Montis was known as the legendary instructor of the Rhazgordians, but the hard knocks of time had changed this old warrior both physically and mentally. The man who once struck fear into the hearts of his enemies on the battlefield now looked old, frail and gaunt. Despite his tall stature, his shoulders were slumped and his muscles were not as strong as before. But these physical changes had never weakened his warrior spirit and skills. He had put aside his axe years ago and replaced it with a thin rod made of iron. This rod was not a weapon for him, but a teaching tool.

Montis used this thin iron rod like a commander's pen. He would not only identify the mistakes of his warriors immediately and show them, but sometimes he would punish them for their mistakes with a stern touch. This rod was a warning for young warriors and at the same time a teaching tool. Each touch of the stick signalled a mistake and reminded them not to repeat it. At first, Montis treated every warrior with the same care and attention, but as the years passed, he began to train only the most talented. He no longer spent time with the ordinary warrior, but with those whose eyes shone with potential.

Montis was able to recognise a talented warrior with a single glance. He didn't spend much time with them, giving them only a few sentences of advice and then leaving them to their own devices. These few sentences of advice were filled with years of battle wisdom, and only the most skilful could appreciate their value. Corvus, however, was the one who changed this cycle. The day Montis first stepped onto the training grounds, the fire that had been extinguished in the old man's eyes was rekindled.

Corvus had caught Montis' attention at first glance. His talent and potential impressed the old warrior deeply. Unlike the others, instead of giving Corvus only a few sentences of advice, he spent hours one-on-one with him. There was a light in Montis's eyes that no other warrior could see; a light that signalled the raw talent Corvus possessed. For days he stayed with Corvus at the training ground, carefully watching his every move, correcting his every mistake. He had in-depth conversations with him, teaching him the intricacies of the martial arts down to the smallest detail. Corvus absorbed each and every one of these lessons.

But what really shocked everyone was Montis' training fights with Corvus. Montis, who had not sword fought with anyone for years, started to fight again in the face of Corvus' talent. Every day, he would test the young warrior in training fights, watching his progress closely. Despite Montis' weakened body and age, he was still able to display frightening speed and sharpness on the sparring field. Corvus, on the other hand, was tested every day in these tough fights, growing stronger as he learnt from Montis' experiences.

Each time Montis fought Corvus, he wanted more and taught him more. This was no ordinary teacher-student relationship; the bond between these two warriors had reached the highest level of mastery and learning. Montis was doing everything in his power to bring out the warrior in Corvus, and Corvus was growing stronger every day to be worthy of Montis' teachings.

When Corvus left the training grounds, as a true Rhazgord warrior, the fire in Montis's eyes calmed again. He was even quieter than before. He was just giving some warnings to the instructors, that's all. That's why everyone was surprised by what was happening now. Belisarius and Montis were having a sparring match.

Montis' training fight had created a deep silence in the crowd surrounding the training ground. Everyone was watching Montis fight a warrior for the first time in years and savouring this rare moment without taking their eyes off him for a moment. Belisarius, who had proved himself to be very skilful in his fights throughout the day, could not move under the gaze of the old man before him. Montis, despite his age, was calm and cool, his hands behind his back as always, his grip on his iron bar tight. There was no anger or excitement in his eyes, only a cold stillness.

Montis did not even put himself on the defensive. His guard was low, as if inviting Belisarius' first move. But Belisarius could not accept the invitation. There was a weight on him, as if some invisible force was preventing him from moving forward. A few minutes had passed, but Belisarius was still at the starting point. Everything around him blurred, Montis's dull eyes and stoic stance restricted all his mobility. Sweat poured down his forehead as his mind searched for a way out, but every thought seemed to end with a fatal blow from Montis' rod.

The experienced fighters in the audience knew how Montis could be so intimidating. His teaching was not just about physical fighting techniques; it was a mental battle. He magnified the hesitation in Belisarius, defeating him even before he made a move. He was doing all this in order for Belisarius to reach the ‘Eyes of the Warrior ’. Corvus knew these techniques of Montis very well and therefore understood the reason for Belisarius' hesitation. Volmir turned to his brother as he watched in amazement. "Is he your friend?" he asked, his eyes on Belisarius.

Corvus nodded. Volmir was even more confused. "And why doesn't your friend attack? Isn't he wasting the opportunity to be trained by master Montis?" he asked curiously. Corvus looked at his brother's innocence with a small smile and replied calmly, "It's not that he doesn't attack, Volmir. He can't." Volmir did not fully understand what Corvus had said, but he began to look more carefully at the fight in front of him. Corvus muttered in a low voice: "Cruel old geezer."

The reason for Corvus' words was that Montis had given him a moment's clarity. Montis's almost faultless posture showed a small weakness for a moment. It was so small that only a few people other than Corvus noticed it. Belisarius was one of them. This was a small test that Montis had made. It was an opportunity for Belisarius, who had been waiting for such a moment throughout the fight. Putting his hesitation aside, he suddenly lunged forward and swung his sword at Montis. It was a moment of opportunity, and for a moment Belisarius felt victory as he saw his sword approaching his opponent. However, that moment of triumph was shattered almost instantly.

His sword flew from his hand in an instant, as if drawn by some invisible force. The next moment, he felt excruciating pain in his calf and arm. Montis had moved so swiftly with his iron bar that before Belisarius realised what had happened, he had been struck hard in both arm and leg. As Belisarius fell to the ground, the pain of the blows pierced through him. The blow to his calf hurt as if it were ripping flesh from the bone. The blows were so severe that Belisarius' knees trembled and his eyes went black. He tried to suppress the pain and stand up again. Montis calmly picked up Belisarius' sword from the ground with his iron bar and threw it in front of Belisarius, as if he did not care about him at all.

