Invincible March
Just like squeezing a person brings results, an overwhelming roar exploded from all around.
"We're all marching the same distance anyway—do you want to come back empty-handed?!"
"No, sir!!!!"
"Then are you satisfied with just one point?!"
"No, sir!!!!!!"
"Good! Our only goal is to be the top platoon! Even if it feels like you're dying—and humans don't die that easily—we march until we collapse! Got it?!"
"Yes, sir!!!!"
Damn it, isn't there a mouse hole I can crawl into?
His face burned red, and no matter how much he wanted to hide it, he couldn't.
"Invincible? That's the 3rd Battalion. Invincible!"
"3rd Battalion!!!!!!"
He was confident they'd outshouted the other two battalions combined, seizing the initiative with sheer volume.
This has to count as a solid hit, right...?
Whatever—who cared. He just hated that first-year cadet from the 1st Battalion who'd kicked things off.
"I've felt the trainees' burning passion loud and clear."
The instructor climbed onto the platform once preparations were complete, his voice dripping with mock emotion. That's a disease right there.
"Let's show them how brave our army is through this training! Dismissed! Commence battalion march training!"
With the instructor's signal, the march training began—dividing them into front and rear groups.
"3rd Battalion, forward march!"
Since who arrived first mattered most, they bolted out ahead without waiting for anyone else's say-so.
"It's a long haul, so keep the pace."
"Come on, you can do this!"
"Don't drink water yet saying you're tired—hold out as long as you can."
The platoon leaders stuck close, boosting morale, while Palan led from the front, eyes on the map.
The key today is no stragglers. Can we pull it off?
The march plan he and the platoon leaders had devised was simple: push hard on day one to close the gap, then gaslight them from day two onward that they were almost there.
He didn't know the fancy terms, but it was basically psychological warfare.
If we could only move at night, it'd be perfect.
Unfortunately, the risk of flipping day and night scrapped that idea.
"Battalion, sing a marching song! Title: March of Eternal Victory! One, two, three, four!"
"We are the mighty blade of the Empire!!"
"With fearless valor, we shall annihilate the foe!!"
The battalion fell into the rhythm Ion started, belting out the song. Palan couldn't help but stare.
Why are they so good at this? Did they actually practice?
The songbook he'd hastily gotten from the instructor yesterday and distributed.
He'd told the platoon leaders to have them practice for the march, but he hadn't expected them to actually do it.
This is awkward.
Why? He didn't know the lyrics.
I was busy, okay? Had to study too.
It's not like memorizing songs gave extra points. Weird if they did.
"Ahem."
Not knowing a single word, he desperately lip-synced, pretending to sing along.
Time passed like that.
The lively start had given way to a deathly quiet march.
"Bored?"
An hour out of camp now. With dorm mates around, they'd chat to pass the time, but up front, there was no one to talk to.
Can't just drop back, though.
As he fought his solo battle, the column entered the nearby town.
"You young folks, tough march—hang in there."
"Honey, they're all noble young masters this time—watch how you talk!"
"Those kids over there are all nobles...?"
The route was always the same, so townsfolk treated it like an annual event, gawking at them.
"Ugh! Looks delicious. Can't we rest here a bit?"
"It's a dessert shop! Should we buy some? I brought money."
Entering town brought every food stall into view, but the noble brats zeroed in on the cake shop.
No desserts with that healthy slop diet—they're losing their minds.
For the record, desserts—cakes especially—were noble soul food, no exaggeration.
"You must be tired—take a break, lads. Lots of tasty stuff here."
"Noble sirs, fresh-baked bread from this morning—have a taste."
Merchants tempted them from the sidelines, clearly spotting nobles and eyeing sales.
Like flies swarming—time to swat 'em.
No time to gawk when they had to keep eyes front, but the lures disrupted order anyway.
Delay here and we're done.
He had to regain control.
"ATTENTION!!!"
He never wanted to do it again, but he bellowed like at the start.
"If you can't resist a little sugar temptation now, go ahead and enter the shops!"
Expecting a flat no, question marks popped on the trainees' faces.
Tell these spoiled brats not to, and they'll want it more. Straight talk backfires.
Times like this called for reverse psychology—dangle the blade.
"But! I—and every trainee who wants to finish this march—will keep straight ahead!"
