The roar of the battlefield still echoed in Naithan's ears, a phantom symphony of screams and steel, but it was the silence that truly deafened him. The praise of the Ash Blade recruits, their awestruck whispers, were hollow against the two casual sentences he'd overheard. False accusations.Father released the same day. The words were a bitter poison, chilling his blood, freezing him in place. He stood amidst the cheering, his heavy, exhausted body suddenly feeling lighter than ash, yet utterly immobile.
His mind screamed, but his limbs wouldn't obey. He tried to walk, but it was as if the ground beneath him had turned to viscous mud, dragging him down. The overwhelming sense of abandonment crashed over him, heavier than any armor, sharper than any blade. He was a cast-off, a leftover, tossed aside and forgotten, not just by the Empire, but by his own blood.
Somehow, he forced one foot in front of the other, then another, blindly navigating the familiar path back to the Penal Blade dorms. Training was mercifully absent after a war, a brief reprieve for their battered bodies. He stumbled into his designated space, the cramped, grimy corner that was now his entire world. With trembling hands, he began to strip off the soiled armor, each buckle and strap feeling alien and heavy.
He was still moving through a haze, his thoughts a frantic, chaotic mess, when he heard a muffled voice calling him. He couldn't focus. The words drifted, meaningless, swallowed by the deafening roar of betrayal in his head. He barely registered the sharp, sudden sting across his cheek, followed by the crisp sound of a tight slap.
His head snapped back, the world snapping back into sharp, painful focus. Seraphina Stonehide stood before him, her cat-like eyes narrowed, fixed on his face. Her expression was unreadable, a blend of concern and something fiercely pragmatic.
"What happened?" she demanded, her voice a low rumble. "You don't look so good."
Then, it all hit him. The truth, like a physical blow, hammered into his chest. Why hadn't he known? Why hadn't he questioned the silence? He remembered the relentless grind of the past months. He had stressed himself, trained till death, pushed his body beyond its limits, all to just ignore what other people were talking about. He had immersed himself so deeply in the pursuit of the Ember tier, believing it his only salvation, that he didn't even know the names of the people around him. The way they had all praised him just moments ago, their faces, their voices—it all crashed down on his heart. He felt a desperate, clawing need to know what was happening in the outside world.
He looked at Seraphina, his voice hoarse, raw with newfound desperation. "Sera... can you do anything? Get me information?"
Seraphina's gaze was steady, piercing through his despair. "If you want information, yes, I can get it. But you need to wait six more months."
Naithan's eyes widened, a flicker of disbelief, then raw anguish. "SIX MORE MONTHS!!!??" The cry tore from his throat, echoing the fresh torment that had just begun. Six months in this hell, for a truth that had been denied him for half a year already. The true agony of his abandonment had only just begun.
"You need to understand, kid," Seraphina replied, her voice softening, though her eyes remained sharp. "You can't understand how hard it is for me to set up my men outside. Every letter that enters here is checked. We need to set things up too."
Naithan swallowed, the bitter taste of helplessness in his mouth. "Okay... okay, I get it." He nodded, the weight of the situation pressing down on him.
He walked back towards his designated dorm, the silence of his thoughts now replaced by a dull, throbbing ache. As he approached his space, he saw three familiar faces among the people around him in the cramped dorms. The Three Stars. Vexar Eclipse, Kaelan Eclipse, and Draxon Eclipse were already there, their grim expressions a stark contrast to the chaos of the arena.
"Why are you in this room?" Naithan asked, his voice flat, surprised.
Draxon Eclipse, the youngest, a raw, aggressive energy radiating from him, scoffed. "We four are roommates, you fucking war machine. This is the first time we're talking, right? Huh. You aren't a parasite then..."
"Parasite?" Naithan repeated, the word stinging.
Kaelan Eclipse, the middle brother, his eyes holding a calculating glint, nodded. "People have been calling you that from the day you came. You were alive, like your focus was only on the battlefield and arena, like you are some parasite. And you never talked to anyone except Sera... that bitch."
Vexar Eclipse, the oldest, his presence a quiet, strategic force, stepped forward. "You know us, right? I am Vexar, and these are my brothers, the middle child Kaelan, and the youngest, Draxon." He stretched out a hand, a gesture Naithan hadn't expected in this place. It was a firm handshake, a silent acknowledgment of his prowess. In that small, shitty-looking room, Naithan had found three unlikely friends. He still couldn't tell if Seraphina was his friend or his enemy.
"You know that we are going to have a match next day, right?" Draxon asked, his tone a challenge.
"Yes," Naithan replied, his voice regaining some of its steel.
Suddenly, a voice cut through the dorm hall. "Is Naithan here?"
Naithan raised his hand. "It's me."
"Please come with me," a soldier replied, his eyes wary.
Naithan followed, his mind racing. He was led to the main hall of the Penal Blade, a vast, echoing chamber that usually hummed with activity. Tonight, it was eerily quiet. The designated places for the higher knights were empty, as if they didn't care about this meeting. Only three figures stood at the far end, their presences immense. Captain Arden, his youthful strength radiating even from a distance. Commander Ignus, a dark, formidable silhouette. And at the very center, seated on a raised dais, was the Grandmaster Valerius. The way he sat, a still, ancient power emanating from him, was utterly terrifying. Naithan couldn't even clearly see his face in the dim light, but the aura of superior, crushing authority was palpable.
Grandmaster Valerius's voice, old and resonant, filled the hall. "You are promoted to Iron Blade. Disperse."
The words hung in the air, a stark, unceremonious pronouncement. A sense of relief, cold and sharp, washed over Naithan as Grandmaster Valerius rose and left the room, his departure leaving a void of oppressive power.
"Fucking scary," Naithan muttered under his breath, the words escaping before he could stop them.
Commander Ignus chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. "You got promoted, huh? Lucky bastard. Hey, Arden, that's my precious plaything."
Captain Arden sighed, a sound of weary acceptance. "Welcome to Iron Blade, Naithan. You know it's going to be more harsh, right?"
"Yes," Naithan replied, his voice firm, his determination hardening.
Commander Ignus tossed a gleaming metal badge to Naithan. On the badge, forged in grim iron, it read: Iron Blade. Naithan caught it, the cold weight a promise of greater pain, greater power. He went back to his room.
Vexar saw the badge, his eyes widening slightly. "So, you're with us, huh? Good luck. We are going to train ourselves to death."
"That's what I like," Naithan replied, a grim, new resolve settling over him.
They went to the Iron Blade training arena. It was hell. The Ash Blade arena had been chaos; this was a terrifying, precise machine. The more powerful individuals here moved with an unsettling coordination, like a single, perfectly synchronized entity. It was like fitting in harmony, a deadly dance where every strike, every parry, every movement was part of a larger, lethal ballet. They fought without break, their endurance seemingly limitless. Food was a luxury, only given three days before a war, allowing them to eat themselves to death in a desperate attempt to gain strength. On regular days, they received only one meager meal. And there were always battles to fight, endless, brutal skirmishes.
Captain Arden was a terrifying sight. He moved among them, a blur of motion, his eyes like a roaring cheetah, predatory and impossibly sharp. He looked young, but Naithan could tell from the chilling intensity in his gaze that he possessed countless battle experiences, far beyond his years. Arden was meant to be a weapon, a deadly one. He took down even the most powerful Iron Blades, sometimes a whole group, without moving a single hand, merely with a flick of his wrist or a subtle shift of his weight. His eyes… they were fucking scary.