Blackthorn strode into the center of the training yard.
The air grew still. Finn, Lyra, Borin, and Sven turned to watch, their expressions a mix of curiosity and disbelief.
Ash followed, every sense screaming, his torn tunic clinging to his sweat-soaked frame, boots sinking into the dirt.
The New rule: Ash was to get Blackthorn to use his essence and land a blow on him. If he does that, and he'll join in the mission. Fail, and he can never question Blackthorn's authority again."
He knew any conventional attack would fail.
He didn't wait. He moved, not with a wild charge, but with focused intent. He feinted high, then dropped low, sweeping a leg at Blackthorn's knees. It was a solid move.
Blackthorn simply stepped over it, his boot coming down to pin Ash's leg to the ground for a fraction of a second before releasing him with a shove that sent him sprawling.
"Predictable," Blackthorn stated.
Ash pushed himself up, ignoring the pain. He tried again, and again.
Each strike was met with an effortless deflection, a twist of the body, a contemptuous shove.
He was being schooled, thoroughly and publicly. He couldn't even touch the man, let alone force him to use his essence.
Despair began to rise. He was failing. He would be left behind.
Breathe. The word echoed in his mind, his training grounding him. You're a channel.
He stopped. He closed his eyes for a heartbeat, blocking out the audience, the pressure, the impossible task.
He focused on the spark, the white light from last night. He wasn't trying to hit a man. He was trying to surprise him.
He opened his eyes. This time, his approach was different. He didn't attack. He advanced.
He focused his will, his entire being, into his right hand.
A faint, flickering white light began to dance around his fingers, weak but bright enough to catch the eye.
He saw Blackthorn's eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of surprise.
With a grunt of effort, Ash lunged, not with a punch, but with an open-handed push, aiming for Blackthorn's center mass.
It was infused with the energy, a flash meant to distract, to jolt Blackthorn's focus.
Blackthorn's reaction was instantaneous.
His forearm snapped up to block, and as it did, a dark, metallic sheen—the Iron Resonance—flashed across his skin to meet the unfamiliar energy.
CLANG.
The resonant hum filled the yard. The essence had been used.
But Ash wasn't done. The block had created an opening.
As Blackthorn's arm was extended, reacting to the essence, Ash's other hand—his left—shot forward.
It was not glowing. It was not magical. It was just a fast, simple, physical punch, driven by months of grueling training.
It connected solidly with Blackthorn's ribs.
Thwump.
The sound was dull, a stark contrast to the metallic ring a moment before.
Silence.
Ash stood there, panting, one hand still faintly glowing, the other clenched into a fist against the Captain's side.
Blackthorn looked down at the fist against his ribs.
He looked at his own arm, where the Resonance was fading. He had been forced to use his essence and he had been struck.
He slowly raised his eyes to meet Ash's.
There was no anger. No praise. Only a deep, bottomless assessment. He gave a single, slow nod.
"You come," he grunted. "You are the last word. The lowest rank. You follow every order without hesitation. You step out of line once, I will leave you behind. Understood?"
Ash, his chest heaving, dropped his hand and nodded. "Understood."
Blackthorn turned and walked away without another glance.
He had been beaten, fairly, by his own new rules. Ash had earned his place not through overwhelming power, but through strategy, control, and sheer, stubborn will.
The mission to Fallow's Ferry had just gained its most unpredictable weapon.
Over the next three days, Ash threw himself into preparations, sharpening his short sword, checking his gear, and studying Fallow's Ferry's map, its river and narrow streets etched in his mind.
In the training yard, Sven found him practicing, his chainmail glinting as he approached, a broad smile spreading across his face.
"Ash, I'm still in awe of what you pulled off out there," Sven said, stopping a few paces away, his voice rich with admiration.
"You stood up to Blackthorn, made him use his essence, and landed a solid hit.
I've been with the Clover Knights for years, seen plenty try to challenge him, but no one's ever done what you did. How'd you manage it? What's going through your head after that?"
Ash paused, wiping sweat from his brow, his ribs sore but his spirit high.
"Honestly, it feels like I tricked my way through it. I figured out my essence last night—barely, though. It's still weak, just a flicker. Blackthorn didn't think I could even use it, so I didn't try to hit him with it. I used it to surprise him, throw him off just enough to land the punch. That was the real plan."
Sven's eyes widened, then he let out a low whistle, his smile turning impressed.
"That's smart, Ash. Really smart. Using your essence as a feint like that, knowing it wasn't strong enough to do more? That's not just guts—it's cunning. Blackthorn never saw it coming, and that's why you're here."
Ash smirked, a spark of pride in his eyes. "Thanks, Sven. I'm still the lowest rank, though. One wrong move, and Blackthorn's done with me. I keep waiting for him to figure out it was more luck than skill."
Sven laughed, a deep, warm sound, crossing his arms. "Luck or skill, you earned that spot, Ash, and everyone who saw it knows it. Most knights would've faltered under Blackthorn's glare, let alone his skill. You've got—heart, brains, and that spark. Just make sure you follow orders out there. We're heading into a fight that's going to test us all, and we need you at your best."
Ash nodded, his smirk softening into a genuine smile. "I'll keep my head down, Sven. I didn't think anyone would see me as more than a recruit."
Sven's eyes softened, his voice steady.
"You still haven't joined the clover knights."
Their conversation steadied Ash, Sven's faith a quiet anchor.
The night before the march, Elis found him by the stables, polishing his sword under a lantern's glow.
She wore a practical cloak, her braid tucked beneath it, her green eyes bright in the dim light.
"Ash, what you did out there was remarkable," she said, her voice warm and full of pride, stepping closer.
"You faced Blackthorn and proved yourself in a way no one expected. I'm so proud to see how far you've come, even if I had to side with the Captain earlier."
Ash set his sword down, his smile tired but real, the sting of her earlier words softened by her tone.
"Thanks, Elis. I know you had to back him, but it hit hard. I'm the lowest rank now, and one mistake could end this. I'm just trying to get stronger, and I need to know the world at large, this mission felt like a start."
She nodded, her expression firm but kind.
"That's why you're going to Fallow's Ferry—not because of luck, but because you earned it. I've seen how hard you've worked, how you've grown since you arrived, I'm not clear on your goal—or reason? but you're ready for this." She paused, her voice softening.
Ash met her eyes, her words warming him, their bond stronger than ever. "I owe you too much to let you down."
She smiled, a soft, genuine light in her eyes.
"I'm holding you to that. Stay sharp, don't let Blackthorn's sternness shake you. You've already proven you're more than he expected."
He chuckled, the tension easing. "Yeah, let's hope I don't have to prove it again."
At dawn, the small force gathered at the gate—twenty knights, led by Blackthorn, Finn, Lyra, Borin, and Sven. Ash stood at the back, the lowest of them, his heart pounding with fear and determination.
The road to Fallow's Ferry stretched ahead, hiding a nightmare none of them could yet imagine.