The boys spent their afternoon wandering through the expansive manor, taking care to stay out of the way of the other residents. The gardens were meticulously maintained, a peaceful retreat amid the quiet residential surroundings. The worn cobblestones beneath their feet silently testified to the countless footsteps that had traversed them over the years.

As evening approached, a bell rang through the corridors, calling everyone to the dining hall. The atmosphere was more relaxed than at lunch, and the boys shared stories of their exploration, their laughter easing the last traces of earlier unease.

After supper, the initiates gradually drifted back to the sleeping quarters. The floorboards creaked gently underfoot, a sound that seemed to resonate with the age of the manor itself. As everyone prepared for bed, the room filled with a low murmur of conversations.

Viktor and his friends settled into their chosen corner, whispering among themselves about the day's events and what tomorrow might hold. Occasionally, the boys would glance around the room, gauging the dynamics of the different groups of initiates who were gradually growing more comfortable with the presence of newcomers.

The steady chatter began to fade as an attendant appeared, signaling that it was time for lights out. One by one, lanterns were extinguished, plunging the room into darkness broken only by slivers of moonlight through high windows. Silence spread through the dormitory, and sleep soon claimed the weary initiates.

However, Viktor's rest was short-lived. He jolted awake to Fenric's urgent hissing nearby.

"You put that little thing away, or you’ll lose it," Fenric growled, his voice low and sharp.

Blinking away the remnants of sleep, Viktor rubbed his eyes, his mind sluggish as he tried to process the scene. The dim light from the high windows barely illuminated the room, but it was enough to make out the figure near Soren’s bed. A boy stood there, his pants halfway down, frozen mid-motion. His face was pale, his wide eyes locked on Fenric, whose blade glinted dangerously in the faint light.

The room stirred as the other initiates, roused by the commotion, shuffled closer. Whispers rippled through the shadows, curiosity mingled with unease as they pieced together what was happening.

"Crazy bastard just came at me," the boy stammered, his voice trembling as his gaze darted around, looking for support. "Didn’t do anything wrong!"

Fenric’s laugh was cold and humorless. "Didn’t do anything wrong?" he repeated mockingly, the knife pressing slightly into the boy’s throat. "You thought you’d piss on my brother for a laugh and walk away clean? Think again."

The boy’s breath hitched, panic tightening his features. "I-I was sleepwalkin'," he blurted, desperation lending a feeble edge to his lie.

"Sleepwalkin’?" Fenric’s sneer deepened, his tone almost amused. "Sure. And I’m currently dreaming of cutting up a nice steak."

Arelos stirred in his bed, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade of its own. "You’ve got to be a special kind of idiot if you thought this would end well for you," he muttered, his tone dark with warning.

"Touch me, and you’ll regret it," the boy spat, though the quaver in his voice betrayed the hollow threat.

Fenric didn’t flinch. Instead, he leaned closer, the blade catching just enough light to make its presence undeniable. "Regret?" he whispered, his tone dripping menace. "The only thing you’ll regret is not keeping your hands—and other parts—to yourself."

Viktor, now fully awake, stepped forward, his expression sharp and cold. "Enough," he said. He glanced at Fenric first, his nod barely perceptible but approving, before turning his full attention to the older boy. His tone dropped, steady and deliberate. "He's made his point," he said, glancing at Fenric, "but let me make mine."

He stepped closer to the older boy, his gaze unwavering. "I don’t know what kind of games you’ve been playing here, and frankly, I don’t care. But this?" He gestured to the boy’s lowered pants, his voice laced with quiet disdain. "This is the kind of stupidity that gets people killed."

The boy opened his mouth, but Viktor cut him off with a sharp gesture. "No. You don’t get to talk right now. Not after this." He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, but carrying enough weight to silence the room. "You think this was funny? Let me be clear—if you try anything like this again, Fenric won’t be the one you’ll have to worry about."

Viktor straightened, his expression cold and unyielding. "You’re done for tonight. Get out of my sight before I decide I’m not as forgiving as I should be."

The boy hesitated, but the intensity in Viktor’s voice made him falter. He stumbled back, his face pale, before turning and retreating toward the other end of the room.

A heavy silence hung in the air as the initiates slowly dispersed, murmurs spreading in Viktor’s wake.