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"Take your sword," Montis said in a cold, authoritative voice. "It is important to recognise even the smallest openings, but it is more important to keep your weapon."

By the third time Belisarius had fallen before Montis, he was already beyond his limits. His body trembled with exhaustion, pain permeating every muscle. Each time he tried to rise again, each time he was met with the brutal blows of Montis' iron bar. Finally, he no longer had the strength to stand. Breathless, he collapsed on the ground, staring up at the clouds floating in the sky. Everything was foggy and blurry. As he summoned all his willpower to stand up again, Montis' calm and cold voice echoed in his ears once more.

"The sun has set. I told Corvus we would continue until sunset."

These words put an end to Belisarius' efforts. Although he had the will to continue, his body no longer obeyed. He had no choice but to accept his pain and defeat. He lay on his back on the ground, taking deep breaths, filling his lungs. In his mind he weighed Montis' lesson with each blow, remembering the old man's cruel but wise moves.

A few moments later, a familiar shadow fell over him. Corvus was standing over his friend. He bowed slightly and spoke with a familiar mockery in his eyes. "What's the matter, too much real warrior training?"

Belisarius made an effort to rise, but Corvus stopped him, placing a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder. "Hold on, rest a while. You've had enough beatings for one day," he laughed. Then he turned to Volmir and whispered a few words in Rhazgord language. At Corvus's words, his younger brother hurried away, his footsteps quick in their haste.

Corvus then turned to Montis. Montis was still standing silently, the look of a tired sage on his face. Before Corvus could say anything, Montis began to speak with the habit of years. "The boy is very talented, though not as talented as you," he said, nodding slightly. "He learns very fast and has a good eye."

Corvus smiled slightly at his instructor's words. "I am sorry, master," he said respectfully, "but I cannot entrust him to you. Belisarius is a citizen of another country."

Montis smiled back. "Unfortunately, I don't have much left to teach him. He uses a different martial art. But he is skilful! Really talented."

The two chatted for a while longer. Montis complained about the pain in his back as he rubbed his old shoulder. He said that he was feeling more and more pain every day, that he was getting old and how precious these days were. Finally, Montis straightened his back, tapped his stick on the ground and slowly walked away.

As Montis left, Volmir returned with a small box. He opened the lid of the box and revealed a shimmering, light-coloured ointment. Made from the Lightsone, this special ointment was known among the people of Rhazgord for its legendary healing powers. Corvus handed the ointment to Belisarius. "This is an ointment made from the Lightstone," he said. "Rub it on your wounds and you'll be as good as new in ten minutes."

Belisarius took the ointment, moving painfully. As his eyes looked gratefully at Corvus, he felt the friendship and support underlying this small act of help. Corvus‘ helping hand was a compassionate touch that followed Montis’ cruel lessons. As he applied the ointment to his wounds, he felt a renewed strength within him. This battle had strengthened his spirit more than his body.

As soon as Belisarius applied the ointment made from the Lightstone to his wounds, he felt the pain in his body ease. The ointment first left a cooling sensation on his skin, then absorbed the pain and fatigue. In a few minutes, he felt almost as if he had not been injured at all. He took a deep breath, and slowly stood up. When he felt his strength returning, he looked around. His eyes fell on Volmir. He noticed the young boy's attention to him. There was a curiosity in his eyes, and at the same time some shyness.

Belisarius smiled slightly and spoke in a gentle tone. "You must be Corvus' brother. May I know your name, young man?"

Volmir bowed his head, dragging his feet a little shyly. "Volmir... Volmir Tiamat," he replied, his voice low but clear. Apparently, he had some understanding of the Adler Language.

"And I am Belisarius. Flavius Belisarius," he said with a friendly smile. "Like you, I am the son of a king." He said these words with pride, but Volmir's face changed for a moment. It was as if the boy's joy had suddenly vanished, replaced by a sad expression. The words 'son of a king’ weighed on Volmir's heart like a burden.

Seeing this reaction, Belisarius dropped the subject. He was both tired and realised he had no time to think about Volmir's sensitivity. Corvus, meanwhile, had noticed the sudden change in his brother's mood out of the corner of his eye and realised that Belisarius was also exhausted.

Corvus intervened to diffuse the stress without prolonging the situation. "You can continue your conversation on the road," he said, with a slight cheerfulness in his voice. Then he rubbed his stomach, a friendly gleam in his eyes as he hinted that he was hungry. "Let's go, I'm hungry!"

Corvus' words lightened the mood and Belisarius nodded in return with a slight smile. Volmir relaxed a little at his brother's cheerful demeanour. The trio made their way to the mess hall inside the camp.

The mess hall was the heart of the camp, filled with a constant hum. It was here that the soldiers relieved the fatigue of their training and cheered themselves up with friendly conversations. The smell of smoked meat wafted through the air, and steaming drinks were piled high on the tables. Many people approached Corvus to greet him, showing friendly behaviour. Even though he was a prince, he was eating and drinking what an ordinary warrior would eat and drink. This was a behaviour Belisarius had never encountered. Everyone who saw him in the Kingdom of Adler bowed to the ground and only complimented him.

Soon all three were warmed by a hot meal, rested for a while, and ready to set off again. Corvus needed to get to the Red Pavilion. During the journey, Belisarius and Volmir were slowly closing the distance between them. Belisarius asked young Volmir a few friendly questions, but he was careful, careful not to touch Volmir's sensitive feelings too much. Slowly, Volmir began to relax. Corvus stepped in where Volmir did not understand, translating Belisarius' words. Corvus was pleased to see the two of them warming up to each other in this way, but he had bigger things on his mind. His grandfather, the former Sanguinar, Drakar Tiamat, or 'Drakar the Slayer of Thousands' as he was known across the continent, was waiting for him.