Training was easy. Surprising, even to me, but that was the hard truth. I could handle everything they threw at me.

  The physical side was nothing much compared to what I went through under Reela. Thirty laps around the compound? No problem. Drilling spear and shield forms for group formations? Easy. Carrying another person on my back for miles across muddy ground in simulated rain to see if I could carry a wounded comrade back to the healers?

  Well, I won't say that one was easy, but it was doable, if difficult.

  When it came to magical training, well...I quickly understood the distinction between the army and the academy.

  In the academy, questions were encouraged to further understanding of how something worked. Instructors would take their time to teach the students what they believed was necessary to have at least a working knowledge of magic and essence. On the other hand, the army instructors taught us when to use specific spells, when not to use specific spells, and when to stop using magic and start using weapons.

  While it was true that we were still on the elven continent, the conditions of the battlefield were always changing and different to what one would expect from the rest of the continent. The battlefield had odd weather patterns, for example, raining heavily one day, and hail coming down the next, while the rest of the continent was usually mildly temperate this time of year. The only reason I bring it up is because we were taught to never use the spells that seemed to match the weather. Lightning spells during a thunderstorm was a big no-no, as were water spells during a rain shower. And under no circumstances could nature magic be used anywhere on the battlefield. Here on the backlines it was permissible, but doing so in the front was an actual war crime.

  There was a supposedly good reason for the restrictions, though. After years and years of fighting, the presence of the voranders, both living and dead, had mutated the battlefield to such a degree that it caused abnormalities that were ever so slightly changing the terrain to their advantage. The essence voids where magic was erratic and unreliable were where plenty of ambushes and even regular deaths occurred. The odd weather somehow caused corresponding spells to backfire and affect the caster. And the pervasive combination of fog, mist and miasma created ideal conditions for voranders to create nests and breed stronger and more aggressive variants.

  All of that, however, was almost superfluous to us, the so-called 'elite recruits'. Our presence was more political than tactical, as I had come to learn.

  I had overheard our guest instructors chatting amongst themselves on the penultimate day of our training. The four training officers in charge of our company were obviously not equipped to teach rare affinitied magic without possessing it themselves, so guest instructors were invited to teach the fifty of us 'elite recruits' about our specific affinities. Weeks of training and we had all learned new and shiny spells that the army needed.

  That's right. We weren't taught anything about the affinity itself, but only what our superiors thought was relevant for us. Life spells were used for better versions of detection and healing magics. Death spells were a blunt weapon, no surprise there. Poison spells were, oddly enough, not only meant for combat but for cleaning up the battlefield afterwards, something I thought was conscientious of the army leadership. There were no recruits with time affinity, thank god, but us space mages were taught to teleport, create portals so that other people could teleport, and create spatial storages. And while I was more than excited to finally have some usable spatial spells, it was...enlightening, knowing that something so rare was being used for something so mundane.

  But to get back on the subject of my and my company's insignificance, after all that training was nearly over with, I'd overheard our instructors chatting just outside of the base. Under normal circumstances, I shouldn't have been able to hear them, but my core boosted the capability of my senses, not to mention my curiosity at what they were discussing.

  "Tch, damn nobles. The war isn't even won yet, and they're already fighting for influence," the life instructor half-whispered.

  "I heard the monsters are falling back to the north for some reason, all across the continent. All that's left here are the remnants that need to be cleaned up. That's the only reason those lords and ladies let their children play knight, the danger's practically gone."

  "You can't blame those kids for it. Granted, most of them are rotten to the core, but there's still a few with some good in them, like that ice princess, or the margrave's son. At the least they'll learn some discipline for however long the war lasts."

  "But, just the thought of this group sickens me!" One of them actually spat on the ground. "Noble brats going around stealing merits, just so they can claim they helped end the war...it's perverse."

