At dawn, the yard rang with the sound of metal clashing. This time it was not wooden swords but heavy iron shields and weighty weapons handed out to the recruits.
Commander Raun stood before them, watching their weary faces.
"Today you will not only learn how to fight… but how to bear the weight of war on your shoulders."
⸻
Kaizlan wore iron armor for the first time.
It hung a little loose on his frame, yet its heaviness was suffocating. His shoulders strained beneath it, his breath grew shallow. When he raised the metal sword, it felt as though he was lifting a stone.
"How can a man even move in this?" he wondered, as sweat streamed down his brow despite the morning chill.
On the other side, Eiron donned his armor as if it were a toy. Despite the weight, he smiled.
"This is natural weight. Whoever cannot endure it does not deserve to lift a sword."
Milo could hardly stand upright, swaying with every few steps. Torn reached out to steady him, only to stagger himself.
Serin, meanwhile, put on her armor in silence. Her movements were slower, but steadier than the rest, her watchful eyes measuring all around her.
⸻
Raun ordered them into close ranks, advancing step by step across the field.
With each stride, the panting grew heavier.
Within minutes, some recruits collapsed to the ground, unable to keep their shields lifted.
But Raun did not halt. His voice cut through the clamor:
"In war, the enemy will not wait for you to catch your breath. Whoever falls here… will never rise in battle."
Kaizlan's legs burned with fire. Each step weighed more than the last. But he clenched his teeth, recalling the children's eyes in his village, and his old dream of being a knight who would protect them.
"I won't fall now…"
⸻
When they reached the yard, the hardest part began: fighting under the weight of armor.
Kaizlan faced another trainee, raising his sword with effort. His first strike barely landed, his movements slowed by the iron pressing down on him. His opponent struck back hard against his shield, rattling his whole body, nearly knocking him to the ground.
But he held his ground, swinging back with a slower strike aimed at the man's leg. It lacked the strength to topple him, but it bought Kaizlan a precious moment to breathe.
⸻
The clashes dragged on for long minutes, screams mixing with the thunder of iron on iron.
At last, Raun called for a halt. Half the recruits were sprawled on the ground, gasping, too drained to rise.
"This is the weight of war," the commander said sternly.
"Those who cannot learn to carry it… will be the first to die when the enemy comes."
⸻
That night, as the recruits sat exhausted around the fire, their faces were paler than usual.
Torn roared with laughter despite his fatigue, thumping his chest:
"I thought myself strong… but the iron crushed me like a child!"
Milo said nothing, only stared at his trembling hands.
Kaizlan sat in silence, thinking of the pain, the burden that had nearly crushed him.
"If I cannot grow used to this weight… I will never be able to protect anyone."