A day ago, in the Kingdom of Fallhaven, within the royal capital of the same name, a scrawny servant darted through the castle halls, desperately searching for someone.

  He burst into the military commander's office, panting and clutching his chest.

  Behind a burgundy desk sat an old, burly man, hunched over a map, deep in thought.

  “Good gods, Barnacus. Where’s the fire this time?” Commander Pius looked up, recognizing the servant immediately. Barnacus was the personal aide to the King, though the stress of the role had clearly taken its toll.

  He was gaunt, almost skeletal, and streaks of gray had begun to invade his once-dark hair, despite being only in his thirties.

  Before the war, Barnacus had lived a life of comfort, organizing banquets and handling royal staff. But now, in these troubled times, he had become the King’s most trusted courier. Any message of importance had to be delivered by him personally. It was a heavy burden for the poor man.

  “Well? Are you going to spit it out already?” Pius snapped; his already-limited patience was worn thin by the looming threat of war.

  “Forgive me, Commander,” Barnacus wheezed. “I’m looking for Nerva. I’ve searched everywhere.”

  He paused to catch his breath, then continued, “I carry a mission from the King of the utmost importance. The defense of our southern borders is in question.”

  Pius sat up straighter. “Good gods, Barnacus, why didn’t you start with that? I’ve been telling the King that you need to be included in the military training. Your lungs are weaker than a mage's, and your body barely survives delivering royal commands.”

  Pius was worried that the poor man would collapse one of these days.

  Barnacus coughed. “No need, no need. I can manage.”

  “Anyway, yes, Nerva. He’s at the training grounds… training the recruits.” Pius hesitated, visibly uneasy at the mention of Nerva.

  Barnacus paled. “Thank you, sir. I’ll go see if anyone is still in one piece.” He turned and rushed out.

  Pius chuckled nervously, “He means well… pity that doesn’t make him any less terrifying.”

  Nerva’s training methods were infamous. Brutal, relentless, but effective. Those who managed to finish his training regime became elite knights of the realm.

  Though not many did.

  ***

  Barnacus dashed toward the military barracks and continued south, heading for the training grounds.

  He stopped a few times to catch his breath. Maybe I really do need to train my body. He sighed.

  Half an hour later, he neared the grounds.

  The air was filled with the screams of men and the harsh clang of metal on metal.

  Barnacus approached the railing overlooking a ring-shaped training pit carved into the ground.

  Below, twenty men in full infantry armor, wielding swords, shields, spears, and maces, fought a single burly, shirtless man.

  In each hand, he gripped a shield, elongated, kite-shaped, with pointed, sharp ends. The silver borders gleamed, studded with rivets. Bold red stripes intersected by a white cross flashed like war banners as he moved.

  His short blonde hair was soaked with sweat as he danced between the twenty attackers.

  He lunged forward, catching one off guard, and struck with brutal precision, using the pointed ends of his shields like battering rams.

  Each punch was calculated, the metal edges crashing into armor and blades with devastating force. The riveted borders added weight, turning every jab into a concussive blow.

  The other soldiers, seeing this, launched a coordinated counterattack, spears and swords stabbing in unison toward his exposed torso.

  But the man spun with surprising agility for his size.

  He parried the incoming strikes with his shields, then countered with a crushing double punch. One shield slammed into a soldier’s chest, shattering his mana barrier and armor, sending him flying.

  The other hooked around, striking the side of another’s head. The white cross at the center blurred with motion, a symbol of relentless offense.

  He halted just as the soldier screamed in surrender, redirecting the force to bash his face and kick him out of the battleground.

  The man cried out in pain.

  The remaining soldiers lost their composure seeing the unstoppable man.

  Tactics abandoned, they charged in a frenzy, slashing, stabbing, bashing wildly.

  The blonde man smiled, disappointment flickering in his eyes.

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  He began parrying with ease, a whirlwind of silver and color tearing through the chaos.

  Swords flew, spears shattered, and men were hurled through the air, landing outside the fighting zone.

  Cries of pain echoed as bones broke.

  Finally, only two remained: the blonde man and a young knight in full plate armor, wielding a shield and mace.

  The knight looked sturdy, but stood two heads shorter than the shield-wielding fortress before him.

  He approached slowly, his body glowing with bright yellow light.

  A lion’s head emblem on his shield shimmered, forming a golden barrier around him.

  With a roar, he charged, a dash of light blinding the spectators and the blonde man.

  He appeared within striking distance and swung his shining mace, golden waves rippling from the impact.

  The blonde man stacked his shields side by side, forming a solid wall blocking the attack completely, then countered in full force with a shield uppercut that blasted the knight and his shield out of the arena.

  Both crashed into nearby benches, splintering them into pieces.

  The blonde man took a deep breath and bellowed, “Nineteen fail. Lucius passes!”

  He called for medics to tend to the bruised and battered trainees.

  The men groaned and cried as they slowly stood, bowing to him.

  “Sir, thank you for the lesson, sir!”

  The man smiled, grabbed a towel and shirt, and turned to leave.

  “Good heart, men. That’s what I like to see. No fear!”

  “No fear, sir!” they shouted in unison.

  ***

  Barnacus bowed respectfully as the towering figure walked past, wiping sweat from his body with a magical towel that shimmered faintly as it cleaned him.

  “Good day, Sir Nerva. Interesting training method… if not a bit barbaric,” Barnacus remarked, half-joking.

  Nerva threw on a button-down white shirt and smiled at the servant.

  “Barnacus, my friend, you wouldn’t understand the warrior’s heart,” he said, tapping him on the shoulder and leading him into the large building overlooking the training grounds.

