Wade was already up the next morning when the camp horns sounded.

He sat on his bedroll, strapping on his pauldrons and boots while Rowan cursed quietly from the other side of the tent.

Around them, the others stirred to life.

The day before, the division had been briefed on their role in the war. Just like the other adventurer divisions, they would serve as the main force of the assault.

They would be supported from behind by the army of Vasaria, who would be in charge of mopping up the monsters that slipped through, not to mention protecting the supplies.

Wade yawned, making his way outside. Instructors were already walking the field, barking orders as the adventurers of Division Seven formed up into training groups.

"Move it, move it!" one instructor shouted.

The morning training wasn't about coordination. Something adventurers were already versed in. But this one was on a higher level than the one done within their parties.

Wade and Rowan joined a line of other adventurers on the field, where an officer in red armor stood with his hands behind his back, pacing.

"Out there," the officer bellowed, "your biggest enemy might not be claws or teeth. It'll be confusion!"

"You lose formation, you die. You panic, you die. You forget how to call for retreat, everyone dies!"

He stopped pacing and jabbed a finger at the crowd. "From now on, forget about being individuals. Now, you're all parts of a machine. When it moves, it moves together."

Wade could understand where they were coming from. This was going to be a mass battle with thousands of fighters. One mistake could trigger disaster.

The officers demonstrated field formations, calling out orders for the adventurers to mimic.

"When you hear the whistle, you hold formation. When you hear two, you reposition behind the shield line. Three means retreat. Your retreat must be controlled. There shall be no screaming like chickens!"

The drills began.

Wade worked with the rest of the adventurers around him, learning the moves.

How to fall back without breaking rank, how to mark out monsters for others to take care of, how to signal a healer. The instructors moved through the ranks, calling out mistakes.

Soon, training stopped for a short break. But that was only a break for their bodies, not their minds.

A scholar in spectacles began handing out sketches. Rough charcoal drawings of beasts from the horde.

"Pay attention!" the man cried, pointing to the first image. "The drawings distributed to you are the images of the stronger monsters you're more likely to encounter in the horde."

"This here's an iron-hide boar. Don't bother slashing its sides. Aim for the underbelly or eyes. One charge from it can crush a man in full plate."

He held up another drawing, this one showing a wolf-like creature with two vertical jaws that split from its snout down to the chest.

"Twin-jawed wolves. Fast, vicious, and they hunt in pairs. If you see one, the second is already behind you."

The next was a bird with long wings and a jagged beak.

"And these," the instructor said grimly, "are sky buzzards. They'll circle high above, waiting for distraction before diving in. Their talons can slice through steel if you're unlucky."

Each beast had a strategy. Some required brute force, and others required teamwork. The sketches passed down the line, and he examined them closely, memorizing horns, claws, and coloring.

Knowledge was survival.

Soon, they returned to training, this time, sparring with each other in order to get them used to being able to fight without relying on a single skill. This was a countermeasure for running out of mana.

Wade was paired against a swordsman in light mail, his face hidden by a scarf. They exchanged brief nods before starting.

Wade drew Toothpick and took his stance.

Their sparring began slowly, both combatants taking the measure of each other. At least, until their supervisors began screaming at them that the monsters wouldn't give them the courtesy of taking things slow.

The spar went on for several rounds before both men lowered their weapons, sweat dripping from their brows. They shook hands wordlessly before moving on to the next drill.

All around them, the camp was a storm of activity. Arrows whistled in practice ranges. Teams rehearsed their formations, the team lead calling out orders and the rest complying.

The sun continued its journey westward, burning against the dusty horizon.

By midday, half the division was coated in sweat and grime. The instructors showed no mercy.

"Form up again!" one yelled. "You think monsters are going to wait for you to catch your breath? Move!"

Wade groaned but obeyed, lifting Toothpick again.

They ran formation drills until the light began to fade, the orange sun painting everything in a haze of gold.

When the final whistle blew, the collective sigh from the trainees was almost funny.

"All squads dismissed!" a sergeant called. "Eat, wash, and sleep. We resume at sunrise!"

Cheers and curses filled the air.

Wade trudged back to the camp with Rowan, both coated in dust and exhaustion. His muscles burned with every step he took, his armor felt twice as heavy, and his hands ached from gripping Toothpick all day.

"I can't feel my shoulders," Rowan muttered.

"You'll live," Wade said, though his own arms trembled faintly. "Barely."

When they reached the campfires, the smell of food hit them. Wade joined the long line of adventurers waiting their turn, bowl in hand.

The meal wasn't glamorous, but it was hot, and that was enough for him.

They ate sitting on overturned crates near their tent, watching the last streaks of sunlight fade behind the hills.

Brody downed his portion in three gulps, Mercy chiding him for it, while the twins argued over whose arrows flew straighter during practice. Rowan just stared at the fire.

"Tiring day," he said finally.

"Feels like they're trying to break us before the monsters can," Wade replied.

"Maybe that's the point."

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