The heroes, still covered in sweat and dust, struggled to get back on their feet after Arald's brutal assault. In the stands, several knights in armor more shiny than useful leaned toward each other, amused.
Knight ??: "Did you see that? They crawl like wounded old beasts!"
Knight ??: "Heroes? Please. I've seen squires swing a sword with more grace than them."
Knight ??: "Hahaha! Hey, look at that one—he's shaking like a leaf!"
Knight ??: "Shhh! Not so loud, the general will hear us…"
Knight ??: "Bah, Arald? You know he doesn't care when it comes to beating them down. And yeah, he's scary, but not as much as they say."
The laughter grew, first muffled, then louder, mixed with mocking claps from gloved hands.
Their voices echoed through the arena like a chorus of vultures, eager to see the heroes crushed again.
Knight ??? (loudly, pointing at the heroes): "Hahaha! At this rate, they won't die to enemy waves—they'll die in training!"
A roar of laughter broke out.
But suddenly…
Arald, irritated by the shameless laughter of knights barely stronger than the heroes, lost his temper.
His sinister aura exploded through the arena—so dark and oppressive it spread into every corner of the kingdom.
In a distant alley, a random villager froze and shivered.
Villager: "Mmm… Knight Arald is furious again… They're in for it now."
Back in the arena, the mocking knights fell silent instantly.
It felt like death itself was breathing on their necks.
No one dared to move. No one dared to breathe.
Sweat rolled down their foreheads as their eyes locked on Arald… whose body seemed to dissolve into shadow, leaving only two blood-red eyes piercing the darkness.
Arald: "Well? Why aren't you laughing anymore?? I want to laugh too… go on, keep it up."
One knight stepped back in fear.
Knight ??: "W-we're sorry, General…"
Arald: "Sorry?? You're sorry? I'll teach you what that means…"
Arald stepped forward slowly, his gaze fixed on the trembling knight.
Arald: "Give me your name. Now, brat."
Knight ??: "I… I am Rodrick, my general."
Rodrick felt it deep in his gut… Today was the day he was going to die.
Arald: "You seemed to enjoy yourself… Show us what you can do."
Rodrick: "I… I am only a trainee, my general…"
Arald: "I… gave… you… an ORDER!!!"
The shout struck like thunder, freezing every spectator in place.
Rodrick obeyed instantly, stumbling down the steps toward the arena, his legs shaking.
Tears threatened to spill from his eyes as he gritted his teeth.
Rodrick (thoughts): "Shit… shit, shit… Why me?! Why does it have to be me?!"
Rodrick (thoughts): "I don't want to die… Please, someone, help me… I don't want to die…"
Standing before Arald's furious shadow, he raised his weapon with trembling hands.
Arald: "On guard"
With a burst of speed faster than lightning, Arald vanished and reappeared right in front of Rodrick, his wooden blade raised high.
Rodrick knew—this strike would kill him.
He used the last of his strength to scream with all his soul:
Rodrick: "HELP MEEEEEEEEEEE!!!"
Arald's sword cut the air, dropping straight toward his neck… but at the last instant, another blade appeared, blocking the strike with a sharp metallic clash.
Arald's red eyes shifted to the figure who had stopped his attack.
A tall, slender man stood before him, ears long and pointed. His golden hair gleamed under the light, with fine earrings trailing from the tips of his ears to his lobes. He wore a noble's attire of deep midnight blue, embroidered with elegant golden patterns.
The aura he radiated was strange… as heavy as Arald's, yet carrying a calmness that soothed the pounding hearts of everyone present.
In the stands, whispers of disbelief spread.
The once-mocking knights were frozen, mouths hanging open.
Even those who didn't know him could feel he was no ordinary man.
Knight ???: "That's… impossible," whispered a veteran, eyes wide.
Knight ???: "He… he stopped Arald…" added another, voice trembling.
Knight ???: "But… who is he…?"
Rodrick, frozen in place, dared not move. The man turned slightly toward him, and with only a glance, Rodrick's fear melted away, his body relaxing against his will.
Arald, however, was not soothed.
His crimson eyes glared at the stranger with both surprise and caution.
A crushing silence fell over the arena… so heavy, one could hear a feather drop.
Then the man spoke, his voice deep but calm:
???: "That's enough, Arald."
The words carried an authority impossible to resist.
Arald: "What are you doing here… Ifryt?"
Ifryt: "I just returned from mission. But before we talk, first calm your killing intent… the whole kingdom can feel it."
Those words alone were enough. Arald's aura faded almost instantly. He sheathed his sword.
Ifryt: "The king has summoned us. Hurry."
Arald: "Summoned? For what?"
Ifryt: "Military strategy… for the next wave."
Arald: "What? Already? The next wave won't be for another three months!"
Ifryt: "I don't make the decisions. Now move, the others are waiting."
Arald: "The others?… They're all here??"
Ifryt turned and walked toward the castle courtyard, sword at his side.
Ifryt: "Yes… all of them. Including… you know who."
A huge grin split Arald's face, as if his fury from moments ago had never existed.
Arald: "OOOOOOOOOH YES!!! Wait for me!"
He sprinted to catch up, and soon the two walked side by side, their low voices blending into a conversation no one could hear.
As they left, Ifryt turned his sharp, cold gaze toward the fallen heroes, still struggling to rise. His eyes made it clear—he judged them weak.
Without slowing, Arald called out behind him:
Arald: "Training's over! Go rest!"
The heavy doors of the council chamber opened with a metallic creak.
