Before the true trial of selection could even begin, the chaff had to be stripped from the wheat.
Edric knew well that before he could mold soldiers, he had to first make sure he wasn't wasting time on cripples, sick men, and runts better suited for mucking stables than holding a line.
The first step was brutal in its simplicity: height.If a recruit stood shorter than 160 centimeters — out he went. No apologies, no second chances. A sword-arm needed reach, after all, not prayers.
Next came the inspection for disease.Eyes, tongue, skin — every inch was checked. Any sign of sickness was an immediate death sentence for their dreams of glory.After that, the teeth: a mouthful of rot meant a man would not last a campaign, much less a war.
Finally, their chests.
