The knight allowed the silence to linger for seconds, his cold stare sweeping across the squires. Then, with a slight grin, he began to speak.
"All of you here and all of those who were before you fought because they were ordered to." His voice was cold, devoid of passion. "Because that is the fate of those without power and the likes of you who are at the bottom of the barrel"
The squires exchanged uneasy glances. Some had hoped for a grand speech about honor, duty, or protecting the kingdom. But they were hit by this raw, unfiltered truth.
The knight continued, seeing the expression on the squires. "Some will tell you it's for the kingdom. Others will say it's for glory, for your lords, or for even for the so-called 'gods.' But when you stand on that battlefield, watching men torn apart into pieces and pierced by arrows to the head, you'll realize none of it matters. You fight because you have no choice."
A heavy silence fell over the squires. Some clenched their fists, others looked away. Even Dylan, who prided himself on his strength and experience, felt a chill crawl up his spine.
Aris, however, felt none of their despair. If anything, the knight's words only reinforced what he already knew. If you don't want to be a pawn, become the player. If you don't want to be commanded, become the commander.
The knight finally turned away, his parting words cutting through the heavy silence.
"Train hard. Survive if you can. Do whatever it takes. That's all there is to it."
His voice carried no sympathy, no false hope, just the cold, brutal truth. The squires stood frozen, the weight of his words sinking in. Some felt fear, others anger, but none could deny the reality he had laid bare.
Aris's fingers curled into fists as the knight's words echoed in his mind.
"Whatever it takes."
The words Changed Something inside him fundamentally, like a door unlocking to a darker, colder part of himself—one that had always been there, waiting for the right moment to take control.
That would be his creed from this moment forward. No morals, no attachments—only survival. If betrayal was necessary, he would betray. If taking an innocent life meant living another day, he would not hesitate.
He had seen enough of this world to understand that morality was a luxury only the powerful could afford.
Back in the slave camp, he had fooled himself into thinking he had time. That he could plan, prepare, and grow strong before the storm came. But the storm was already here. In four months, he would be thrown onto a battlefield, where death was the only certainty.
He truly realized that he was nothing more than a pawn. A disposable piece on someone else's board. A character in a cruel game where the players didn't care if he lived or died.
His lips curled into a smirk, not of amusement but of acknowledgment. If he was just a piece in their game, then he'd become the piece they never saw coming. The one that flipped the board entirely.
After the knight left, a heavy silence settled over the squires. Fear, frustration, and hopelessness weighed on their shoulders, but the instructor remained indifferent.
"Get in formation!" he barked. "Your so-called bad mood won't matter on the battlefield."
There was no room for weakness. No sympathy for their shaken spirits. The squires gritted their teeth and obeyed, stepping into formation. Their bodies moved on instinct, but their minds were clouded with unease.
Without another word, the merciless and relentless training resumed. The battlefield wouldn't wait for them to recover, nor would the instructor.
Meanwhile, a few miles away from the squires' fortress, a city stood tall, its towering walls casting long shadows over the bustling streets. Guard towers lined the perimeter, each manned by archers scanning the horizon with watchful eyes.
At the center of the city was a luxurious mansion, which, compared to the other buildings in the city, was a symbol of wealth and power. Its marble pavement gleamed under the sun, and behind the mansion was a beautiful garden with different kinds of herbs and flowers.
A young nobleman tended to the garden, dressed in luxurious garments that complemented his well-built physique. Just two meters away, Fred stood with a respectful posture.
"Did you complete the task?" the young man asked, his tone indifferent as he continued his work.
"Yes, young master," Fred replied.
Without looking up, the nobleman spoke again. "How many do you think will survive this round?"
Fred hesitated for a moment before answering. "I didn't bring many this time, young master Levi."
At this, Levi paused, setting down his tools. Slowly, he turned to face Fred, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. "What do you mean by that?"
"There were no decent slave boys in the quarters—all of them were worse than the previous group," Fred said, a slight tremor in his voice.
Levi's expression remained cold. "Do you think I care about their physical condition? I want bodies to throw onto the battlefield. I want meat shields. I want tools." His voice was devoid of emotion as if discussing mere objects, not people.
