Rainy Day Grenade Toss
Honestly, it deserves to be canceled.
I'd avoided mentioning it to spare everyone's disappointment, but the downpour was downright absurd.
Running in this weather? You'd slip, shatter your teeth, and cause total chaos.
The point of a jog was training, not combat, after all.
Today's scheduled jog training is canceled due to severe weather.
Instead, we will conduct magic bullet theory and practical training. Trainees, grab your raincoats and assemble at the main training hall.
That is all.
I was fighting the urge to flop into bed, barely perched on my chair, when the instructor's voice crackled through.
"Nice!"
The words had barely left his mouth before I sprang up, fist pumping the air.
This is me, this is the weather talking.
I'd half-doubted it would actually happen, but damn if it didn't get canceled.
Sure, magic bullet class was subbed in, but from any angle, it beat sprinting in the rain.
Is it okay to be this happy?
The thought flickered, but hell, I needed this win.
"I figured they wouldn't make us run in this mess. What a relief."
Ion let out a sigh, looking a decade younger.
"Guys, when they say raincoats... they mean those, right?"
Derek pointed to the pile of rags stacked in the corner of the barracks.
Looks like it. Sigh, they expect us to wear that?
How to describe it? Ragged enough that flipping one open might unleash a swarm of bugs.
"I don't wanna wear it. Can't we just get wet...?"
A shrill yell cut through from outside before I could finish mulling it over.
No choices left.
"Ugh, this is seriously not it."
Ion pinched the edge with two fingers, face twisted in horror.
No bugs in sight. A miracle.
Storing them like that and still no critters?
"They all look the same size. Grab one each."
"Yeah."
"Ugh, I'd take getting soaked a hundred times over. But... is it even waterproof?"
Derek's question hit at the core.
Common sense said yes for a raincoat, but this? Doubtful.
"Eh... probably?"
"Right?"
"Let's go. Get any later and we'll catch hell."
I squeezed my eyes shut and draped the first one over myself.
Ew, it's straight-up disgusting.
Damp seeped in, goosebumps erupting everywhere. Worst didn't even cover it.
"Gah!"
"Screw it!"
We all let out guttural groans as we shrugged them on and filed out of the room.
"Even in the rain, a real run is true training. Aren't you disappointed, trainees?"
The instructor on the podium spouted nonsense like he'd popped a pill.
"Y... yes, sir! So disappointing!!"
Our faces screamed otherwise, but luckily, he didn't call us on it.
"Regrettably, your seniors from the last class fractured bones running in rain like this, forcing the cancellation."
He looked genuinely bummed.
Guys like him running drills? No wonder accidents happen.
This damn army only satisfied after someone gets hurt.
Society's the same, but the military doesn't change—it just pretends to.
Ban jogs in rain? Bet it'll last half a year tops.
Next class, back to business as usual.
"No one guards your bodies but you. Manage them right, understood?!"
"Understood, sir!!"
Who causes the injuries while preaching that? Absurd.
"Before the weather worsens, move to the training ground."
Noting the intensifying rain, he stepped down and led the way in his pristine raincoat—nothing like ours.
"These things suck."
"Tell me about it."
Fifteen minutes in, no physical strain, but the rain was piercing through more with every step.
Figured it wasn't waterproof, but damn, it really isn't.
Incredible, really.
"Enter in formation and take seats."
After cresting a hill—not quite a mountain—the training ground appeared.
Open on the sides, but a roof overhead blocked the rain.
"Once seated, remove raincoats. Execute."
"Execute!!"
We'd gotten the drill down pat, stripping them off like we'd waited forever...?
"Who tosses clothes like trash?! Is this your personal space?!"
The instructor flipped out of nowhere.
One trainee had shed his like a snakeskin, flopping it to the right.
"S-sorry, sir!"
"One demerit for misconduct."
Flutter of panic!
Demerit talk lit a fire—trainees scrambled to fold properly.
Demerits are terrifying here.
Emperor-level power in this place.
"Instructor's coming soon. Fall asleep or zone out during class? Frog-jumps back to barracks. Got it?!"
"Y-yes, sir!!!"
Etched fear shook our voices, mine included.
