Reivo reached the training yard just as the sun began to peek over the fortress walls, casting long golden beams across the stone floor. The morning was brisk, and the sharp wind tugged at his clothes, but he barely noticed.
As always, Baker stood in the center of the yard, hand resting on the wooden cane, face unreadable under his thick beard. He watched Reivo approach with the quiet intensity of a man who had seen too many mornings start in blood.
"You're late for a breath," Baker said. "Did you sleep over?"
Reivo didn't blink. "I don't sleep."
Baker frowned slightly, studying him. "That… ain't a figure of speech, is it?"
"No."
Something in Baker's gaze sharpened. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing like a hunter noticing a shift in the wind. "You feel... different. Like I'm being watched, even when you're not lookin' at me."
Reivo didn't respond. He just stared, unblinking.
Baker let out a grunt. "Alright then. Warm-up drills."
They began with the usual routines—stances, slashes, evasion rolls—but something was off. Or rather, something was on. Reivo flowed through the movements like water through a channel. His body responded before his mind commanded it.
He parried the wooden cane mid-motion, not fully registering that Baker had already struck. His pivot on the slick stone was too clean—weight shifted before impact, balance already recovered. When he ducked, it was by a breath. When he countered, his wrist turned just enough to drive the strike through the narrowest opening.
Baker noticed.
They broke apart after several exchanges.
"You're faster," Baker said, studying him. "No—more than that." He paused, then one brow rose in quiet surprise. "You Awakened."
Reivo lowered his weapon. For a moment, he said nothing. Then he nodded once."Yes."
Baker gave a short, dry laugh. His expression hardened, lines in his face setting like stone."Then you're done with the safe parts. From here on, you're facing the world as it really is."
Reivo met his gaze without flinching."Then train me for it."
For a brief moment, Baker was caught off guard. He studied Reivo in silence, as if reassessing him entirely—no longer a recruit, no longer a boy, but raw material. Something unfinished, dangerous.
Then Baker nodded once.
"Good," he said, approval rumbling in his voice. "Because from this moment on, I won't be gentle." He tapped the wooden cane against the ground. "I'll grind the hesitation out of you. I'll sharpen every mistake until it cuts."
His eyes locked onto Reivo's.
"And when I'm done," Baker continued, "you won't be a survivor. You'll be a blade—balanced, tempered, and ready for the world that's coming."
The yard seemed to grow quieter around them.
He turned, raising his voice slightly. "You've crossed the line now, Reivo. Awakened bodies move differently. Think differently. And if you don't learn how to control it, it'll get you killed—or worse."
Baker gestured toward the far end of the yard, where a handful of young soldiers were already watching. Each held training weapons. Each carried the same sharp, unsettled look Reivo had seen in his own reflection.
"Level ones, twos, and a couple of threes," Baker continued. "All freshly Awakened. Still clumsy. Still testing themselves—just like you. From now on, you'll be training against them. We start immediately."
Reivo followed his gaze. "You want me to spar them?"
"I want to see what you do," Baker corrected. "No skills. No abilities. No tricks the System handed you." He tapped his temple. "Just instincts, timing, and discipline."
Reivo tightened his grip on the wooden short sword, readying himself for the incoming challenges.
Baker led him across the yard, the morning sun catching the edge of Reivo's wooden short sword as he walked with measured steps. The other trainees were lined up in loose formation, some stretching, some adjusting their grips on training blades, their chatter fading as the two approached.
Baker stopped a few paces away from them, letting the silence settle. He turned to the group, voice carrying clearly across the stone yard.
"Listen up," he barked. "This one is Reivo. Freshly Awakened, like some of you. He's here to test himself against you."
A few of the younger recruits shifted, some straightening instinctively, others exchanging smirks.
A low laugh rippled through the group as one of the trainees leaned on his spear, eyes following the newcomer with lazy contempt."So this is what the princess drags in now," he said. "Looks fragile."
A woman beside him clicked her tongue. "Fragile, maybe. But fast. I saw him earlier—darting around recruits like they were standing still." She smirked. "Still, that was against non-Awakened. Whole different game when the opponent hits back."
A broad-shouldered man hefted his shield and spat to the side. "Doesn't matter who vouched for him. Pet or not, steel feels the same when it meets bone. I'll cave in that pretty little stance of his."
Reivo said nothing. He didn't need to. His calm, unreadable expression drew eyes to him, and a subtle unease began to creep in despite the trainees' bravado. Whenever his gaze lingered on someone, they felt a presence just beyond the edge of their perception.
Baker nodded at him. "All right, Reivo. No skills. No abilities. Just discipline, timing, and instincts. Let's see what you've learned. And don't hold back—these kids are still my trainees."
The recruits tightened their grips, some smiling with arrogance, some narrowing their eyes, all eager to test themselves against the boy.
Reivo simply raised his short sword, stance low and deliberate, waiting for the first challenger. The air seemed to shift around him, the faint tension of something new, something dangerous, settling over the yard. The moment stretched, and even the smugness of the young soldiers began to falter under the quiet weight of his presence.
Baker's cane struck the stone once.
"You," he said, pointing at the spear wielder. "Step forward."
The man peeled himself from the line with a loose roll of his shoulders. He was tall and long-limbed, built for reach rather than strength, with narrow hips and corded arms hardened by repetition. His training spear was nearly as tall as he was, its wooden shaft darkened where sweat and use had polished it smooth. He spun it once in his hands, the tip hissing through the air, and grinned.
