Wilbur

The boy with the scar on his face charged forward with a sword in both hands. Wilbur had seen the move so many times now, that he could have dodged it blindfolded.

Too high!

He ducked below and threw his opponent off balance with a single smooth low kick. The boy shouted as the leg armour hit his bones. Wilbur got up. The two swords were still in the boy's hands. Good!

"Don't let go of the swords if you want to go all offensive. Unless you have another source of weapon close by. Again!"

The boy got up with determination flashed across his face, and started walking backwards preparing to charge again.

"Remember, arc your back as you come closer, hit lower. It should cover a wider range that way."

The boy charged in reply. Wilbur ducked below again. But this time he had to put his shield up to intercept the two swords. He slammed his frame in a upper forward direction. The boy was thrown back like a little puppy.

"The last hit was better. But you still need to work a lot. I warned you full offensive is not going to be simple," Wilbur signalled one of the other boys to come over. He placed his hand on his shoulder," Your defence is lousy. Sheath your sword and learn to use your shield."

"Yes Sir!" The boy stammered.

Wilbur then turned to the scarred boy," Keep repeating the slash till you can break his shield."

Saying so, he moved to watch the other side of the forest clearing. The White Capes were training around him, wielding weapons they deemed fit for themselves.

He walked across to a boy wielding an axe. He was trying to cut a tree with the thickest trunk compared to the other trees around the clearing. He was barely able to lift his axe to a proper height for the swing. There were multiple cuts on the tree at various heights.

"Sir!" He said panting.

"Keep going boy, don't stop!" Wilbur nodded.

"Can I take these hand weights off? Or at least use a smaller axe?"

"No. That would render the purpose of your training useless. You have all morning. Chop that tree off. We can use it for camp fire later," Wilbur noticed the boy wasn't motivated enough.

"Your dad could do this all day and he was a woodcutter. And he never complained. But you are a warrior for your chosen path, not a woodcutter. Slack off and you won't get any second chance on the battlefield. If you can't even lift a moderately heavy axe you had better give up."

"No Sir!" Saying so, he gave his best shot to the tree with his newly found spirit.

Wilbur walked to a calmer part of the clearing where the Priest sat observing. He sat beside him as the Priest offered him water. He accepted," They are doing well."

Wilbur nodded," Some of them might surpass me."

"If they don't, you should be ashamed," chuckled the Priest.

"They are learning," agreed Wilbur.

The Priest put a hand on Wilbur's knee as he lowered his voice," Will they manage against those knowing alchemy? Most warriors in higher military rank know alchemy. It boosts their battle prowess multiple times. I can't help but feel concerned about these children."

Wilbur frowned as he fell into thought. He drank a sip of water before he said," I would be lying if I claimed that doesn't concern me. I have stayed awake many a night to figure it out. But no answer presents itself. It's a known fact that only the royal blood or those related even distinctly to the noble families can learn alchemy. Some are better than the others. It's really a God given gift."

"Yes that is a known fact, indeed," said the Priest displeased.

"Have faith in The White God, O Priest! We have been chosen"

Oh the irony! I am asking a Priest to have faith. Not like his fears are not well founded.

The priest said," We can't give them all Gladinstone blades either. Gladinstone is a rare metal after all. Eventually there will come a day they have to face alchemists."

"Alchemy does increase battle prowess but it doesn't constitute the entirety of a warrior's skill," Wilbur said, knowing his words were partially empty.

He had seen battlefields. He had run from battlefields. His head conjured up the images. How he had spent hours learning seemed insignificant. The last blood piercing screams were engraved deep into his memory. His legs had buckled beneath him when he saw what the alchemists did. Usual soldiers could act like nothing more than meat shields. Meat shield. That's what he once was.

...Finch ran towards the general. His determination made Wilbur afraid. Afraid of his companion's life. He ran till he got riddled with various holes and his limp body was thrown like a useless rag. The scream. Wilbur summoned oblivion. Oblivion could not rule over that scream. It failed to rule over that scream. Nor the flames, nor the cracked ground. Wilbur ran, and the general had laughed. That day Wilbur learned how laughter could be more piercing than that one scream. And Finch laughed too, Finch sang like he had done in their camp, Finch boasted as he returned from hunting and Finch talked of honour before the fights and Finch got up the latest in the mornings. Will you wake up Finch? All was worth a few holes. Wilbur fell, his hand was no longer able to grip the sword, his armour a useless decoration and the pain. Pain with an unknown origin riddled him...

The priest shook him out of his thoughts,"Wilbur?"

"Yes yes," How much time had passed Wilbur didn't know. Maybe moments? maybe hours?
The boys were still training. Laughing and playing, boasting and jeering. Full of life. Like Finch.

Alchemists. Rhugh was an alchemist. His mind showed him how the Gladinstone blade had pierced him. His blood glowing translucent red as it hit the glowing blade. The image showed him how he had slit the Giant's throat, a single smooth stroke. How The White God had healed him. From within.

I cannot run now. No. I will not run now. I have been chosen.