Glancing once more, Francis saw that the pack of four was only about two hundred yards behind him by that point, and they were giving everything they had.

  Less than half a mile out was the stone wall and wooden gate to Macenburg, and there on a horse sat Phillip.

  Behind him were guards and what looked like a crowd, all starting to make noise as Francis drew close.

  His legs burned, his blisters had popped, and one boot was basically gone; the bottom had vanished a mile ago. Each step hurt as rocks pressed into his skin, yet Francis didn't care.

  Every second, he felt like his body might lock up. Snot was stuck on his lips, and when he licked them, feeling the slimy feel, Francis could only imagine how bad he must look.

  He had discarded his shirt after it caught on a bush back in the forest. Francis gave the people watching a show. A topless teen ran toward them, wearing only pants and a single boot.

  Still, the cheers felt like a soft kiss on his ears. They were like a siren calling him, yearning for him to give everything he had.

  Even as he stumbled, cursing when his toe caught a rock and blood began running from the wound, Francis kept pushing on, ignoring what he sensed behind him.

  He felt like a rabbit chased by hounds, yet safety was so close. He just had to endure, had to make it to the bastard who was sitting on that horse.

  The pounding in his ears might have been blood, but Francis was certain it was the sounds of the teens behind him; their heavy breathing and grunts told him they had to be giving everything they could to claim the prize.

  Two silver... two extra silver!

  It was a fortune for him. Knowing he could spend it all in two days meant fun and an opportunity he most likely would never get again.

  Three hundred yards remained, and every step was excruciating. Pain lanced up his whole right leg, unprotected against the stone that replaced the dirt--great for horses and carts, bad for bare feet.

  He almost tripped again, pitching forward as he stumbled, but somehow caught himself, digging deep within as the crowd outside the gate grew and they cheered.

  Unable to hold back, Francis glanced behind his shoulder, risking tripping yet again, as he had seconds before, and saw only thirty yards between him and Malcomb. The older trainee had outrun the other two, both content to fall back, knowing the prize was out of reach.

  Those blue eyes glared at him. Like a demon, the blond-headed bully raced after Francis. He, too, was shirtless, apparently having discarded it at some point as well. The older boy’s body was drenched in sweat, and that was when it hit Francis.

  He's struggling... his steps... he’s in pain!

  Malcomb was running with his legs swinging out slightly to the side, as if he had pulled something inside his groin or his legs were chafing from the running. It was affecting his gait.

  Francis knew how bad chafing could hurt, but it was a minor one compared to the pain the rest of his body felt.

  Emboldened by the thought that the older teen was suffering just as badly as he was, Francis pushed harder, ignoring his lungs and their plea to stop this torture.

  Wagons were outside with people standing in them, cheering and shouting.

  Men and women of all ages were clapping.

  It was what felt like the greatest moment of his life. It was like a dream, where he returned a victor, earning the people's praise.

  Even Phillip seemed to be laughing, waving his hand for the pair of them to hurry.

  Surging with everything left inside, Francis ran.

  The breathing sounds and heavy steps grew closer, but he ignored them.

  Thirty yards left... just thirty yards.

  "I'll.... kill.... you..."

  Those three words sent a chill down his back.

  Something inside told him to move, and, stumbling to the left, he felt one of Malcomb's arms brush his sweaty right arm before there came a crunch from beside him.

  Regaining his balance, Francis sprinted toward Phillip--who stood beside his horse, hands outstretched--and, in the same motion, snapped his head around to spot Malcomb sprawled on the stone-paved street.

  That bastard! He tried to tackle me!

  People roared with laughter and cheered with howls of excitement. Francis stumbled with his last steps as he reached the man he hated almost as much as his father and slapped the outstretched hand with his.

  "WINNER! Francis!"

  When he stumbled past Phillip, Francis started to fall, but hands caught him as the crowd closed in around.

  Everything hurt, and he couldn't breathe. Still, they surrounded him, slapping his sweat-covered back and chest. Francis was grinning as best he could between ragged breaths.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  Through the crowd, Francis spotted Malcomb not moving and felt like the gods had finally dispensed justice upon the bully. He tried not to cry out in pain when someone stepped on his injured toe.

  Real heroes don't cry!

  [ Stat Increase ]

  [ Endurance: 13 ]

  [ Agility: 9 ]

  His body felt a slight tingle, and power filled him as he spotted the message appear in his vision in the corner.

  Two stats! I gained two stats!

  Francis’s grin grew--he felt alive. The statement Phillip made proved true: gains only came through pain.

  ***

  "You did it!" Michael exclaimed.

  Not caring that the embrace was sweaty or painful, Francis returned the hug that Michael gave.

  "You're a flipping idiot for running through the forest, but a rich idiot!" his brother said.

  Both chuckled, and as the others came in, they stood near Phillip. Every trainee who had finished waited to see who would be last and lose two silver coins.

  Malcomb was being tended to, three teeth missing from when he had smacked into the stone street. If his blue eyes could shoot daggers or fireballs, Francis was certain the older boy would have killed him multiple times by now.

