Chapter 8: The Border Reaches.
The next day arrived quicker than he expected, well because he slept soundly knowing that today he would be leaving those trashy bastards behind once and for all.
Currently, He found himself seated within a wooden carriage, the inside smelt quite old, which showed that even now, his family still thought little of him.
He sat quietly inside, with nothing but a small, solitary bag of luggage by his side.
The bag wasn't even that big since he only made sure to pack the bare essentials he needed, and a few changes of clothes.
Most would've perhaps packed a keep sake to remind them of home, but Spencer didn't do anything, because he'd rather die out there than come back to this godforsaken place.
At least if he was coming back, he knew it would only be on his own terms, and besides, there was no way he was going to throw his life away without getting his revenge on these luminous snakes who had treated him so badly for so long.
His father, Edward, had truly been serious when he declared the punishment, not even his siblings or fake mother's had come out to send him off.
Even his own former fiance was nowhere to be seen, probably back at home enjoying herself, while he was being sent to his death.
Of course, Spencer didn't care in the least about the lack of fanfare or the suddenness of his departure.
He understood better than anyone that being cast out was merely a shift in environment for him and like he said before, being sent to a place of conflict like a battleship, only meant he would be able to earn more points to his name far more rapidly than he ever could while playing the part of a shut-in noble.
The prospect of a fresh start, even one as dangerous as the war-torn borders, was a invigorating thought that kept his spirits high as the carriage rolled past the estate's iron gates.
The ride toward the kingdom's distant border took several agonizing days, a journey that Spencer found almost unbearably tedious and physically draining.
As the carriage jolted over uneven dirt roads and wound through dense forests, he found himself reflecting on how fortunate he had been back on Earth to have access to high-speed transport systems and modern comforts.
Now that he was a transmigrator living with these slower systems in this medieval world, he realized that he could do nothing but endure the constant swaying and rattling of the carriage wheels.
There were no distractions, nor digital screens to keep him distracted throughout, only the vast, rolling landscape of a world that felt increasingly alien to him.
The coachman who had been assigned to drive him did absolutely nothing to lessen his boredom during the long trek.
The man was a silent, surly individual who maintained a wall of icy professionalism, though it was clear from the way he had handled Spencer's meager trunk back at the estate, that he held the young master in utter contempt.
It seemed that the news of the "talentless bastard's" disgrace had permeated every level of the Luminous staff, ensuring that even the lowest stable hand now looked down upon him.
However, Spencer found a silver lining in the man's silent hostility; even without speaking, the coachman's simmering disdain offered him a steady trickle of Stat Points along the way.
By the time the carriage finally slowed to a crawl and the sprawling military encampments of the border army came into view, Spencer had managed to accumulate a total of 65 unallocated stat points.
It was quite satisfactory to have that many ST. Which left Spencer feeling eager to use them.
The coachman didn't even offer a polite goodbye upon dropping him off at the edge of the recruitment grounds; he simply waited for Spencer to climb out with his bag before whipping the horses and turning the carriage back toward the interior of the kingdom, leaving Spencer standing alone in the dust.
Spencer adjusted the strap of his bag and glanced around at the massive crowd of people surrounding him. These were the new recruits who had been enrolled into the army alongside him, a diverse collection of individuals drawn from every corner of the realm.
He took a moment to observe their faces, noting the wide spectrum of emotions on display as they waited for their first instructions.
He noticed some young men who had anxious, darting gazes, their hands shaking as they stood amongst the crowd; others looked like noble sons who had come here in search of honor and glory for their houses, their chins held high as if displaying their unearned confidence.
Then there were those with a bleak, hollow look in their eyes, men who looked as if they had already accepted a grim fate and were merely waiting for the inevitable.
All in all, their expressions varied wildly, creating a chaotic atmosphere of hope, fear, and resignation.
Spencer, however, remained remarkably quiet, not bothering to join in the nervous chatter or the boastful claims of the other recruits.
He stood slightly apart, his green eyes taking in the view around him as he waited just like everyone else.
Just then, the murmuring of the crowd began to die down as several soldiers in pristine uniforms made their way onto an elevated wooden platform positioned before the sea of new recruits.
Amongst the group of officers, one man stood out the most, commanding the attention of everyone present without saying a word. He stood at the very forefront of the group, adorned in a full set of polished armor that reflected the afternoon sun, holding his helmet against his chest with one arm.
"So those guys are the platoon leaders?" one recruit whispered nearby, his voice carrying a hint of disappointment.
"They aren't even company leaders? What are they doing here to greet us?" another grumbled, crossing his arms.
"What else? It's obvious these guys were assigned to test us, the new recruits, I bet you this is how they choose who goes were." a third man replied, his tone cynical.
"I know that, but still, what can mere platoon leaders really do? Aren't they just a bit higher in rank than the rest of us?"
Spencer listened to the recruits discussing the hierarchy amongst themselves, but he didn't let their dismissive tones influence his own assessment.
Instead, he paid silent attention to the so-called platoon leaders on the platform, especially the one who stood at the center.
Strange enough, the man looked remarkably young, appearing to be no older than twenty, with long dark hair intricately dressed in several thin braids.
He had deep, tanned skin and an athletic physique that suggested a lifetime of rigorous physical training.
Two wickedly sharp axes hung at his side, and the fact that he was permitted to stand at the forefront of older, more scarred veterans showed Spencer that this man definitely wasn't simple.
"Silence...." All of a sudden, an extremely cold voice was heard throughout the area.
The moment the syllable was uttered, a frightening, invisible force suddenly bore down on everyone in the recruitment square.
It felt as if the very air had turned into lead, becoming a crushing force that slammed into the recruits' shoulders.
"ARCK!"
The sound of gasps and pained groans erupted all at once as the recruits were forced to their knees by the sheer pressure bearing down on them.
Spencer was completely caught off guard by the unexpected and overwhelming display of force, his knees buckling instantly as he nearly face-planted into the hard-packed ground.
His heart hammered against his ribs as he struggled to keep his head up, realizing that the "mere platoon leader" possessed a power that far outstripped anything he had expected to encounter so soon.