"You think a paper cut wins a war, rich boy?" a rough voice called out.A man named Tella stepped forward from the line of older soldiers. Tella wore an iron chainmail and carried a wooden practice halberd. He possessed a face covered in burn scars. He did not look impressed by the precise rapier strike."Varg is a drunken fool," Tella stated loud enough for the whole yard to hear. "He swings like a blind farmer. We do not fight like him."Five more senior soldiers stepped up beside Tella. They drew wooden practice swords and heavy wooden shields. They formed a tight, impenetrable wall of muscle and scarred armor."Six veterans against ten soft children," Tella laughed. He looked toward the Commander. "Do you permit a real test, Commander Thorunn? Or are we sending them to the nursery?"Thorunn smiled. The veteran warrior loved chaos. He walked to the edge of the courtyard and crossed his arms over his iron plate."I permit a full squad engagement," Thorunn announced. "Ten against six

High above the East Wing Armory, Nora Feb pressed her stomach against an oak crossbeam. The wood scraped the skin on her forearms through her faded sweater.She had learned to climb the pipes of the textile mills in the Rookery slums. The Citadel rafters offered wider beams and sturdier holds. She moved inch by inch through the deep shadows near the vaulted ceiling. She kept her breathing slow and shallow to avoid making a single sound.Below her, the door of the armory clicked shut. The locking bolt slid into place with a sharp metallic scrape.Nora peeked over the edge of the beam. She saw Alaric, Graham, Jorge, and Cassian standing near the weapon racks. The conspiratorial tones and the frantic pacing of the nobles gave away their dark intentions. They plotted a murder in the dim torchlight.She watched Alaric corner Cassian near a crate of practice shields. She saw the tall noble shake his head before finally nodding in resignation. Cassian reached into his tailored leather tunic

Aethelgard did not wait for a nod of agreement. The ancient Emperor lunged forward.He moved with a speed that defied his massive frame. The golden greatsword cleaved through the falling ash. The weapon aimed directly for Kieran's neck.Kieran raised his plain steel blade to block. The weapons collided. The impact felt like a falling boulder hitting his forearms. The shock traveled down his spine and shattered his stance. Kieran stumbled backward into the thick ash."You hold the steel like a butcher holding a cleaver," Aethelgard mocked him. "You brace for the impact instead of guiding it."Kieran gritted his teeth and recovered his footing. "I am surviving.""Survival is for cattle," Aethelgard countered. "Kings do not survive. Kings conquer."The Emperor attacked again. He swung the blade in a fluid continuous motion. The rhythm belonged to a master. It was a terrifying dance of slaughter.Kieran retreated step by step. He swung his plain sword to deflect the incoming flames. He re

Instructor Taylor walked to the center of the muddy field. He tapped his heavy ironwood sword against his steel boot. The dull thud echoed off the high stone walls of the fortress."We begin with the high guard," Taylor announced to the observing recruits.He stepped forward and raised the ironwood sword high above his right shoulder. He squared his hips. He locked his eyes on Kieran's chest. He intended to end the drill with the very first swing.Kieran lowered his center of gravity. He felt the cold iron of the spearheads in his palms. He did not summon the golden fire. He let the ancient Emperor's rhythm take over his mind.Taylor shifted his weight forward. He brought the heavy wooden blade down in a brutal vertical chop. The strike carried enough kinetic force to shatter a collarbone instantly. The dense ironwood tore through the air with a low whistle.Kieran did not raise his iron spearheads to block. He kept his arms relaxed at his sides.He watched Taylor's front shoulder dip

"Class dismissed," Kieran repeated. He turned his back on the broken man.Instructor Taylor pushed himself up from the wet dirt. His iron chainmail clinked softly in the quiet courtyard. He did not look at the recruits. He left a trail of blood drops on the cobblestones as he limped away toward the medical wing in total disgrace.The veteran soldiers watching the drill remained completely silent. They stared at the slum orphan in awe. They knew the density of an ironwood blade. Shattering it with a cheap oak practice sword required impossible precision and perfect leverage.Alaric gripped the wooden fence bordering the training ring. His knuckles turned stark white. His breathing grew rapid and shallow."He is a monster," Jorge whispered. He took a slow step backward. "We cannot fight that. He moves like a ghost."Cassian Ember stood frozen near the weapon racks. The tall noble felt a cold sweat break out across his neck. He reached inside his tailored tunic. His fingers brushed again