Then Let Me Ask You

At noon, Jayce returned to the dormitory after the meeting ended.

He stood at the door, rubbing his throbbing temples as his gaze fell on Sparta and the recruits.

"The meeting is over, everyone. There's good news and bad news. Which do you want to hear first?"

Sparta and his comrades exchanged looks before turning back to him. "The good news."

A meaningful smile curled at Jayce's lips. "You haven't forgotten the massive war we discussed last night, have you? According to the latest news, it's real."

"And without exception, every recruit must participate. In other words... your boring days are about to end."

Sparta blinked. Ignoring the commotion among his comrades, he continued to ask:

"What about the bad news?"

The smile vanished from Jayce's face, replaced by an utterly serious expression. He took a deep breath, his voice low and heavy.

"The enemy will outnumber us by a hundred times... maybe even a thousand."

"I don't know when the war will end, but I know a lot of people will die."

"Whether they're the enemy or us."

"The exact number will far exceed everyone's imagination."

At that point, Jayce paused and let out a heavy sigh. His gaze lingered briefly on each person before he added:

"Even I have a high chance of not coming back."

"So use this time to train hard and build your strength."

The atmosphere in the room immediately sank. The previously excited crowd fell silent, except for the inherently wicked Clayton.

Leaning against the doorframe, Jayce raised an eyebrow and teased them.

"You're scared already?"

"Didn't you lot yell last night that the Military Department was too boring and that you wanted to go out, carry out missions, and kill enemies?"

"What's with those expressions now? And what's with those eyes?"

"Is this the attitude an Empire soldier should have?"

Other than Sparta and Clayton, everyone else lowered their heads in silence.

Those were completely different things, okay?

When they said they wanted to carry out missions, they meant missions like the one on Big Mouth Star.

The Big-Mouthians were weak, and their technological capabilities were just as pathetic. They weren't even worthy of carrying their shoes.

In short, it could be described in two words.

Stomping noobs.

That was right. The missions they wanted were for stomping noobs, not this kind of mission where they could die anytime, anywhere.

As for why they had been excited to hear about a massive war last night?

That was because they knew that even if Jayce personally requested it, such a mission would never fall to them.

But things were different now. They really were going to take part in a massive war.

Would they win? Win my ass.

They were going to die.

After thinking for a moment, Sparta asked about the exact timing of the war.

"How long until the massive war begins?"

Jayce's tone carried helplessness.

"Thirty days. The higher-ups only gave us thirty days to prepare."

Upon hearing that, the recruits lowered their heads even further.

A war capable of changing an entire galaxy, and they only had thirty days to prepare. What the hell could they do with that? The schedule was far too tight.

They needed at least a year.

If they had known about this war earlier, they would not have slacked off. They should have trained seriously every day like Sparta.

Even if they only improved a little, their chances of surviving the war would increase.

But it was too late to say anything now. They only had one month.

Jayce barked, "What are you waiting for? Get the hell out there and train!"

The recruits snapped out of it and rushed out of the dormitory in the blink of an eye, heading for the training room.

Unlike the others, Sparta did not panic. He slowly passed Jayce and strolled out of the dormitory without any hurry.

When he reached the area beside the training room, he looked inside through the window.

The training room, which had usually been empty, was already packed with people. The entire platoon was probably in there.

Sparta shook his head. Sure enough, people only remembered to work hard when the fire was at their feet.

He entered the training room, put gravity rings on his wrists and ankles, found an unused machine, and began training.

For nearly half a day, everyone remained in the training room. Not a single person chose to leave.

Sparta was soaked from head to toe in sweat. Sweat dripped from his chin onto the floor, forming a small puddle.

He adjusted his breathing, gritted his back teeth, and struggled to lift the heavy barbell again and again.

After lifting it more than twenty times, Sparta returned the barbell to its place. His legs gave out, and he collapsed onto the floor.

His eyes were unfocused, his mind dazed and completely blank as he stared straight at the recruits training not far away.

He did not speak or blink. He simply stared.

A question surfaced in Sparta's mind.

How many sets do I have left again?

At that moment, someone finally could not hold on any longer. A voice echoed through the sweat-stinking training room.

"I'm done training. I've hit failure."

Sparta's gaze remained vacant as he stiffly turned his neck.

He saw a recruit lying facedown on the floor, clawing at the ground with both hands and inching toward the training room door.

!? Seriously?!

Wasn't that movement and posture a little too European-American?

The man's words seemed to be a signal. One after another, the clangs of equipment hitting the floor rang out through the training room.

Like fish that had had their bones removed, the recruits sprawled all over the floor, gasping for breath.

"I'm falling apart. My whole body hurts."

"That's supposed to hurt. Pain means your muscles are growing."

"Why don't my arms hurt or feel tired at all? Why do my neck and the area toward the back of my shoulders hurt instead?"

"I don't know. I mean, your arms might not get tired, but it's kind of impossible for them not to get tired. Then let me ask you..."

"..."

Listening to the conversation around him, Sparta slapped his cheek. The pain in his face brought back the soul that had seemingly left his body.

His vacant eyes refocused, and he no longer looked like a complete idiot.

"Phew—"

Sparta let out a breath, pushed himself up from the floor with both hands, and staggered out of the training room.

The moment he stepped outside, he ran into the recruit who had just finished leg day and was crawling along the ground.

"Ahhhhhh."

The recruit groaned in agony as he crawled.

Like an empty shell that had lost its soul, Sparta slowly passed him at the pace of an old grandmother crossing the street and headed toward the showers.

Soon afterward, the others came out of the training room as well. Everyone was mentally exhausted and barely had the strength to walk, their steps abnormally slow.

There were also several recruits who had trained their legs. They were crawling along the floor too.

Sparta turned to look, and the corner of his eye twitched.

Anyone who did not know better would think a zombie outbreak had happened. Those who had trained legs were crawling zombies, while those who could barely walk were walking zombies.

He could already imagine tomorrow's scene.

He trained every day, so he would be better off. But these recruits who had not exercised since entering Recruit Company?

The next day, they would probably hurt so badly that even getting out of bed would become especially difficult.