Chapter 8. Heading to the Legion

In plain clothes and a threadbare cloak, Sumarel walked down the street. The face beneath the hood showed no expression, but her right hand gripped the hilt of a small knife tightly—just in case things got complicated along the way.

After their conversation at the table, her mother had spent hours trying to change her mind. Arguments came one after another: the danger, her wasted youth, and finally, that being an Empire’s dog brought no honor, even though people feared you... Sumarel deflected them all with gentle persistence until her mother, slamming the door dramatically—not once, but three times—locked herself in her room.

"Guilt is an effective manipulation tool," Sumarel mused, stepping around a puddle of questionable origin, "but it doesn't work if you don't take it seriously."

Of course, she still had to deal with her mother's self-reproach. The woman was surely already counting herself a failure, unable to save her own child. That's why before leaving, Sumarel had hugged her tightly, whispering those special words. The ones that always worked.

"Manipulation for manipulation," she smiled to herself. Perhaps there were other options, but she didn't have time to look for them.

She focused on analyzing the situation. Knowledge and skills from her past life... what did she have? Laundry, cooking, basic self-defense, writing and speed reading, superficial knowledge of the world, ability to draw, sculpt moldings, and sing... Maybe occasionally compose meaningless poetry. An eighteen-year-old with all that? Some would call her a prodigy. But for changing her fate, it wasn’t quite enough.

She couldn't share her knowledge of the future with her brother and sister. The risk was too great that someone might learn the truth through them. She was realistic—Auriel probably couldn't be saved this time. Before her sister's execution in the future, they would surely crack open her memory, gutting all her secrets.

And yet she couldn't just leave. So she left them... fairy tales. A handful of stories laced with warnings about what was coming, advice, hints. She'd encrypted everything so an outsider would take them for children's fantasies.

"They'll understand," Sumarel was certain. The very fact that she'd written such long stories for the first time before leaving for the Legion would make them take the texts seriously. Especially Auriel, with her sharp memory, would find every detail, every grain of meaning in those simple works.

Turning the corner of a building, she noticed a book lying right on the ground. In the Lower City, picking up anything from the floor was a dangerous habit—you never knew what trap had been set for you. But this was a book. Unable to overcome her curiosity—or simply unable to watch a book treated so uncarefully—Sumarel approached and picked up the find.

On the unremarkable black cover, white letters spelled out a single word: "Hesse."

"Must be the author," she concluded, opening the book.

The first page jumped out with large letters: FOR MADMEN ONLY.

Sumarel flipped through the pages and frowned in surprise. They were all completely blank.

"Am I too sane to read?" she muttered aloud.

Sure, talking to a book was stupid. But something about it bothered her. The pages were pristine—no creases, no stains, not even dust. Nobody had spilled anything on it either, which was weird for the Lower City.

Taking the book with her, Sumarel continued on her way.

"People probably find it interesting to read about madmen," she mused, simultaneously looking for a place to stash the find. "Or is it the other way around—madmen reading about people?"

The Legion would hardly allow her to bring in a foreign object.

"If you think about it, there's a certain shine to my mediocre life too. Add some comedy, a bit more love, empty drama... If you finish it off with some adventures—would anyone read such a book?"

She smiled faintly.

"Nah, it'd be a total mishmash."

Buildings grew scarce, with bigger gaps between them. She was almost there.

"Though people who turn everything into drama, who get caught up in all that passion... they're probably fun to be around."

Memories from her past life flickered through her mind—wanting to be the center of attention, to lose herself in all those things she used to read about. To escape from reality in made-up worlds.

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"Weak! Not this time!" the thought slammed into her with iron certainty, crushing whatever feelings had started to surface.

Her old talent for going unnoticed got her there without trouble. The Legion outpost squatted away from the residential area, a dark stone building that looked menacing even in the underground city's perpetual dusk. With nowhere else to stash the book, she shoved it down her pants. Not comfortable, but it'd have to do.

The outpost walls were built from massive blocks of volcanic basalt, blackened with age and moisture. The narrow window slits looked more like cracks through which no light escaped from within. The only entrance was guarded by heavy iron gates, covered in rust.

Straightening her back—uninjured in this life, unlike her past one—she headed toward the outpost quietly.

There weren't many soldiers in black bands—mostly local staff. The outpost served a dual function: recruiting adults aged 18 to 21 from the Lower City and serving as a deterrent, reminding everyone of the Legion's presence.