  I recognized the spatial magic instructor's voice speak up, an old elven woman. "A rapid response team....what a clever excuse for arriving late to a battlefield yet maintaining the illusion of accomplishment. I pray to the Mother that such behavior does not spread too far, or we are all doomed."

  "If you're so against it, why bother teaching those kids? You could have declined their offer." one of them asked.

  After a moment, the reply came. "All I'll say is that I suspect we are all here for similar reasons, and leave it at that. Good night, everyone."

  I hid in my space as I sensed the conversation die out, but it took me a moment to parse through what I had just heard.

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  Now that it had been pointed out to me, several things fell into place and I couldn't unsee it. Our presence was so obviously a ploy by the nobility, of every race, to accumulate more clout and merits. We weren't meant to truly contribute to the fight. Our company was supposedly meant to be a rapid response team, capable of rescuing or retrieving fighters in hopeless situations...but now I could see that for the pretty lie that it was. The truth of it was that we would be stealing accolades from those who'd earned them, portaling to the battle when there were few or no survivors left, on either side, so that the danger was minimized and any recognition for killing the enemies went to us.

  If that were true, it was ghastly of the nobles to do. But no, the guest instructors had said that the war was actually being won, and while it was possible they were wrong, I had no evidence to the opposite.

  I struggled to make sense of the situation as I stealthily went back into the barracks that night. How could that be true? Everything I'd ever heard about the battlefield claimed that it was a hellscape, and that the troops there were in constant threat of being overrun any day. Most of the common people shared that belief as well, regardless of race. But how could that be possible? The alien parasites had organized the voranders into something much more insidious than they originally were, so why would they pull back their forces and give up so much ground? They were essentially giving up. How could that be the correct move to make?

  Then again, I had only overheard some uninvolved guest instructors talking about it. It was possible they were mistaken, right?

  "Form up!" the call came in the morning from our leader, Commander Filisen, the highest-ranked person on the base and our immediate superior. We knew from experience not to waste time, lest we be punished, so within minutes, everyone was armed and armored, standing at attention in the middle of the field in neat and orderly rows, waiting for the commander's next order. We stood in five columns of ten people each, our shields in our left hand and spears in our right, with our training officers and the commander facing us. They were all fully equipped as well, something we hadn't yet seen, and the commander took his time inspecting us with his eyes before he finally decided to speak again.

  "As of this moment, your training is officially over. You are no longer recruits, but full soldiers of the allied army. As such, I expect you to act in a manner befitting your station. Is that understood?"

  "Yes, commander!" Fifty voices bellowed in unison in response.

  To their credit, the training officers had gone to great lengths to rid the nobleborns of their problematic personalities and attitudes and replace them with discipline and willpower...and a healthy fear of whips. It was satisfying to see the arrogance bleed out of them, but by the end of the process, I respected them much more. Not the nobles, of course, the training officers! How many pampered and entitled bullies did they have to suffer before they had refined the process of whittling away all that...nobility? And in such a short time, no less? In any case, they had my respect.

  The nobles still had my scorn, or most of them did, anyway. It was obvious most of them were simply biding their time and keeping track of all their 'mistreatments' so they could run back to mommy and daddy afterwards and get some 'well-deserved' revenge on the mean man with whips.

  "I'm glad to hear that!" The commander shouted. "Because we've received our first assignment! Reinforcing a fortress on the western coast. We're to reach them as soon as possible, so you all have ten minutes to gather anything you need before we head out. Dismissed."

  Everyone relaxed slightly as they sheathed the weapons they'd been holding onto, the spears and shields going on their backs. Only a few people left the formation to return to their beds, grabbing whatever they had left behind before we departed. A few made their way to the quartermaster, either for food or weapons.

