The transition into the Jasper Barony revealed a landscape of wasted potential. Henry's mind couldn't help but notice the sprawling, flat plains—perfect for agriculture—yet they lacked the dense, thriving farms of the Sinclair estate. The soil was richer here, but the management was clearly inferior. However, any further observation was drowned out by the sheer, grinding agony of the run.
By the fifth day, the 12-to-14-hour legs had turned the world into a blur of grey road and burning lungs. Even the Level 10s were beggining to feel a fatigue that wouldnt quite go away even with the breaks, their movements mechanical and stiff. But for those at the back, the wall had finally been reached.
As the sun began to crest the horizon for the fifth time, a piercing, sorrowful cry shattered the silence of the camp.
Henry spun around to see Recruit 12 on the ground. It wasn't a lack of will; her eyes were ablaze with a desperate, frantic stubbornness, but her legs had completely locked into rigid, spasming pillars of wood. Her body had staged a coup against her mind.
Watching her struggle, Henry felt a pang of phantom pain in his own limbs. He remembered the agony of his own foundation nearly shattering as he tried his hardest to reach his current level. Without a word, he made his way to the back where recruit 12 was laying there trying her hardest to get her legs to listen to her to no avail.
"I'm fine! I can do it! I can do it!" she shrieked as he approached, her sleep-deprived mind mistaking his shadow for the Recruiter's.
"It's okay," Henry said, kneeling beside her. His voice was calm, a sharp contrast to her hysteria. "Your body has reached its limit. If you keep pushing, you'll do permanent damage to your foundation."
Recruit 12 froze, looking up at him. Through the grime and tears, she saw Henry clearly for the first time. The desperation didn't leave her eyes, but the panic softened slightly. "I'm fine... please..."
Henry looked toward Sir Recruiter and the two knights. They stood like statues, watching the scene with cold, detached interest. Taking their silence as permission, Henry reached down and easily hoisted her into his arms. She flailed feebly, her arms having no more strength than a child's, as he carried her toward the back of the carriage.
Once he settled her onto the wooden floorboards, the look of utter hopelessness on her face was almost too much to bear.
"You put up a hell of a fight," Henry told her, his voice low. "But you aren't ready for this pace yet. Don't let it break you."
"I'll... I'll be left behind," she whispered, her voice cracking. "The extra training..."
"I won't let you fall behind," Henry promised, flashing a small, confident smile. "I'll take the extra three hours of training with you every day. We'll get through it together."
The girl's eyes widened, her entire demeanor shifting from a hardened soldier-wannabe to a vulnerable young woman. "Really? You promise?"
"I promise. I'm a man of my word."
A flush that wasn't from the heat touched her cheeks. "What's your name?"
Henry's smile turned teasing. "For the next three months? My name is Recruit 14."
A small, genuine smile finally touched her lips. Before she could retort, Sir Recruiter's voice boomed across the square. "There's no time for flirting! We have miles to cover!"
Henry turned and jogged back to the group. As he left, he heard a raspy, tear-strained voice call out from the carriage: "Good luck with the rest of the run!"
His act of rebellion seemed to have broken the icy silence that had gripped the group for days. Recruit 13, the lanky Level 3 boy, moved up beside him as they began to trot.
"Thanks for the extra time, man," he whispered, his voice full of respect. "That was... honestly pretty heroic. I don't think I even have the energy to help anyone else right now."
"We're a team now," Henry replied, offering a nod. "We look out for our own."
The camaraderie was short-lived.
"Shut it!" Sir Recruiter roared. "Since you all have enough energy to play hero and gossip, the next leg is 18 hours straight. No breaks. Move!"
The reality of the punishment settled over the group like a heavy shroud. Henry adjusted his breathing, tucked his chin, and began the long, grueling haul toward the king's main border base. He had given himself three extra hours of hellish training optionally and he had played a major part in the next leg being harsher then the res, but he still felt no regret for his actions.
The atmosphere among the recruits had soured instantly. While they had enjoyed the brief moment of humanity earlier, the reality of the eighteen-hour punishment turned their gratitude into resentment. Eyes flickered toward Henry with silent accusations; he was the one who had stopped the clock, and now they were all paying the interest on his heroism.
Henry ignored the glares, focusing instead on the rhythmic pounding of his heart. However, by the sixteenth hour, the cost of the extended leg became clear.
Recruit 13 was falling apart. The level 3 boy had been walking a razor's edge for days, his meager foundation barely repairing the damage of each leg before the next began. Now, his long, lanky stride had devolved into a desperate, uncoordinated stumble. His eyes were glazed, staring at the heels of the recruit in front of him with a hollow, haunting vacancy.
Feeling a twinge of responsibility for the extra hours he'd triggered, Henry drifted back. He placed a firm hand on the boy's lower back, physically shoving him forward to keep his momentum alive. Recruit 13 didn't look back; he couldn't. His mouth hung open, gasping for air in jagged, wet heaves, his entire existence narrowed down to the next six inches of road.
They breached the eighteenth hour by sheer force of will. The group began to instinctively slow, expecting the sweet relief of a halt, when Sir Recruiter's voice rang out with a cruel, mocking vibrato.
"Oh, my mistake! Did I say eighteen hours? I must have miscounted... I meant twenty!"
It was the sound of a spirit snapping.
The extra two hours was a psychological death sentence for someone already past their limit. Recruit 13 didn't cry out or argue. The light simply left his eyes. He leaned away from Henry's supportive hand, his legs turning to jelly as he veered toward the shoulder of the road. He didn't just stop; he collapsed into the dirt, his body finally surrendering to the exhaustion his mind could no longer fight.
Henry paused for a fraction of a second, looking down at the fallen boy. He realized then that no amount of physical pushing could save someone whose will had been broken. Without a word, Henry turned his gaze back to the road and accelerated, leaving the boy for the carriage.
There were still two hours of hell left, and Henry intended to finish them on his feet.