Chapter 300 — Breaking the Council
The training yard rang with the sounds of clashing steel, grunts, and the occasional curse. The morning air was sharp, and though the recruits had been cleared out to give the council privacy, word had spread quickly. Dozens of Hollow-born lined the wooden palisade to watch their leaders sweat for once.
Kael stood at the center of the yard, black magisteel blade resting across his shoulders, eyes like burning coals. "You lead men and women who bleed for you. Today, you bleed for them."
The first groan came from Thalos. His robes were cinched awkwardly at the waist, his spectacles fogging as he fumbled with a practice staff. "I still maintain this is a grotesque misuse of my time."
Rogan laughed thunderously, swinging a training axe like it weighed nothing. "Your time ain't worth spit if you can't survive one arrow to the chest, quill-man!" He lunged, sweeping Thalos' legs out from under him. The tactician landed hard on his back, choking on dust as the crowd laughed.
Kael didn't. He simply said, "Get up, Thalos. You fall, you stand. Again."
Azhara faced Selina in the ring. The healer's hands trembled as she tried to channel mana into a simple barrier spell, the translucent shield flickering weakly. Selina's counterstrike shattered it instantly, the force sending Azhara sprawling backward.
Her frustration boiled over. "This is pointless. I save lives, Kael, I don't take them."
Kael stepped forward, his tone softer but unyielding. "You nearly died saving us all. If you had just a little more strength in your body, maybe you wouldn't have had to give so much. This isn't about killing. It's about surviving long enough to heal."
Something shifted in her expression. She pushed herself back up, dusting her palms, and raised her hands again.
Varik sparred with Rogan, the knife-fighter darting in with lightning-quick jabs. Rogan laughed each time steel barely grazed his skin, answering with crushing blows that Varik barely evaded.
"You're reckless," Rogan barked between swings. "Too much flash, not enough grit."
"And you're a lumbering ox," Varik shot back, ducking under a heavy swing. "But even oxen can be dangerous if they land one hit."
Their bickering drew laughter from the crowd, but Kael only nodded. "Both of you are right. Learn from each other. Brute force fails without precision. Precision fails without strength."
For once, neither argued.
Lyria trained in silence. Sword in hand, her movements were elegant, controlled—until Kael forced her into faster, harsher drills. Sweat beaded on her brow, her calm mask cracking.
"You hesitate," Kael said, parrying her strikes with ease. "Not when it's me, not when it's sparring. But in the field, hesitation kills."
She exhaled sharply, pushing harder, until her blade struck true against his guard. A spark lit in her eyes, and for the first time that morning, she grinned.
And then there was Zerathis.
The daemon moved with terrifying grace, his claws crackling with a faint violet glow as he tore through three practice dummies in a single swipe. The recruits watching from the fence shrank back in fear.
"This is a waste," Zerathis snarled. "I don't train with children's toys."
Kael's voice cut through the yard. "Then you train with me."
The duel that followed was short but brutal—Kael's magisteel blade against Zerathis' clawed hands, sparks of black flame colliding with violet energy. Kael disarmed him in under a minute, pressing the blade to his throat.
The daemon bared his teeth, then slowly knelt, laughter rumbling in his chest. "Fine, Dragon. You've made your point."
By the day's end, each of them was bruised, bloodied, and exhausted. Thalos limped but managed to parry a strike without falling. Azhara held a barrier longer than she ever had before. Varik's strikes grew sharper under Rogan's bellowed corrections. Lyria's blade moved with newfound decisiveness. And even Zerathis, though he mocked and cursed, had fought alongside them without tearing the yard apart.
Kael sheathed his blade and looked at them all. "Now you see. Strength isn't just muscle or magic. It's resolve. It's the will to stand when everything tries to break you. You owe your people that much."
The councilors exchanged glances, sweat-soaked and sore, but each found themselves nodding—grudgingly or not.
From the crowd, a chant began, faint at first, then growing: "Council! Council! Council!"
For the first time in the Hollow's history, the people didn't just look up to Kael. They looked up to all of them.