Soren leaned against the frame of his bunk, watching the boy slink off. He let out a low whistle. "Damn, Viktor," he said, smirking slightly. "That was downright terrifying. Remind me not to get on your bad side."

Fenric grinned, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Now that’s more like it," he said, clapping Viktor on the shoulder with enough force to make him sway slightly. "Didn’t think you had it in you, but I’ll admit, it suits you."

Viktor shook his head, his expression cooling as he stepped back toward his bunk. "Don’t read too much into it," he said evenly.

Soren glanced toward the other end of the room, where the older boy had disappeared. "Think they’ll try anything else?"

Arelos sat up slightly, adjusting his blanket. "Maybe, but not tonight," he said. "They’ll need some time to work their nerve back up."

Viktor nodded. "Arelos is right. Let’s just get back to sleep."

The others murmured their agreement, the tension in the room finally dissipating. One by one, they returned to their bunks, the sound of shifting blankets and settling beds replacing the earlier commotion. Soon, the room was quiet again, save for the soft breaths of those already drifting back into sleep.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

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The morning sun peeked through the windows, and the dormitory soon buzzed with activity as the recruits were called to wakefulness by an attendant making his rounds. Viktor squinted against the light, his gaze drifting over to their beds, where simple black uniforms lay neatly folded on top of their chests. His friends stirred, adjusting to the new surroundings and routines of their first day.

"Guess we just follow their lead," Soren murmured, nodding towards the other recruits who were already slipping into their uniforms.

Fenric yawned, stretching his arms wide. "Easy enough, right? This just means we're finally getting started."

Viktor nodded, joining the process of pulling on the uniform, feeling its unfamiliar fabric against his skin. As he dressed, his gaze caught on the boy from the previous night. For a brief moment, their eyes locked, and Viktor felt the unspoken tension lingering in the air.

"Keep an eye on him," Viktor murmured to Fenric, jerking his head slightly in the boy's direction.

Fenric smirked, his tone tight. "Oh, don’t worry. I’m not letting him out of my sight," he replied, adjusting his uniform with purpose.

"Do we know his name?" Viktor asked, knowing it would help to know more about who they were dealing with.

Arelos, who had been quietly observing the interaction, chimed in, "I think I heard someone call him Lyd."

The boys filed out of the dormitory, following the others to wherever their first task would take them.

"Do you think he's going to cause more problems?" Soren asked, falling into step beside Viktor.

"Not if he knows what's good for him," Viktor replied, his tone carrying an edge.

---Physical training---

Once outside in the courtyard, the group felt the bite of the autumn chill nipping at their noses. They arrived last, joining a line of recruits already assembled on the grassy yard. A large, grizzled man with sharp eyes stood at the front, his mere presence commanding attention.

“Ah, the newcomers,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Welcome, boys. Name’s Cadugan, and I’ll be your physical and combat instructor.” His eyes swept over them, appraising.

They murmured their greetings, a mix of respect and apprehension in their voices.

Cadugan wasted no time. “Alright, no point dragging this out. I’m sure you’re all eager to get this done and grab some breakfast. Neros!”

A tall youth—seemingly the oldest among the recruits—stepped forward.

“Take the lead,” Cadugan instructed, “I'll hang back with the young ones. Keep it slow today.”

Neros nodded and broke into a light jog, leading the group off the manor grounds and into the surrounding neighborhood. The rest of the recruits fell into formation behind him, their footsteps orderly. Cadugan lingered at the rear, his steady pace matching the younger boys as they fell into step.

“Here’s the deal,” Cadugan said, his voice even despite the movement. “We start every morning with a jog, five miles. Today’s pace is slow.”

Fenric was already breathing hard but managed to wheeze out, “This is the slow pace? What’s the fast one like?”

Cadugan chuckled. “Don’t worry, lad. You’re, what, twelve? Thirteen?"

“Twelve,” Soren said in Fenric’s stead.

Cadugan nodded. "See? They've got both training and age on you, but you'll catch up"

Viktor scanned the path ahead, his concern evident. “Don’t we draw attention, running like this out in the open?”

Cadugan laughed, a deep, hearty sound. “This estate’s known as an orphanage. Been that way for generations. The locals are well used to our antics by now.”

Arelos furrowed his brow. “But doesn’t it seem odd that some of the orphans are… older?”

“Story goes this place takes in troublemakers,” Cadugan replied easily. “Prepares ’em for military service.”

