Day One — Camp Varian

  Horns tear through the camp at 0500.

  Long. Low. Unforgiving.

  Lardes stumbles out into the cold with the rest of Group Three.

  At the center of the formation stands an instructor on a raised pedestal.

  There’s one at every group.

  Same posture.

  Same uniform.

  Same voice.

  “Good morning, cadets.”

  No one responds.

  “Today marks your first full day at Camp Varian.”

  The instructor’s gaze sweeps the group.

  “I will outline your daily schedule for this week.”

  “The primary drill begins next week.”

  He starts listing exercises.

  Endurance runs.

  Coordination drills.

  Stress simulations.

  Team evaluations.

  No breaks mentioned.

  Lardes exhales under his breath and leans toward Julian.

  “Damn,” he mutters.

  “That’s a lot to cram into one day.”

  The instructor’s head snaps toward him.

  “Cadet.”

  The word cuts clean.

  “Do you have something to say?”

  Lardes straightens.

  “Isn’t that a bit much to start with?”

  Silence.

  The instructor smiles — thin, humorless.

  “Did you not volunteer to become the best of the best?”

  He steps down one rung.

  “This is what Camp Varian stands for.”

  A pause.

  “If you believe the greatest tactician of our time is wrong…”

  Another pause.

  “…you are free to leave.”

  No one moves.

  “However,” the instructor continues,

  “for questioning the program, your entire group will perform five hundred burpees before proceeding.”

  Groans ripple through the formation.

  Julian leans toward Lardes.

  “Man,” he mutters, “you could’ve kept your mouth shut.”

  Lardes winces — then smirks.

  “Yeah,” he says.

  “My bad, bro.”

  They drop to the ground as one.

  Lardes finishes the last burpee and straightens, breathing hard.

  Julian is still on the ground, swearing under his breath.

  Lardes taps his shoulder.

  “I’m heading to the dining hall.”

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  Julian nods, barely lifting his head.

  As Lardes walks off, he feels eyes on him.

  Not angry.

  Judging.

  Vale falls into step beside him, smirking.

  “You really gave us one hell of a morning workout.”

  Lardes lets out a short laugh.

  “Yeah. Wasn’t the plan.”

  Vale shrugs.

  “I mean… the instructor’s not wrong.”

  They walk.

  “They named this place after Varian for a reason,” Vale continues.

  “Same camp where he trained. Same with Mentas. Edwards.”

  A pause.

  “Even that scum Kevin.”

  Lardes glances at him.

  “Yeah,” he says. “Probably right.”

  The dining hall is already loud.

  They grab their trays and spot Jason across the room.

  Lardes and Vale sit down.

  One by one, the rest of Bunker 17 filters in.

  A broad-shouldered guy drops onto the bench across from Lardes.

  “Sagoya,” he says.

  “You’ve got guts, questioning an instructor like that.”

  Lardes blinks.

  “Wasn’t really intentional.”

  Sagoya smiles slightly.

  “Still. I like that.”

  Lardes nods, a little unsure.

  “Uh… thanks.”

  The moment stretches—

  Then Julian slams his tray down.

  “Those fucking burpees were dumb as hell.”

  Jeff snorts.

  “Relax. Sit down.”

  Julian drops into the seat, still muttering.

  The tension fades.

  Conversation fills the space.

  Leadership Assessment

  The days blur together.

  Running drills.

  Coordination exercises.

  Simulated combat.

  Sleep deprivation.

  Names start to matter.

  By the end of the week, everyone knows who the candidates are.

  The Vote

  The instructor stands at the front of Group Three.

  “Leadership vote begins now.”

  Names flash across wristbands.

  Andreas.

  Jeff.

  Ron.

  Kasper.

  Demitri.

  Votes roll in silently.

  The results appear one by one.

  Fifth place — Kasper.

  147 votes.

  A ripple of murmurs.

  Fourth place — Ron.

  359 votes.

  Ron exhales, nodding to himself.

  Third place — Demitri.

  499 votes.

  Only two names remain.

  Jeff.