  But not me, or the other space mages. Our newly created spatial storages were filled to the brim with any supplies we could need and a few we wouldn't. The spatial storages themselves were subpar, ugly things that only lasted a day before it winked out of existence, taking everything inside along with it. By anchoring them to accessories, rings, necklaces, lockets, their stability improved, but only by a few days. A specific enchantment was required to make the spatial storage bound to the ring permanent, but the enchanters were all hard at work working on the automatic translator and had no time for us, or at least, that's what the quartermaster said. Why a translation device took precedence over something meant for the ongoing war, even one that appeared to be ending soon, was something I couldn't understand. But for now, we had a small hill of accessories in our spatial storages to bind them onto, so that said supplies could last longer.

  After ten minutes had passed, everyone was in their assigned places in the formation and we departed. To be more accurate, I created a portal that would lead as far west as I could before I repeated the process. There were spatial beacons that the army had placed in significant locations, but apparently this fort didn't qualify for one of them, so I had to do it the long way. Create a portal, have everyone walk through it, repeat. I switched out with someone else when I felt my essence reserves 'running low' and needed a break. Reaching the fort took almost the entire day, as we laid eyes on it near sunset, but it was still bright enough for me to see the flagging soldiers doing their best to fend off a invasion of voranders that came from the sea. The fort was on the verge of being overrun.

  And there we were, to 'save' the troops who had done their best but needed assistance from the more 'elite' troops. The thought made me almost spit in disgust...but I was in control of myself and refrained from a needless action that might give away my state of mind. My boiling anger reduced to a slow simmer before it cooled off and I looked at the situation in front of me.

  The fight comes first. Overthink everything later.

  "48th Company, attack!" the commander shouted, unsheathing his sword and launching himself at the enemy.

  We all followed in formation, drawing our weapons once we were close to the enemy. Spears out and shields up, like a Greek phalanx, we descended on the fortress like a slow and steady porcupine, poking anything that got too close. When the numbers became too much for the front lines to handle, our spears were dropped and swords, daggers, knives, and other close combat weapons came out. From there, mages created platforms and ascended upwards to shoot from above while the warriors, mostly the beastfolk, barely managed to maintain the formation from devolving into an all-out brawl, their discipline and training keeping them from breaking ranks and following their instincts to rampage among the enemy.

  It was a slow and brutal slog clearing the fort and its perimeter, but victory was ours in the end...even if some sacrifices had to be made. How tragic that those who had called for assistance did not survive to see the fort in allied hands again, but had succumbed to their wounds.

  Very tragic....and convenient for these brats' parents.

  One incident isn't enough to draw a conclusion. As heartless as it is to say, if this happened...five times, I would say that was evidence of malice.

  We gathered the soldiers' remains, assembling them for cremation after retrieving anything useful they had on them. The practice was meant for reclaiming weapons and armor, but my spatial sense, having developed to a radius of ten feet, caught a few hands pocketing items that gleamed. I turned a blind eye to it, because it was obvious my objections would be ignored or worse, land me in trouble. Official trouble. As if I hadn't had enough of that.

  I hadn't managed to snag any vorander bodies for myself before they were all burned and disposed of, but my moments would come. The battlefield was rife with bodies, or so they said. Whether I would be able to claim any of them remained to be seen, but for now, we were to hold the fort until reinforcements arrived, within two days at the very most. Some of us were on night watch while the rest slept.

  As my body rested, my mind reviewed the events of the day in the comfort and safety of my space. This world's residents were becoming more and more inhospitable, and I was honestly debating how long I could stay with basically every race having cause to view me poorly. The elves would no doubt see me as ungrateful after I didn't return to the Aschel estate to be chained up after the war, or at least that's how it would be framed. With the human king sacrificing me in the name of peace and the dragons effectively marking me as an exile, if not a criminal, the world was running low on races that would tolerate my presence.

  Yes, I could run and hide for a time, but that wasn't the life I wanted to live. I could tame and control everyone who came after me, but even if I managed to somehow do that to everyone that was hostile towards me, I would be alone on a world that was susceptible to getting invaded from dangerous species of unknown origin.

  I needed to think up an exit plan, and fast. If the war's end was truly approaching, time was running out for me. Good thing I had a spatial affinity.