With the first pale strands of morning, the cold blare of a horn cut through the camp. Many shivered more from its harshness than from the chill.
Tired bodies dragged themselves from tents, fumbling with leather armor and gathering wooden weapons—every step heavier than the last.
Kaizlan stumbled out, eyes half-closed from lack of sleep. He caught sight of Milo struggling with the strap of his cuirass, his arm still sore from yesterday's blows.
Eron, uncharacteristically still, stood ready with his usual sternness carved into his face.
Serin emerged with measured steps, as if she had not slept at all, her sharp gaze catching every detail around her.
And Torn yawned openly, muttering with mockery:
— "It seems sleep is a luxury we're not meant to know here."
In the center of the yard stood Captain Raon, flanked by several sergeants. His voice was sharp, leaving no room for doubt:
— "What has passed was preparation. Today, we begin the first true trial."
A ripple of whispers spread among the recruits. Raon raised his hand, and silence fell.
— "Each of you will stand face-to-face with a partner. This is not about killing or crippling. It is about proving you can endure—despite the pain."
He stepped back and pointed toward a wide circle scratched into the dirt:
— "Within this ring, you will be tested. Step out, or collapse unable to rise… and you lose."
Pairs entered one after another. Wooden swords clashed with ringing thuds, mingling with cries of pain and ragged breaths.
Some hesitated to strike with force, only to be punished by sudden counterblows that threw them into the dirt.
Others lost themselves in blind rage, rushing wildly—and fell faster than the rest.
When Kaizlan's group was called, the tension deepened.
Milo stood uncertain but unwilling to back down.
Eron's eyes burned, eager for the fight.
Serin remained calm, as though a plan already lay folded in her mind.
Torn laughed as he stepped into the circle:
— "Well then, let's see what corpse I'll be today."
Kaizlan found himself facing Milo, heart hammering. He did not want to harm his friend—yet Captain Raon's voice cut the hesitation short:
— "There is no room for mercy here. Show pity today… and tomorrow you'll weep over a grave."
Kaizlan raised his wooden blade, hands unsteady.
Milo lifted his own with trembling grip, his eyes caught between fear and resolve.
This was more than combat.
It was a trial of spirit: the test of whether they could strike those they cared for—if survival demanded it.