Life at the guild settled into a steady rhythm, with Viktor and his companions focused on their training and studies. While the other recruits didn’t exactly accept them, they at least seemed to tolerate their presence, treating them with general indifference. Even so, some tension still lingered, though thankfully, there had been no further incidents since the first night.

Fenric continued to struggle with his studies, his persistent complaints a constant source of both amusement and mild exasperation for the others. He never missed an opportunity to remind them of how much he despised reading, declaring it frustrating, boring, and entirely beneath him.

Yet, despite his endless grumblings and dramatic declarations, his efforts were not in vain. With the patient guidance of Mikos and Gavric, he was steadily making progress with his literacy, much to everyone’s surprise—and his own begrudging acknowledgment.

Viktor found himself enjoying the freedom of his self-directed studies, a far cry from the rigid structure he had once known. Following Mikos’ suggestion, he immersed himself in the geopolitical history of the once-unified empire, exploring the nuances of diplomacy and conflict that had shaped the region. Mikos and Gavric’s occasional check-ins provided just enough challenge to keep him engaged, pushing him to think critically about the complexities of alliances and rivalries. The process reminded him of his time with Barath, though with far fewer constraints, and he thrived under the looser framework.

Arelos, on the other hand, had become something of a mystery. Not long after their arrival, he had been approached by Mikos and Gavric with a proposition, and from that day forward, his routine had shifted dramatically. He no longer attended study sessions or joined the others for lunch. His presence was limited to early-morning physical training and evening combat drills.

Curiosity burned within the group, and they repeatedly asked Arelos about his whereabouts, but he remained tight-lipped. “I’ve been asked to keep it private,” he would say with an infuriating calmness, refusing to budge no matter how persistent they were. Eventually, they gave up trying to get answers and resorted to teasing him instead, making wild guesses about secret missions or grand conspiracies. Arelos took it all in stride, brushing off their jabs with a faint smirk and an air of unshakable confidence that only deepened the mystery.

Combat training continued to progress steadily, covering knives, crossbows, and hand-to-hand techniques. Soren showed a natural aptitude for the crossbow, quickly grasping the basics and steadily improving with each session. Fenric, in contrast, seemed to attract calamity every time he picked one up, his sessions often ending in narrowly avoided disasters.

Where Fenric truly excelled, however, was with the knife. His skill bordered on prodigious, his movements sharp and instinctive. It wasn’t long before Cadugan had to pair him with older, more experienced students to keep up with his rapid progress and ensure he was sufficiently challenged. Fenric, for his part, relished the opportunity to prove himself and seemed to thrive under the increased difficulty.

Viktor continued to make strides during his sessions with Voralis, finding the challenge and focus they demanded both invigorating and satisfying. Launching knives with enough force for them to stick to the target at the far end of the training hall had now become routine, so Voralis added a new element to his training: retrieving them from afar once they were firmly embedded.

The difficulty was immediately apparent, as Viktor struggled to even nudge the knives unless he was standing mere inches from the target.

However, as the weeks wore on, he gradually expanded his range, managing to draw the knives back from farther and farther distances. The drills were taxing, but the steady improvement spurred him on.

As their training progressed, Viktor found himself forming a surprisingly good rapport with Voralis. The man’s gruff demeanor had softened considerably, and Viktor couldn’t help but notice that Voralis seemed to have taken a liking to the four boys, often joking and laughing with them during their interactions—a marked difference from the stoic presence he had been at the start of their time together.

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Fenric grumbled as he stared at the textbook in front of him, a collection of squiggles and lines that he struggled to make sense of. "I swear this stuff's cursed," he muttered, flipping the page with exaggerated frustration. "Words squirmin' about just to spite me."

Soren, seated across the table, smirked. "Maybe they are. You've been snapping at 'em like a pitbull with a bone."

"You know Mikos is gonna have a fit if he catches you with that book in here, right?" Viktor said, taking a bite of his bread and gesturing towards the textbook Fenric had precariously balanced at the edge of his tray. "Those aren't exactly cheap."

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Fenric looked up from the page, frowning in frustration. "How else am I supposed to pass this stupid test of his if I don't at least try to study?" He huffed, flipping a page with exaggerated care.

"You could’ve thought about studying last night instead of scrambling now, couldn't you?" Soren said, taking a sip of his tea, his tone light but pointed.

Fenric shot him an annoyed glance. "I was exhausted. Think I'd get anywhere with my eyes half-closed?"

While Viktor and Soren debated Fenric’s study habits, Arelos finished his meal quietly, a trace of amusement playing in his eyes as he listened to their banter. He pushed his bowl away and stood, shaking his head with a mock sigh. "I've got to take off. See you guys at training later."

Viktor grinned, raising an eyebrow. "Just make sure not to overthrow any kingdoms without us, alright?"

Arelos chuckled lightly. "No promises," he replied dryly. Without another word, he turned and left, vanishing into the crowd of recruits milling around the dining hall.