Did the force and emotion in his voice hit home?
Not just trainees—townsfolk eyes locked on him too.
"And when we arrive, we'll curse you. The ones who ditched their comrades for sugar and collapsed."
"Yeah, if you want it that bad, go eat. After all our weekend prep, losing it to one cake? Tsk tsk."
"Can't even hold out for food? No better than animals."
Platoon leaders chimed in, and cake-gazers broke cold sweats.
"N-no, it's not like we want it that bad."
"Just looks good. March comes first."
Control regained, the disrupted column reformed fast.
"Cake lovers stay here—we're moving out."
He stepped off without hesitation, and predictably, no one stayed for cake.
Threats work best on these brats.
Pamper or respect them? No dice.
They'd climb over you thinking they're hot stuff, no concept of following orders.
"Battalion, marching song! Title: Invincible Soldiers! One, two, three, four! We are!"
"We are!!"
"The Empire's!"
"The Empire's!!"
"Valiant blade!"
.
.
Hours into the antique-titled song, he snapped to— they'd reached the 10-kilometer mark at Rockstone Hill.
"Current status... suck."
Checking just 1st Company's 1st Platoon: 10% of 32 looked rough.
"Palan, rest a bit before going on?"
Ion caught up from behind.
"Some look like they need it. Tough call. Rest better?"
"But resting now puts us way behind. Pace is already slower than planned."
That snag kept him from deciding easily.
Rest early, and they'll expect breaks constantly.
Better push straight through.
Rest, and bodies slacken.
"Just go... no, first checkpoint hit—10-minute break. Think countermeasures. Rest! Water up!"
After brief debate—stragglers incoming if not—he called the platoon leaders.
"Platoon status reports?"
"1st Company 1st Platoon: four struggling. As expected, but stragglers likely at this rate."
"1st Company 2nd: three."
"3rd: five, one already begging to drop."
Reports rolled in.
Few? Ditch 'em. Dozens? Tricky.
Coddle every weakling one by one? Instant loss.
Pretty picture's a lie—reality's cold.
Think. Find a way.
Maintain speed, zero stragglers.
Seemed impossible, but no solution meant doom.
"Strong ones carry weak ones' gear as much as..."
"Already doing that."
"Grumbling too—why carry dead weight and tire ourselves?"
Ideas flew.
Amid the frenzy, inspiration struck.
"Just make another platoon."
"Huh...?"
"Why suddenly?"
Platoon leaders tilted heads.
"Problem's weaklings can't keep up. So make a rest-more platoon to trail. Main body pushes."
"Still delays arrival waiting for them."
Jerome looked baffled.
Palan wasn't dumb.
"No. They march no-sleep to close gap—arrive together."
"Th-that way..."
Jerome got it, voice shaky from shock.
"We widen during our sleep—they catch up."
They might think him heartless, but this march was life-or-death.
Best for everyone.
Grab those two bonus points, snag a good post.
Harmonious march to the front lines, then sword to the gut? Dumber death exists?
My goal's one thing—nothing else matters.
Top platoon.
He'd be the devil if needed.
"Most realistic. I'm for it."
Ion punched numbers, agreed.
Others knew logically it worked—no objections.
"Derek."
"Yes, bro."
"No matter what, join main body before next dawn. Counting on you."
Arguably bigger role than his.
Only Derek's iron stamina and soldier spirit fit.
"I'll drag 'em if I have to."
"You're my rock."
Platoon leader set, they screened weaklings in remaining break.
"Joining doesn't mean straggling's okay. Follow responsibly."
35 in Derek's low-stamina platoon—including dorm mate Crush.
"We'll wait ahead, bro."
"Yeah, we'll catch up—no worries."
Brief farewell.
Praying no stragglers, they broke camp and marched on.
"Gonna straggle like this?! Comrades waiting ahead!"
Day two of the march.
Derek's squad had grown to 50.
Yesterday's sleep? One hour.
Many of the original 35 begged to drop, but Derek wouldn't yield.
"Snap out of it! Not running—just walking, and you collapse? That's a soldier?!"
"T-too hard... feels like dying!"
"For a quick breather? Heading to the front lines? Almost there now?!"
Uncharacteristic anger from Derek.
He hadn't started this way—constant complainers wore his patience thin.