Under the assault of the unforgiving sun of that forsaken landscape, Galahad followed Draug the Overseer with a guarded pace, his senses razor-sharp, aware of the latent danger that might spring from the shadows. Draug walked with a brisk, purposeful stride, compelling Galahad to match his pace while scanning their surroundings for potential ambushes.

He was all too aware of the peril that lurked in these parts; if they had attempted to overpower a mere boy before, they might very well try their luck again, perhaps this time with enough force to bring him to his knees.

"Hold your position here," Draug commanded, his voice a low growl that seemed to resonate with the power of his rank. "I need to inform Lord Mortis of our new addition to the guard."

As Galahad surveyed the structure before him, he was struck by its imposing presence. A towering edifice of about ten stories, it was constructed of yellow stone that seemed to absorb the scorching sunlight, casting it in a foreboding aura.

The moment Draug disappeared within its depths, a group of men emerged, among them Nygon and Ragnar, the formidable bodyguards of General Striker, known throughout the land for their ruthless efficiency.

"Another odd-dud graces our presence," Nygan remarked with a derisive snort, spitting on the ground near Galahad's feet. His words were laced with scorn. "What are you? Some kind of leper?"

"Perhaps something far worse," Ragnar chimed in, his voice dripping with mockery. "He could be your long-lost father."

Nygon's face twisted in rage at the jibe. "Say nonsense one more time, and I'll gut you where you stand, snot-maggot!"

"As if you possess the strength," Ragnar retorted, unfazed.

Galahad remained a silent observer, a statue amidst the brewing storm of insults. He recognized the danger in engaging in their banter; any misstep could reveal more about him than he intended.

He needed to maintain his guise, for his true identity could not be disclosed, not when he was on the cusp of unraveling the sinister plans of Lord Mortis. Galahad harbored a deep-seated hope that these plans were easy to uncover.

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"Do you even grasp the gravity of where we're going?" Nygan asked, turning his gaze back to Galahad. His tone suggested a challenge, a test of mettle.

"Then it begs the question, what business do you have there?" added Ragnar.

Galahad weighed his response carefully.

"I don't know. I certainly didn't sign up to babysit."

Nygon's reaction was a blend of surprise and amusement.

"Interesting," he mused, a smirk playing on his lips. However, his next move was swift, a fist aimed directly at Galahad's face, which Galahad evaded with ease, dodging the subsequent blows with similar agility.

Their altercation was abruptly halted by a booming voice, one that commanded immediate respect and fear. "Nygon, cease this folly at once!"

It was General Striker, making his presence known from a balcony above. The general's disappointment was palpable, a thunderous reprimand in the midst of a silent battlefield.

Nygon muttered an apology, but the damage was done. General Striker's gaze then fell on Galahad.

"And you, the one behind the mask, what is your name?"

Galahad was aware of the importance of concealment.

"Alain," he lied, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

"I doubt that," Striker countered, yet he seemed willing to overlook the falsehood for the moment. "But I don't care. Can you handle explosives?"

Galahad affirmed, understanding the gravity of the role he was being thrust into.

"Yes, my General."

"Excellent. You will lead the first group of sappers. Prove your worth, and perhaps you'll earn your place among us."

The conversation was interrupted by the emergence of Lord Mortis, a figure shrouded in menace. His voice, somehow, was heard everywhere.

"Today, we embark on a mission that will redefine our struggle. The Dust Knights will fall by our hands," he proclaimed, igniting a fervent cheer among the men that plagued the training arena.

Galahad's heart sank at the mention of the Dust Knights. The screams and cheers echoed everywhere. The thought of their potential downfall weighed heavily on him, a reminder of the stakes involved. Lord Mortis's gaze locked onto Galahad, piercing through the façade.

"You are a newcomer, 'Alain.' There is something peculiar about you. Your mind, is closed to me. Where do you hail from?"

Galahad's response was careful, yet bold.

"From having intercourse with your mother."

Ragnar and Nygon laughed while Lord Mortis stood still. The two masked men were locked in a gazing competition until General Striker intervened.

"We need to finish the preparation."

After one last glance at Galahad, Lord Mortis went inside, leaving the Dust Knight with the two laughing bodyguards.