The clanging of wooden swords echoed through the forest as Gareth the Grey drilled Ashby's makeshift soldiers in a clearing near their hideout. The former knight, his grizzled face etched with concentration, barked instructions as the bandits-turned-recruits struggled to follow his rigorous commands. Sweat glistened on their brows, their movements unrefined but determined.
Ashby stood at the edge of the training ground, her arms crossed. Despite her composed demeanor, her mind churned with doubt. Watching her recruits stumble under Gareth's sharp criticism stung her pride. Was this truly the army she would use to take down a corrupt kingdom?
"Straighten your stance, you fool!" Gareth's voice cut through the air like a whip. He pointed his wooden sword at a trembling young recruit. "You hold a blade like you're serving tea. If that's the best you can do, you're better off farming cabbages."
The recruit winced but obeyed, adjusting his grip under Gareth's intense gaze. The older man sighed heavily, muttering under his breath. "They're hopeless…"
Later that evening, as the trainees dragged themselves back to their tents, Ashby approached Gareth, who was busy cleaning his sword by the fire. The flickering flames cast shadows across his weathered face, making his stern features seem even more formidable.
"They're trying," Ashby said, her voice carrying a mix of defiance and vulnerability. "They're rough around the edges, sure, but they've got heart."
"Heart won't stop a knight's blade," Gareth replied curtly. He didn't look up, focusing instead on the blade in his hands. "You're asking them to fight battles they aren't ready for."
"And that's why we need you," Ashby pressed, her tone firm. "To make them ready."
Gareth finally glanced up, his sharp eyes meeting hers. "It's not that simple. Training takes more than swinging swords and shouting orders. They need discipline, unity, and something worth fighting for. What are you giving them, Ashby? Revenge?"
Ashby faltered, her confidence wavering. Gareth's words hit too close to home. "What's wrong with revenge?" she asked quietly. "It's what drives me. It's why I'm still standing."
Gareth sighed, leaning back against the log behind him. For a moment, his hardened expression softened. "Revenge is a fire, girl. It burns bright, but it consumes everything—your enemies, your allies, and eventually, yourself. If you want to lead these people, you need to give them more than that."
Over the next few days, Gareth's demeanor shifted subtly. He still barked orders and criticized mercilessly, but there was a newfound energy in his actions. As he demonstrated techniques, corrected stances, and drilled formations, a flicker of purpose returned to his eyes.
Ashby noticed the change but said nothing. Instead, she observed him closely during a rare moment of respite. They sat together by the fire one evening, the recruits asleep after a grueling day.
"You're starting to care," Ashby remarked, her tone teasing but curious.
Gareth snorted, poking at the fire with a stick. "Don't flatter yourself. I'm just doing my job."
"You didn't have to take this job," Ashby countered. "But you did. And don't tell me it's just for the coin."
For a moment, Gareth said nothing. Then, with a heavy sigh, he spoke. "You remind me of someone I used to know. Young, full of fire, charging into battles without thinking twice. He thought he could change the world too."
Ashby tilted her head, intrigued. "And what happened to him?"
Gareth's gaze darkened, his voice laced with regret. "He lost everything. His men, his honor… even the ones who stood by him the longest. All because he was too blind to see what mattered until it was too late."
Ashby's expression softened. "Is that why you left knighthood?"
"Part of it," Gareth admitted, his voice quieter now. "The rest isn't worth telling. But take it from someone who's been where you are: treasure the people around you, Ashby. They're not tools or pawns. They're your strength."
Ashby looked away, the weight of his words settling on her. Gareth's eyes narrowed as he studied her.
"And watch your back around your 'allies,'" he added, his tone cold. "That one—Casandra. She's too clever by half. People like her don't follow; they manipulate and maneuver others."
Ashby frowned, defensive. "Casandra's done nothing but help."
"Maybe," Gareth said, his gaze hard. "But trust isn't built on favors. Just… be careful. You can't afford to be blindsided."
Three days later, whispers of a new presence in Eoqelon reached the trio. A mage from the Magic Tower Acesh had arrived, their motives shrouded in mystery. Ash, Andrea, and Casandra quickly identified the figure: an unassuming man in his late thirties, dressed in dark robes adorned with the sigils of Acesh. His movements were calculated, his eyes sharp as they scanned the bustling city streets.
Andrea reported the sighting to Ash and Casandra, her tone urgent. "He's not trying to hide. Either he's confident or reckless."
Ash smirked. "Let's find out which."
Casandra shook her head. "No. We don't act yet. If he's from Acesh, he's here for a reason. Let's see what he does before we make a move."
The group shadowed the mage discreetly, watching as he interacted with local merchants, inquired about missing goods, and asked pointed questions about recent bandit activity. Despite his unassuming appearance, his presence radiated a quiet authority.
"Think he suspects us?" Ash whispered as they observed from a rooftop.
"Unlikely," Casandra replied. "He's fishing for information, not hunting specific targets. But if we're not careful, he'll stumble onto our operation."
Ash leaned back, his expression thoughtful. "So, we let him think he's in control?"
"For now," Casandra said. "The more he thinks he's untouchable, the easier it'll be to deal with him when the time comes."
That night, Ashby confronted Casandra privately. "What's your plan for this mage?"
Casandra raised an eyebrow. "Plan? We wait. Gauge his intentions. Then act."
"And if he becomes a threat?"
"Then we eliminate him," Casandra said simply. "Why? Do you have a problem with that?"
Ashby hesitated. Gareth's warning echoed in her mind. "I just… I want to be sure we're not making enemies we can't handle."
Casandra's expression softened, a rare glimpse of vulnerability. "Ashby, this rebellion… it's not going to be clean. There'll be blood. Sacrifices. You need to be ready for that."
"I am ready," Ashby insisted, though her voice lacked conviction.
Casandra studied her for a moment, then placed a hand on her shoulder. "You're doing well, Ashby. Better than I expected. But remember, leaders don't have the luxury of hesitation."
The following day, Gareth called for a mock battle among the recruits. Ashby watched from the sidelines, her heart swelling with a mixture of pride and apprehension as they fought with surprising coordination. Gareth barked instructions, his voice carrying a newfound energy.
"Better!" he shouted as a recruit landed a solid blow on his opponent. "Now keep your guard up, you idiot!"
For a moment, Ashby caught Gareth smiling—a rare, fleeting expression that spoke volumes. She approached him after the session, her tone light.
"You looked like you were actually enjoying yourself."
"Don't push it," Gareth grumbled, though his eyes betrayed a hint of amusement.
Ashby laughed softly. "Thank you, Gareth. For everything."
He waved her off, but the faint smile lingered. For the first time in years, Gareth felt a spark of purpose. Though he refused to admit it, the act of teaching—of shaping a group of misfits into something greater—was slowly reigniting a part of him he thought was long dead.
As he watched Ashby walk away, Gareth muttered under his breath, "Don't make the same mistakes I did, girl. And don't let them use or break you."