Chapter 29: The Training Hall
The Training Hall thrummed with raw energy, its steel walls gleaming, air thick with ozone, sweat, and the tang of iron, holographic targets flickering like ghosts in the dim light. The Wall forged us, hope battling exhaustion. A frost-cracked flask sat on a console, ale dripping, a micro-conflict as a squire cursed, wiping it with a scowl. A worn leather strap chafed Elias's shoulder, a chipped quill scratched a scroll, a tattered banner hung limp, a scuffed boot scuffed the floor, and a frayed cord tangled a recruit's foot, a world-in-motion pulse. A new sub-scene unfolded as a recruit tripped over a frayed cord, an Accidental Spill of ale sparking Tormund's roar, "Clumsy whelp, mind your feet!" easing tension with booming laughter.
This is it. This is where we turn them from warriors into something more. This is where we save them, Elias thought, heart pounding, doubt gnawing like hunger. Ser Gregor, face like granite, scoffed, "Magic," eyes glaring at the targets. "I don't need magic to win a war. I need steel. I need strength. I need to feel the blood on my hands."
"It's not magic," Elias replied, a weary smile cracking his lips, voice hoarse. "It's a system. It's science." He gestured to the targets, their glow sharp. "It's a way to make you stronger, faster, smarter. It's a way to win. It's a way to survive." He stepped into the ring, hand on his sword, legs aching. "I'll show you."
He activated the DGS, its light enveloping the console, casting blue shadows. [SYSTEM: ANALYZING SER GREGOR'S MOVEMENT. STRENGTH: HIGH. WEAKNESS: PREDICTABLE.]
[SYSTEM: RECOMMENDING COUNTER-STRIKE. STRIKE AT 75% OF MAX VELOCITY. AIM FOR THE KNEE.]
Elias lunged, parrying Gregor's heavy swings, his sword a shimmering blur, moving with grace , sweat stinging his eyes. Gregor's eyes widened, his blows ponderous, breath heaving. Elias feinted, striking Gregor's knee, sending him crashing down, dust rising. "We train your mind as much as your body," Elias said to a squire, voice earnest, chest tight. "We give you a plan. A strategy. We give you a way to win. We give you a way to survive."
"Your system's true," the squire said, gripping a chipped quill, awe in his trembling voice.
Lords nodded, shock and awe on their faces, a tattered banner fluttering. They trust me, but can I trust myself? Elias thought, pride warring with doubt. A new sub-scene emerged as recruits shared tales of lost homes, bonding over grief, a mini-payoff fueling unity. A scuffed boot sparked a brief argument, resolved by shared ale. The hall hummed, air thick, a console glowing. Edd tripped over a holographic log, landing in virtual snow, Free Folk roaring with laughter, Tormund slapping his back.
[SYSTEM: UNSTABLE ENERGY SIGNATURE DETECTED. LOCATION: RECRUIT EDD. THREAT LEVEL: RISING.]
A spy in our midst, fear spiking like ice. The DGS displayed Edd's erratic stats, a grim paradox. A new sub-scene unfolded as a lord argued over training rotations, Elias's nod silencing them, boosting morale. A worn leather strap snapped, a micro-conflict, quickly mended. The console projected the North, a stark landscape of hope, dusk's chill deepening.
"It's engineering, not magic," Elias said, voice patient, to a marveling lord, wiping sweat from his brow. "It's a way to make you stronger. Faster. Smarter."
"Men don't learn this fast," the lord said, voice awed, clutching a frost-cracked flask. "It's a miracle."
Corax cawed, "Miracle's just sweat with a fancy cloak!" a Witty Retort sparking chuckles, perched on a scuffed boot. Tormund added, "Sweat and a good kick!" tripping over a frayed cord, a Clumsy Misstep drawing roars. I'm a target, my city's a target, Elias thought, a command deck message—a spy—urging vigilance, a hook to betrayal's shadow looming over Aeria.
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