LightReader

Chapter 4 - Trial by Steed

The first light of dawn spread across the training grounds. The sky was pale purple and red. The air was cool and smelled faintly of ash and sweat. Around him, trainees were already practicing, their voices were low and steady.

Rage stepped onto the field, his heart was still heavy from the day before.

In the distance, groups of trainees moved through their drills with focus and speed. The sound of wood striking and the shouts of instructors filled the air.

Rage looked around the field. The faces he saw were hard and worn, marked by old fights and long training. Somewhere among them, his own path would begin again.

A familiar presence broke through the noise. Queen Ignia walked toward him

"So you're not dead yet, rat," she said, her voice firm and steady. "Today you will learn how to ride and how to master the bond between man and beast."

Her tone left no room for argument. Every word was firm and clear.

Before Rage could speak, Ignia looked over the gathered trainees, then turned her eyes to him.

"Your instructor," she said. She nodded toward a figure near the stables.

[SYSTEM] Lyria Lv.45

[SYSTEM] class : Swordswoman

[SYSTEM] loyalty : 68%

Lyria stood tall, her armor was bright under the morning light. Her presence carried the weight of someone who had seen many battles and won most of them.

She was beautiful, but not gentle. Her strength showed in every movement and in the way she stood. Her hair was gold and wild, a clear contrast to the cold focus in her eyes. If life had been different, she could have been a queen in silk instead of armor. But nothing in her look showed softness. Her eyes held no warmth, only the hard will of someone who had stopped hesitating long ago.

She was not just an instructor. She carried the weight of battle in every step.

And Rage was about to be caught in its wake.

For a moment, the word almost slipped out of his mouth. Mommy.

"Today, you ride," Lyria said, cutting through whatever dumb thought had been forming in his head.

Her voice was clear and firm. "A warrior's strength is not only in his blade but also in how he commands his steed."

Rage shut his mouth. No nonsense. No distractions. Definitely no slipping up in front of her.

Rage followed Lyria to the stables. The wooden doors were worn and scarred from years of use. The air smelled of leather, hay, and faint traces of herbs.

At the entrance, Rage saw a black stallion watching him. Its eyes were sharp and calm, filled with a kind of strength he understood. For a moment, they stared at each other, silent but aware.

Lyria's voice broke the quiet. "This is your steed. Treat him like a trusted ally. He will carry you through battle and beyond."

The first lesson was about mounting and dismounting. It was simple but important, the base of all riding.

Lyria showed how it was done.

She walked to the stallion from the left. She patted its neck once before she moved.

The stallion gave a low sound in reply. Lyria placed her foot in the stirrup and climbed up with smooth, steady motion. She sat straight on the saddle, balanced and in control.

Rage watched closely, studying every move she made. The way her body moved with the horse, how she shifted her weight, how her hand rested on the reins.

Then it was his turn. He stepped forward, unsure but ready.

Rage did as Lyria told him. He reached out with a shaky hand and touched the stallion's side. The horse's calm eyes eased his nerves, and it stepped slightly aside, giving him space. He moved into position, just as Lyria had shown, then swung his leg over. His landing was rough and unsteady, but he stayed on. Lyria gave a short nod, her approval was quiet but clear.

"Balance, boy," Lyria instructed.

"Your body must move as one with the steed, not against it."

With a few gentle corrections and a hand on his shoulder, Rage managed to find his footing.

The stallion snorted softly, as if acknowledging his effort but warning him not to rush.

The next exercise was learning how to handle the reins. It required calm and control. Lyria stood beside Rage and guided his hands, showing him how to hold the leather straps properly.

"The reins are not merely for steering," she explained, "but for communicating with your mount. Feel the tension, understand its language, and let it flow through you."

Her demonstration was clear. She pulled the reins gently, guiding the stallion to turn with only the smallest movement.

Rage copied her movements, focusing on every small response from the stallion. Each correction from Lyria was clear, improving his form little by little.

"Straighten your back," Lyria said, her tone was calm but firm. "A strong rider keeps his mount steady with his posture."

Rage let out a sharp breath and fixed his grip on the reins, but when the stallion moved under him, a jolt went through his body and his balance slipped. His back went stiff, his arms froze, and before he could steady himself, the world tilted and his vision blurred with motion. The dull impact of packed dirt hitting his shoulder knocking the breath from his lungs. He barely had time to process the sensation before he was staring up at the sky, flat on his back.

