The previous day passed in a blur, leaving Gabriel barely able to keep his eyes open during supper. He had exchanged only a few words with anyone, still harboring anger towards Lovren. The grueling training had taken a toll on his body, leaving him in agonizing pain. Yet, despite the physical torment, Gabriel remained determined. He knew he had to return to the training yard.

As the sun cast its golden glow over the training yard, Gabriel stood among the first recruits to arrive, eager to prove his mettle. Ser Rodrick, the master-at-arms, regarded him with a stern look. "So, you came back."

With quiet determination, Gabriel said, "I will keep coming, no matter what you do to me." Ser Rodrick responded with a condescending half-smile. Does he get satisfaction from tormenting me. He cared little for the man's respect; his sole focus was to learn from the seasoned warrior.

"Fine," Ser Rodrick said. "I might as well teach you something. Yesterday, you learned the battlefield isn't fair. There's no love on these grounds, and it will never be fair to you. You must do everything to even the odds."

Gabriel struggled to understand Ser Rodrick's motives. I thought he was known for being fair, yesterday's training had been anything but. Gabriel nodded in acknowledgment; his attention fixed on the seasoned warrior.

"Today, boy, we begin your training. Before you can wield a sword with skill, you must first learn the basics," Ser Rodrick said.

Gabriel had made a promise to himself after his mother's visit. He decided he would learn the art of the sword with full intent, but he would never reveal his true potential. Let it earn him ridicule from his peers—they already despised him within these walls. He did not seek to impress the king with his warrior skills. Nor did he desire a life steeped in violence. Yet his mother's words echoed in his mind, urging him to learn to protect himself. And so, I will.

"Any soldier worth their salt will tell you, the first thing you need to learn is how to stand. Power will surge through your legs to your arms. When you wield the blade, you must fight with your whole body.” Ser Rodrick voice cut through the morning air.

Gabriel studied Ser Rodrick wide-legged stance, one foot slightly ahead of the other. "Keep your feet shoulder-width apart," the master instructed. "Bend your knees slightly, keeping your weight centered. Do this, and you won’t fall on that arse of yours.”

Gabriel attempted to replicate the stance. His legs trembled as he arranged his feet and bent his knees. He felt unsteady, as if a strong gust of wind could topple him over. He could feel the strain on his legs and torso, the position feeling unnatural.

"Bend your knees more, boy, and bring your feet closer together," Ser Rodrick said roughly. Gabriel followed the instruction, but it still felt uncomfortable. Then the master quickly struck his thigh with a training sword, causing him to cry out in shock and stumble to the ground, falling straight on his arse.

“It’s as if no one listens to me,” grumbled Ser Rodrick. “Again.”

Sand grains pressed against Gabriel's palm as he heaved himself upright, studying the master's posture and trying to emulate it. Without a word, the master signaled his corrections, his sword tapping less than gently against Gabriel. He nudged Gabriel's feet to align with his body and smacked his calves to coax them closer together. Gabriel was sure that by nightfall, his body would bear a tapestry of bruises. But as he finally bent his knees and straightened his back, Ser Rodrick retreated and nodded in approval, an air of self-satisfaction about him.

"Balance is crucial. Without it, your defenses will crumble, and your strikes will lack precision." Without warning, he lunged forward, delivering a forceful push to Gabriel's chest. Surprised, Gabriel stumbled backward, his feet tripping over each other until he landed on the sand with a resounding thud.

"You can't hope to hold a sword if you can't even hold your own two feet," the master's laughter filling the air. "Perhaps you'd skewer yourself before your enemy. That would be a sight to behold—even the king might find mirth in it," he continued, chuckling to himself. Gabriel's eyes burned with defiance as he glared at him, offering no response other than his fierce stare.

"Again," Ser Rodrick said, his voice unyielding.

Gabriel, a determined glint in his eyes, rose to his feet and resumed his stance. He braced himself. As the master pushed him once more, Gabriel fought against the force, his muscles straining, and maintained his balance for a moment longer before stumbling backward. Still, he couldn't withstand Ser Rodrick's full force.

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Again and again, Ser Rodrick pushed Gabriel, relentless in his pursuit of testing the recruit's limits. Each time Gabriel fell, he grew more resilient. He learned to anticipate the push and adjust his stance.

"Balance is not about remaining static," Ser Rodrick said, a trace of guidance finally detectable in his stern voice. "It is an active state, an ongoing change. Adapt to the force, find your center, and maintain control."

