The next morning, the scent of pine wasn't what filled the air of the Northgard camp. It was the stench of medicinal herbs and stale blood.
In the spacious field clinic, the wooden beds were packed to the brim. Faint groans of pain, the sound of setting bones, and the moans of knights and recruits with crushed limbs created a symphony of defeat and brokenness. Doctors moved among them with pale faces, stunned by the precision of the injuries: shattered knees, broken collarbones, and smashed jaws. These weren't random battle wounds; this was a systematic "dismantling" of an entire military squad.
In the command tent, far from the groans of the wounded, Sir Gared sat behind a wide wooden table. His hands were clasped beneath his chin, and his piercing eyes were fixed on the escort knight, "Sir Mart," who stood before him in a military stance, despite the obvious exhaustion on his face.
"So..." Gared broke the silence with his gruff voice. "You're telling me that a ten-year-old boy, carrying an oversized sword, neutralized dozens of recruits and dropped Sir Allen, an elite knight, from the sky like a rock?"
Sir Mart swallowed hard and nodded slowly, recalling the nightmare. "Sir... words don't do him justice. He wasn't fighting; he was hunting. The precision of his strikes, his absolute coldness amidst the chaos, and that aura... I swear by the old gods, I felt like I was standing before a demonic general, not a recruit. He's a little monster, sir. A merciless monster."
Sir Gared's pupils narrowed. He leaned back against his wooden chair, which creaked under his weight. He didn't look like he disbelieved him; rather, he was analyzing. *"A little monster..."* Gared repeated inwardly. He knew for a fact that Mart wasn't lying; he had felt that terrifying aura himself from outside the forest. Gared nodded for Mart to leave, then stood up to head toward the main courtyard.
***
Outside, the muddy courtyard was preparing for the camp's closing ceremony. Most of the recruits who survived the forest had gathered. Many had their arms wrapped in white bandages or leaned on wooden crutches. Gloom dominated the scene, and eyes looked down at the ground in defeat.
Suddenly, a graveyard silence fell over the courtyard. The whispers stopped, and all eyes fixed on the barracks gate.
Arian walked out with steady, calm steps, keeping a rhythm as regular as a clock's ticking. Baren walked beside him, trying to hide his nervousness. As soon as Arian advanced toward the center of the courtyard, something happened that sent shivers down Sir Vance's spine as he watched from the platform.
Like a flock of sheep making way for a predatory lion, the injured recruits and knights involuntarily backed away. The crowd parted, leaving a wide path for Arian. No one dared to look into his black eyes. They lowered their heads, clearing the way while holding their breath, terrified of provoking his anger again.
Arian walked through this "parted sea" with absolute coldness. He didn't blink, nor did his face show any sign of arrogance. He considered their submission completely normal—just the logical outcome of the law of power.
Sir Gared stepped onto the wooden platform, standing tall in his full armor. He swept the courtyard with a stern look, then called out in a booming voice that echoed through the mountains: "Qualifiers... step forward!"
Gared called Baren first. The young man climbed the wooden steps, his heart nearly leaping from his chest with joy and awe. Baren dropped to one knee before the Captain of the Knights. Gared drew his sword, tapped it lightly on Baren's right shoulder, then his left, reciting the ancient oath of Northgard. Afterward, an assistant stepped forward and draped a pure "White Cloak" over Baren's shoulders. The young man stood up, his eyes shining with tears of pride. He had become a knight, fulfilling his dead father's dream.
"Arian Oswald."
The name echoed in the courtyard like a heavy spell. Arian climbed the platform's steps lightly. There was no gleam of pride or excitement in his eyes. He knelt calmly, keeping his back straight.
From afar, in an isolated corner of the courtyard, Valen stood leaning against a wooden pillar. Her purple eyes stared at Arian in absolute silence. There was no disapproval or admiration in her gaze; it was just pure icy coldness.
Then, the oath was taken, and the white cloak was placed over Arian's shoulders. The scene was majestic and a living contradiction: the bright white color symbolizing purity and knighthood, covering the body of a child possessing a soul darker than winter nights. Arian stood up and turned to face the crowd, his cloak fluttering in the cold wind.
Meanwhile, looks of resentment and despair were evident on the faces of the remaining recruits in the courtyard. According to the test's rules, they had failed.
Sir Gared sighed and raised his hand demanding silence, then shouted in his military voice: "The law of the test is clear! Whoever has no flags is eliminated... But!" He paused slightly to increase the tension, then continued: "There is an exception. This year, by order of the command, I will consider all the recruits who stood their ground in this courtyard... official knights of Northgard!"
