Caldemount's mid-ring shimmered with a golden haze by late morning, smoke curling up from bakeries, smithies, and forges like prayers to the sun. Yet Solis felt the weight of anticipation settle over him like chainmail.
He adjusted the cloth wrap on his back — the dragon engraved sword snug within it — and made his way toward the upper yard of the city barracks. The Armory visit was behind him, the sword back in his grip. Now, it was time to pursue the next step in his journey.
To learn the Aura Release Technique properly — and face whatever test that required.
"Captain Devon, huh…" Solis muttered as he turned onto the path that overlooked the high training grounds.
He'd heard rumors.
"A grizzly with knighthood papers."
"Punched a bear once. The bear apologized."
"He doesn't teach. Hr tortures you till you quit."
Ada had warned him on the walk back. "Captain Devon doesn't care about status or talent. He only trains people who prove they need it. Not want. Need."
Solis was about to find out what that meant.
---
The Martial Yard
The Caldemount Upper Yard wasn't part of the public grounds. Tucked behind the old Warwall, the yard stretched in tiered levels of stone. Combat dummies made from stonewood lined one row, while another had an open arena sunken into the rock. Training flags whipped in the wind, bearing Postknight insignias.
And at the center of it all, bare-handed and shirtless, stood Captain Devon.
He looked carved from earth — compact, solid, and scarred. His arms were thick with knotty muscle, his posture low and centered like a mountain waiting for an avalanche.
A few trainees sparred under his watch, all of them visibly tired, sweating bullets as they circled each other.
Solis approached with a respectful distance and stood still, waiting.
Devon didn't even glance at him.
The spar ended. One trainee landed on his back with a pained groan. Devon grunted, crossed his arms, and barked, "Water break. Five minutes. No gossiping."
Only then did he turn to Solis, specifically the sword at his back.
"…You the sword boy Commander was talking about?"
"Yes, sir."
Devon sniffed, as though judging Solis's worth by scent alone. "You're the one who brought the so-called fire blade. Belladonna was talking all over about it, yesterday."
"Yes."
"I also heard you want to learn Aura Release from me."
"I do."
Devon narrowed his eyes. "I don't train wannabes. And I especially don't train soft-handed rookies carrying spirit-forged fire toys."
Solis didn't flinch. "Then give me a chance to prove I'm not one."
"You'll face a miserable failure," Devon said simply.
"Then let me fail. I'm not here for favors. I'm here because I have no other path."
Devon grunted again, slightly amused. "Fine. Trial by labor."
He whistled. A trainee came running, handed him a parchment, and left without a word.
Devon flicked the scroll open and shoved it toward Solis.
"This is a courier contract. For D rankers, long distance parcel delivery. You'll carry three crates — no enchantments, no Postknight scrolls, you will carry them on your back. To a cabin in the upper frost range, near Aldor. Six miles. One path, no shortcuts. You need to get them there by sundown, intact and unbroken… then we will have a talk about your training."
Solis read the parchment. "No mounts?"
"No mounts."
"Why crates?"
Devon cracked his knuckles. "Because Aura Release isn't about fancy power. It's about control over your own damn body. If you can't move with pressure — you're not ready to wield it."
---
The Frost Range Run
The crates weren't small. Each one came to his waist and weighed like it was filled with iron — which wasn't far off. Belladonna later confirmed they were "for testing purposes" and probably filled with forging scrap.
With all three stacked and lashed by rope onto his back like a massive turtle shell, Solis began the trek.
The first two miles were manageable. His training by his father in his childhood gave him the legwork. But the incline changed everything. The road curved up the mountains, dust turning to snow.
Wind cut like a saw.
His breath grew ragged.
The sword on his back pulsed with warmth, almost like it was offering to help.
No. He gritted his teeth. "This is my fight. Stay quiet."
The sun climbed toward its peak — then dropped fast as clouds rolled in. Snow began to fall by the fourth mile. He slipped once, his knee slamming into rock, but he pressed on.
By mile five, his muscles trembled. By every step his legs ware screaming. His thoughts turned hazy.
Why am I doing this? Why chase a power I barely understand? Why not just swing the sword and rely on it?
Then another thought surfaced — darker, colder.
Because if you can't stand on your own two feet… you're already a puppet.
That voice in the dream.
He was not going to be a puppet.
---
The Cabin and the Return
Solis reached the frost cabin well after midafternoon. A white-cloaked elder opened the door, clearly surprised to see him.
"Delivery?"
"Three crates," Solis said, voice hoarse.
"Any breaks?"
"Check if you like," he said, collapsing to one knee.
The elder inspected them briefly, then smiled. "You did good, lad. I'll mark it as complete. Head back before dusk, or the wolves will chase you to town."
---
The Return and the First Lesson
The return was even harder. He had no crates, but the exhaustion was complete. He reached Caldemount's gates just as the lamps were being lit.
Devon was still at the yard, leaning against a post like he'd never left.
Solis approached, nearly dragging his boots.
Devon looked him up and down.
"You didn't quit."
"No."
"You didn't ask for help?"
"No."
"Good," Devon said. "I was gonna turn you away if you looked too proud of it."
Solis blinked. "Wait, what?"
Devon smirked. "Aura Release isn't for some flashy heroes. It's for survivors. Stubborn bastards with more will than sense. You have qualified."
He turned to a nearby wooden platform.
"Up. Now."
Solis obeyed.
Devon stepped onto the platform beside him.
"You have immense will power." he said. "But Aura isn't about strength and will. It's an intent made soul. It's the bridge between mental strength, unbreakable soul and seer physical ability. Everyone's got it. Few can release it without burning out."
He snapped his fingers.
A punching dummy made of impact-stone rolled into place.
"Hit it."
Solis stared.
"With what?"
"Your fist."
Solis struck. It hurt. The dummy barely budged.
"Again," Devon said.
Solis hit again. A faint dent.
"Again."
"Captain, I—"
"Shut up. Again."
Solis struck a third time.
Pain shot through his knuckles. He staggered.
Devon knelt beside him. "Now. Focus."
He placed two fingers on Solis's sternum.
"Breathe in. Deep. Feel your chest. Your spine. The weight of your legs. The beat of your heart. That's where you energy, your 'Aura' sleeps. In you."
Solis closed his eyes.
He remembered the frost path. The pain. The stubbornness. The refusal to quit. The will that burned, not in flame — but in him.
He struck again.
Crack.
A piece of the dummy splintered.
Devon raised a brow.
"…Not bad."
Solis stared at his own hand.
"I felt… something," he said.
"Good. That's your 'Aura', waking up. That's your true weapon."
---
Post-Lesson: Reflections
Later that night, Solis sat in the inn, his hands bandaged, his breath even.
Ada found him there.
"You made it back," she said, sitting beside him.
"Barely."
"Devon teach you anything?"
He looked down at his fists.
"Yeah. He taught me that I'm the weapon. The sword is just the edge."
Ada grinned. "Pretty poetic."
"I'll write it down in the margins of my death note," Solis muttered, wincing.
She nudged him with her elbow. "You're growing stronger."
He nodded.
"Hey… Ada?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for not letting me go through this alone."
She shrugged. "I'd say I had no choice. But honestly, I just like seeing you get beat up by old men."
They laughed. And in that laugh — there was warmth, and safety.