The training continued, with Ser Rodrick pushing Gabriel relentlessly until, finally, something shifted. Gabriel's body seemed to align with an invisible force, his core strengthening and his feet connecting firmly with the ground. When the master pushed him again, Gabriel remained upright. Although he had to take several steps back to maintain his balance, a newfound resilience emanated from within.

"Even after all that, you're still terrible," Ser Rodrick said. "Everyone is coming now. Rest for a moment, and your training will continue."

"Will you teach me how to use a sword?" Gabriel asked, anticipation lacing his tone.

Ser Rodrick's response was immediate and harsh. "No," he said.

Taken aback. I don’t understand this man. He shook the thought from his mind as he raised his head and stood tall, ready for the challenges to come.

He didn't have to wait long.

As more footsteps echoed in the training yard, Gabriel heard a familiar voice. "Is pretty boy back?" said Rufus, a nobleman's son a few years his senior, with a bloated belly that showed his lack of discipline. "Was yesterday's beating not enough for you?"

Gabriel refused to tolerate such insults without a response. "You would think that a boy training with warriors for the past two years wouldn't be as round as they are tall," he said, his words biting with scorn.

Rufus stood in shock, his face contorting with disbelief. It seemed no one had ever dared to openly offend him. He sputtered but found no counter. The boy’s face turned red as a chorus of laughter erupted from those around him. Perhaps I went too far. But I refuse to let others think of me as weak.

Rufus glared at him, his eyes filled with malice, and in a loud whisper, he said, "You will pay for that."

Gabriel couldn't resist a final jab. "By the look of it, the only payment you're interested in is pies," he shot back instantly, antagonizing Rufus beyond measure and earning another wave of laughter. I should have just kept my mouth shut. I’ve made an enemy today.

Footsteps approached from behind, and Gabriel turned to see Lovren standing there, concern etched between his brows. "You shouldn't have done that; Rufus won't let it go," Lovren said.

Gabriel shrugged, hiding his inner thoughts. "Let him come. I won't back down," he said.

Lovren's expression grew grimmer as he regarded Gabriel. "I know I hurt you yesterday, but I'll have your back."

His feelings toward Lovren softened, knowing his friend was loyal and not to blame for yesterday's events. "I know," he said. "You didn't have a choice. I don't hold it against you.”

Lovren nodded, letting out an almost undetectable sigh of relief. "But when did you get so strong?" Gabriel said with a chuckle, breaking the tension.

Gabriel then nodded to himself, his focus centering. He would face these tests head-on with unyielding determination, even as the world around him grew unforgiving.

The master-at-arms stood silently. His weathered face remained impassive, revealing none of his thoughts as he observed the tension filling the training yard, the brewing confrontation.

"Form up," his voice boomed suddenly, slicing through the air and commanding attention. "Let's start with our newest recruit. Let's do some sparring. Make a line—boy, you stand on the other side and pick up a training sword." His scrutinizing eyes swept across the recruits, his piercing gaze sizing them up. Then, with a thunderous shout, he said, "Boy, you will face these ten warriors and spar with each of them."

Fear coursed through Gabriel's veins, his heart pounding so violently he could feel the rhythm in his ears. The weight of the moment hung heavy; he clenched the training sword tightly as he assumed his position.

He took the stance that the master had taught him. Suddenly, the first opponent lunged forward, launching an aggressive assault. Gabriel, determined to protect himself, focused on defense, barely swinging the sword quickly enough to parry the opponent's first strike. Despite his best efforts, the impact of each blow reverberated through his body. One after another, the opponents took their turns, each attacker relentless in their pursuit to bring him low.

Gabriel fought with dogged determination, but he lacked skill and experience. The sounds that escaped Gabriel's mouth comprised of wild panting breaths, grunts of exertion, and the occasional gasps of pain.

Then came Gabriel final opponent. The atmosphere crackled with anticipation as onlookers pressed closer. Rufus, fueled by anger and a desire for revenge, eyed Gabriel with a sinister glint as he swung. Each strike was infused with malice and a twisted sense of pleasure.

Gabriel strained to keep up with Rufus's deliberate movements, his muscles aching from the previous bouts. He parried with everything he had but soon realized the truth—I am being mocked. Rufus was toying with him, savoring every moment of Gabriel's struggle.

"You will pay," Rufus said, his voice dripping with cruelty. He swung his sword with a vicious force that threatened to overwhelm Gabriel. With a desperate surge of adrenaline, Gabriel raised his sword just in time to block a blow. The impact reverberated through his arm, tingling.

Before he could fully recover, Rufus closed in, delivering a merciless punch to Gabriel's temple. The world blurred and spun, a whirlwind of confusion and pain. Gabriel collapsed, consciousness slipping away even before he could fully grasp what had happened.