The next morning was just like any other. Everyone woke up early, ate their breakfast, and rushed to be at the mustering field on time. No one ever wanted to be late since the incident with Harold Wright. He was one of the early week initiates that was forced to run until he quit, all because he was late. Harold ran for six hours that day, hoping he had a chance to stay.

He never had a chance.

That was back when there were still around forty initiates. Today marked the tenth week of training and only twenty seven initiates stood on the field. Scar stood with his arms folded, doing a headcount of everyone who was present. Neatly laid in a row at his feet were newly forged steel swords with a crescent engraved into their blades. Exactly twenty seven swords laid in front of him, one for each man and woman that stood on the field. Today was the first day many of these men and women would hold a sword for the first time in their lives.

“Each of you pick up a sword,” Scar ordered.

Initiates stepped out of their columns and took one sword each. Iris, Arneth, Wigyur, and Akaro waited till they were the last in line to grab a sword. Their bodies still ached from yesterday, and it showed in the shakiness of their arms. The swords weighed about twelve pounds, but to the four of them it weighed about double that, not to mention the lack of sleep each of them suffered from.

Once everyone was back in place and had a sword in hand, Scar unsheathed the sword that hung at his hip. It was a clean blade with two pointed tips at its end. On its hilt was a rose colored gem, forged within metal so it could never be taken out.

“As a Warden, you must learn to wield a sword like no other,” Scar said, inspecting his own sword. “Caldorey himself does not wield a blade like we do. Every soldier of every army learns the basics of swordplay,” Scar paused for a moment, his eyes glared through the slits of his helmet. “You will not.”

“To learn the basics of swordplay is to learn how to fight your fellow man, but you are not fighting man. You are fighting the Veiled Ones. These monsters do not care for their own safety, and will do anything to destroy everything you love.” Scar paced back and forth through the columns as he spoke, his eyes flickered fiercely from initiate to initiate. “These techniques have been passed down from men and women who have fought these Black Bloods and survived. They will now be passed down to you.”

Scar stopped at the far end of the columns and stood behind the three rows of initiates. He lifted his sword in his right hand and grabbed the bottom lower rungs of his hilt with his other hand, firmly gripping it with two hands. “Lift your sword with your two hands…” Scar instructed.

The initiates did as told and lifted their swords with both hands. Scar lowered his blade and began walking through the rows of initiates. This time, his eyes peered at the swords and the way they were held. He frequently stopped to correct the way someone was holding a sword, wanting everyone to hold it firmly in their hands, with their thumbs faced inward. Once he made sure everyone was at least holding their sword correctly, he returned to the front of the columns to stand in everyone’s view.

“Alright bring them out,” Scar said to Khalia who had been standing a good distance away from the initiates. She was quiet, and said nothing during the lesson. Khalia simply nodded her head and walked off the mustering field, leaving everyone to wonder what was about to happen.

Only a few minutes later, a large steel contraption was being rolled onto the field. It was practically a wagon with crude wooden wheels, and standing behind it was Khalia and two other Wardens helping her push it. Atop the contraption was a long blue curtain that draped over the wagon concealing whatever was inside.

The initiates all stared at the large wagon being wheeled towards them. Some like Edalia, felt an instant lump in their throats, fear took hold of them, while others were curious. Iris recognized the sounds she heard coming from inside the wagon. They were the same sounds she heard that fateful night, ghastly howling and blood curdling screeches. Iris felt her pale skin shivering into goosebumps, and her blood freezing over. This was the first time since she was attacked that she heard those noises so up close.

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The wagon was halted about twenty five feet from the outermost column of initiates. Khalia calmly walked from behind the contraption and stood in front of it, taking a clump of curtain into her hands and pulling it off the wagon. The wagon was barred with rectangular holes all around it, and standing inside was exactly twenty eight Black Bloods. Their unruly behavior only worsened as their white pupiless eyes laid on the initiates standing in front of them. They drooled like dogs, and snarled like bears all while having the uncanny appearance of an extremely malnourished man. Long sickly fingers, that pointed at the end like talons stuck from the rectangular holes of the wagon..they were hungry.

Scar walked towards a patch of grass about fifteen feet away from the wagon, standing between it and the initiates. Scar gave Khalia a simple nod and lifted his sword just above his waist, angling perfectly forward. Khalia grinned and reached for a metal bar and lever, she twisted it towards herself and opened the gate of the wagon, ever so slightly. A Veiled One lunged itself out of the wagon and made an instant bee-line towards Scar.

Khalia quickly closed the gate behind the creature, barring any others from attempting escape. In one quick motion, Scar twisted both of his wrists angling the blade horizontally along his eyesight, yet he kept his eyes on the Veiled creature charging right at him.

One second. Two seconds. Three.

Scar swung his blade to a precision, cutting straight through the creature's neck and completely decapitating it. One moment it was flailing around still alive and hungry, and the next, it was lifeless, and cold on the ground laying with its severed head only a few feet away.

“Wigyur, step forward,” Scar said, wiping the creature’s blood off his blade with a white cloth he kept in his back pocket.

Wigyur, a little confused, stepped forward with his sword in hand. He was afraid of what Scar might ask of him…but deep down he knew. “Yes?” he asked.

Scar turned his head to look over his shoulder at Wigyur. It was impossible to see his face past the helm he always wore, but everyone knew he was giving Wigyur a dirty look.

“Uh…I mean, yes Ser?” Wigyur corrected himself.

With the pointed tip of his blade, Scar pointed at a patch of grass. “Stand there,” he ordered.

Wigyur did as he was told and stood in a patch of grass only a few feet away from Scar. He stared the wagon down and took a heavy breath, in hopes of calming his nerves; his heart raced and pounded in his ears. The pain from yesterday was no longer something he focused on, he knew what was about to happen.

“Position your sword, Wigyur, you need to make sure this is a clean cut. Anything other than a clean cut and this thing will kill you,” Scar warned.

Wigyur did just that. He angled his blade horizontally along his eyesight exactly like he saw Scar do only a few moments ago. He took another deep breath, his arms shook not just from the pain on his back but from the sheer anxiety that came from the whole situation. This would be the first time he had to kill a Veiled One.

Seeing Wigyur was in position, Scar gave Khalia the order to open the wagon. Khalia twisted the metal rod towards herself opening the gate, just like before, she opened it just enough to let a single Veiled One loose, and just like before it came charging at whoever it saw first. Wigyur.

One second. Two seconds. Thr-

It was too late. Wigyur swung his blade poorly and misjudged the distance he needed for the center of his blade to meet with its neck. His blade caught onto the flesh of the creature’s shoulder area, but it wasn’t enough to even slice right through. Out of sheer panic, Wigyur stumbled backward and lost his footing. In the blink of an eye, Scar landed a punch on the creature’s face before it even managed to lay a finger on Wigyur. In the real world, Wigyur would have been eaten alive.

Scar took his blade and sunk it into the downed creature before it even had a chance to stand back up. He looked over his shoulder at Wigyur and offered him a hand.

The entire class stood silently watching.

Wigyur took his hand and got back up to his feet, but refused to look Scar in the eyes…shame. Shame was what washed over Wigyur. "I messed up."

“Every great warrior starts somewhere Wigyur, but next time I won’t save you,” Scar spoke with a little less rugged to his voice.

“You will all learn how to properly wield a sword starting today. You will eat, bathe, and sleep, with your sword from now until your graduation,” Scar turned his attention to the rest of the initiates. He wasn’t just talking to Wigyur, he wanted everyone to understand.

“Yes Ser!” everyone shouted.

“Good. Who’s next?”