That night, after answering a barrage of bizarre questions from his subordinates, Daemon lay in bed, thinking. The official appointment hadn't been announced yet, most likely it would come the next day. He touched the area below his navel, wondering what Battleforce really was. From the outside, there was nothing unusual, but Daemon could feel a white speck inside, about the size of a grain of rice. Ser Willas had called it a Battleforce Seed, but it didn't resemble a seed at all to Daemon.
Unable to make sense of it, he let it go. Things would work themselves out. Maybe he'd ask Uncle Joshek. Then his thoughts drifted to Cassie, the alluring tavern owner in Giza Town. He hadn't visited her recently. He'd go tomorrow, and bring a gift.
He wondered how things were at home. The last message from his parents had said everything was fine and reminded him to stay safe. The money he had sent back, had they used it? Knowing them, probably not. Most of it was likely being saved for his future wedding. Thinking of marriage, Daemon smiled foolishly.
In this era, marriage was a once-in-a-lifetime event for commoners. Marrying a kind, capable woman who could manage the household was a dream come true. Daemon often fantasized about his future wife. Cassie wasn't bad, pretty, able to brew wine and write, but she'd been married before, and Daemon doubted his parents would approve.
His mind then drifted to his sister. To Daemon, she was the most beautiful woman he knew. She'd taken care of the household ever since he left to enlist. If anyone deserved to be called virtuous, it was her.
The next morning, Daemon arrived early at the training grounds outside the camp. No other squad captains were there yet. He greeted the guard at the entrance and headed to one of the smaller sections.
He was mainly here to test his strength after starting Battleforce cultivation. According to Ser Willas, he was now an Initiate Squire. At this stage, Battleforce only existed in its seed form and could help heal wounds and enhance strength. Once the Battleforce seed grew to the size of a pigeon egg, he'd reach the peak of Initiate Squire and could then advance to Elementary Squire.
Ser Willas had only taught him the basics for entry-level training. The next stage would be taught once he hit the peak.
Daemon walked up to a large boulder in his training area, one that required the full strength of an adult man to even budge. Before, he could barely lift half of it, and only for a short time. Now, without activating his Battleforce, he wrapped his arms around the boulder and shouted, "Up!" The rock lifted, but only up to his knees. After ten seconds, his strength gave out, and the boulder slammed back down with a heavy thud.
A few minutes later, he was ready to try again. This time, he summoned a thread of Battleforce, guiding it to his arms and abs just as Ser Willas had taught. He gripped the boulder.
"Up!"
This time, it rose to chest level. Daemon felt a cool sensation in his gut, the sign of rapid Battleforce depletion. His rice-sized Battleforce seed was now shrinking fast, nearly the size of a millet grain. He quickly gathered all his strength and threw the boulder.
Boom!
The rock landed five meters away.
Daemon stared at his hands in disbelief. This was the power of Battleforce? It had boosted his strength by two to three times. Sure, it didn't last long, but that was because he'd only trained for one day.
He also realized that Battleforce didn't fundamentally increase muscle strength, it acted more like an enhancer. Now that his base strength was exhausted, his muscles ached terribly. Just then, the Battleforce seed released another thread of cool energy, flowing upward and easing the pain in his arms. It was just as Ser Willas had described, after an injury, Battleforce would naturally assist in healing.
Daemon thought about manually triggering the healing, but when he felt his Battleforce seed shrink further, he gave up on the idea. Ser Willas had warned him, Battleforce required long-term cultivation. If neglected, it would regress. To make progress, one had to train at least an hour daily.
Seeing that the training grounds were still empty, Daemon sat down and began meditating to cultivate his Battleforce.
Time slipped by. When he opened his eyes again, three hours had passed, it was already 10 a.m. The seed had returned to its original size, but hadn't grown.
By then, four other squad captains had arrived, including Uncle Joshek and Ser Willas. Each occupied their own section of the field, immersed in meditation. Ser Willas sat in the center, claiming the largest area.