  Andreas.

  The instructor waits until the numbers stop shifting.

  “First place — Andreas Smetana.”

  1,233 votes.

  A beat.

  “Second place — Jeff Rockus.”

  747 votes.

  Applause breaks out — uneven, cautious.

  Andreas steps forward.

  Andreas’ Speech

  He doesn’t rush.

  “Thank you,” he says.

  “For trusting me with this position.”

  He scans the group.

  “Since day one, I’ve done everything I could to make sure this group survives.”

  A pause.

  “That won’t change.”

  “We will be number one.”

  “We will outperform the other groups.”

  “And we will prove that we deserve to stand at the top.”

  He turns slightly.

  “There’s one more thing.”

  Andreas looks at Jeff.

  “Jeff wasn’t just a competitor.”

  “He was someone who kept me in check.”

  A few heads turn.

  “That’s why I’m appointing him as my second in command.”

  A ripple of surprise.

  “Thank you.”

  Aftermath

  Lardes leans toward Vale and Julian.

  “I guess this is the start of the end.”

  The Other Leaders

  The instructor continues.

  “Group One — Leris Gael.”

  “Second in command — Louis Levi.”

  “Group Two — Jackson Icon.”

  “Second in command — Maximus Autorious.”

  Andreas and Jeff exchange a look.

  Jackson.

  “Group Three — Andreas Smetana.”

  “Second in command — Jeff Rockus.”

  “Group Four — Vergal Verin.”

  “Second in command — Samson Retchfield.”

  A reaction ripples through the formation.

  Lardes leans toward Julian.

  “Why does that name sound familiar?”

  Julian lowers his voice.

  “Retchfield.”

  “One of the twenty Noble Families of the Tang Empire.”

  Lardes snorts.

  “So he got in on the name?”

  Vale shakes his head.

  “Maybe.”

  “But Retchfields are known for their tacticians.”

  A pause.

  “A few of them have even held Seats on the Supreme Warlords Council.”

  Julian nods.

  “His father gave up the Seventh Seat a few years back.”

  Lardes exhales.

  “Huh.”

  He watches the leaders standing at the front.

  “This could get interesting.”

  Camp Varian — Later

  Training continues.

  Bodies harden.

  Breathing steadies.

  Pain becomes routine.

  Andreas and Jeff spend nights over maps and simulations, adjusting plans for scenarios that haven’t happened yet.

  Then the summons comes.

  An instructor’s voice carries across the camp.

  “Leris Gael.”

  “Jackson Icon.”

  “Andreas Smetana.”

  “Vergal Verin.”

  A pause.

  “Fifteen hundred hours. My office.”

  Julian exhales slowly and looks at Vale.

  “It’s time.”

  The Office

  The four leaders arrive within minutes of each other.

  Jackson glances at Andreas, smirking.

  “Guess they finally found some use for you.”

  Before Andreas can respond, the door opens.

  They enter.

  The door closes.

  Hard Cut

  The door opens again.

  The four leaders step out.

  Faces unreadable.

  As they part ways, Jackson’s voice carries back.

  “See you on the battlefield, big boy.”

  Andreas doesn’t slow.

  “Don’t choke on those words.”

  Briefing — Group Three

  Andreas gathers the group.

  Jeff stands beside him.

  “We’re being deployed off-world,” Andreas says.

  “Each group gets one hundred members.”

  A ripple of reaction.

  “Different planet. Same objective.”

  He looks around.

  “All four groups will be fighting for a single capture point.”

  Silence.

  “Non-lethal hits, like Arms or Legs can be treated.”

  “Lethal hits like Head or Chest”

  “Eliminates you from the exercise.”

  A pause.

  “Each Eliminated costs us points.”

  “Each confirmed Elimination earns points.”

  “Holding the stronghold also earns points.”

  No one speaks.

  Andreas’ voice hardens.

  “Jeff and I will be selecting who deploys.”

  A beat.

  “You have forty-eight hours until the simulation starts.”

  He scans the faces.

  “Prove to us you’re worth picking.”