Soren watched him disappear before turning back to Viktor. "Think we'll ever learn what Mikos has him doing?"

Viktor shrugged, taking another bite. "Probably, eventually. But Arelos wouldn't keep it from us if he thought it was something we needed to know. We just gotta trust him on this one."

Soren nodded thoughtfully, swirling the last of his drink. "Yeah, that's fair."

Fenric, still hunched over his book, waved a dismissive hand at the conversation. "You know you two might be overthinking it. Whatever he's up to, it's probably something tedious. Knowing Arelos, he'd love to bore us with it if given half a chance."

"That's just because you don't care about anything that doesn't involve a knife or a mug," Soren pointed out, deftly dodging Fenric's mock swipe. "Don't know why you keep giving him a hard time about it."

"Because it's fun," Fenric replied with a satisfied smirk. "And because it's a good distraction from this nightmare he so lovingly calls a 'textbook'." He poked at the book in front of him as if it might jump up and bite.

Viktor, finishing his meal, perked up at overhearing the snippets of conversations around them. The air seemed abuzz with talk of recent events among the nobility. Two recruits at the neighboring table—Jondor, a lanky, soft-spoken fellow, and Tamric, whose animated voice matched his energetic demeanor—were deep in discussion, catching Viktor's attention.

"It looks like they've gone and made it official," Jondor said, gesturing emphatically.

"They actually did it?" Tamric replied, his voice rising slightly in shock. "The dukes are going to be absolutely furious." His words carried a sense of urgency, drawing curious glances from others around them.

"The engagement was announced over a year ago," Mira interjected, her tone sharp but measured as she leaned slightly toward the conversation. "If they were going to do something about it, they would have already."

Soren, noticing Viktor’s interest, nudged him. "What’s all that about, Vik?" he asked, setting his mug down.

Viktor wiped his mouth, leaning back in his chair. "The Crown Princess's marriage to the Carolian heir has finally been sealed," he explained, keeping his tone neutral.

Fenric, who had barely been paying attention, finally set his book aside, intrigued. "Who are these Carolians everyone's talking about?"

Viktor smirked. "You mean to tell me that, out of everything Mikos prattles on about, you missed the Carolian discussions?"

Fenric rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "Evidently so. Now who are they?"

Viktor leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head. "They're only the most powerful of the four ducal families. And if the king, old Phanos, doesn’t end up with a son, the Carolians are set to rule the kingdom as things now stand."

"Sounds messy," Fenric replied, frowning. "Those other dukes can't be jumping for joy over this."

"That's putting it mildly," Viktor chuckled. "The dukes spheres of influences are somewhat balanced, each mostly sticking to their own domain. Now, imagine shaking that up by letting one family potentially overshadow all the others."

Soren tapped a finger against his mug. "They must be feeling rather anxious."

Viktor nodded. "It's like a powder keg waiting to go off."

"You reckon there's going to be trouble because of this?" Soren asked, watching Viktor closely.

Viktor shrugged. "Hard to say. But honestly, it’s not our problem." He paused, considering. "I think that as long as the Carolians don’t push for sweeping changes while the current king's still around, the other dukes might keep their tempers in check—for now, anyway."

Jondor, who overheard the conversation, called out to Viktor. "But what are the odds of that? The Carolian duke isn't exactly known for being able to just sit on his arse."

Viktor turned to face him, offering a shrug. "I'd like to think he's got the wisdom not to stir things up right now."

Jondor snorted, skepticism etched into his features. "Maybe. But if I were a betting man, I wouldn't place my coin on him stayin' put."

Fenric, who had mostly tuned out the political talk, suddenly perked up at hearing the word 'betting.' "Fancy a game of dice, then?" he asked, flashing a mischievous grin before adding, "Two coppers per throw."

Soren immediately responded by giving Fenric a swift kick under the table, causing him to yelp.

"What was that for?" Fenric whined, rubbing his shin.

Soren leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Not here, Fen."

Fenric frowned slightly. “Why not? It’s just a bit of harmless fun.”

Soren sighed. "Ever heard the saying ‘don't shit where you eat?’"

Fenric looked genuinely puzzled. "Why would anyone take a dump in the dining hall? That makes no sense."

Viktor couldn’t help but smile at his friend’s obliviousness. "It’s not literal, Fen—well, I guess it is, but that’s not the point. It just means don’t make enemies close to home."

"Enemies? Over a game of dice?" Fenric said, his tone skeptical.

Viktor shook his head, clearly frustrated. "Come on, Fen, I know you're not this daft," he said, crossing his arms and fixing Fenric with a stern look.

Fenric sighed, relenting. "Fine. No dice here at the guild," he said, waving off the topic like brushing away an annoyance.

Jondor looked at Fenric with a confused expression, shaking his head. "You lot are a strange bunch," he said, clearly perplexed by the sudden change of topic.