Gabriel stepped into the familiar training yard of the Fifth Legion, his boots crunching softly against the sand. The rhythmic clang of swords and the sharp bark of orders filled the air, and a breath of relief escaped him as he scanned the bustling yard. His eyes landed on some familiar faces among the soldiers, their laughter and camaraderie unchanged. He’d heard reports of no casualties and that the legion hadn’t seen action recently, but still, a part of him had worried. Now, with that weight lifted, a wide smile stretched across his face.

“So, this is where the soldiers train,” Lakan said, his tone curious as his gaze swept over the yard.

“It’s... interesting,” Ryn added thoughtfully, his brow furrowed in quiet observation.

Gabriel arched an eyebrow at Ryn, curiosity flickering in his gaze. “What do you find so interesting about it?”

Jonan cut in before Ryn could answer. “It’s just a bunch of sweaty men dancing on sand.”

Ryn, undeterred, pointed out, “The space is smaller than our training yard at the academy, even though the academy is nearer to the center of the capital, where land is scarce. It really shows how much the kingdom prioritizes the academy over even the legions.”

Jonan’s grin widened. “Didn’t your books already tell you that, or do you only pretend to know everything?”

Ryn sighed, shaking his head. “Reading about it is one thing. Seeing it in practice is different.”

“Well,” Gabriel interjected with a grin. “I’m sure you’d all love to debate this further, but how about I introduce you to some real soldiers?”

Gabriel walked over, his steps quickening as his eyes landed on his friends. Avis greeted him with his usual goofy grin, while Atlas offered a warm nod that carried the unmistakable air of fatherly affection. Even Olof, ever the stoic, gave a subtle acknowledgment.

Without hesitation, Gabriel embraced Atlas first, the older man returning the gesture with a firm pat on the back. He turned to Avis, pulling him into a quick hug, and then, surprising even himself, he gave Olof a brief hug. The big man let out a startled grunt, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

“It’s good to see ya’, my boy,” Atlas said.

Gabriel's smile widened, his eyes gleaming with sincerity. “I missed you—all of you.”

“You still miss us after becoming Prime?” Atlas laughed.

Gabriel felt heat rise to his cheeks, trying to hide his embarrassment.

“Who’d have thought the little runt would become Prime?” Avis chimed in, his grin widening.

“I knew,” Atlas said with a confident smile, his voice steady with pride.

Olof nodded silently, his agreement clear even without words.

Gabriel looked at them, his voice soft. “I couldn’t have done it without you all—without you taking a chance on me.”

“Please,” Avis scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. “Like we had a choice.”

“The Little Wolf would have followed us around like a lost pup until we felt sorry for him,” Atlas added with a chuckle.

“I already felt sorry enough when I saw his scrawny self,” Avis quipped.

Gabriel felt the presence of his friends hovering behind him, respectful but curious, as if unsure whether to interrupt.

Turning back to his group, Gabriel grinned. “Avis, I think you’ll get along well with the academy’s resident jokester, Jonan.” He gestured toward his friend.

Jonan stepped forward, shaking hands with Avis, then Atlas, and finally Olof, who gave him a firm nod. Gabriel noticed Jonan’s unusually serious expression as he introduced himself. Then, suddenly, Jonan’s lips curled into a mischievous grin.

“So,” Jonan began, his tone light with mock irritation, “You’re the ones we have to thank for training the demon I live with.”

“Demon?” Atlas echoed, his eyebrows raising in mild confusion.

"Only a demon trains as hard as him," Lakan said with a grin before stepping forward to introduce himself.

Ryn and Lexon followed suit, offering polite handshakes and brief greetings, and soon the group fell into easy conversation. Embarrassing stories of Gabriel's academy days began to surface, weaving seamlessly into tales of soldiering life, the camaraderie flowing effortlessly between old and new friends.

It didn’t take long before Atlas turned his attention back to Gabriel, crossing his arms with a playful smirk. “It’s been a while since we crossed swords, hasn’t it?”

Gabriel smirked. “I don’t make a habit of hurting old men.”

Behind him, Gabriel heard Jonan whisper to Ryn, “Is Orion being funny?”

“Maybe we bring out the best in him,” Avis interjected, overhearing.

“Please,” Jonan countered, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “We’ve heard all about how Orion only pretends to laugh at your jokes.”

Gabriel stammered, his cheeks flushing as he tried to defend himself, only to fumble over his words. His friends burst into laughter at his flustered state.

“I haven’t seen him this stressed in a while,” Ryn said with a smirk.

“Almost as bad as when Lakan has to talk to a girl,” Jonan added.

Gabriel clenched his jaw to keep from laughing, turning toward Jonan with a glare that could’ve sent most men running. But it only made Jonan laugh louder.

Rolling his eyes, Gabriel finally turned back to Atlas, who was watching the exchange with an amused smirk. “Time to fight?” Gabriel asked.