Interrupting someone's Battleforce cultivation was dangerous, it slowed absorption, irritated the practitioner, and could even break their focus. Daemon wasn't willing to test the consequences. He practiced sword forms while waiting for Uncle Joshek and Ser Willas to finish.
About an hour later, the four finished their sessions. Uncle Joshek, noticing Daemon off to the side, called out cheerfully: "Up early training, huh? You're made of good stuff. Come on, let's get some food."
Daemon joined them in leaving the training grounds. On the way, he learned that both he and Jensen had been officially assigned to the Fourth Squad. Jensen was captain, Daemon vice-captain. Daemon had no objections, Jensen had more experience and greater ability.
As they walked, Daemon eagerly asked Uncle Joshek more about Battleforce. Ser Willas had only provided a rough outline, clearly because Daemon was an outsider. But Uncle Joshek was his most trusted ally. He'd be honest.
Everyone had their own techniques and insights into cultivation, and these weren't shared lightly. The other squad captains, realizing what was about to be discussed, made polite excuses and left. Daemon and Uncle Joshek strolled slowly, chatting the whole way.
When Daemon asked why his Battleforce seed hadn't grown after a full morning of training, Uncle Joshek smacked him.
"Kid, I've been training for over a year, and mine's only the size of a soybean. You've been at it one day, and already want the moon?"
Daemon clutched his head, pouting.
"Battleforce cultivation is a slow grind," Uncle Joshek sighed. "But the more effort you put in, the stronger you'll get."
"Isn't there any way to speed it up?" Daemon asked.
"There is," Uncle Joshek replied, giving Daemon a sidelong glance. "Certain rare herbs and treasures can accelerate training, some can even boost your rank directly. But don't count on getting your hands on any."
Daemon pretended to be disappointed, but his mind went straight to the Red Sea Flower that Solon had gifted him. He had given it to Cassie for planting. He wondered how it was doing. If planting failed, he'd have to eat it, just as Solon suggested.
Seeing Daemon's dejected expression, Uncle Joshek added: "For us commoners, just being able to cultivate Battleforce is a win. According to Ser Willas, Battleforce helps you live 20–30 years longer than normal. That's already a blessing. Stop dreaming about shortcuts."
"Oh…" Daemon replied absentmindedly, still thinking about the flower. He was young, longevity wasn't a concept he could fully appreciate yet.
"There's another way to speed things up: potions," Uncle Joshek said. "You can trade military merit for cultivation potions, but only rank-and-file soldiers and above are eligible. Our camp only carries blood-staunching medicine. For real cultivation potions, you'll need to go to Legion HQ or the central military depot. That costs a fortune in merit."
"I guess I'll have to work hard every day," Daemon said, resigned.
"No kidding. Even Ser Willas trains daily," Uncle Joshek said.
"Uncle, what rank is Ser Willas exactly?" Daemon asked curiously.
"High Squire," Uncle Joshek said, his tone heavy. That was a level far beyond their reach. Advancing each tier was a fundamental transformation. Ser Willas was three full tiers above Daemon. An Intermediate Squire could withstand a cavalry charge alone, what could a high-level one do? Half a squad?
Daemon shuddered at the thought.
"There's actually another way to speed up cultivation…" Uncle Joshek suddenly looked around cautiously, then lowered his voice. "Some of the larger forests are home to arcane beasts. Eagle Battleforce is wind-aligned. If you can catch a wind-aligned beast, its blood and flesh are incredibly useful. It's as good as a potion."
"Huh?" Daemon snapped to attention.
Uncle Joshek continued: "Once, a few of us found a wind-type magical rabbit in a valley. It was as big as a hyena and could shoot wind blades. After we caught it, we split it up. That's when my Battleforce seed really grew."
"Don't think it's easy though. That rabbit was fierce." Uncle Joshek laughed. "So don't go charging into danger when you see one. You might get yourself killed."
"Got it," Daemon nodded.
As they chatted, they reached the large green tent in the center of camp, where the baron and squad captains dined. Guards patrolled the area, and Daemon had once dreamed of eating here. Now that he'd earned the right, he felt a rush of emotion.
