The training ground lay beyond the outer stone ring of the castle, where the earth had long forgotten what softness was.
Dust clung to the air, churned endlessly by boots and blades.
The ground was scarred with old footprints, shallow trenches, and the dark stains of sweat and blood that no rain ever quite washed away. This place did not welcome the weak. It devoured them.
Levi stepped onto the field without announcement.
Sixty men stood lined before him.
Too straight. Too stiff. Too eager.
Useless.
Ryker halted half a step behind him, posture formal now that others were present, his expression carefully blank. Within the castle walls, within sight of men who still feared titles, the distance was necessary. Expected.
Levi's gaze swept over the recruits slowly, deliberately, like a blade drawn inch by inch from its sheath.
They shifted.
Not all—but enough.
A tightening of shoulders. A swallowed breath. Eyes lowering without permission.
Levi felt the familiar curl of irritation settle in his chest.
"Sixty," he said at last, his voice calm, low. It carried without effort. "Is this all?"
The commander overseeing the ground stiffened. He was a seasoned man—scarred, broad-shouldered, disciplined—but even he felt the weight of that gaze. He stepped forward, bowing just enough to show respect without humiliation.
"Your Highness," the commander said evenly, though his pulse betrayed him. "These are the only men brave enough to answer your call."
Levi did not look at him.
"These?" he repeated softly.
The commander hesitated. "At least give them a chance to prove themselves."
Silence followed.
Then Levi turned—slightly—and gestured once.
Ryker understood immediately.
He stepped forward, boots crunching against the dirt, eyes sharp now, no longer merely a guard but a soldier among soldiers.
"Their stance is wrong," Ryker began, voice firm. "Half of them are locking their knees. They'll collapse before the first hour under armor."
He paced slowly along the line.
"Too much tension in the shoulders. They waste strength standing still." He stopped in front of one man. "You."
The recruit flinched.
"You lower your gaze when addressed." Ryker's eyes were cold. "Do that on the battlefield, and you won't live long enough to regret it."
He moved again.
"Poor balance. Sloppy grip. Hands too soft." A pause. "That tells me you've never held a blade long enough for it to hurt."
Murmurs stirred—fearful, restrained.
Ryker stopped and turned back to Levi.
"They fear you," he said plainly. "And fear makes men hesitate."
Levi's lips curved—not in amusement, but in something sharper.
"Fear is acceptable," Levi said. "Weakness is not."
He stepped forward at last, closing the distance between himself and the line of men. The air shifted. Several recruits swallowed hard.
"You came here believing bravery was enough," Levi continued. "It is not."
Dust hung low over the training ground, thick and restless.
Levi stood unmoving before the sixty recruits, his presence alone enough to fracture their resolve. Ryker finished his assessment and stepped back into place, silence falling like a drawn blade.
Levi exhaled slowly.
"Dismiss them."
The word struck harder than steel.
The commander stiffened. "Your Highness—"
"They are not soldiers," Levi continued calmly. "They are men who mistook courage for worth."
A murmur rippled through the line. Fear bloomed openly now.
The commander swallowed, choosing his next words with care. "Then let them prove otherwise."
Levi finally turned his head.
"Prove?" he echoed, quiet enough to be dangerous.
"They came knowing your reputation," the commander pressed. "Knowing the risk. Give them one chance."
Silence stretched.
Then Levi stepped forward.
"One," he agreed. "Very well."
Relief flashed too quickly—then died.
"I will spar them," Levi said. "One by one."
The air froze.
"Any man who lasts without sustaining injuries sufficient to kill him may remain."
Ryker's jaw tightened. The commander's blood ran cold.
That was not a test.
That was a sentence.
But Levi was already unfastening his cloak, letting it fall into the dust.
"There will be no healers," he added. "No mercy. Begin."
There was no stopping him now. Once Levi's taste for blood surfaced, it demanded satisfaction.
The first recruit stepped forward.
He did not last thirty seconds.
Steel flashed. Bone cracked. The man collapsed screaming.
The second fared no better.
Nor the third.
Minutes bled together.
Men fell hard—some dragged away, others left crawling in the dirt, clutching shattered arms and torn flesh, breath rattling in their chests. The ground became a tapestry of agony.
Levi moved through them like a storm given form—precise, relentless, untouched.
Not even ten minutes had passed before only ten remained standing.
Bodies lined both sides of the court.
Levi halted, chest barely rising, blade dripping.
"They're not even trying," he said flatly. "How pathetic."
He moved again.
Nine more fell.
None rose.
Levi stopped and gestured once toward the commander.
The meaning was understood immediately.
"Take them," the commander ordered hoarsely. "They live—for now."
They were lucky. Nothing more.
Only one remained.
He was younger than the others. Narrower. Bloodied already.
Levi approached him.
The recruit raised his blade.
Levi struck.
The boy dodged.
The training ground froze.
Gasps broke the silence.
Levi's eyes flickered—not with surprise, but interest.
He attacked again.
This time, he made sure steel bit flesh.
Blood bloomed across the boy's side.
The recruit staggered—but did not retreat.
Every attack he made was desperate, wild, ineffective. None landed.
Still, he pressed forward.
His breathing turned ragged. His vision blurred.
Then—
A flash.
A line of pain kissed Levi's right cheek.
Silence shattered.
Blood traced slowly down his skin.
Celebration dared to rise—
—and died instantly.
Levi moved faster than sight.
He seized the recruit, drove a knee into his torso with brutal precision.
The boy coughed violently, blood spraying from his mouth as Levi released him and sent him flying across the ground.
He hit hard.
Did not rise.
Levi followed—slow, deliberate.
The recruit dragged himself to his knees, head lifting with effort that bordered on madness.
Levi stopped before him.
"Not bad," he said.
The words landed heavier than praise.
"What's your name?"
The boy struggled to steady himself. "Lucas… Theophilus."
Levi studied him for a long moment.
Then—unexpectedly—he nodded.
"Welcome to my army," Levi said. "Beginner."
Lucas collapsed unconscious at his feet.
Levi turned away, blood still trailing down his cheek.
"Ryker," he said calmly. "See that he lives."
Ryker inclined his head. "Yes, my prince."
Behind them, the training ground lay silent—littered with broken men and one survivor.