Atlas’s smile widened as he glanced at Avis and gave him a subtle nod.

Avis cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Everyone, gather round! Atlas is about to teach the pompous Prime a lesson!”

Gabriel looked toward Avis. “Pompous? Really?”

The man stretched out his hand in innocence. Gabriel sighed as soldiers began to gather, forming a loose circle around the training yard. Familiar faces emerged from the crowd, many patting Gabriel on the back with words of encouragement—or teasing.

From somewhere in the crowd, a soldier began yelling out odds and taking bets.

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Jonan immediately jumped in on the action, loudly declaring, “All my money on Orion!” His enthusiasm was so over the top that Gabriel couldn't tell whether he was genuinely betting or just hyping up the fight.

Gabriel smiled at the commotion as cheers and jeers erupted around him. But he tuned it all out, focusing solely on Atlas. Each man moved to the weapon racks, their hands instinctively reaching for their chosen swords.

They squared off, circling each other. The crowd hushed, anticipation crackling in the air. Gabriel took the first step forward, testing Atlas with a light feint. The older man didn’t flinch, his blade rising to deflect the blow with effortless precision.

They traded light strikes at first, each gauging the other's rhythm. Gabriel’s twin blades danced, probing Atlas’s defenses, but the veteran soldier was disciplined. Every move Gabriel made was met with an equal and opposite reaction—calculated and efficient. Atlas didn’t waste a single motion, and Gabriel quickly realized breaking through his defenses wouldn’t be easy.

As the fight progressed, their blows grew faster, heavier. The clash of sword echoed through the yard, each strike met with a cheer or gasp from the onlookers. Gabriel swung wide with his right blade, only for Atlas to step in and counter with a shield bash that forced Gabriel to retreat a step.

“You’re as sharp as ever,” Gabriel admitted, breathing heavily.

Atlas smirked, his stance unyielding. “You’ve gotten faster, but you’re not strong enough.”

Gabriel lunged, aiming a flurry of strikes, but Atlas deflected each one with clinical precision, his shield and sword working in harmony. Gabriel switched tactics, using his twin blades to create openings, but Atlas’s discipline was unshakable.

“So,” Gabriel said between strikes, trying to distract him. “What did you see on patrol?”

Atlas stepped in, his longsword flashing in a tight arc. Gabriel crossed his blades, trapping the sword between them.

“It was quiet,” Atlas said, his voice calm despite their exertion. He shoved Gabriel back with his shield, forcing him to reset his stance. “But there’s increased tension with the Accamanians.”

Gabriel pressed forward, launching a series of quick strikes, but Atlas met them all with his blade and shield, his movements as steady as a tide.

“What kind of tension?” Gabriel asked, his voice taut with both exertion and the weight of unease.

Atlas unleashed a sudden flurry of blows, forcing Gabriel on the defensive. Each strike came faster than the last, and Gabriel had to pivot, duck, and parry to avoid being overwhelmed. The crowd roared in approval as Atlas pressed the advantage.

“A few skirmishes,” Atlas said between breaths, his strikes never losing their rhythm. “But it’s worse now than ever.”

Gabriel felt a pang of dread in his chest. The thought of war sent a surge of energy through him, and he attacked with renewed ferocity. His right blade came in a high arc, but Atlas sidestepped and countered with a downward slash. Gabriel barely managed to deflect it, his left blade snapping into position just in time.

“So, war will come?” Gabriel asked, already fearing the answer.

Atlas nodded grimly, his shield raised as he advanced with the unyielding confidence of a seasoned warrior. “I’ll tell you more about it—after I’ve beaten you.” His tone carried a sharp edge, almost daring Gabriel to rise to the challenge.

Gabriel’s grip tightened on his swords, his knuckles whitening as fear surged through him, sharp and unrelenting. The weight of Atlas’s words pressed down on his chest like a vice. War. The thought clawed at the edges of his mind, threatening to consume him. But he couldn’t afford to let it. Not now. He drew in a sharp breath, his resolve hardening as he forced the looming specter of conflict out of his head. He couldn’t control what lay ahead—but this fight, here and now, was within his grasp. This he could win.

His eyes locked on Atlas with newfound intensity, the haze of doubt burning away. He needed answers, needed to know what the patrols had uncovered and what danger awaited them all. But he also knew one thing with absolute certainty: he had to earn those answers.

I need to end this. Quickly.

The words echoed in his mind like a mantra as he shifted his stance, his muscles coiling like a drawn bowstring. This wasn’t just a sparring match anymore; it was a battle for clarity, for control in a world spinning toward chaos.

Gabriel launched into another offensive, swinging his right sword toward Atlas’s midsection while his left parried an incoming blow. He stepped in closer, using his elbow to aim for Atlas’s head, but the older man ducked under it with practiced ease.