"What're you waiting for? Get in." Uncle Joshek gave him a push and went inside.
Daemon followed. Including himself, there were nine people inside, the captains of all four squads and Ser Willas. Since it was his first meal at the high table, everyone greeted Daemon kindly. He blended in quickly. Jensen, who had arrived earlier, was also receiving praise, but even he noticed that Daemon seemed to be more popular.
When Baron Kenning, Young Lord Solon, and the steward arrived, lunch officially began. The steward clapped, and a group of maids and servants entered. The maids, all graceful and well-groomed, poured wine. The servants served beautifully prepared dishes.
"This is wine from the occupied Peters Territory, low in alcohol, but rich in flavor. One glass per meal," Uncle Joshek whispered. He had moved seats to be near Daemon.
"With war coming, this may be the last fine meal for a while. Enjoy it," Uncle Joshek added.
Though it was his first time at such a refined banquet, Daemon remained composed, neither too surprised nor too nervous. During the meal, the baron asked Daemon some questions and showed a hint of kindness. Daemon pledged his loyalty and expressed gratitude.
"I hear your parents are alive and you have a sister?" Baron Kenning asked. As a squad captain commanding 100 men, Daemon was considered high-ranking, and the baron had naturally investigated him.
"Yes, sir," Daemon replied honestly.
"I'll have my territory keep an eye out for your family. Work hard, you're still young," the baron said.
Their conversation was brief, but for Daemon, it was his first exchange with the baron, a thrilling moment.
Later during the meal, the baron officially announced the appointments of Jensen and Daemon. Though everyone already knew, hearing it directly made it official.
Their first mission as squad captains? The assault on Faircastle.
Two days later, in a tent at the northwest corner of camp at dusk, Jensen, Daemon, and the squad leaders of the Fourth Squad gathered for a meeting.
"We're all going to be fighting side by side. Let's introduce ourselves," Jensen said calmly. As the squad captain, he held the highest rank here. A true veteran, he struck the perfect balance between authority and approachability. Hosting the meeting had been planned in advance between him and Daemon.
"I'm Gulas, First Squad Leader," said a brawny man with a thick beard.
"Raffles, Second Squad," replied a sharp-eyed youth with a hooked nose.
"Bender, Third Squad."
"Morrit, Fourth Squad."
...
Orders had gone out: the old Third and Fourth Squads had merged. As expected, the former Fourth Squad captain took his elite troops when he left. The baron had anticipated this and ordered all other squads to contribute reliable men to the new Fourth Squad.
Jensen and Daemon, both new to the unit, preferred fresh blood. That would make it easier to assert control.
All the new squad leaders were their picks, some transferred in, some promoted for ability, and others rose through "alternative" means. Daemon had received 20 Silver Stags in gifts over the last two days, more than he'd ever had.
Still, they limited political appointees to one each. Such "unofficial" leaders were useful, one of Daemon's appointees was backed by a powerful merchant family, one that even had influence over the baron's trade caravans.
Daemon's original squad had followed him, too. Of them, only Hugo and Karlon were fit to lead. Karlon was a scout and less suited to lead melee troops, so Hugo was made leader of the Seventh Squad.
With 10 squads total, Daemon and Jensen had each selected five. Jensen, knowing of Daemon's relationship with Solon, didn't get arrogant. Instead, he worked with Daemon as an equal.
"We've all heard, we're about to march on Faircastle," Jensen said evenly. "Since our squad was just formed, we'll be in the third wave of the assault..."
Sieges were far more brutal than open-field battles. Typically, attackers advanced in four waves. The first wave took the heaviest losses, with each following wave facing slightly less resistance. The fourth wave launched the final charge once the gate was broken.
Their squad was assigned to the third wave, relatively light resistance, but their mission was critical: seize and hold the city gate. Without that, cavalry couldn't charge in, and inside and outside forces couldn't link up. If they failed, the entire siege could collapse.
This would be their first battle as the Fourth Squad. Daemon and Jensen were determined to make it count.