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Chapter Seventeen: The Vice Minister •EDITED•

Midnight
October, Year 483
Mount Roya
North

Corey despised war with all he had. He hated the bloodshed and the sacrifice, the scarring destruction and needless suffering of officers on the front lines. But here he was, readying his men for the very thing he loathed.

The irony of the situation was not lost to him.

Since he had acquired the position of minister just how many people had he sent to their deaths?

The very thought made his head ache as he stared down from his elevated stage at the thousands of soldiers training their lives away to please him.

Blood and sweat tainted the once stale air of the arena as ten thousand men moved simultaneously in rigid and ordered stances, skins painted a blistering red with welts and bruises as they traded jabs and blows while practicing their footwork.

A part of Corey sympathized for his soldiers, he knew how they were feeling—having gone through it all and worse—during the years he served at the Towers with his father. Even now he remembered the fear that his heartless commander had driven into him, memories of the domineering bullwhip that licked at tender flesh and marred unsuspecting recruits for life, specked his eyes.

Sometimes pain and fear went hand in hand with determination and success, that was why even after five long centuries training methods had remained primitive and brutal, because war itself had not changed.

Life had not changed.

Despite the astounding advancements made in the past year—FCM's, eco-friendly explosives and energy efficient mobility suits—no true soldier was ever raised solely on technology.

It was the same way that in spite of how much money was spent on a Fortified Combat-ready Machine or the number of gadgets installed in it, it would be utterly useless without a licensed pilot.

That was one of the reasons why Corey held much disdain for the nobles who claimed to be qualified yet couldn't do the dirty work that was required of them. It was the same reason he sent them all off to Nicia. The very sight of their pitiful attempts at chivalry disgusted him.

They were not soldiers, just a bunch of rich kids looking for some fun.

It would be best if they never returned, he thought.

He that was just wishful thinking. If anything really happened to those spoiled brats he would have a lot of trouble on his hands. He didn't think the aristocrats of North would be pleased to find that their descendants had been wiped off the face of the Earth.

Still, a part of him wished.

With a wistful sigh he took his eyes off the sweaty soldiers and turned to the messenger who stood behind him.

"Is there any news from the CS?"

"No Sir," the woman shook her head then looked down at the transparent screen that sat on her silver bracelet. "There has been no news off her current whereabouts but recent findings on the nation's travel logs suggest that she was headed to an area near the 18th District. Our men are searching the location as we speak."

"You may leave." Corey frowned, disappointment evident in his eyes as he dismissed the woman and crossed his arms.

What was Dawn doing in the Districts?

He watched the messenger get off the platform and step unto an hovering plate of silvery metal that floated her down to the ground level. At that moment Corey wished he had access to good old-fashioned stairs. The workout would have given him something to do while thinking.