Lyria sighed, arms crossed. "Again."

Rage groaned but pushed himself up, brushing the dirt from his coat. His pride was hurt more than his body. She was not going to let him stop now.

He climbed back onto the saddle, slower this time, more careful. The leather reins pressed into his palms as he tried to balance his weight.

"Calm yourself, boy," Lyria instructed. "You're gripping the saddle like it's the only thing keeping you alive."

"Can't blame me," Rage muttered, but he forced himself to loosen his posture.

For a moment, it felt right. The sway of the horse beneath him, the rhythm of movement. He adjusted, adapting.

Then the stallion jerked forward.

Rage reacted too late, his body tensed instead of flowing with the motion. His balance crumbled, his grip failed, and once again he hit the ground.

Lyria stood over him. Her face did not change, but he could hear the amusement in her voice. "Your problem is hesitation. If you do not trust your body, your horse will not trust you either."

"I'll ask him how he feels next time," Rage grumbled, rolling onto his hands and knees.

Lyria extended a hand, not to help, but to signal him to stand on his own.

"Again."

The next attempt was no better.

Or the one after that.

Or the next one after the previous.

By the time the sun reached its highest point, Rage had been thrown, jolted, or unseated so many times he lost count. His coat was dirty. His muscles burned from getting up again and again. Every part of his body ached from the repeated falls.

And yet, something shifted.

The next time he mounted, he adjusted his weight instinctively, ready for the stallion's first move. His body relaxed, moving with the horse instead of against it. His hands on the reins found a steady grip, not too tight and not too loose.

Lyria watched, arms still crossed, waiting for the inevitable next failure.

Except this time, it didn't come.

Rage exhaled, shoulders squared but no longer stiff. The stallion beneath him let out a slow, even breath, as if it acknowledged the change.

Lyria nodded. "Better. Now let's see if you can keep that up."

Rage just smirked, rolling his shoulders as he settled in.

The training was hard, but it moved with a quiet order.

***

A week passed.

Rage had stopped counting how many times he had mounted the horse. The movements that once felt strange were now familiar. The new challenge was turning quickly.

If riding straight was hard, turning at speed was a nightmare.

"Left!" Lyria commanded.

He yanked the reins too sharply. The stallion jerked its head, momentum breaking -- Rage's body whipped sideways and he barely had time to brace before crashing onto the ground.

Dust filled his mouth. A distant grunt of pain. His own.

Lyria exhaled, approaching with her usual measured pace. "If you snap the reins like that again, I'll make you run these laps on foot instead."

Again.

The next time, he misjudged the turn. He leaned too far instead of guiding with the reins. The stallion adjusted, but he was not ready for the sudden shift.

He tilted too far, lost balance, and flat on his back again.

More bruises. More frustration.

"Your body moves like an amateur," Lyria commented. "Trust your instincts more than your arms."

Again.

By nightfall, he could finally turn without catastrophe.

Barely.

The movements were still not natural. Every turn needed too much focus and correction. He was getting better, but not fast enough.

Lyria had said nothing when she dismissed him for the night, only giving him that same calculating stare before walking off. Not satisfied. Not disappointed. Just waiting.

Rage knew what that meant.

***

Two weeks passed.

"You're done training alone."

Rage barely had time to process Lyria's voice before she gestured toward the far end of the field.

The ground shook under the sound of pounding hooves. A group of armored riders came forward in perfect formation. The air felt heavier, and their presence demanded full attention.

These weren't recruits.

These were Lyria's own.

They slowed to a halt before him, their horses snorting, metal creaking as their riders straightened. They stared him down.

One of them, a broad-shouldered veteran gave an unimpressed huff. "This the one you've been breaking in, Commander?"

Lyria remained expressionless. "He's still standing, isn't he?"

Another rider chuckled, adjusting his grip on the reins. "For now."

Rage stayed quiet. He'd heard about these warriors. A unit that didn't break formation even in the face of death.

"You kept pace with a stallion," Lyria said, voice sharp. "Now let's see if you can keep pace with us."

She turned, nudging her horse forward. The riders followed instantly, their movement was fluid, practiced.

Rage hesitated. Just for a second.

Then he kicked off after them.