  “The point of this exercise is to train the hearts of men, to teach them to fight the fear that grips every soul when facing an overwhelming enemy,” he continued. “If you have warriors who know no fear, who can make quick decisions in the chaos of battle… then you have true fighters. And if you add mana and skill on top of that?” He paused, eyes gleaming.

  “Imagine the possibilities.”

  “Hm. I see,” Barnacus nodded. “I understand. Hopefully, they survive the training.”

  Nerva chuckled as he sat down in his office, and Barnacus quietly closed the door behind them.

  “Now you can speak. What does Theodor want?” Nerva asked casually, perhaps the only man in Fallhaven who could refer to the King by his first name.

  Nerva Bellator, of the Bellator family, the shields of the kingdom.

  He was the same age as King Theodor. They had grown up together, studied at the same academies, and adventured across the Sacra side by side.

  When Theodor was forced to return and inherit the throne, Nerva came with him, determined to protect their homeland together.

  One was known as the ultimate sword, the other as the strongest shield. Together, they had kept the kingdom undefeated for decades.

  If Theodor could trust anyone, it was Nerva, his brother by choice.

  Barnacus stepped forward. “His Majesty has an urgent mission. He needs you to gather men you trust and head south. The dragon has left its lair, and hordes of beasts are attacking our borders, and villages are being destroyed.”

  “The King believes something is happening in the south. He needs you to investigate, and, if possible, resolve it.”

  Nerva leaned forward, tapping his fingers on the desk. “Hmm. I’ve heard rumors about the monsters… but the dragon? He’s been down there for millennia. Only ever shows himself when someone enters his territory. And now he’s left?”

  He paused, then nodded. “Alright. I’ll do it. I can choose my own party, right?”

  “Yes. It’s up to you. But you have until tomorrow, this is urgent,” Barnacus said, clearly anxious.

  Nerva smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle it.”

  ***

  In the barracks, inside the main dining hall, twenty men sat, bandaged and bruised.

  The medics had patched them up well, but they would still need a few days to recover.

  They ate their lunch in silence.

  The rich aroma of stew filled the room as they slowly slurped, their jaws still aching from the morning’s training.

  Nineteen of them sat crowded around one long table.

  At the far end of the hall, alone at another table, sat a young man with shoulder-length blond hair.

  His face was striking, almost angelic. He looked more suited to a cathedral than a battlefield.

  The others whispered among themselves, casting glances his way.

  “He thinks he’s all that,” one muttered. “If we had his training and resources growing up, we’d be just as strong.”

  “Yeah,” another agreed.

  “It’s not even that,” a deeper voice added. “It’s his attitude. He won’t even sit with us.”

  “Hopefully, we’ll teach him a lesson at the end-of-month exams,” someone said.

  “We’ll train hard. We’ll show him,” they all agreed, nodding.

  Suddenly, the doors swung open.

  Nerva strode in casually. The whispers died instantly.

  They hoped he hadn’t heard.

  “At ease, men. Keep eating,” Nerva commanded.

  “Yes, sir!” They echoed in unison.

  He walked to the lone table and sat beside the silent figure.

  “Lucius,” he said firmly, “if you keep this up, one day when you need them, they’ll turn their backs on you. You’re all the same rank here.”

  Lucius looked up, his expression stern.

  “I’m from House Vero. I wasn’t raised to sit with peasants.”

  Nerva sighed. “Etiquette means nothing in the army. On the battlefield, bloodline, wealth, religion, none of it matters. The only thing that does is who’s got your back, and what you’re fighting for.”

  Lucius bowed slightly. “Thank you for the lesson, sir.”

  “I don’t think you mean that,” Nerva replied. “But it doesn’t matter. Prepare yourself, you’re coming with me on a mission tomorrow. It might broaden your horizons.”

  Lucius jumped, surprised. “A mission, sir?”

  His heart raced. Finally, something different from the daily beatings.

  “Yes. I’ll be gone for a few weeks, and you’re coming with me. I’ll pick you up tonight to meet everyone.”

  Nerva turned to the rest of the men.

  “Men, I’ll be away for a few weeks. Commander Traus will oversee your training.”

  Their faces softened in relief.

  Traus was kind. He didn’t train them until they bled. This was a godsend.

  “But when I return,” Nerva continued coldly, “each of you will fight Lucius one-on-one. If I don’t see improvement, you’ll all be sent to the mines for a month.”

  Whispers of protest rippled through the room, but no one dared raise their voice.

  “Sir, are you taking Lucius with you?” asked a burly man, Stephen, the unofficial leader of the group.

  “Yes, Stephen. He was the only one who passed today. He proved he can handle a battlefield. If you hadn’t lost focus, maybe you’d be joining me.”

  Nerva said it intentionally.

  Stephen trained harder than anyone. He was closest to becoming a knight. Nerva had high expectations for him.

  Stephen bowed. “I understand, sir. No one will slack off while you’re gone.”

  The rest of the men stood and bowed as well; fire rekindled in their eyes.

  They respected Nerva more than anyone.

  He was harsh, yes, but fair. He valued strength above all.

  Bloodline, name, riches, none of it mattered here. Only grit and hard work.

  Under Nerva, they had a chance to become something.

  They wouldn’t waste it.

  Nerva smiled deep inside.

  Bringing Lucius was a good idea, a perfect motivator.

  He could promote the boy based on strength alone, but he wouldn’t.

  Lucius needed to grow mentally if he was to survive.

  Power alone wasn’t enough.

  Experience mattered just as much.

  Nerva left the barracks.

  Behind him, the men continued eating, now livelier than before.