The morning after the tournament, Veilspire Academy buzzed with rumors. The courtyard buzzed with fresh gossip like flies over a battlefield.
"Did you see him just fall over like a sack of potatoes?" "He actually thought he could land a hit on Rodric. Pathetic." "They're calling him the Baron of Blunders now."
Renard walked the academy halls with his head down, boots scuffing the stone floor. Every conversation dropped to a whisper as he passed, only to pick up again with new venom when he was gone. He'd grown used to it. Or so he told himself.
But this time, it lingered more.
The sting wasn't just from the bruises—though his ribs ached every time he moved—it was from the silence at the dinner table, the way even the servants averted their eyes, and the knowledge that somewhere in the kingdom, Rodric Faelin was basking in the attention and rising in the noble ranks.
Renard had earned a new nickname. He could already hear it being whispered at court.
The F-Class Fool.
That evening, long after curfew, Renard crept into the abandoned drill yard behind the east wall. The area was overgrown, forgotten. No one trained there anymore—not since the wall had partially collapsed and one of the instructors claimed the place was cursed.
He didn't care. It was quiet. Secluded. And most importantly, empty.
He lit a torch, driving it into the old cracked ground. Then he drew a circle in the dirt with the end of his training blade and placed three pebbles in the center.
They weren't just stones.
They were placeholders.
"One for a blade." He placed the first.
"One for a shield." The second.
"One for the fire to follow orders." The third.
He stared down at them, willing something—anything—to happen. Nothing did.
But then...
[Ghost Formation Initiated: 3-Unit Training Node Created]
This location may now serve as a personal training ground.
Commander bonus active: Unit morale +10%, learning speed +5%.*
Renard grinned.
"Good. Step one."
He needed recruits. Not knights. Not nobles. People desperate enough to follow a nobody. People who wouldn't care that their commander couldn't win a duel if his life depended on it.
He knew just where to look.
Two days later
The servant quarters behind the academy stables were cramped, unwashed, and perpetually noisy. Most nobles never ventured near them, and those who did only came to bark orders or beat someone into obedience.
Renard, however, arrived with a sack of hard biscuits and a folded parchment.
He found who he was looking for by the trough, cleaning a rusted bucket.
Elric was lean, scarred, and a few winters older than Renard. A former street thief sentenced to labor at the academy as punishment for petty crimes. He had fast hands, a sharp tongue, and more pride than sense.
"What do you want?" Elric asked, not looking up.
"A moment of your time." Renard handed him a biscuit. "And a proposition."
Elric eyed the food, then took it. "If this is some noble prank…"
"No prank. Just an offer."
He unrolled the parchment. It wasn't a map. It was a training schedule. Blocked drills. Formation roles. Expected growth benchmarks. Elric scanned it, then gave Renard a confused look.
"You want me to train?"
"Yes. And fight. But not for honor. For legacy."
Elric scoffed. "You're the dueling dummy. Everyone saw it."
Renard nodded. "Which is why no one will look here."
He leaned in. "I'm going to build a unit. My unit. Outside the academy's gaze. A force not bound by tournaments or bloodlines."
"And you want me to be the first?"
"You'll have command rank. Second in formation. You train under me, I give you tools, meals, and...a future that doesn't involve dying scrubbing horse piss."
Elric stared at him for a long time.
"You serious?"
Renard extended his hand. "Deadly."
Elric shook it.
[Unit Recruitment Confirmed: Elric - Rank: D]
Traits: Agile, Loyal (Conditional), Streetwise
Skill Match Detected: Shadowblade Arts (Novice)
"Potential unlocked. Assigning Unit Path: Silent Striker."
Three nights later
The east yard echoed with the sound of wooden practice blades and stomping feet. Renard barked commands, voice steady. Elric and two others—a runaway stable girl named Maera, and a mute cleaner boy named Tarn—followed his movements.
[Formation Bonus Applied: 3-Unit Training Synergy +7%]
Drillmaster's Touch (Rank I) Activated
Maera stumbled. Tarn picked her up. Elric snapped at both, imitating Renard's tone. Something clicked.
They were learning.
Not fast.
But real.
Renard marked their progress on his log. The moon rose. The torch burned lower.
He smiled.
Somewhere across the campus, Rodric Faelin was polishing his tournament trophy.
He didn't know it yet.
But war was coming.
And Renard Valtierre had just taken the first step toward building an army no one would see coming.