The moment Sir Vance announced that tomorrow would be their final day in this hell, a wave of muffled joy and evident relief washed over the recruits. The men, whose bones were nearly crushed by the mountains of Northgard, finally breathed a sigh of relief, exchanging looks of triumph. They had survived.
Arian alone stood still, staring at Sir Vance with calm, analytical eyes. He knew from his experience as a Supreme Commander that the smile painted on Vance's face boded no good. "A final test that doesn't involve lifting weights?... Then it will be a test of blood," Arian thought coldly as he turned and left the courtyard.
On the way back to the sleeping quarters, Arian was accompanied by Baren. Over the past eight months, the barriers between them had melted away, and Baren's blind respect had transformed into genuine friendship, or rather, the closest thing to comrades-in-arms. Baren no longer addressed him as "Young Master," but called him by his name—something Arian would not have allowed for anyone else, had he not seen in Baren a rare loyalty worthy of an exception.
Baren walked with a light step, a broad smile stretching across his face, silently imagining his bright future. "Imagine, Arian..." Baren said, placing his hands behind his head, "tomorrow we will become official knights of Northgard. I'll get a shining armor, a decent salary... and most importantly, how all the tavern girls and maids will want to keep me company once I wear that cloak."
Arian stopped abruptly, and with a lightning-fast motion that Baren didn't even glimpse, he delivered a light but precise punch to the back of Baren's head.
"Ouch!" Baren cried out, clutching his aching head, and looked at Arian indignantly. "What is wrong with you? This is normal! Are you not a man? Don't you also want beautiful girls to admire you when you grow up a little?"
Arian raised his hand again, threatening him with a deadly coldness mixed with hidden sarcasm: "If your tongue does not fall silent right now, I will redesign your jaw to match the stupidity of your words. Do you think the battlefield will protect you because you smile at girls? Focus on tomorrow; Vance will not hand us the title as a gift."
Baren swallowed hard and rubbed his head, muttering a faint apology, and they continued their way in silence.
By the time they reached the barracks, night was about to cast its veil. Baren lit a small candle, while Arian knelt down and began pulling something heavy from under his wooden bed. It was something he had hidden there throughout the physical training and had never used.
Baren heard the sound of heavy metal scraping against the floor and turned around, asking: "What are you doing?"
Arian pulled out his massive greatsword. Its broad blade gleamed under the weak candlelight, and its hilt was wrapped in rough black leather. Although Arian had turned ten and gained a strong build, the sword still appeared oversized and exaggerated compared to his stature.
Baren looked at the sword with a mixture of mockery and pity: "Come on, Arian... what are you going to do with that piece of iron tomorrow? Are you going to use it as a shield or as a bridge to cross over? Pick a standard sword, something lighter and faster. Everyone knows that speed is what decides a fight; a sword like that will slow your movements and make you an easy target."
Arian gripped the sword's hilt, and with one fluid motion that displayed the strength of his forearms built in the mountains, he hoisted it and rested it on his shoulder. He turned to Baren, a faint smile—almost imperceptible—forming on his lips: "Do you truly believe that speed alone wins a battle?"
Baren answered hesitantly: "I don't know for certain... but that's what all the knights believe."
Arian ran his fingers along the cold blade of his sword, speaking with the tone of an expert who had fought thousands of wars: "Speed grants you the opportunity to strike first... but weight ensures that your strike is the last. A light sword cuts flesh, but a heavy sword crushes bones, armor, and the opponent's will simultaneously."
Arian ignored the look of astonishment on Baren's face, returning the sword to its heavy leather scabbard with a muffled thud, then lay down on his bed, saying quietly: "Go to sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day."
***
The following morning, the remaining elite recruits gathered in the great courtyard. They spoke in whispers, wondering about the nature of the test. "Anything but carrying those cursed weights to the mountaintop again," one of the mercenaries said, rubbing his shoulder.
Suddenly, the iron gates of the courtyard opened, and Sir Vance entered, but he was not alone this time. Walking beside him was Sir Gared, the Captain of the Knights, with his stern demeanor and terrifying presence that they hadn't seen since the day of the first "aura test." Behind them marched a line of veteran knights, clad in their full silver armor, their cloaks fluttering in the wind.
Doubt began to creep back into the recruits' hearts. Why would the Captain of the Knights and elite warriors attend a simple test?
Sir Gared stood before the platform and gave a small smile that didn't reach his eyes: "It has been a long time, you scum. It seems Vance has taken good care of you."
At the exact moment of his words, the veteran knights lined up across the courtyard facing the recruits. The recruits' eyes darted among them in surprise, but Arian's gaze stopped at one individual standing at the end of the knights' line.
It was Valen... the youngest knight, with purple hair and cold features, standing in light armor, his eyes staring blankly with boredom. It was clear he didn't belong physically with these massive knights, but his stance concealed a terrifying aura.
Sir Gared continued in his booming voice: "This is your final step toward knighthood. Your final test. No more training grounds."
An elite knight stepped forward holding a small, palm-sized red flag, and raised it for everyone to see. "We have distributed dozens of these flags throughout the 'Northern Forest'... the Frost Forest. The objective is simple: collect as many of them as possible and return here within the next three days. But you will not go alone."
Gared gestured with his hand toward the line of knights behind him: "You will form pairs with one of these knights. They will assist you throughout this period so you can gain the required field experience from them. The knight will follow the recruit; he will not interfere in your decisions, but he will guide you or fight alongside you if necessary."
The veteran knights began to step forward one by one, standing beside the recruits based on a pre-assigned distribution, with the exception of Valen, who remained standing with his arms crossed, evidently annoyed by the idea of babysitting a novice recruit in the forest.
Sir Gared looked at Valen, smiling, and said in a tone that held a hint of veiled indulgence: "You may choose whom you accompany, Valen."
Valen sighed in clear annoyance and lowered his arms. He walked very slowly, his footsteps making no sound on the dirt ground, like a ghost. He swept the recruits with a quick look, until his eyes stopped at a familiar face. A child one year younger than him, carrying a sword larger than his own size.
Valen stood next to Arian. Arian broke the silence and spoke in his cold tone without turning around: "It's been a long time." Valen did not move a muscle nor utter a word; he settled for a quiet sidelong glance before returning his gaze to the horizon, as if accustomed to the language of silence that existed between them.
Meanwhile, the eyes of the mercenaries and the rest of the recruits watched this duo with interest... and with greed. The youngest knight in the castle, accompanied by the youngest recruit in the camp. To them, this pair looked like the weakest prey.
Sir Gared drew everyone's attention back when he said in a voice carrying a bloody warning:
"One last thing... this test simulates a real battlefield. You can collect the flags from the forest... or you can take them by force from the other competitors. There are no rules preventing combat among you. What is most important is that whoever returns at the end of the third day without possessing a single flag... will not be accepted as a knight, and will be expelled from the camp forever."
The mercenaries smiled maliciously. The test had just transformed from a mere scavenger hunt into an open guerrilla war. And all their eyes were fixed on Arian.
Gared announced the start of the knighthood test.
The recruits dispersed with their knights, and began to charge toward the shadows of the desolate Northern Forest.
As Arian took his first steps among the dense trees that blocked the sunlight, Valen walked right beside him like a phantom. He did not look at him, and merely broke the silence with a few words as cold as frost:
"I will not interfere. Protect yourself."
Arian did not stop walking, nor did he turn to him; rather, he continued on his way with steady steps and replied in a tone no less cold:
"Just stay out of my sword's path."