As Blackwood Fortress shifted into full war readiness, the eastern training grounds transformed into a crucible where its deadliest weapon was forged.
Nestled beside dense woodland, the Wolf Guards' training field came alive each day before dawn. While the horizon still struggled to shake off the night, thirteen figures were already in motion—Colin's most elite unit, honed with relentless precision and expectation.
They were not merely soldiers. They were the blade meant to pierce the enemy's heart.
Mist clung low over the ground, damp and cold.
"Move!" Hask's roar shattered the silence like thunder.
Mounted atop a Snow Giant Wolf, whip coiled in his grip, he drove them forward without mercy.
At once, thirteen white beasts surged ahead—silent one moment, explosive the next—charging like arrows loosed from a drawn bow.
First Trial: Precision at Full Speed
Fifty paces ahead, wooden targets swayed erratically, each marked with a red bullseye no larger than a fist.
Grayclaw leaned low over his mount, muscles locked tight as the wolf bounded across uneven terrain. Each landing jolted his body, threatening to throw him off balance.
Wind tore past his ears.
The world blurred—targets shifting, distance collapsing.
He inhaled sharply.
For a fleeting instant—just as the wolf landed—everything steadied.
Click.
A bolt flew.
It struck true—but not true enough.
The shot grazed the edge of the mark.
The crack of Hask's whip split the air beside his face.
"Too wide!" Hask barked. "That's armor, not a kill!"
Grayclaw didn't protest. His jaw tightened, eyes hardening as he raised the crossbow again.
There were no excuses here—only perfection.
Second Trial: Combat as One
Training shifted without pause.
Wooden posts, clad in worn armor and shields, stood like silent enemies.
Goff's voice cut through the dust.
"Your mount isn't beneath you—it's part of you."
A wolf lunged.
Claws struck first, smashing into the shield with explosive force.
A heartbeat later, the rider moved.
His blade flashed—cutting through the exposed gap.
"Too early," Goff said calmly. "Wait for the opening your wolf creates."
Elsewhere, riders struggled against chaos—wolves pivoting sharply, halting abruptly, shifting direction without warning. Sandbags swung wildly, forcing constant adjustment.
Balance. Timing. Trust.
Every motion demanded unity.
Rider and wolf weren't partners anymore.
They were becoming one.
Final Trial: Silence and Death
Night fell.
The forest swallowed sound.
Under silver moonlight, thirteen wolves moved like ghosts, their padded steps making no noise on the leaf-strewn ground.
Ahead, Goff had laid subtle traps—branches and vines designed to betray even the slightest misstep.
Time stretched.
Stillness deepened.
Then—
A bush exploded.
A white blur tore through the clearing.
A wolf leapt.
Its rider fired mid-motion.
Three bolts struck in perfect formation—head and chest.
Before the echoes faded, the forest erupted.
From every direction, white shadows surged forward, converging with lethal precision.
It was over in moments.
Clean. Violent. Absolute.
Goff nodded once.
"Better," he said. Then, colder: "But too slow. Seven breaths. Next time—five."
Hask pushed their bodies beyond breaking with fire and fury.
Goff refined them with cold, surgical precision.
One forged endurance.
The other shaped death.
Together, they turned thirteen warriors into something else entirely.
High above, on a wind-swept tower, Colin watched in silence.
His gaze followed every movement—the charges, the strikes, the silent kills.
He wasn't just observing training.
He was watching the edge of his future being sharpened.
What stood below wasn't merely a unit.
It was the blade that would decide the war.