"So," he said, eyes flicking over Reivo's, "let's see how fragile holds up."
Reivo adjusted his footing—left foot forward, right heel slightly lifted, blade angled low. He did not answer.
Baker tapped his cane once, "Begin."
The spear snapped suddenly forward.
It wasn't a probing strike. It was meant to end the exchange immediately—straight, fast, and perfectly within range. The wooden tip blurred toward Reivo's sternum.
Reivo moved before it fully extended.
He slipped diagonally inside the line of attack, torso twisting just enough that the spear scraped past his ribs, the rush of displaced air tugging at his shirt. His short sword slid along the spear shaft, guiding it off course rather than stopping it outright.
The spearman reacted sharply—he was still Baker's trainee.. He yanked the spear back and pivoted, swinging the butt end in a brutal horizontal arc aimed at Reivo's skull.
Reivo ducked.
The shaft whistled inches above his head.
As the spear arced past, Reivo stepped forward, cutting off the weapon's reach. His blade flicked out—short, sharp—landing on the inside of the man's forearm. It didn't shatter bone, but it was precise enough to deaden the limb.
The spear slipped from numb fingers and clattered across the stone.
Shock flashed across the man's face.
Reivo did not rush. He advanced with measured calm, deliberately positioning himself between the spearman and the fallen weapon. When the man tried to press forward, Reivo snapped a kick into the side of his knee, folding the joint and breaking his stance. In the same motion, he drove the pommel of his blade into the man's collarbone, the impact landing with a sharp, bone-jarring crack.
The man hit the ground hard, air exploding from his lungs.
Reivo pressed his foot against the man's arm, sliding the wooden edge up beneath his jaw.
"Yield," he said.
The nod came fast.
A ripple passed through the watching trainees—unease replacing amusement.
Before Baker could speak, the woman stepped out.
She was shorter, broader through the hips, with muscle packed dense and efficient beneath her leathers. Her hair was braided tight, not a strand out of place. Her eyes never left Reivo as she drew her twin short blades—balanced, scarred, familiar in her hands.
"I won't give you space," she said evenly. "And I won't overcommit like he did," she added, watching the retreating spearmen.
She began to circle immediately, light on her feet, constantly shifting her angle. Her blades flickered—high, low, inside—testing reactions, measuring distance. Stone whispered under her boots.
Reivo turned with her, slow and economical, blade steady. He did not chase the feints. He watched her shoulders. Her hips. The subtle tightening before movement.
She struck suddenly.
Both blades crossed inward, snapping toward his weapon hand, aiming to bind his sword and open his flank.
Wood met wood with a sharp knock as her blades trapped his short sword. For half a heartbeat, she smiled—
Then Reivo stepped forward.
He let go of his short sword without hesitation and slammed a fierce punch into her side. The blow stole her breath in a sharp gasp. One of her blades flew from her hand, clattering across the yard.
She slashed upward with the other in reflex.
Reivo twisted with the motion, the blade grazing his sleeve, then hooked her ankle with his foot and swept.
She hit the ground hard on her back, stone knocking the wind from her again.
Before she could roll, Reivo shifted his weight, driving his knee onto her wrist. His fist coiled, ready to strike. Her eyes met his—and froze. His face was completely emotionless, cold as stone. In that unblinking stare, she saw the certainty that he could crush her without hesitation if she didn't yield. The sheer emptiness in his gaze made her chest tighten with terror, every instinct screaming to submit.
"…I… yield," she whispered, her voice trembling.
Reivo rose immediately and stepped back, offering no triumph.
Silence pressed down on the yard.
Baker's voice cut through it, calm but sharp. "Good. Control is everything. Now… the next."
The shield bearer advanced.
He was massive, thick through the chest and shoulders, with a round training shield strapped to his arm and a short mace hanging heavy in his grip. His expression was grim, jaw clenched, eyes locked forward. No words.
The clash began without hesitation.
He came forward steadily, shield raised.
The first shield bash drove Reivo back a step, the impact jarring through his arm. The mace followed, swinging in tight, punishing arcs meant to crush.
Reivo retreated just enough to avoid being cornered, blade deflecting the mace, feet sliding across stone as he gave ground.
The shield slammed forward again.
This time, Reivo stepped aside instead of back.
He let the shield swing past, pivoting smoothly with its momentum. His blade slammed into the exposed back of the man's shield arm—sharp enough to sting, but not to break. The man grunted and pressed forward regardless, shoulder-checking Reivo and sending them both sliding across the ground.
They separated.
The shield bearer charged again, faster now, aggression building, shield leading.
Reivo inhaled once.
When the shield came down, Reivo met it with his blade and forearm, bending his knees to absorb the impact. In the same motion, he closed the distance, his free hand intercepting the mace in the shield-bearer's grip, stopping the blow before it could gain any force. With a sudden shoulder thrust into the man's chest, Reivo used the momentum of the shield-bearer against him, flipping him over his shoulder.
Balance failed.
The shield-bearer crashed onto his back with a thunderous thud, his shield useless beneath him. Reivo was already there, blade pressed to his neck.
"I yield," the man said, breathless.
Baker's cane struck stone.
"Enough."
Reivo stepped back, lowering his weapon. Sweat darkened his collar now, breath deeper—but his posture remained flawless, eyes steady, presence heavy.
The trainees stared at him in silence.