No matter how many stones you stack, it takes but a moment for it all to crumble.

For the orphans in Saint Scianeus's orphanage, it was as normal a day as any. They woke up at the break of dawn for the morning prayers, followed by a hearty breakfast meal at the refectory, and then headed to the classroom for their daily lecture.

The lecture hall was a humble building; cold wind flew in from the cracks, and the desks were made from old splintered wood. However, the children never showed any signs of annoyance or dissatisfaction. That was all due to the debt they felt to the man standing before them.

The orphanage director was in his early fifties. Gray hairs were appearing at the sides of his head, and a band was covering his right eye. He stood tall in front of the children, returning their warm gazes with a smile and signaling the start of the lesson.

The lessons often varied. Wanting to prepare them for the harsh world outside, the director taught them multiple subjects to help them survive. The most crucial one was self-reliance. He taught them how to hunt and skin their prey, how to barter and sell the fur, and how to sharpen their knives afterward, for he knew that if they did not rely on themselves, they would be tossed aside by the world.

However, today was a different matter. It was a lesson on the importance of collaboration; he would teach them that man is a civil creature, and one must embrace society instead of shunning it.

"Think of a small village consisting of a farmer, a woodcutter, and a blacksmith. The woodcutter and blacksmith need grain to eat; the farmer and blacksmith need firewood for the winter and cooking, and charcoal for the forge; and both the farmer and woodcutter need their tools. If one was removed, the system would crumble."

One of the children, Herbert, a large kid compared to the others, snickered and said:

"I will not be like these people, waiting for others to tie my shoelaces. I will be a strong knight. All I need on the battlefield is my sword and muscles." He turned around and flexed his arm for the others to see while laughing, then quickly adjusted his posture after he felt the director's gaze.

The director's warm smile transformed into a stern face after hearing of battle. He gazed into the horizon for a few moments before his eyes met those of Arlen, a timid blonde kid who rarely spoke a word, yet he could always feel his eyes light up when discussing history and battles.

The director recognized the importance of discussing history and military battles, knowing full well that these children would inevitably be drawn into such a scenario in this conflict-infested world, but he always did it with a heavy heart.

Hesitating, the director grabbed a piece of chalk and said:

"This is also true in battle, Herbert. Now pay attention, son."

Then he started drawing on the board. He drew a river and a few small hills, and on each bank of the river stood an army. The northern army was composed of infantry and archers and lacked horsemen, but the southern army had all three unit types. This was the famous battle of the Svanka River.

"In battles, as in life, units must work in harmony. Archers rain arrows on the enemies from a distance, covering the infantry. The infantry protects the archers and fights in close range, all the while the cavalry protects the flanks while receiving support from them as well. This is the ideal circle that a commander must maintain."

"The northern army lacked cavalry, so despite possessing superior numbers and having both the champion of shields and the champion of bows as commanders, they suffered a humiliating defeat after a portion of their army crossed the bridge because they couldn't respond to the speed of mounted riders. And the north has never crossed the river since then."

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The director then looked at Herbert and said, "One man cannot change the tide of a battle alone, son. The trust in your friends is as important as the one you have in your skills. Dirrar's tutoring may improve your skills, but developing an eye for judging friends is also crucial."

Another boy stood up, his hair was black and unkempt, and his eyes shone like emeralds. He shared Arlen's ambition for strategy but was bold and brazen, recognized as the leader of the children and only respected the director. He asked:

"Why would the northern army break the circle and not include cavalry, despite having two exalted champions as commanders?"

The director shook his head and said, "Their infighting was their downfall. They wanted to reap all the glory of conquering the border fortress of Belira and excluded all the other champions from the campaign, including the horse lord, the champion of riders. Take this as a lesson to discern friend from foe and not be blinded by greed to get ahead of your allies. That concludes our lesson for today."

The children then left the classroom and headed to the courtyard. There, they split into groups, and some of them started taking care of the grown vegetables and the few domesticated animals. As Dirrar went out to the city for the monthly supply voyage, combat lessons were suspended for the day, so others centered around Joshua started playing around and practicing with their wooden swords while Arlen stood alone in the corner watching.

While the director was in his rectory sorting through documents, he heard the sound of approaching riders. He headed to his window to check and saw over a dozen men outside the orphanage gate, dressed in brown robes and covering their faces. He quickly opened an obscure closet and took out a suit of chain mail armor and a sword. Then, suddenly, his door opened and a little girl came in.

It was Jasmine, the youngest of the orphans, clearly flustered from the sudden visitors, and she came to hide behind him. The director put on a reassuring smile and patted her head, reassuring her. Her red heart glistened in the sun. He finished donning his armor and sword and covered them with his usual white robes.

He then took Jasmine's hand and headed to the courtyard, where he called for Joshua and asked him to gather his siblings and lead them out the secret gate. Joshua started protesting, wanting to accompany him, but the unfamiliar urgency and commanding tone of the director quickly made him accept. All the while, the knocking sound of the intruders kept getting louder.

Joshua quickly gathered everyone and started heading to the hidden exit, all the while nervously staring back at the director, a feeling in his heart telling him this might be the last time they meet.

As soon as Joshua entered the storage room that contained the exit, the gate burst open.

Making his way towards the hidden entrance, Joshua could hear the intruders' footsteps swarming the courtyard and the sound of the director addressing them. He was worried about the fate of the man he regarded as a savior and family, but for now, he had to save the lives of his siblings, a heavy responsibility for a 14-year-old kid to shoulder.

Joshua had never understood the need for this passage before. It was as mysterious as the identity of the man who saved him from a life of potential destitution and granted him the closest thing to a warm, kind embrace of a family he could hope for. But today, he was grateful for it as he navigated the maze-like structure.

All the children understood the gravity of the situation as they navigated the secret passage built by Madame Zenobia, the wife of the director and their social interactions tutor. Making use of the dim light seeping through the roof, they started making their way towards the already memorized path in total silence.

Back in the courtyard, as the intruders started spilling into the orphanage, the director kept observing their movements. He noticed that most of them were a disorganized mob wearing the emblems of a local mountain bandit group. However, what caught his eyes were the three figures in the back.

As the rest of the group started pillaging the orphanage, ignoring him, the three men, large in stature and with their hoods still covering their heads, kept staring at him with uneasiness in their eyes. The silence was only broken by a late arrival who was making his way inside.

As soon as he entered the courtyard, the director's eyes widened in shock as the three men knelt before him and ordered the rest of the group to stay silent.

As he took off his robe and gripped his sword, his white armor shone under the glistening sun. His gray hair fell over his shoulders and a scar ran from his right cheek, nearly reaching his left eye. His gaze met that of the intruder, and he could see signs of alarm despite the director maintaining his usual stern face and calm demeanor.

The intruder then snickered and said, "It has been quite a while, old friend..."