Exill's emerald eyes were intense as he swung the spear to deflect an incoming thrust from his opponent. The [Blacksmith Apron] was worn under his gambeson and the [Blacksmith Gloves] was equipped on his fist. He had discovered that the [EXP Plus] enchantment of the two items were not uniquely confined to blacksmithing. He now wore them at all times, training multiple skills at an unforeseen rate.
By this point, he had been at the bootcamp for three months and [Warrior] was already level 8! The timing of their deployment had been confirmed and less than a week remained until they were assigned to the reserves.
Completing the manoeuvre, he countered the attack with a strike from his haft. His opponent doubled over in pain and the referee called an end to the bout. As Exill was pulling off his padded helmet the Instructor came up to him and clapped him on the back.
"Fantastic footwork there Exill, you are the most promising trainee of the batch!"
Exill smiled and accepted the compliment with a small bow. "It is all thanks to you Sir, thank you for guiding me these past few months."
The instructor harrumphed, "Rest well tonight for the assessment tomorrow… I know of your transfer… but try to do your best." Patting him on the back again, the instructor sauntered off.
Exill finished pulling off his padded gear and tucked the apron under his arms as he proudly gloated to the mess hall for dinner.
***
The final assessment for Camp A was held the next day. The results would decide which division trainees would be assigned to. Exill knew the assessment would have no bearing on his position, he was going to transfer to Camp B in a few days anyway. Despite that, he was trying his best to not let down his team, those he had been training with for the past three months.
The four of them were currently enclosed in a small open-air arena, brick alcoves dotted the side walls, from which their instructors mercilessly judged the trainees with narrowed eyes. Six iron barred cages on the opposite side opened as one, releasing their frothing horrors at the raw recruits.
Exill sweated nervously as he braced his spear against the lunging plague rats. He took a half-step back as he sensed a party member to the left give ground against an especially ferocious attack. The cohort of four spearmen moved in unison, holding their line formation against six opposing lesser beasts. The plague rats were the size of a large dog, their foamy spittle and grey matted fur the only unique characteristic of their breed.
His partner to the left stepped back again as she received another flurry of attacks. However, one of her counters had pierced the front leg of the rat and it was momentarily pushed off balance. Exill sensed this opportunity and turned to his left to strike at the rat's exposed side. His spear effortlessly pierced the grey matted fur and deep into its chest, killing the beast. Before Exill could even celebrate, a rat leapt at his overextended side and pushed him to the ground!
Exill could only hold the ravening beast back with the shaft of his spear as foaming spittle flecked on his face and chest. The formation of the spearmen broke, and the rats quickly overwhelmed the trainees from all sides, biting and gnashing in wild frustration.
"End exercise." a disappointed voice rang out.
Four armoured guards stepped out of their alcoves to effortlessly pressure the rats away from the fallen recruits, ruthlessly spearing them if they refused to move back into their cages. A healer rushed forward to ensure there were no grievous injuries, and the cohort were led away to the changing rooms. Their Instructor was waiting for them there, clay tablet in hand and mouth twisted in displeasure.
"You three passed, though Nara, you need to stop giving so much ground to the enemy under pressure. Since you are smaller than the others, it is natural the enemy would focus on you. Use your lower stance to hold firm. 100 squats for you."
The Instructor looked into the faces of the trio as he pointed at Exill. "This is a teachable moment for all of you... you are only as strong as the weakest member of your party. Hold formation at all costs. Your job as spearmen is to hold and wear the enemy down together, not kill them! Exill here was only thinking of himself, not as a team, and his selfish action put all of you in danger."
The Instructor snapped his hinged tablet shut and dismissed the cohort, before stepping out to assess the next batch of trainees. Exill's former party avoided his eyes as they unstrapped their gear and limped in the direction of the mess hall.
He felt like shit. Exill sat there in silence as he thought back on his actions, tearing himself apart, his own worst critic. Dull eyed, he finally unstrapped his gear and winced as he stretched his tense muscles. He held up his palm to check the Card before heading off to the mess hall, hoping to inspect his Vitality stat for any changes.
'The bar looks full, and I don't think I am poisoned…' He was about to dismiss it when he noticed something strange, 'My [Warrior] rose to lvl 9, but why did my [Blacksmith] level also increase?'
The only thing he had done recently was killing the plague rat. Did killing monsters provide EXP across all assigned jobs? This new revelation served to distract Exill from the failed assessment.
He had been testing various ways to increase his [Planeswalker] level. Barring any methods of travelling between 'planes', he just couldn't figure out a method to raise it. This… promised to change everything.