In a quiet corner of the servants' quarters, the cold morning sunlight filtered through the window of Arian's room. The young maid, Martha, stood behind him, adjusting the collar of his rough training shirt.
As she ran her hands over his shoulders to tighten the leather belt, her fingers paused for a moment, and her eyes widened in hidden shock. The frail and weak body she had cared for over the years was no longer there. Beneath that shirt lay solid, sculpted muscles, taut as a bowstring ready to fire. They were not massive, but they were ruthlessly chiseled in a way completely unfitting for a nine-year-old child. Martha swallowed hard, secretly wondering what kind of hell this boy went through daily to achieve such a result in this short period of time.
"Martha."
Arian's calm, cold voice snapped her out of her daze. She turned to him quickly, only to find his black eyes piercing through her.
"Why do the Lord's wives harbor such blind hatred for me? It goes beyond me merely being the son of a maid. There is a personal malice in their eyes," Arian asked directly, in a tone that accepted no evasion.
Martha trembled and took a step back, nervously wringing her hands. Silence hung over the room for a few seconds before Arian spoke in a voice carrying a terrifying reassurance: "Speak. I assure you, no one in this castle has the power to harm you as long as I am here."
The maid sighed deeply, looking left and right as if the walls had ears, then leaned in and whispered in a trembling voice:
"I do not have many details, Young Master... I was young at the time. But what I do know well is that they did not hate you at first; they vehemently despised your late mother... For a reason unknown to everyone, your mother was not just a passing maid to Lord Maegor. She possessed something... something that made them feel an absolute threat to their positions."
Arian narrowed his eyes slightly. The mind of the Supreme Commander within him began connecting the threads. It wasn't mere women's jealousy; there was a mystery surrounding his mother, and perhaps this was the true reason behind Lady Morgana's continuous attempts to get rid of him with poison.
"Interesting," Arian whispered coldly, then turned and left the room with steady steps, leaving Martha staring at his back in awe.
At the peak of the eastern tower, inside the spacious office of Lord Maegor Oswald, the atmosphere was fraught with tension.
The "Right Hand" and financial counselor of the castle stood before the Lord's massive wooden desk. He placed a thick report on the table and spoke in a tone laden with exhaustion:
"My Lord, I have reviewed the treasury following the departure of the royal procession. The budget drained in preparing the tea parties, the lavish banquets, and hosting the Royal Guard knights... was disastrous. Had His Majesty decided to stay for a single additional day, we would have declared the province bankrupt for this season."
Lord Maegor stood facing the large glass window overlooking the castle's main courtyard, his hands clasped behind his back. He showed no signs of shock.
"A steep price... but necessary to maintain our image before the Crown," Maegor replied coldly.
The counselor fell silent for a moment, then asked in bewilderment: "If the treasury is suffering so, why did you order me to announce the open recruitment for the Aura Knights? Equipping hundreds of new recruits will cost us a massive fortune that we cannot afford right now."
Lord Maegor turned slowly, his eyes gleaming with a dark, dangerous glint:
"You are looking at golden coins, while I am looking at the blood that will soon be spilled. King Aldous did not come to the North for a hunt. The stench of war wafts from the Capital. The neighboring kingdoms are mobilizing... and we need soldiers, knights, monsters who know no mercy. Prepare for the worst."
In the grand courtyard at the center of Northgard, the scene resembled a raging sea of humanity.
More than a thousand individuals had gathered from all corners of the province and even beyond, answering the call of recruitment. The courtyard was buzzing with stifling noise, and the smell of sweat, cheap leather, and rusted iron filled the air. There were simple peasants carrying wooden axes, coveting a knight's salary, foreign mercenaries with scar-riddled faces, and seasoned warriors wielding heavy weapons.
And amidst this massive sea of humanity, Arian stood in silence. With his small body, no older than nine, he looked like a drop of water in the middle of a storm. Some of the surrounding mercenaries looked at him and smiled mockingly, believing him to be a merely lost child, but Arian didn't even bother to blink.
Suddenly, the ground trembled beneath their feet.
*CLANG!*
A terrifying metallic clash silenced the thousands in a single second. On the elevated stone platform stood the Captain of the Knights, Sir Gared, having struck his great blade against the rocky floor. He stood proudly, his black armor absorbing the sunlight, his hawk-like gaze sweeping over the crowds below.