And the real test began.

At first, he lasted barely an hour before his legs ached. The constant movement and fast pace wore him down. The stallion never slowed or faltered.

Then two hours.

His breaths became ragged and his fingers stiffened on the reins. Every turn tested him. Every gallop was another fight against fatigue. The riders rode without pause. They moved as one with their horses, their control was complete, their actions were automatic.

Three hours.

He could hardly feel his legs. Every part of his body wanted him to stop, to loosen his grip, to fall just once. Just long enough to breathe and recover.

But the moment the thought crossed his mind, a voice cut through the haze.

"You fall, you die."

Lyria's words, sharp as a blade, snapped him back. She wasn't even looking at him when she said it, just riding ahead.

Rage clenched his teeth. No falling. No stopping. No dying.

So he pushed forward, forcing his body to obey. Because if he couldn't keep up here, there was no point in riding at all.

Now, under the merciless midday sun, he had long since lost track of time.

His throat burned. His muscles were long past fatigue.

But his body had started adapting.

By the time Lyria called him in, he didn't collapse immediately. His hands still trembled, but his breathing steadied faster.

She studied him carefully, then gave a slow nod. "You're not completely useless anymore."

High praise.

Rage did not speak. His throat was dry, his body was too tired. All he could do was keep breathing.

At some point, exhaustion stopped feeling real. His body ached, his vision blurred at the edges, but the pain felt distant.

And yet, when he straightened in the saddle, his movements weren't as stiff as before. His balance, though tested, held firm.

He wasn't just surviving anymore. He was riding.

Lyria must have seen it too. Because the next words out of her mouth were not another critique.

"Final test," she called out, her voice carrying over the thunder of hooves. "You've had your practice. Now let's see if you're worth the saddle."

***

The final trial was everything combined. Full gallop, tight turns, obstacle clearing, and endurance.

Rage barely had time to process before the command was given.

The riders surged forward, and he was thrown into motion, no time to hesitate. The stallion responded instantly, hooves kicking up dust as he pushed into full speed, the wind lashing against his face.

The first test came fast. A breakneck turn around a set of standing poles.

He leaned into it, remembering every failure from the past two weeks. No yanking. No overcompensating. He shifted just enough. The stallion responded in kind. The turn wasn't perfect, but it was controlled.

Next, a set of barriers loomed ahead. Wooden beams, low but spaced erratically. Too wide to sidestep, too close together to slow down.

He braced. No hesitation.

The stallion jumped, and for a moment, Rage felt weightless. They cleared the first hurdle, then the second, then the third.

Then came the endurance test.

The formation pressed forward, faster, harder. The field stretched endlessly ahead, and the command was clear -- keep up, no matter what.

But this time, he didn't waver.

He pushed forward, matching their pace, matching their movements. Not fighting the horse. Not fighting himself. Just riding.

By the time the test ended, he was still in the saddle.

Dust settled. The cavalry slowed to a halt.

Rage exhaled, slow, steady. His heart pounded, but not from fear.

Lyria's gaze met his. A long, measured look.

"Acceptable."

"But," she continued, smirking faintly, "you still fight like a foot soldier. You ride like one too."

Rage narrowed his eyes. "Meaning?"

She turned her horse, already leading the formation back toward the fortress.

"You'll see soon enough."

The cavalry moved off, leaving Rage to bring his stallion back to the stables. His body still moved by instinct, but his mind was busy thinking about Lyria's words and their meaning.

He didn't get to wonder for long.

Because the moment he stepped away from the stables, a familiar, armored figure stood waiting for him.

Queen Ignia.

Arms crossed. Expression unreadable.

"Are you enjoying my general's training?" she asked, tilting her head. "Or are you just barely keeping up?"

Rage didn't answer immediately, still catching his breath.

She didn't usually linger around after his training.

Unless --

Ignia's smirk widened, as if reading his mind. "Now, don't look so wary. I wouldn't waste my time if I didn't think you were worth watching."

Watching.

No. Assessing.

Because Queen Ignia, in all her war-hardened glory, wasn't just some distant ruler overseeing his progress.

She was his personal evaluator.

And judging by the glint in her eyes, she was far from impressed.

[SYSTEM] Queen Ignia : Loyalty 87%

[SYSTEM] Corruption 12.8%

More Chapters