At the gates, she was met by a stocky man without a band. The scars on his arms and face spoke of experience, and his calm gaze—of a habit of assessing people.

"Family or information?" he asked, studying the small figure before him.

"Family," Sumarel answered without raising her eyes from beneath her hood.

"Remove the hood and look me in the eyes," the man ordered. His voice grew harder, but Sumarel didn't flinch. Calmly pushing back her hood, she met his gaze. Turquoise eyes looked straight ahead, without fear or doubt.

"Excellent," the guard smiled. "Promising."

Handing his post to a partner, he led her deeper into the outpost. The inner courtyard buzzed with life: people sang to guitars, a gambling game was underway in the corner, someone was spinning tales with listeners gathered around. It smelled of smoke, sweat, and cheap alcohol.

"Do you know the rules?" asked her escort.

"Yes," Sumarel answered shortly, trying not to attract attention.

The rules were simple and cruel. Either you bring useful information and receive a reward, or you join the ranks. Candidates were tested for magical talent, but even without it they were taken—since they'd already spent resources on testing. A one-way ticket, followed by drilling, training to exhaustion, forming fighter instincts and unquestioning obedience.

Despite her attempts to remain unnoticed, Sumarel felt eyes on her. Indifferent, interested, lustful...

"Hey, Grog, look what little bird flew in!" someone called out from the soldiers.

"Hey, Grog, check out the little bird!" one of the soldiers yelled.

A whistle sounded, followed by laughter.

As it turned out, inside the outpost weren't just the dogs—most were some kind of military or other units she didn't know about. In any case, the contrast between contingents was striking.

The dogs kept apart: silent, restrained, they didn't interact with the others. Their movements showed honed discipline, and their gazes—detachment.

The rest, apparently in the absence of command, allowed themselves to relax. Loud voices, crude jokes, rowdy behavior—ordinary human expressions that contrasted so sharply with the icy calm of the Hounds.

"Two completely different breeds in one place," she thought. "There's got to be someone holding this together. Someone powerful..."

"I bet she won't last long!"

"You're an optimist!"

"Maybe she's got talent? Then they'll take her for combat."

"Yeah right, with that body! They'll teach her to wave a broom at best."

Sumarel walked on, ignoring the comments. She knew the Legion found uses for everyone. Even pretty girls with no magic—though not the kind of use anyone would want. Her mother had gone on and on about it, trying to talk her out of this insane idea.

The risk was high, but there was no choice. Either risk, or slowly die in poverty.

In the center of the courtyard, away from the main crowd, a tall thin man with a white band was approaching her. At his appearance, the noise died as if cut off.

"Something's wrong," Sumarel noted, catching in the sudden silence not just submission, but... anticipation?

"Put your right hand in the box," the man ordered in a steely voice.

The box in his hands looked deceptively simple—black wood, no decor, slightly larger than an adult man's fist. But from it emanated a feeling of... wrongness.

Sumarel swept the crowd with a quick glance. Yes, definitely anticipation. And surprise—as if they hadn't expected to see this test here and now.

Meeting the gaze of eyes hidden beneath the band, she thrust her hand into the opening without hesitation.

Pain struck instantly. Her back straightened on its own, her breathing faltered. The sensation was as if red-hot needles had pierced her skin, followed by icy shards cutting flesh from within.

And yet after the first wave, she pulled herself together. Sheer willpower pulled her back from the edge, lifting her mind above the pain. She looked around at the crowd—the soldiers stared in open shock.

"Impressive," said the man in the white band. "Let's intensify."

He touched the device, and fresh agony crashed over Sumarel. This time it didn't stop at her hand—it crawled up her arm like acid. Her wrist felt like grinding bone. Her forearm—like muscle shredding apart. Her elbow erupted. Shoulder... chest...

When the pain hit her jutting collarbones, delicate as a bird's, something deep inside her stirred.

"Pain trains the will," she thought, shifting her gaze to the man. Her voice came out steady. "So training has already begun?"

Her face remained motionless, eyes empty. But inside, despite the agony, exultation rose. This feeling of overcoming was intoxicating.

"You can't be scared off, can you?" new notes appeared in the man's voice. Interest?

"You wanted to scare me off? The rules don't imply that."

A whisper ran through the crowd. The man in the white band smiled and turned off the device.

"Interesting... Very interesting," the smile didn't leave his thin lips. "Let's proceed to testing for magical talent."