Do not doze off.
Truth? Freshly fed, gloomy rain making me drowsy.
Life's biggest hurdle right now.
Maybe the run would've been better.
"All rise. Execute."
Staring blankly at the pouring rain outside, a new instructor climbed the podium, gravelly voice thick with tobacco.
"Execute!!"
I eyed him during the response.
Face mask hides everything.
Voice alone? Bad vibes.
"Captain Eden Tal here for this session. Note: among trainings until graduation, this ranks high in danger."
Obvious, handling live weapons.
"Thus, though called an angel in society, I'll enforce iron discipline to prevent accidents."
Angel from his own mouth.
Hard to buy with that red beret.
"First, repeat after me: the three keys to training. One: swift action."
"Swift action!!!"
Loud enough, but he scowled like he'd planned it.
"Push-ups."
Damn it, that was fine!
I hit the deck, inwardly raging.
"Only thunderous volume imprints it, preventing mishaps. Yours? Ant whispers."
Definitely hearing issues.
"I've got a cold—no shouting. Understood?"
"Y-yes, sir!!!"
"First time, I'll let it slide. All rise."
Against expectations, no prolonged pain—we stood.
Is he... actually nice?
Goodwill spiked, but that red beret screamed otherwise.
"Again: swift action."
"Swift action!!!"
"Target confirmation."
"Target confirmation!!"
"All push-ups."
Psycho.
"Today's demo: MB400 magic bullet. Older than frontline MB550, but identical form, weight—only power differs."
He pulled one from a wooden crate mid-explanation.
Way off from what I pictured.
Expected modern grenade; this was a perfect sphere.
"Damage this outer seal, it detonates instantly for security. No tampering."
Mentioned it, so accidents happened.
"Simple: yank the red safety pin crossing the core—7 seconds to boom."
Whoosh!
Pro flick of the wrist sent it arcing far across the field.
Seconds later—
BOOM!
Earth erupted with the roar.
Looks different, works like a grenade.
Blast radius and punch were no joke.
Magic engineering is scary shit.
Can't dismiss this world for lacking high-tech.
Should've been a grand mage here.
Sadly, mages existed long ago, faded as mana sensitivity dropped over generations.
"One slip can kill. Maintain proper tension handling them. Understood?!"
"Understood, sir!!!"
Seeing the power firsthand sharpened everyone's eyes.
"Can't burn a thousand in training during wartime. So, limited chances."
Expected; logical reason, nods all around.
Magic tech costs a fortune—handmade bumps the price sky-high. Wartime or not, tough.
"Thus, ten volunteers only. No bonuses—only if you really want it, raise hands."
Whoosh.
Noble heirs, as expected.
Curiosity peaked; nearly all shot up hands.
Pretty terrifying, though.
These unpredictable nobles with weapons? Spine-chilling.
"Excellent enthusiasm. You there."
With nine-tenths volunteering, he pondered, picked ten at random.
"Trainee Ion Belburn!"
"You on the right."
"Tr-trainee Cal Bayton! Thank you, sir!"
.
.
Trainees rose at roll call.
I wasn't picked. Darn.
Aw, wanted to chuck one.
Heading to war post-grad, hands-on weapons? Priceless.
Guess I'll just watch closely.
Envy for Ion aside, I watched wide-eyed as they practiced.
"Theory says: pin out, throw immediately. Got it?"
"Got it, sir!!"
Chosen lined up at the table of magic bullets.
"Prepare to throw."
"Prepare to throw!!"
Military style: echo and grab.
All tense. Normal.
One twitch, disaster.
"Max range ahead. Pin out, then throw."
"Pin out, then throw!!!"
Click.
Roars accompanied pin pulls.
Smooth tosses followed.
Whoosh!
Nine arced forward.
"Huh?"
Wa...?
Memory check: ten trainees selected.
Should be ten bullets airborne.
Sensing wrongness, eyes darted—
Spotted the last one.
"Gahhhh! Incoming!!!"
"Help!!!"
Not toward the field—straight at us trainees.
Worse? Its arc ended right in front of me.
Whoosh... thud.
Arm's reach away.
Shit.