  "He is pissed off, you know that?" Michael asked.

  Nodding, Francis stretched a little, counting the people who were standing around and those they could see on the road.

  "I count sixteen so far!" Phillip called out. "If David doesn't show up before dark, know his name is on the list. Whoever brings me his head will earn two silver coins!”

  A few grunts from the guards and some men from town let their taskmaster know they would gladly take two silver coins for such an easy task.

  “For now, follow me! It's time to get you cleaned up and fitted for battle!"

  Without waiting, the man rode off, leaving those still coming to catch up while he headed into the gate about thirty yards away.

  Francis had studied the town as he’d waited for everyone to finish. A twenty-foot-high stone wall encircled this side of the city that ran along the woods. Fifty or more yards of cleared area lay between the tree line and the town.

  Inside was a world of smells and sounds that beckoned him to enter and spend his prize.

  The guards nodded at him as he and Michael walked side by side. It had been months since they had stopped for a night in Macenburg on their way to the hellhole they had called home.

  Stone and wood buildings were packed tightly, set along streets that ran in a straight line. He vaguely remembered some of the layout from when they had passed through before. Phillip appeared to be taking them down a different street than Francis had expected.

  People were going back to their businesses, and Francis couldn’t help but notice how the population had changed since they had been there. The war had taken its toll here. Francis could only remember seeing a few young kids on his first visit. Now, there were women and mainly older men. All the younger men like himself had been enlisted as he and the other trainees had been.

  "Look!" Michael exclaimed, pointing down a street they walked past.

  A group of girls, all easily their age or older, were watching them. They were smiling and waving, standing near a building with a sign that told them exactly what the house was for.

  "I bet you could do well there with seven silver!" his brother said as he nudged him. “You might even get a discount as the winner.

  “Cheeks flushing red, Francis shook his head.

  "I'm not sure I want to go that path... While it looks tempting, we both remember what happened to Peter."

  Michael's smile changed into a grimace, and he bobbed his head.

  "Yeah... that took a few silver and a healer to stop that rash... Perhaps you're right... I'm hurting enough from running. I don't need that kind of pain before we go into battle."

  ***

  "Now, then, listen up. I won't repeat myself,” Phillip said. “You all better understand that I will not tolerate any disobedience. If you do, I'll personally make sure you're on the front line of the initial charge."

  The glare Phillip gave felt normal until it came to rest upon Malcomb, who seemed caught off guard, taking a step back as their trainer glared at the older boy.

  "From this moment on, I will not tolerate any fighting. If you do, it's a free trip to the front lines. Do you understand?"

  "Yes, sir!" Everyone shouted at once, all knowing that it was a death sentence.

  "Good,” Phillip said, gaze returning to the rest of them. “Each of you was healed from the injuries of the race. Well, those of you who could be healed," he continued, nodding as his eyes scanned them all again. "Now, your equipment is everything. You've been measured, and tomorrow you will get a chance for alterations to occur. Miss it, and you might find yourself with armor that flops around, impeding your ability to do anything, which again means death.

  "I've given you your coins. Spend them as you see fit. Just know that when the bell sounds, I expect you here within an hour. If you are late... well, you know what will happen."

  Francis nodded, squeezing the coin purse in his hands. He already had plans for how best to spend it.

  "Listen, eat, drink, sleep, and live,” Phillip said. “You are only guaranteed a few more days. Take it from me," Phillip said as he ran a finger along the line on his face, "There are some things worse than death, but even they can be worth enjoying. If death comes, know the gods watch our souls. If death doesn't find you, then piss in its face and find me! We shall drink one together because you will have earned my respect!"

  Everyone laughed as the asshole they all hated smiled for a moment.

  "Now go! Daylight is fading. Be smart and don't forget to come by tomorrow to get your gear taken care of. Swords and shields are given when we march!"

  Everyone broke away, most going in packs of two or more. To Francis’ surprise, only Malcomb found himself alone.

  ***

  A long burp escaped his mouth, and Francis started to laugh until another burp came, bringing up a little of the food he had just finished.

  "Gods, that smells! What did you eat?" Michael asked with a wave of his hand.

  "Everything!"

  Both boys laughed, just another group in a tavern full of laughter and noise. A few other trainees were in the same booth, drinking and eating, watching the few who had decided to attempt dancing after the run today.

  None looked nearly as impressive as those who danced with them.

  The local men and women were spinning and kicking their feet, keeping beat with the drum and flute that set the tone.

  Everyone seemed excited at the prospect of the young men who were going to defend their kingdom--no, all the kingdoms--from the threat of some outside force.

  Though I think it's the silver we are about to spend that has them excited.

  The night wore on, and the pair of brothers enjoyed a brief moment of what life could be like if one had money and no cares. They were finally helped upstairs and dropped off in their room, neither able to make their way up the steps on their own.

  Sleep came, and both slept like they hadn't in ages: happy, full, and believing anything was possible.