"Lion, how many times have you acted on your own now?"
In the winter forest, the cold wind whipped fine snowflakes through the trees.
Caelan stood in a snow-covered clearing, looking at the upright youth, a hint of helplessness in his voice.
Luther stood nearby, his black power armour still stained with Great Beast blood, looking somewhat embarrassed.
He had also tried to dissuade Lion from venturing deep into the forest alone, but each time he ended up being persuaded by Lion to desert his post together.
"Do you remember how many slices of bread you've eaten so far?"
"I remember that during my five years on Terra, I didn't eat a single slice of bread. I still haven't managed to eat bread on Holy Terra."
"Then when I return to the Imperium, I'll treat you?"
"Deal. But we seem to be getting off track. Do you know how the other knights see you?"
The snow turned the youth's blonde hair white, but couldn't hide his piercing eyes. "How they see me is irrelevant. I don't care. Because I know the people will greet us like heroes when we return."
The people genuinely supported the Order, because it gave them protection, because it recruited knights from commoners, breaking the monopoly of hereditary nobility, and because the Order was a hundred times more noble than other lords.
But compared to Lion, even the beloved Order seemed to pale in comparison.
Lion had granted the people no favours, yet praise for him was widespread.
Simply because he went out to hunt Great Beasts every day, proving with action that his vow to eradicate them wasn't empty talk.
To date, he had killed no less than a thousand Great Beasts, maybe eight hundred.
Many teeth couldn't be brought back due to Luther's limited carrying capacity, so the total wasn't fully recorded.
The actual number killed by Lion was more than double the recorded number.
The people were simple.
Weren't they the reason Lion risked his life to hunt Great Beasts?
Thanks to his persistent hunting, the Great Beasts on the forest's outskirts had been completely cleared.
Even the beast-tide expected in two years had been postponed by at least five years.
Though there was still debate within the Order about the strategy of exterminating Great Beasts, public support for Lion had never wavered.
The war between humans and Great Beasts had raged on Caliban for millennia. Each beast-tide claimed countless lives, turning hard-won homes into rubble.
The people had suffered under the Great Beasts for too long!
So why couldn't they be exterminated?
The people could act on simple emotions. But the Order had many more considerations.
If all Calibanites united, making Great Beast extermination the top priority, the Order would naturally lead the charge.
But expecting the Order to single-handedly fight Caliban's Great Beasts, even the most radical knight would have to think twice.
It wasn't that they didn't want to exterminate the Great Beasts, or that they were unwilling to protect the people.
The Order had only a few hundred knights. Each beast-tide claimed dozens of their lives in heroic sacrifice.
They knew that culling Great Beasts could delay the beast-tides. But no one could make the decision.
Because every second they fought Great Beasts drained their resources and weakened their strength.
They would kill thousands of Great Beasts, but many knights would also die in the process.
They were knights. They would face death bravely, resolutely.
But after the Order exhausted itself culling Great Beasts and delaying the beast-tide, the other orders, having used the time to build up their strength, would descend like vultures on the weakened Order.
They wouldn't thank the Order for buying Calibanites a reprieve. Instead, they would seize the opportunity to attack, catching the Order weakened and depleted of resources.
This wasn't an excuse. It had happened decades ago.
The Order was newly founded then. The knights were passionate and proud, unwilling to be complicit with the nobles, and vowed to exterminate the Great Beasts.
But when they were badly hurt culling Great Beasts, the Crimson Saint Order struck.
The Order exterminated Great Beasts. The Crimson Saint Order exterminated dissent.
All because the Order had done what other orders dared not: truly fighting for Caliban's future.
The people mourned their sacrifice. The nobles secretly plotted to eliminate those who threatened tradition.
Though the battle decades ago ended in the Order's complete victory, and they grew stronger with popular support, their philosophy had somewhat changed.
They remained Caliban's most radical order, maintaining the tradition of recruiting from commoners. But they no longer rushed to exterminate the Great Beasts.
Otherwise, while the Order culled Great Beasts, the other orders would be sharpening their knives, ready to carve up their territory.
Even a righteous Order wouldn't willingly let its efforts benefit others.
Lion could understand the Order's concerns. That was why he never pressured them to cooperate.
He was just doing what he had to do.
If the Order wanted to help, fine. If not, he wouldn't force them.
"Father, you didn't come all this way just for these trivial matters."
He knew Caelan too well.
His adoptive father never criticised him harshly, nor denied his resolve. What had come before was just their usual banter.
"I didn't come for you. I came for Luther."
"Me?"
Luther, who had been listening in, was taken aback.
Caelan said, "You've been out of contact for a week. Your wife is worried sick. She asked me to find you."
Luther felt even more embarrassed. Had it really been that long?
Lion sheathed his sword. "Then let's go back. This hunt has been fruitful enough."
That was his standard: at least one Great Beast per day.
But he couldn't spend all his time in the forest, so he often completed several days' or even weeks' worth of hunting in one go.
But since the Great Beasts on the forest's outskirts had vanished, he had to go deeper, which was why they had stayed so long.
Luther carried a large bag of Great Beast fangs. That was his main job.
He also hunted lone Great Beasts, but neither the quantity nor quality could compare to Lion's.
But he had long stopped comparing himself to Lion. Otherwise, he would do nothing but be jealous all day.
Lion's growth rate also exceeded Luther's expectations, shocking him profoundly.
Three years ago, eight-year-old Lion had still been a child.