Atlas countered with a low jab aimed at Gabriel’s side. Gabriel narrowly sidestepped, feeling the blade graze his tunic. Rolling with the motion, Gabriel reversed the grip on his left blade and brought it behind him, stopping just inches from Atlas’s exposed neck.

"Too slow, old man," Gabriel teased, a wry grin tugging at his lips.

But Atlas didn’t look defeated. Instead, he smiled and glanced down. Gabriel followed his gaze and froze. Atlas’s sword was extended, its tip hovering mere inches from Gabriel’s kidney.

“And you’re still dead,” Atlas said with a chuckle.

No matter the turmoil in his mind, Gabriel couldn’t help but laugh, shaking his head. The thrill of the fight, the dance of skill and wit, had left him exhilarated despite the outcome.

“Draw?” Gabriel asked.

“Draw,” Atlas agreed, a wide smile on his face.

The crowd of soldiers erupted into cheers, their voices ringing out across the training yard. They celebrated both their captain and the boy they had come to see as one of their own—their adopted son.

Atlas raised his voice loud enough to cut through the raucous celebration. “Seems our little Prime still has a bit to learn before he can best me!”

Gabriel smirked, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Give me three moon cycles, and you’ll never beat me again.”

Atlas chuckled, his tone both teasing and sincere. “We’ll see about that.”

Just then, a commotion broke out among the soldiers as bets were being settled.

“Hey! Where’s my money?” one soldier shouted.

“You lost,” the man holding the bets said with a shrug before pointing at another. “You lost too.”

Then, with a triumphant grin, the soldier holding the pot announced, “Everyone lost!” He cheered loudly, clutching the winnings like a prized trophy.

The yard burst into laughter and yelling, and Gabriel shook his head, chuckling. That soldier might have become the richest man in the company.

“You’ve gotten much stronger, Little Wolf,” Atlas said.

“I’ve been training hard,” Gabriel replied earnestly. “I need to stay Prime.”

Atlas gave him a knowing smile. “The way you’re progressing, I’d say no one will be able to take that title from you anytime soon.”

Gabriel looked toward Lakan in the distance with a sad smile. “Thank you, Atlas. For everything.”

Atlas waved the compliment away with a casual hand. Gabriel wanted to shift the conversation to understand what had happened with the Accamanians. But before he could, a ripple of movement shifted through the gathered soldiers. Heads turned, and a hush fell over the yard as Commander Galland approached.

The men straightened, offering nods of respect with each step he took. There was something about the way Galland carried himself—his calm, authoritative presence—that commanded reverence. Even the way he slightly inclined his head as he passed his men spoke volumes. Gabriel realized, not for the first time, that Galland hadn’t earned this respect overnight. It was the result of years of toil, of standing shoulder to shoulder with his soldiers on the front lines, of never asking a man to do something he wouldn’t do himself.

It was the kind of respect Gabriel hoped to earn for himself one day.

As Galland came closer, Gabriel snapped into a salute, mirroring the commander’s sharp, precise gesture. Their eyes met, and Gabriel felt the weight of the moment—a silent acknowledgment passing between them.

Galland greeted Gabriel’s friends warmly, calling each of them by name as if they were long-lost comrades. He even introduced himself to Lexon, whose mouth dropped open in disbelief before bowing so deeply he nearly toppled over. The rest followed suit, their excitement palpable. They gushed at the attention of the legendary commander, their awe magnified by his effortless familiarity with them. Ryn, in particular, had starry eyes, his admiration barely contained. Gabriel couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

“I see, you’ve gotten stronger yet again,” Galland said, turning his attention to Gabriel.

“Not strong enough to beat that wily old man,” Gabriel replied with a crooked grin, jerking his thumb toward Atlas.

Galland’s smile widened. “Well, even if you don’t get any stronger, he’ll definitely get weaker. Age will do the work for you as his shoulders stoop.”

“I heard that,” Atlas retorted with mock indignation.

Galland didn’t even blink. “I didn’t whisper it, Captain.”

Even Olof, usually stoic, let out a low huff of laughter.

Gabriel’s had done a good job of hiding his fears of what would happen between Balatia and Accamania. But he needed to know, had to understand. “How was the patrol, Commander?”

Galland tilted his head slightly, considering. “There were skirmishes, disputes between our forces and the Accamanians, but nothing substantial enough to escalate into a full battle.”

Gabriel pressed further. “How many Accamanians were involved in these skirmishes?”

“Not many,” Galland admitted, his tone steady but edged with something darker. “But there was one force of elite soldiers that approached us near the border. They were ready for battle—and they looked like they knew how to fight.” He paused and shifted his gaze to Gabriel, his expression wry. “For Accamanians, at least.”

Gabriel’s interest sparked immediately, his brows furrowing. “Who led them?”

Before Galland could answer, Atlas interjected, his voice laced with disdain. “Some prick who calls himself the Demon.”