"Repeated mistakes?"
Ice Storm thought to herself, Given the boy's ability to sleep soundly amid such deafening noise, he was the least likely person to make mistakes during selection.
Things were getting more and more interesting.
After pondering for a moment, Ice Storm said, "I want fifty recruits to make a run through the 'Path of Glory.' This one, this one, those three over there, and the five best at carrying stone locks. And this little guy too."
In one breath, she picked forty-nine Ratfolk who appeared to be the strongest.
Plus the skinny little guy.
Every chosen recruit rubbed their fists and palms together, exhilarated beyond measure.
Although Ice Storm had just lost a hundred-man Team Battle.
The fewer people a commander had to command, the more important the commander's individual martial prowess became.
Everyone felt that even if Ice Storm truly was not skilled at commanding thousands upon thousands of troops, commanding thirty or fifty servant soldiers should still be a piece of cake.
Following her now could not have been more fitting.
Once the Era of Glory truly began, as long as they survived a few great battles, they would have a chance to gain even greater power, perhaps even charge into the Land of Eternal Holy Light and slaughter in every direction.
Even if damned magic tore them to pieces, would that not still be far more glorious than staying in the arena as a prop?
Thus, all the selected Ratfolk puffed out their chests and bellies, tensed their bulging muscles, and struck poses of unyielding resolve and fearless acceptance of death, hoping to leave a deeper impression on Ice Storm.
Of course, the forty-nine broad-backed, burly men quickly noticed that an "odd one out" had slipped into their midst.
"How does this brat qualify to