When the uproar in the yard finally ebbed, Commander Raun ordered the bouts to continue.
Dust still hung in the air, mingled with the smell of sweat and heavy breaths.
Eiron Levara had returned to the line, standing steady as if the fight had left no mark on him.
He drew eyes again and again: short jet-black hair with unruly strands that betrayed his driving impulse; sharp gray eyes that never rested, tracking everything with a hunter's focus; a frame not as large as the blacksmith he had felled, yet balanced and strong, moving with the supple readiness of a wolf about to spring. His mocking smile was enough to provoke anger—and at the same time, it radiated an absolute confidence in himself.
Watching from his row, Kaizlan felt a strange blend of admiration and caution. He's a merciless fighter… but is that what I'll have to become to survive?
⸻
In the next bouts, a new name surfaced: Serin Orvan, a young woman from one of the lesser noble houses.
She paced into the center with measured steps, her braided blond hair swaying behind her. Her eyes were a clear blue, but there was nothing innocent in her gaze—there was a sudden edge there, as if she carried more than her years.
Her opponent was a farmer's son, stocky and thick-set, confident in his raw strength.
They began, and the difference showed with the first exchange.
Serin did not rush as the others had. She settled into a balanced guard, studying her opponent's movements. When he charged at her with brute force, she slipped lightly to the side and snapped a precise strike to his arm, loosening his grip for an instant.
Surprise rippled through the onlookers at the speed of her response.
Her blows were not powerful, but they were sharp and calculated—every movement measured.
After only three exchanges, her opponent was down, gasping and clutching his arm, while Serin stood almost without breathing.
Commander Raun remarked in a dry tone:
"Weight and strength mean little against someone who can read an opponent."
⸻
Whispers rose again—some trainees speaking of the "wolf's ruthlessness" when they mentioned Eiron, others turning toward the young woman who had proved herself in silence.
Kaizlan remained where he was, watching it all with hesitant eyes. He felt the yard was no longer merely a place of training, but a ground where faces were being revealed—faces that would accompany him into harsher days to come.