Arald and Ifryt stepped inside, and at once, the air in the room seemed to grow heavier.
Around a massive circular table, four imposing figures were already waiting.
The first, seated closest to the King, was Thorak, a towering black orc with a body carved from stone. His muscles bulged beneath his dark noble attire, and his piercing yellow eyes looked sharp enough to pierce a man's soul. Despite his terrifying appearance, he sat calmly, reading an open book held between his massive hands. His presence alone commanded both fear and respect.
To his right sat Lancelot, a knight of average build, yet his perfect posture and sharp, focused gaze revealed a man of absolute discipline. His short brown hair framed a face scarred by countless battles. Not a single piece of his armor was out of place, and the aura he gave off spoke of quiet strength—restrained, but ready to strike at any moment.
Farther down the table, leaning back in her chair, was Nora. Long crimson hair flowed over her shoulders, and her deep green eyes were locked on the doorway with burning intensity. Her athletic, perfectly honed body spoke of endless training and battle experience. She was beautiful… dangerously beautiful. Even sitting still, the energy around her felt tense and wild, as if the very air feared her next move.
Finally, resting his elbows on the table, was Thalgrimm, a stout but formidable dwarf. His messy brown beard was as wild as his unkempt hair, and his calloused hands gripped the handle of a massive war hammer covered in ancient runes. Despite his short stature, he radiated raw power—like a mountain ready to collapse on anything that stood before it.
At the end of the table sat the King, his presence calm yet overwhelming. His gaze fell on Arald and Ifryt as they entered. Then, in a deep, commanding voice, he spoke:
"Gentlemen… and lady… we have urgent matters to discuss."
Everyone at the table turned their attention toward the two newcomers.
The air grew heavier still, thick with unspoken tension.
Now, in this single chamber, the six most powerful warriors of the kingdom were gathered.
As soon as Arald's eyes met Nora's, his world shifted.
He stopped dead. His eyes shone like jewels, his cheeks flushed, and a silly grin spread across his face. He lunged forward, sliding almost on the floor to stop beside her, dropping to one knee as if he had just seen a goddess.
Arald: "NORA… OH MY SWEET NORAA!! Your beauty has grown since we last met! Let me give you my heart, my sword, my whole life!!!"
Nora stared at him with a bored look, then kicked him hard in the chest, sending him flying two meters back.
Nora: "Get lost, mosquito."
Thalgrimm, without taking his eyes off his tankard: "Heh… another dramatic flight."
Lancelot, sighing: "Can we start the meeting now? Or do we wait for Arald to get up?"
Ifryt: "Ignore him. He does this every time…"
Arald lay flat on the floor and raised a trembling thumb.
Arald: "I… I am still alive… and my love for her… is eternal…"
Nora rolled her eyes, a thin predatory smile curling at the corner of her mouth.
The King raised his hand for silence. His deep, steady voice cut through the levity.
King Éldric : "Good. If we are all gathered today, it means the situation is more urgent than expected. The next wave of creature attacks is coming… much sooner than we thought."
Thorak closed his book slowly.
Thorak: "How much time?"
King Éldric : "Four months… maybe less."
Lancelot frowned.
Lancelot: "Impossible… Our forces are barely rebuilt since the last attack."
Thalgrimm laughed, a little too loud: "Then we do what we always do—hit harder than they do."
Thorak, bluntly: "Lack of preparation will cost massive lives. We need a strategy that does not rely only on brute force."
Nora crossed her arms.
Nora: "Strategy or not, if we wait too long we'll be surrounded."
Lancelot: "Exactly why we can't rush blindly into every battle."
Nora, with a teasing smile: "Oh excuse me, Mr. Strategist. I forgot you like hiding behind your maps instead of getting your hands dirty."
Lancelot, offended: "And I forgot you confuse bravery with stupidity."
The tone rose. Thalgrimm added fuel: "Hey, if you want to fight, do it outside so you don't break the table."
Ifryt sighed, while Arald in the corner seemed to enjoy the show, especially when Nora raised her voice.
King Éldric struck the table with his fist.
King Éldric : "SILENCE!!!"
A leaden silence fell. Even Arald froze, eyes wide.
King Éldric : "We are here to defend a kingdom, not to settle your ego battles! If you want to measure yourselves, do it after the war… if you survive."
The King's tone calmed but stayed firm.
King Éldric : "Before we plan an attack, we must ensure our new recruits can survive the first minute of combat."
Thalgrimm, sipping calmly: "Given their current state, surviving the first minute is optimistic."
Nora: "They wouldn't hold against a sniffling goblin."
Lancelot, more diplomatic: "What she means is they still lack discipline and technique."
Ifryt: "Then we split the task. Each of us will teach them what we do best. That will give them a solid base… and four months is short."
Thorak snapped his book shut.
Thorak: "It's not enough… but it's all we have. They will have to be pushed beyond their limits."
Nora: "No—let me take them. As master-at-arms, I am the best to train them."
An awkward silence fell. Everyone, even the King, knew handing the recruits to Nora was almost a death sentence.
King Éldric rubbed his temples.
King Éldric : "…We will discuss it." Then, regaining authority: "Starting tomorrow morning, you will begin. You have three months—no more."
Arald whispered to Ifryt: "So that means I'll see Nora every single day for three months."
Nora, without turning her head: "…and you'll end up in the infirmary every day."
Thalgrimm, laughing: "At least we'll get free entertainment."
The King raised his hand again, his tone sharp.
King Éldric : "Good. Rest tonight. Tomorrow… the hell begins. "