Silence reigned for a second before the courtyard erupted with shouts of joy mixed with tears. The recruits who were expecting to be kicked out found that they had finally earned the title. They hugged each other, screamed, and forgot their temporary pains.
On the platform, Sir Vance approached Gared and asked in a low voice meant only for them: "Are you sure about this decision, sir? They are weak, and they didn't bring back a single flag."
Gared looked at the celebrating crowds, then shifted his gaze to Arian, who was indifferently walking down from the platform. He answered Vance calmly: "Lord Maegor needs as many knights as possible to protect the borders. Besides... evaluating the level of these men against the power of this little monster would be unfair. A hurricane passed over their heads, and you can't punish men for failing to stop a hurricane."
***
After the ceremony ended, Arian returned to his temporary tent to gather his few belongings. He owned nothing but his light armor, his greatsword, and some clothes.
Baren entered the tent, a smile never leaving his face, happily smoothing his white cloak. "Arian! We finally did it! Can you believe it?" Baren said enthusiastically. Then he paused and asked: "Where will you go next? Will you stay here to train the new knights?"
Arian closed his leather bag and answered without looking at him: "I'm returning to the castle. I will continue my training there. The courtyards here have nothing left to offer me."
Baren's eyes widened, and he chuckled lightly. "You really are a training maniac! The blood of the test has barely dried, and you're already thinking about training grounds... Alright then. It looks like I'll accompany you as your guard knight. I've gotten used to your gloominess anyway."
Arian didn't comment. He simply tied his bag.
Suddenly, the sunlight was blocked from the tent's entrance. Sir Gared walked in, his massive body forcing him to duck slightly to get through the door.
Gared stopped, looked closely at Arian, and said in his deep voice: "I heard you wiped the floor with several knights and recruits in the forest."
Arian was still organizing his belongings with deadly coldness, not stopping his movements. "They were just amateurs."
"Hmm..." Gared hummed, ignoring Arian's insolence. "I chose recently appointed knights to be escorts; they could be considered roughly on the same level as the recruits. But... for one single trainee to wipe the floor with all of them, that's hard to believe. I was expecting to see arrogance in your eyes, but you act as if you just stepped on an ant."
Arian finished tying his bag and calmly raised his eyes to the Captain of the Knights. "It's up to you to believe what you want, sir, or to deny it. Reality doesn't change based on your opinion."
Arian picked up his bag and was about to leave. Gared gave a faint smile and called out to him: "Wait, boy. Before you go, I have a gift for you."
Gared pulled back a heavy piece of cloth wrapped around something long, revealing it. A greatsword appeared, surpassing Arian's current sword in both quality and intimidation. Its blade was forged from dark Northgard steel, engraved with ancient martial runes that glinted as they caught the light. Its hilt was wrapped in mountain dragon leather, and its crossguard was designed like metallic falcon wings.
"This sword..." Gared said, holding it with one hand despite its immense weight. "I used to fight with it in my youth, before I became a commander. It might suit you."
Arian looked at the sword, noticing its weight and perfect balance with a single glance. "Are you sure about giving me something like this?" Arian asked.
Gared replied as he handed the sword over: "It's fine. Most of the knights I offered it to in the past refused it because they find large swords too heavy and impractical for fast-paced combat. They look for lightness, but I think you're different from them."
Arian gripped the sword's hilt. The moment it settled in his hand, he felt its lethal weight and its center of gravity, perfectly shifted for armor penetration. A hidden smile appeared on Arian's lips—the smile of a warrior who had finally found a tool worthy of his arts. "I'll make sure to put it to good use painting the snow," Arian said.
Arian left the tent with his white cloak and his dark sword. Baren bowed hesitantly and awkwardly to Sir Gared, then quickly ran after Arian.
***
After hours of riding horses through the mountain passes, the Oswald family castle appeared with its towering black walls and towers kissing the clouds.
The horses stopped before the massive iron gate.
There, in the castle's courtyard, the maid "Martha" stood waiting. She wore her usual servant's uniform, her hands nervously clasped together. When she saw Arian dismount from his horse, her eyes bulged.
He was no longer that pale, frail child. He had returned as a knight, wearing a white cloak, with chiseled muscles, a terrifying sword, and a gaze that froze the blood in one's veins. Martha remembered the day he choked and threatened her, and her entire body trembled with pure terror.
She stepped forward with stumbling steps and bowed before him, her voice shaking violently: "It's... it's been a long time, Young Master. Welcome back."
Martha took his belongings with trembling hands, not daring to look up into his eyes.
Arian stood before the gate, slowly raised his head, and looked toward the upper castle where Lady Morgana and Lord Maegor resided. The wind played with his cloak, and his black eyes gleamed with a silent promise.