess in this case not getting overly worked up is probably a good thing. If I were to give our instructor any excuse, he would surely execute me with glee.
I see Jorgenson trodding off dejectedly, and, lacking anything better to do with the 15 or so minutes until my next scheduled lesson, I follow him. Once we are an appropriate distance from the madman, I begin to talk to him again.
"Is it really the best idea to antagonize our glorious leader?"
His head whips towards me in a comedic manner, shock evident on his face. I mean, I figured that he knew I was behind him. I guess he was just so deep in thought as to be oblivious to the word around him… I suppose.
"Oh, it's you. I was worried that he was here to stab me in the back or something. Just a few minutes ago I would have thought such a thing impossible. Yet, it occurred… an unarmed recruit stabbed in the back while surrendering in a mock duel… his killer wholly bereft of remorse. I thought better of the military than this…"
"Don't you think that he'll face some form of repercussion?" I think I know the answer, but I want his opinion as well.
"Probably not. He seemed so self-confident, and he holds a position of relative power here. The military isn't going to make life inconvenient for him over the life of a single meaningless soldier."
"Yeah, you're probably right. Well, I have to get going. Don't worry too much; if I can survive his ire, I'm sure you can too. Besides, I doubt that he'll try to kill you off the battlefield. On the training grounds its education. Off of them it's murder. Let's talk later if you're up for it. See you."
I take off before he can respond. I think that I hear him say 'what a strange fellow,' but I'm sure I'm imagining it. Obviously I'm very normal. Not at all strange, thank you very much.
Ahem. Next up is what I've been waiting for: magic training! A fantasy journey does not truly begin until the establishment of magical knowledge. I've always wanted to use magic, even while on a planet where such things were impossible. I again think that perhaps my experience in this world may be looking up, only to have my hopes and dreams flattened by the reality that I am sure to die a horrible death on some battlefield as nameless as I.
Ah, happy thoughts indeed. Perhaps, just maybe, I'm not normal. I mean, even my skills claim that I suffer from 'madness,' whatever that means. Such an overbroad word, you know? Actually, speaking of skills, today has been quite productive. Not only did I acquire lesser strength, I even raised it to level three. Furthermore, I have developed both lesser speed and lesser resistance. Sadly, my swordsmanship did not increase at all; apparently the barrier between Moderate Swordsmanship level 9 and Greater Swordsmanship level 1 is a large one, even with the benefit of a moderate proficiency boost in the area.
Knowing that I still have some time before the start of my next class (you know, this whole experience so far seems more like a camp than a military, but I digress), I take my time on my walk over. Realizing that this is my first opportunity to leisurely stroll about since my capture, I try to enjoy it.
The sun is still quite high in the sky, it being perhaps three or four in the afternoon, and its rays shine down upon the ludicrously large military complex. They illuminate numerous buildings, several of which I have already entered, situated in the center of the walled city center. Seriously, the size of this place is ludicrous to take up the heart of a city. Though, when the purpose of this city as a military stronghold is taken into account, I suppose it makes sense.
Some of the fields are covered in green grass, while the more heavily used ones have been trampled to dust. The few unused areas of the complex have been overtaken by waist-high weeds. All around I see soldiers exercising and drilling with their weapons, working to maximize their chance of survival in the upcoming conflict. Many of the soldiers here are conscripts, after all; they are unlikely to be happy about dying for glory or whatnot.
I stop for a moment, standing in the middle of a field of knee-high grasses, and enjoy the feeling of sun on my skin. Where I once found this to be an unpleasant experience, my life on Earth marked by a remarkable amount of time spent avoiding the sun by staying indoors, I now find the feeling to be quite enjoyable. Whether because it symbolizes freedom from that cage I was crammed into for a week or because my heat resistance combats the unpleasantness, I am not sure. Perhaps it is a mixture of the pleasantness being enhanced while the unpleasantness is minimized that makes it feel so wondrous. Still, whatever the case may be, it certainly [does] feel wondrous. Wishing I could enjoy it for longer yet limited by time, I sigh and continue on to my training.