Fred swallowed but forced himself to respond. "But young master, they won't bring you any real benefit. They'll only drain your resources without adding value." He hesitated, debating whether to continue.
A moment passed.
"It doesn't matter," he thought, steeling himself. He had to say it, although not sure if Levi would believe him.
He lowered his head slightly, his posture straight yet submissive. "You needn't concern yourself, young master. I personally selected a slave boy from the quarters, one with enough potential to be molded into a soldier worthy of your ranks," he said, his voice steady but cautious.
Levi didn't immediately respond. Instead, he plucked a leaf from a nearby plant and rolled it between his fingers, his gaze settling lazily on Fred. "A mere slave boy, you say?" His tone carried amusement as if Fred had just suggested polishing dirt into gold.
Fred kept his head bowed, his hands clasped behind his back in a show of respect. "Yes, young master. His potential is undeniable," he said, measuring his words carefully. "I ensured it myself."
Levi finally turned, his sharp gaze locking onto Fred. "You ensured it?"A sneer tugged at the corner of his lips, but his eyes remained cold. "And when, exactly, did you become the judge of talent?"
A bead of sweat formed at Fred's temple, but he did not falter. "I do not presume to judge, young master," he said quickly. "But I practice the [Aura Perception Technique], and his latent potential was… unlike the others."
Levi said nothing for a moment, simply watching Fred. Then, with a slow smirk, he plucked a leaf from a nearby stem and crushed it between his fingers. "Interesting."
Levi stood still for a moment, considering Fred's words. A slave boy? Normally, he wouldn't care about just one. A single body wasn't worth much compared to five or ten others.
However, a slave with potential was a completely different matter.
The potential wasn't just an empty word. It was a dividing factor. It was what separated a worthless foot soldier from a future knight. And knights were far more valuable than common soldiers. A single knight on the battlefield could slaughter two hundred men with ease.
But knights were also rare. Out of a thousand people, only ten might have the talent to become one. And out of those ten, only one would actually succeed.
To find such a person among the slaves? It was Unlikely but not impossible.
Levi glanced at Fred. He knew Fred's nature well. The man was a sharp minded and a schemer, someone who only looked out for himself. But even Fred wouldn't dare lie about something this important, not when the cost of failure was far greater than the reward of deception.
"Fine," he said, at last, his voice calm but firm. "Let's see if this boy is worth anything. If he disappoints…" Levi's lips curled into a smirk. "You will take responsibility, Fred."
Levi made his decision. He didn't need to believe in this so-called potential, and he only needed to test it to be sure.
Levi handed Fred a leather-bound book, his expression composed yet expectant. "Take this to him. Tell him his young master is willing to invest in his future." He paused, then added with a smirk, "A gesture like this should be enough to secure his loyalty."
He glanced at the attendant. "There's a difference between a knight who serves out of duty and one who serves out of loyalty. I have no use for men who only follow because of money or fear."
Fred nodded in agreement with Levi's words as he accepted the book, his fingers grazing its worn cover.
This technique was nothing special among nobles, and it was something even commoners could obtain with enough effort. But to a slave, it was a priceless treasure. Owning a breathing technique meant the chance to rise above the slave status, the first step toward becoming more than just a disposable tool.
Still, Fred hesitated. "Young master… what if he doesn't appreciate your favor?"
Although he had only interacted with Aris briefly, it was enough to tell that the boy was different. Most slaves carried themselves with fear, their auras soaked in submission. But Aris was not like them.
His aura was sharp and unwavering, not what a slave should ever have.
It was as if he had an unshakable belief that he would survive and thrive, no matter the circumstances. Where does a mere slave boy get such confidence?
Levi chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You worry too much, Fred. He's just a slave, one who's only known the filth of the quarters and the rigid discipline of the squires' fortress." He turned back to his garden, idly plucking a leaf. "Someone like that is desperate to believe in opportunity. Give him a taste of it, and he'll come running."
His voice carried the smooth confidence of a man who knew the power of control.
Fred bowed, but deep inside, he couldn't shake the feeling that the mere slave boy would not be so easily tamed.