Chapter 11 – The Trial of Steel
The morning broke pale and bitter. Frost clung to the stone walls of the Arvel estate, and the air carried the sharp scent of steel and sweat.
Auron followed the guard in silence, his boots crunching over the frozen ground as they entered the training yard.
The yard was alive. Dozens of knights sparred in marked rings, their swords clashing with each other like thunder.
Instructors barked orders, the bite of their voices cutting sharper than the blades.
Wooden dummies riddled with scars leaned half-broken against weapon racks, and steam rose from the backs of warhorses tethered nearby.
It wasn't the kind of training Auron had known. No crude drills, no mercenary brawls for scraps of coin. This was an army being forged on the anvil of discipline.
The clamor quieted when he stepped inside. Heads turned. Whispers rippled through the yard.
"That's the boy."
"The one who fought beside young Lord Lucian."
"He reeks of blood. Not normal blood, either."
Auron ignored them. His eyes had already fixed on the man striding toward him from the far end of the yard.
Sir Roland Valebrant. greatest sword of north
Knight-Commander of House Arvel. His presence was heavy, the kind that drew silence without needing to command it.
His armor was battered, his shoulders wide as a warhorse, and the scar across his jaw looked like someone had tried to carve his head in half and failed. He walked with a calm that was more terrifying than fury.
The knights straightened instinctively as he passed.
Roland stopped a few paces from Auron, planting the tip of his greatsword into the frozen dirt. The blade was taller than Auron himself, its edge pitted and nicked from battles long past, but no less lethal for its age.
"This is the one?" Roland's voice carried across the yard like rolling stone.
A knight saluted. "Yes, Commander. Vice-Lord's orders."
Roland studied Auron, eyes gray as storm clouds. "Small. Malnourished. But the eyes… not a child's." He tilted his head slightly. "You fought off beast men and fallen knight. You bear no name, no crest, yet you stand here. Why?"
"Because I survived," Auron said simply. His throat was dry, but his voice didn't shake.
Roland's lip twitched, half scorn, half amusement. "Survival alone does not earn you a place at House Arvel's table. You'll prove yourself. Here. Now."
He lifted the greatsword and set it against his shoulder with effortless strength.
"You will endure five strikes. If you fall before the fifth, you leave in pieces. If you stand… perhaps you are worth sharpening."
A murmur rippled among the knights. Five strikes from him was not a trial; it was a death sentence. Roland was a 3 star knight but his fire power was equivalent to a 4 star knight
Auron clenched his fists. The bracelet under his sleeve pulsed faintly, almost as if it heard the challenge. He met Roland's gaze and gave a single nod. "I'll endure."
The Commander's eyes narrowed. "We'll see."
First Strike
Roland moved without warning. One moment still as a statue, the next, his sword came crashing down in a brutal vertical arc.
The ground shuddered when the blade hit. Snow and dirt exploded skyward.
Auron had thrown himself sideways at the last instant, rolling across the frozen earth. His ribs rattled from the force of the impact even though the blade had missed him.
The crater left behind steamed faintly, the sheer pressure of the strike heating the frozen ground.
"One," Roland said flatly.
Auron staggered to his feet, chest heaving. His heart screamed at him to run, but he forced his legs to lock in place.
Second Strike
This time Roland twisted, the sword sweeping horizontally like a scythe. The air shrieked as the edge cut through it.
Auron ducked, the blade slicing above his head close enough to shear a few strands of hair. He rolled again, snow grinding into his wounds.
The shockwave alone knocked him sprawling. His ears rang, his vision blurred.
"Two." Roland's voice was colder now. "Your body moves on instinct. You've never been taught."
Auron gritted his teeth, forcing himself upright. His hands were shaking, but his eyes never left Roland's.
third strike
Roland lunged, his greatsword thrust like a spear. It came so fast it blurred.
There was no room to dodge. Panic flared.
Auron raised his forearm desperately. The bracelet caught the blow.
The impact screamed like steel against steel. Sparks burst. For an instant, golden light erupted from the bracelet, hurling Roland's sword an inch aside.
The shock threw Auron off his feet. He skidded across the dirt, arm throbbing as if it had shattered.
The yard fell silent. Whispers hissed among the knights.
"What was that light?" "Impossible… how did he block it?"
Roland's eyes narrowed, a predator scenting new prey. "Interesting."
Auron clenched his arm, hiding the faint glow beneath his sleeve. His breath came ragged. Three.
Fourth Strike
The Commander's aura changed. His presence pressed down like an avalanche, each breath harder to draw. Knights shifted uneasily at the edge of the ring, sweat beading on their brows.
Roland raised his sword slowly this time, deliberate, as if granting no mercy.
The blade came down.
Auron tried to dodge, but he was too slow. The sword's edge grazed his shoulder, ripping through cloth and flesh. Heat flared, then the cold air bit into the wound. Blood splattered across the snow.
He gasped, staggered, but forced his legs to stay firm. His vision swam. The pain was sharp, but he welcomed it - proof that he was still alive.
Roland gave no praise, only the count. "Four."
Fifth Strike
The yard fell deathly still. Even the wind seemed to hush.
Roland lifted the blade high. His aura flared, suffocating, crushing Auron's chest like iron bands. The greatsword gleamed in the pale light, heavy as judgment.
"This is the last," Roland said, voice calm. "Survive this… and you may stand in my Lord's halls."
The sword fell.
Auron's veins burned with fire. Something inside him roared . His vision sharpened until he saw the tiniest shifts in Roland's stance, the minute hitch in his shoulders, the exact line of the descending strike.
Instead of dodging, Auron stepped in.
He slammed his palm against the flat of the blade and twisted with his whole body. Agony tore through his arm, bones screaming, but the sword's path veered, skidding past his ribs instead of splitting him in two.
The force hurled him across the ground. He rolled, coughing blood, but came up on one knee. His arms hung limp, trembling. His chest heaved, each breath a knife. But he was alive.
Silence gripped the yard.
Roland lowered his sword. His gray eyes lingered on Auron for a long moment. Then, with the faintest nod, he said:
"You endure."
The knights erupted into whispers again, some awe, some disbelief.
Roland turned his back on Auron without another word, striding toward the hall. His voice carried as he passed the watching men: "Mark him. This one will either die young… or change history"
Later
Inside the shadowed chamber of the estate, Vice-Lord Adonai Arvel listened as Roland reported.
"He is slightly trained. He is not disciplined. But his body is iron, his spirit untamed fire," Roland said, voice low. "If honed, he will become a weapon sharper than dwarf steel."
Adonai steepled his fingers. "A blade fit for war."
Roland's scarred face betrayed nothing. "A beast. And beasts make excellent hounds… if the leash holds."
That evening, Lucian found Auron outside the barracks, sitting in the snow, his bandages already stained red.
"You survived five strikes from Roland," Lucian said softly, awe in his voice. "No one at your age could survive five."
Auron didn't answer. His eyes stared into the snow, hollow, thoughts buried too deep.
For the first time, he had witnessed the strength of true knight - not a fallen one, but a true knight