The explanation seemed to satisfy Arelos for the moment, but Viktor pressed further. “Doesn’t that backfire sometimes? Like, don’t random kids show up hoping to be taken in?”

Cadugan shrugged. “Happens now and then. Not many orphans around here, though.” He gestured to the grand homes lining the streets. “But if they’re good stock, we might take ’em.”

Arelos raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t that seem a bit risky?”

Cadugan nodded. “Vetting gets a lot stricter when they seek us out. We’ve got to ensure they’re both promising and trustworthy.”

The group fell silent, the only sounds the rhythmic thud of their footfalls and the steady panting of exertion.

After a moment, Viktor broke the quiet. “How’d you end up with the guild?”

Cadugan grinned. “Not much of a story. Twenty years in the military, made captain, then retired. Guild approached me about instructing combat. Figured it beat sitting around in retirement. That was five years ago.”

"Twenty years in the army," Viktor said, pausing. "Does that mean you fought in the Lamarkan Annexation War?"

Cadugan gave a slight nod, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Aye," he said, his tone gruff but tinged with nostalgia. "I was fresh from training, barely knew one end of a sword from the other."

Viktor's eyes widened slightly. "Were you on the frontlines?"

Cadugan's expression hardened slightly, the weight of old memories clear in his eyes. "Front and center," he replied. "No glory in it, though—just mud, screams, and the clash of steel. Wasn't as grand as the stories make it out to be."

Soren cut in, confusion evident in his voice. "The Lamarkan Annexation War?"

“The war where Vorum reclaimed Lamarka,” Arelos said between breaths. “Nineteen years ago. The conflict lasted for almost two whole years before Vorum emerged victorious.”

Soren frowned, piecing together the history. “Wait... so it was theirs to begin with?”

Arelos nodded lightly, elaborating. “Yes, they held it for centuries until we took it from them during the Iron March Campaign.”

“The Iron March?” Soren’s brow furrowed. “Why's it called that?”

“Because the Phyrosian army was unyielding. They marched through Vorum’s defenses like iron grinding stone. It became a symbol of our kingdom’s strength... for a time,” Cadugan answered, his tone edged with a quiet bitterness, as though each word carried the memory of the battles he had witnessed.

Soren turned back to Cadugan, pressing further. “But if we were so strong, how did we lose it again?”

“Strength fades, lad. By the time Vorum came back for Lamarka, we simply didn’t have the steel or the men to hold it,” Cadugan said plainly, answering the boy’s question without embellishment.

Arelos nodded. “And when Vorum sued for peace, they made sure no one doubted who owned Lamarka. They were strategic—they didn’t want to ruin it, just take it.”

“Why wouldn’t they ruin it, though? Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do when you win?” Soren asked, still grappling with the concept.

Arelos sighed, as if explaining something both simple and profound. “Not when the city is worth more whole than burned. Lamarka is a hub for trade routes, and the region produces some of the richest harvests on the continent. Vorum needed it intact to make the war worth the cost.”

“You know your stuff, boy,” Cadugan said, his tone tinged with surprise, though his words conveyed genuine respect.

“Yeah, Arelos, I didn’t realize this was the kind of thing you were learning about at the temple,” Viktor said.

Arelos simply shrugged in response.

Soren processed the new information, frowning thoughtfully. “So... we lost because we were weaker?”

Cadugan nodded grimly. “Aye. Sometimes, even when you fight with all you’ve got, it’s not enough.” His words carried a weighty truth that settled over the group as they continued their run through the awakening city streets. Each boy fell into his own thoughts, the silence punctuated only by the rhythm of their footsteps and the distant hum of the city waking to a new day.

Cadugan finally broke the silence, saying, "Alright boys, we're nearly back. Once we reach the manor, catch your breath, then follow what the others do." His voice was steady, but firm, urging them to push through the last stretch of the run.

Breathless and red-faced, Fenric and Soren stumbled into the manor's courtyard, their hands on their knees as they tried to recover. Some of the other recruits who had finished earlier smirked with amusement at the newcomers' exhaustion.

"Think we overdid it?" Soren huffed, glancing sideways at Fenric.

"Nah," Fenric wheezed back, "Just... getting warmed up."

Viktor and Arelos, who managed a slightly better pace during the run, watched their friends with a mix of sympathy and humor. "At least you both finished," Viktor remarked.