The recruits stood in the mud-slicked yard, each clutching a wooden sword far heavier than a toy had any right to be.
Sergeant Halj moved between the lines, his voice cutting through the morning chill:
— "Today is not about carrying logs, nor running laps around the yard. Today you will taste the sword… and the sweat it demands."
Pairs were assigned.
Kaizlan's chest tightened when he was set against Torn—the one who had looked more beast than boy since the very first day.
Torn lifted the wooden blade as though it weighed no more than a feather, while Kaizlan hesitated for half a heartbeat before sliding into a guarded stance.
Halj barked:
— "Remember—your goal is not to kill your partner. Your goal is to break him before you break."
Torn's opening strike nearly splintered Kaizlan's arm. The crack of wood echoed across the yard.
Kaizlan staggered back two steps, lungs heaving, a single thought clawing through his head: If that had been steel, I'd already be dead.
But he held.
He remembered his father's words: "A sword will never obey a trembling hand."
He planted his feet and swung back—not as strong, but steady, deliberate.
Torn blocked easily, but a short laugh escaped him.
— "Good, little noble… at least you're not all fear."
⸻
Elsewhere, Milo stood opposite Serin.
His strikes were hesitant, almost apologetic, as if afraid to hurt her. Her eyes, however, were cold as iron.
She snapped at him suddenly:
— "If you don't strike me as an enemy, I'll drop you in an instant!"
Teeth clenched, Milo finally swung with real weight. The blow carried enough force that Serin felt it through her guard.
For the first time since the camp began, the corner of her mouth curved in the faintest hint of approval.
Eron, meanwhile, was pitted against an older recruit. He was beaten down again and again, the wooden blade striking his ribs, his shoulder, his legs. Yet every time he fell, he rose again, eyes burning with a fire that refused to die.
⸻
By sunset, Halj called the session to a close.
Some recruits collapsed into the mud, gasping. Others remained standing, blood seeping from blistered palms, refusing to show weakness.
Captain Raon walked the rows in silence before speaking, his words like iron weights dropped into their chests:
— "Today the masks fell. Those who cannot endure wood will never endure steel. And those who cannot rise after a fall… will never see tomorrow as knights."
He said no more. But his voice lingered, heavy as stone, long after the yard had emptied.