In the center of a training courtyard, Evan, a young man of no more than twenty years, dressed in leather and wool to protect himself from the cold, breathes heavily. His gaze is steady, focused on the figure in front of him: a girl who appears to be no older than thirteen, wearing a tight outfit of silk and velvet that highlights her agility and speed. Both are armed with wooden swords, clashing them with precision and force.

The battle between the two resembles more of a choreographed dance. The girl, Liliam, advances with a diagonal strike, which Evan blocks with an agile wrist movement, pushing her back. She quickly recovers, spinning on her heels and delivering a lateral strike. Evan responds with a dodge and then attempts a direct counterattack, but the young girl swiftly sidesteps and executes a quick feint, momentarily deceiving him.

As Evan adjusts his position, the crowd around them watches in silence until one of the men, in a low, admiring voice, whispers, "Evan is very skilled. He's managed to withstand at least a hundred strikes from Miss Liliam."

Another man, also dressed like Evan, nods in agreement. "Yes, and it seems he can resist even more... Look, they're still evenly matched, even after so much time has passed since the duel began."

The sound of swords clashing fills the air again, and a third man, with a tone of curiosity mixed with apprehension, whispers, "Can Evan really defeat her?"

Before anyone could respond, a fourth man, older and perhaps more experienced, speaks with a somber certainty: "It's impossible... None of us have been able to defeat her before. I recognize that Evan is the strongest among us, but even so, he is not stronger than Miss Liliam. Watch closely; Evan is no longer attacking as he did before. Now, he's more focused on defense."

With these words, all the men around them fall silent, their eyes fixed on the ongoing fight. The duel between Evan and Liliam is still a display of balanced skills, but the last man's words linger in the air, suggesting that, no matter how hard Evan fights, victory may be slipping from his grasp.

In contrast to the serious face he maintained during the duel, Evan knew he was exhausted. Each movement seemed to require monumental effort, and his body cried out for rest. However, giving up was not an option. He could not and would not show weakness.

Born and raised in a small fishing village, Evan's fate seemed sealed from birth: to follow in the footsteps of his father and grandfather, living off fishing. However, his heart longed for something more. Since he was young, he had dreamed of becoming a knight, a defender of justice and honor. He would listen to stories from the older fishermen about Baron Oliver, who recruited a handful of soldiers every two years. It was said that the most outstanding aspirants were designated as squires, which made the nearly impossible mission of becoming a knight merely a matter of time and dedication.

With this goal firmly in mind, Evan spared no effort. During his years in the village, he trained alone, imitating the movements he saw during the rare visits of the soldiers from House Kamaiura. When he finally reached the required age, he enlisted, determined to give his best. In the training field, his effort did not go unnoticed. Evan received various compliments from the knight instructor, who saw in him an unyielding determination and growing skill. These compliments further fueled his desire to continue, to prove that he, a simple fisherman, could achieve the dream that seemed so distant.

Even tired, he forced himself to continue, to maintain the pace, to not give ground. Each strike he delivered and each defense he managed to execute were testaments to his determination.

As Evan continued to block Liliam's attacks, a part of his mind clung to a piece of information he had received weeks before. It was a rumor, but there was something about it that seemed true. It was said that Baron Oliver's daughter, Liliam herself, challenged all the newcomers at the end of their training. Those who could withstand her strikes or even defeat her had better prospects in House Kamaiura.

This information had spread among the aspirants like wildfire in a dry field, and Evan knew he couldn't waste this opportunity. If he could withstand Liliam, if he proved his worth in front of everyone, then his dream of becoming a knight would be closer. Therefore, giving up now, with so many eyes on him and so much at stake, was unthinkable.

Evan tightened his grip around the wooden sword. Even though his body was at its limit, he refused to yield. He knew what was at stake. If he could prove his worth here, perhaps the dream that always seemed distant could finally start to become a reality.

Evan stubbornly continued to resist the next attacks, even as he felt his body weakening with each new strike. His movements, once precise, were now starting to lose coordination. His arms trembled, and his vision, blurred by the effort, could no longer keep up with Liliam's agility. With every mistake he made, with every defense he failed to execute, the pressure increased, but Evan forced himself to continue. He knew he was at his limit, but the thought of giving up still did not cross his mind.

Then, suddenly, Liliam stopped. She stepped back, lowering her wooden sword with a cold smile on her lips. "You managed to amuse me for so long, but now you're so slow that it's getting boring," she said, her childish voice contrasting with the sharpness of her words.

Evan felt a chill run down his spine. Before he could process the statement, he saw Liliam advancing again. Something had changed. The speed she had shown at the beginning, already fast, had slightly decreased with fatigue throughout the duel. However, now, as if she had deliberately conserved her energy, she returned to the attack with renewed ferocity, as if the duel had just begun.

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Evan, frightened and already exhausted, could barely defend himself against the blows coming his way. Each of Liliam's attacks was faster and more precise than the last, and Evan's sword, which had previously managed to block her strikes, was now little more than an ineffective shield. He tried to retreat, attempting to gain some space, but she was relentless, giving him no room to breathe.

Finally, with a fluid and powerful movement, Liliam delivered a strike that caught Evan by surprise, knocking his sword out of his hand and sending him crashing to the ground with unexpected force. The baron's daughter, who was half Evan's size, had defeated him. The world seemed to pause for a moment as he stared up at the sky, breathless and defeated, the reality of his situation finally settling in.