In just three years, he had grown to over two metres, surpassing many of the Order's knights.
But even though he was still a child, no one in the Order dared to underestimate him.
When Lion hunted Great Beasts, he often gleefully twisted off their heads with his bare hands.
Anyone who dared to be rude to him was probably looking to "stand out."
Lion and Luther had spent a week in the forest, but most of that time was spent tracking Great Beasts.
They reached the outpost on the territory's edge just before dusk, retrieved their horses, and rode hard for Aldurukh.
Snow fell silently, blanketing the forest. The horses' hooves left deep tracks behind them.
When they finally passed through the forest's cover, a towering fortress abruptly appeared on the horizon.
Flags bearing the emblem of a winged, downward-pointing sword lined its black walls.
Over two hundred thinly clothed children stood barefoot in the snow outside the gates, their frozen toes deep in the snow.
"Open the gates! The Son of the Forest is back, and he's laden with trophies again!" shouted a guard on the wall.
The gates slowly opened on creaking hinges. The children's gazes all focused on the youth on horseback.
Their clear eyes burned with fervent admiration, as if gazing upon a living legend.
Caelan asked, "Is today the trial day?"
The guard nodded, "Children have come from all over."
In other orders, noble children were born knights. Knighthood was hereditary.
Though the Order recruited from commoners, that meant stricter selection standards.
To join the Order, candidates had to endure a harsh trial outside the fortress gates.
When the first snow of winter fell, children from across Caliban who aspired to join the Order had to reach Aldurukh's gates within a day.
The trial began at dusk and lasted until the next dawn.
Through the long winter night, they had to remain standing. They couldn't move their feet, sit, lean, eat, drink, or sleep. They also had to surrender their coats and boots.
The difficulty of the trial also depended on luck.
Because the snowfall varied each year.
The severity of the trial changed with the amount of snow.
This year's snow only reached their ankles. In previous years, it had reached their knees.
But even so, the biting wind and cold tested the children's will.
Caelan said, "Same as usual."
The guard understood immediately. He lowered his voice. "Understood. I'll deliver the goods under cover of darkness."
Every year, hundreds of children took the trial. Fewer than one in ten passed.
These children were the Order's new blood. Only half of those would become knights.
The failures would lose their only chance.
Caelan respected the Order's selection process and wouldn't interfere with the trial.
Those who failed couldn't join the Order. But Caelan would give them a second chance.
They could come to school.
Many children would agree. At least they could stay in Aldurukh.
If they learned well, they could contribute to the Order. They might even have a chance to join as support staff in the future.
The Order wouldn't accept failures. But in Caelan's eyes, these children were superhuman.
For M3-era mortals, adults or children, standing barefoot in the freezing snow all night would only lead to death, or worse.
For Calibanites, the trial was a test of willpower.
But for M3 mortals, it was a test of life itself.
The gene-evolution of the Golden Age may have turned many into mutants, but it also generally strengthened human genes and lifespans.
Even a Hive World worker's average lifespan was only thirty. But if an M3 mortal worked twenty hours a day like them, sleeping only four hours, they would likely die within a year.
But Hive workers more often died from diseases caused by the long-term torment of intense labour and harsh environments.
Considering the Golden Age likely had its own class discrimination, gene-mods for the lower classes would certainly be inferior to those of the upper rulers.
For example, rulers got comprehensive gene-optimisation, while the lower classes were given "beast of burden" genes.
But this widespread gene-enhancement of 30K completely bypassed Caelan. He wasn't a native.
His physical condition was far inferior to 30K mortals.
Though he often complained about his five years on Terra, at least Terra under the Emperor's rule had some humanitarian spirit.
Terra's workers only had to work sixteen hours a day. Otherwise, he would have died long ago.
"Brother Caelan!"
Leona, her hair in pigtails, bounded over like a happy fawn and wrapped her arms around his leg.
Luther scolded her, "Mind your manners, Leona! Call him Uncle!"
Leona looked up, her eyes rolling. Her little mouth pouted, on the verge of tears.
Luther quickly knelt down, holding her, and whispered soothingly, "There, there. You're three years old now. You can't cry at the drop of a hat."
Leona blinked and seized the opportunity. "Then I want an apple candy!"
Luther frowned. "What's so good about that stuff? All that sugar will give you cavities!"
Leona pouted, tears already welling up.
"Mom!"
Luther quickly covered her mouth. "Okay, okay, I'll buy it!"
The grown-up Nina stood quietly by the door, as always taking Caelan's coat.
She stood on tiptoe, carefully hanging it on the oak coat rack.
Luther finally managed to calm Leona down. She smiled through her tears and ran off again.
Luther shook his head helplessly. "Girls are so much trouble."
Though he seemed to complain, his tone was full of undisguised affection.
"Boys aren't easy to raise either. I think daughters are better behaved than sons."
Luther was taken aback, then laughed. "You've never raised a daughter. How would you know?"
"I have. More than one. Philly, Everain, and Mila. They were all good."
Caelan's rich life experience surprised Luther. But remembering Caelan's mysterious origins, he swallowed his questions.
Luther asked, "You're also just twenty-one this year, aren't you?"
"No, I'm eighteen."
Luther was speechless. 'Three years ago you were eighteen. Three years later, you're still eighteen.'
He was now convinced Caelan was much older than he looked.
But even though Caelan was older, Luther looked older than Caelan and was often teased by his wife for it.
In that moment, Luther felt the full weight of life's inequality.
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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