"Listen to me well, you scum!" Gared roared in a gruff voice that echoed in every inch of the courtyard. "You are here thirsting for glory, and the title of 'Aura Knight'. But this title is not given to the weak, nor is it granted to beggars. Today, we will not test your sword skills, nor will we test your speed..."
Whispers began to rise among the crowd. A peasant whispered to a mercenary: "If it's not fighting with a sword, then what is the test?"
Sir Gared smiled a cruel smile that bared his teeth, and continued in a low yet audible voice for everyone to hear:
"The test is... survival."
The moment he uttered the final word, the courtyard erupted.
It was not a physical explosion, but an invisible one. Sir Gared's terrifying aura overwhelmed the area all at once. The pressure was immense, as if a mountain of ice had suddenly dropped onto the shoulders of the thousands of people. The air became heavy, viscous, and suffocating to the point of preventing breathing.
"Those who cannot withstand the aura of their opponent do not even deserve to wield a sword!" Gared shouted amidst the invisible storm.
*THUD! THUD! THUD!*
The peasants and ordinary citizens began to fall like autumn leaves. Their eyes rolled back, and white foam escaped their mouths as they lost consciousness completely the moment the aura touched their bodies. In less than ten seconds, over 600 people had fallen to the ground, motionless.
About 400 people remained, staggering. The mercenaries were biting their lips until they bled, and the warriors leaned on their swords to keep themselves from falling.
Amidst this psychological and physical hell, there was one person standing tall, his hands relaxed by his sides. Arian.
For the one who was the "Supreme Commander," who had faced Demon Kings and lived on the battlefields of annihilation, Sir Gared's aura was... merely a gentle summer breeze.
Sir Gared noticed this child standing with absolute steadiness. His smile widened, and he decided to raise the stakes.
Gared doubled the pressure to a brutal level. The air began to distort.
*CRACK!* The sound of men's wills shattering echoed in the courtyard. The remaining men collapsed. They tumbled one after the other, gasping as if they were drowning, until only 100 people were left.
Then, Gared increased the pressure for a third time, bearing down with all his might as the Captain of the Knights.
At this point, not even the fiercest mercenaries could hold on. The warriors who had survived past wars, and the hired assassins, all fell to their knees with pale faces, trembling with instinctual fear, unable to lift their heads from the ground. Only 50 people remained conscious, but they were all kneeling, humbled before this overwhelming power.
All of them... except one.
Absolute silence enveloped the courtyard. The ragged breaths of the kneeling warriors were the only audible sound, as their eyes widened in shock and disbelief, stealing glances from the ground toward that small body.
Arian Oswald, the nine-year-old child, was still standing like an eternal rock. He did not kneel. He did not blink. And his cold features did not change by a single inch; instead, he looked directly into Sir Gared's eyes on the platform, with black eyes that held a deadly void.
Sir Gared halted his aura abruptly. Everyone breathed a heavy sigh of relief, as if they had just returned to life.
Gared laughed roughly, looking straight at Arian, and said with unconcealed admiration: "You truly are interesting, boy."
Then he addressed the fifty men who were still gasping on their knees: "The test is over. You fifty are the only ones who retained consciousness. You are accepted. Tomorrow at dawn... your special training course in the Hell Camp will begin."
As Gared left the platform, the mercenaries and warriors began to rise slowly. Their bodies were trembling, but what trembled more was their shattered pride. Grown men, who had fought and shed blood, were forced to kneel like slaves... while a spoiled noble child remained standing, observing their humiliation.
The gazes of the fifty men shifted toward Arian. They were not looks of admiration; they were fifty pairs of bloodshot eyes, brimming with jealousy, malice, and outright killing intent. This boy had become a symbol of their degradation, and the human beast by nature always seeks to tear apart whoever makes it feel weak.
Arian felt their piercing glares burning him from all sides. He turned to them slowly, sweeping over them with a single cold, emotionless look, as if he were looking at a group of dead ants. Then, he left the courtyard with calm steps.
Sir Gared had been watching the entire scene. He saw how the glares of malice surrounded Arian from every side.
The Captain of the Knights smiled a dark, sly smile, and whispered to himself in the stillness of the wind: "Arian Oswald... you have passed the test with flying colors, and proven that you are a little monster... Let us see what you will do after this."