The morning sun crept slowly across the wide training ground that Leon, Rourke, and Gorak had cleared just outside the village of Vekara. The air was still, filled only with the sound of heavy boots stomping on packed earth and the sharp clang of steel against steel. The mercenaries had gathered here, not for idle work or simple drills, but to be reforged into a true military force—something more than just a band of hired swords.
Leon stood at the edge of the clearing, watching as the men and women moved through their drills. His arms were crossed, his eyes sharp and focused as he took in every movement, every mistake, and every glimmer of potential. These mercenaries were tough, hardened by years of fighting for gold and survival, but they lacked discipline. They fought well as individuals, but if they were to build something that could stand against the king's forces, they needed to learn how to fight as one.
Rourke, ever the loud and confident leader, moved among his men, shouting orders and corrections with a grin on his face. "Come on, you lot! If you fight the king's men like that, you'll be dead in the first minute!" He bellowed, grabbing one of the mercenaries by the shoulder and adjusting his stance with a sharp tug.
Gorak, more stoic and silent, watched from a distance, his arms crossed over his massive chest. He didn't shout like Rourke, but his presence was enough to keep the mercenaries in line. They respected him—feared him, even. His time as a soldier and his strength as a fighter were well-known, and when he gave a command, it was followed without question.
Leon took a deep breath, his mind already working through the next steps. He had been a military doctor in his previous life, but he had seen enough battles and served alongside enough commanders to know how to build a fighting force. Strategy, discipline, and cohesion were the foundations of any successful army. And today, they would begin laying those foundations.
"Bring them in," Leon called out to Rourke and Gorak, his voice carrying easily across the training ground.
The two men nodded, and soon, the mercenaries were gathered before Leon, their breaths heavy from the morning's exercises. They were tough, yes, but they were also tired and impatient. Mercenaries weren't used to this kind of long-term training. They were used to quick fights, sudden victories, and the promise of gold at the end of the battle. But what Leon was asking of them now was different. He was asking them to become something more.
Leon stepped forward, his eyes sweeping over the group. "You've been fighting your whole lives," he began, his voice calm but firm. "You know how to kill, how to survive. But that's not enough anymore. If we're going to stand against the king, if we're going to build something that lasts, you need to learn how to fight as one. You need to become a real army, not just a group of mercenaries."
There was a murmur of discontent among the group, but no one spoke out. They knew what was at stake, even if they didn't fully grasp the scope of what Leon was trying to build.
"We're not just preparing for the next fight," Leon continued, his voice growing sharper. "We're preparing for the long war. The king's forces will come for us, and when they do, we need to be ready. We need to be stronger, faster, and smarter than them. That's what this training is about."
Rourke stepped forward, grinning as he clapped one of the mercenaries on the back. "He's right, you know. You lot are tough, but toughness won't win us a war. Discipline will. And that's what Leon's going to teach you."
Leon motioned to a large, flat map spread out on a table near the training ground. It detailed the area around Vekara, the surrounding territories, and possible enemy approaches. He had spent hours drawing it, planning out every detail, every possible outcome.
"Today, we're starting with the basics of strategy," Leon said, his tone more instructional now. "We need to learn how to control the battlefield, how to use the terrain to our advantage, and how to anticipate the enemy's moves before they make them."
He gestured for the group to gather around the map, and the mercenaries reluctantly obliged. Rourke and Gorak flanked Leon, their eyes scanning the map with practiced ease.
Leon placed a hand on the map, pointing to the area surrounding the village. "This is Vekara. It's our home now, but it's also vulnerable. We're surrounded by open fields to the west, thick forests to the north, and mountains to the east. Each of these areas can be used to our advantage, but they can also be a weakness if we're not careful."
One of the mercenaries, a grizzled man with scars lining his face, spoke up. "We're mercenaries, not soldiers. Why do we need to know all this? Isn't it enough to just fight when the time comes?"
Leon met his gaze, unflinching. "If we wait until the time comes, we've already lost. Strategy isn't just about knowing how to fight—it's about knowing when to fight, where to fight, and how to win before the first blade is drawn. If we wait until we're attacked, the king's forces will overwhelm us. We need to be prepared to control the battlefield before they even arrive."
The mercenary fell silent, clearly chastened by Leon's response.
Leon continued, his tone growing more focused. "We'll begin with basic formations today—how to move as a unit, how to hold a line, and how to adapt to different terrains. Rourke and Gorak will lead the drills. You'll be divided into squads, and each squad will be responsible for a specific part of the battle plan."
Rourke grinned, clapping his hands together. "You heard him! Let's get moving!"
The mercenaries moved into their assigned groups, and the training resumed. Leon watched as Rourke and Gorak barked orders, correcting stances, adjusting formations, and pushing the men harder than they had ever been pushed before. It was grueling work, but it was necessary. The men needed to understand that this wasn't just about fighting for gold anymore. It was about survival—about building something worth defending.
Leon moved among the squads, offering advice and corrections where needed. He demonstrated how to use the terrain to their advantage, how to position themselves to avoid being flanked, and how to anticipate the movements of the enemy. The mercenaries listened, some more attentively than others, but Leon could see the changes already beginning to take root.
As the day wore on, the mercenaries became more focused, more disciplined. The initial grumbling had faded, replaced by a growing sense of purpose. They weren't just mercenaries anymore—they were becoming soldiers. And Leon knew that if they continued down this path, they would one day become an army capable of standing against the king.
By the time the sun began to dip below the horizon, the training ground was quiet once again, the mercenaries scattered to their makeshift camps for the night. Rourke and Gorak approached Leon, both men looking worn but satisfied.
"They're coming along," Rourke said, his grin as wide as ever. "They've got potential, even if they don't know it yet."
Gorak grunted in agreement. "They'll be ready when the time comes."
Leon nodded, his eyes scanning the training ground one last time before turning back to his comrades. "This is just the beginning. We'll keep pushing them, keep drilling them. We don't have time to waste."
Rourke clapped Leon on the back, his voice filled with confidence. "Don't worry. We'll be ready when the king comes knocking."
Leon smiled faintly, though his mind was already turning toward the next phase of their plan. The training had begun, but the road ahead was long. They would need more men, more resources, and more time. But for the first time since the battle against the lord, Leon felt that they were on the right path.
They were building something real—something that could stand the test of time.
And when the king's forces came, they would be ready.