Still on the ground, with a forlorn expression, Evan felt the weight of defeat on his shoulders. His mind was clouded with exhaustion and frustration. Suddenly, he heard someone calling his name. The voice was firm and serious, but the sound seemed to come from nowhere in particular. Confused, he remained lying down for a moment, trying to understand what was happening.

Then, the voice called him again, clearer this time, and something inside Evan compelled him to react. With effort, he got up, his senses still dulled by the shock of defeat. But as he stood, the scene around him began to fade, the image of the Mbara'ba training grounds disappearing like a dream dissolving in the morning light.

Evan blinked several times, trying to adjust his vision to the new environment. He was in a cabin, with rustic wooden walls and a floor covered by scattered blankets. Around him, other men were beginning to rise, clearly waking from sleep, just as he had. The familiar smell of the cabin and the sound of bodies moving on the wooden floor confirmed that he was awake.

Looking around, Evan noticed a man walking away from him, clearly satisfied to see him awake. The man, dressed in simple, practical clothing, was moving toward another who was still asleep, gently touching him to wake him as well. Evan took a deep breath, the relief mixed with the confusion still present in his mind. The transition from dream to reality had been abrupt, but the call had brought him back. Now, he was back in the cabin, among his comrades, but the impact of the dream was still alive in his heart.

Despite the impact the dream had left on his mind, Evan quickly got up, accustomed to the military routine that was now part of his life. He donned his thick leather clothing and adjusted his cloak to protect himself from the biting cold that still persisted in that northern region of the kingdom. He grabbed his sword, feeling the familiar weight in his hands, and folded the blanket he had used to sleep, storing it efficiently, as he had done hundreds of times during training.

As he stepped out of the cabin, Evan was greeted by the sight of a large farm, an unusual sight in this part of the north, where the barren soil rarely allowed anything beyond arid lands and sparse forests. This farm, however, was different. It was one of the main suppliers to the castle of Mbara'ba, a feat that made it not only a rarity but also a constant target for bandits and raiders. For this reason, Baron Oliver maintained a significant contingent of soldiers and knights there throughout the year. Their presence had proven even more crucial after the incident that had occurred a few days earlier.

Walking toward a barn, Evan couldn't help but recall the recent events. He opened the door and was greeted by a scene that had become familiar in the past few days: dozens of rough-looking men, many of them injured, tied together on the cold dirt floor. They were the remnants of a mission that was initially supposed to be simple but had turned into something much more serious.

It was supposed to be a routine mission, an opportunity for the novice soldiers to gain experience and prove their worth. Evan vividly remembered Baron Oliver speaking with authority, but also with a dose of encouragement, saying that he would personally lead Evan and the other recruits on their first official mission. The task was to capture bandits who had infiltrated the lands of the Kamaiura house.

In the initial skirmishes, Evan admitted to himself that he was nervous, adrenaline and fear coursing through his veins. However, as the confrontations progressed, his confidence grew. These bandits, who initially seemed threatening, soon proved to be little more than desperate, untrained men. Many of them were drunk, armed with knives, relying more on intimidation than any real combat skills. They were used to scaring and robbing local fishermen for a few copper coins, but they were unprepared to face trained soldiers.

Evan averted his gaze to a small group of bound bandits who seemed to be in worse condition than the others. One of them, a man with an old burn scar on his neck, looked directly at Evan, his eyes wide and jaw clenched, as if still trying to intimidate him despite his condition.

As he stared at that specific group, Evan felt a mix of anger and sadness welling up in his chest. These were the bandits responsible for the caravan attacks, a more skilled and organized group than expected. From the start, the soldiers suspected they were facing a greater threat, but Evan and his comrades never imagined that the leader of that gang would be in the midst of a metamorphosis.

A chill ran down his spine as he recalled the deadly fight against the bandit chief. The leader, during the battle, was a ferocious creature, and Evan had faced the greatest challenge of his life. Fighting alone against an enemy beyond his abilities was the moment he came closest to death. If not for the quick intervention of his comrades, he probably wouldn’t be there to remember that nightmare. Evan shook his head slightly, trying to dispel the dark thoughts that had haunted him since that night.

Suddenly, a loud voice interrupted his reflections, calling all the novices. Evan, recognizing the authority in the voice, abandoned his thoughts about the fight and hurried to approach the owner of the voice.

The man who was calling them stood imposingly, dressed in thick animal hides and some pieces of metal armor over them, bearing the emblem of the Kamaiura house. He was clearly a knight of the house, his posture and presence exuding authority and respect.

Evan quickly positioned himself in one of the organized rows in a square in front of the knight. Along with 46 other novice soldiers, he maintained an exemplary posture, his body straight and his gaze fixed, awaiting orders. The silence was absolute, only the sound of the cold wind cutting through the air.

It was then that Evan noticed a familiar figure emerging from the largest house on the farm. Baron Oliver, with his usual serious expression, slowly walked toward the group. The baron stopped next to the knight and, without saying a word, looked directly at Evan. The baron's piercing gaze cut through the row of soldiers and fixed on him, as if evaluating his spirit, his determination, and the weight of the experiences he had carried since the recent battle.

Evan felt his heart race slightly but maintained his unwavering expression under the baron's gaze.