Kael marched with the group, his eyes focused on the ground. Kerric led them in silence, his gaze ever watchful. The forest was quiet, but there was always the threat of danger lurking somewhere . Kael's grip his blade, his senses sharp. Every rustle of the leaves, every whisper of the wind, felt like a potential threat.
Bran, walking a few paces behind, had grown quieter since Kael's return from his task. There was no sneering grin this time, no insult meant to cut Kael down. But the animosity between them hadn't disappeared. Kael could feel Bran's eyes on him, the older mercenary's hatred burning hotter with every step.
Zane, on the other hand, seemed more distant than usual. He hadn't joked as much, his usual lighthearted nature dulled. The silence stretched on as the group pushed deeper into the wilderness, until Kerric finally broke it.
"There's an outpost ahead," Kerric said, his voice low. "We're raiding it for supplies. Get in, take what we need, and don't leave any loose ends."
Kael's stomach tightened at the words. Another mission. Another step deeper into the brutality of the mercenary life. He glanced at Zane, who gave him a look that was somewhere between concern and resignation. Zane knew what was coming, Kael did too.
Night had fallen by the time they reached the outpost. His heart pounded in his chest, the anticipation of what was to come tightening every muscle in his body.
The outpost was small, little more than a collection of tents and wooden barricades. Kael could see the flicker of campfires, hear the distant voices of the men stationed there. They had no idea what was coming.
Kerric motioned for the group to split, directing Kael and Zane to approach from the east while the others took different positions around the camp. Kael followed Zane's lead, moving silently through the underbrush until they were close enough to hear the voices more clearly.
"This is going to be messy," Zane whispered, his tone unusually grim.
Kael nodded, his grip tightening on his blade. He could feel the tension in the air, the calm before the storm.
Then, with a sharp hand signal from Kerric, the attack began.
Kael moved quickly, his blade flashing in the dim light as he entered the fray. The camp erupted into chaos, men shouted, weapons clashed, and bodies fell. Kael's mind blanked as his body moved on instinct.
He fought his way through the outpost, cutting down anyone who stood in his way. The men at the camp were no match for the mercenaries, caught off guard by the suddenness of the attack.
But then, in the midst of the chaos, Kael spotted something, a young man, barely older than himself, stumbling out of one of the tents. The boy's eyes were wide with fear, his hands shaking as he fumbled for a weapon.
Kael froze.
The boy was no soldier, Kael could see that immediately. He was terrified, his hands trembling as he tried to lift a sword that was too big for him. He wasn't a threat, not really. Kael knew he could take him down in an instant.
But something stopped him.
For a brief moment, Kael saw himself in the boy's eyes. The same fear, the same desperation to survive. Kael's hand hovered over his blade, his mind racing. The boy was just like him, caught in the middle of a brutal world, trying to stay alive.
"Kael!" Zane's voice cut through the fog of hesitation.
Kael blinked, his eyes snapping back to the boy. The kid's hands were still shaking, his grip slipping on the sword's hilt. If Kael didn't act, the boy might swing, and even a desperate swing could be deadly.
But could Kael do it? Could he kill someone who was as helpless as he had been not so long ago?
Zane was at Kael's side now, his expression tense as he watched the scene unfold. "We need to finish this."
Kael swallowed hard, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. The mercenary life had no room for mercy. But as he stood there, staring at the boy's trembling hands, he couldn't help but wonder if there was still something left in him that wasn't hardened by this world.
With a swift motion, Kael disarmed the boy, sending his sword clattering to the ground. The boy fell to his knees, staring up at Kael in terror, but Kael didn't strike. He couldn't.
Zane watched, his eyes unreadable, before stepping forward and knocking the boy unconscious with the hilt of his sword. "You made your choice," Zane said quietly. "But remember, there won't always be another way."
Kael's breath came in short, ragged bursts. Sweat mixed with blood dripped down his forehead, stinging his eyes as he tried to keep his focus. His body screamed for rest, but the relentless glare of Kerric, standing a few paces away, told him that wasn't an option. The other mercenaries watched from a distance.
"On your feet," Kerric barked, his voice cold. "Again."
Kael wiped his bloodied hands on his torn tunic and forced himself to stand. His knees trembled, and the pain in his ribs made every breath a challenge. The sparring session had been relentless, Kerric hadn't let up, nor would he. The last mission had been a hard-won victory, but Kerric wasn't interested in resting on success.
"You think an enemy will care if you're tired?" Kerric growled, stepping forward with a practice sword in hand. "You think they'll give you time to recover? No. The moment you hesitate, the moment you stop pushing forward, you're dead. Now fight."
Kael raised his practice sword, gritting his teeth against the pain in his side. Kerric moved with a speed and precision that Kael could barely keep up with, attacking from every angle. Kael lifted his weapon just in time to block, the impact jolting through his already bruised body. Kerric pressed the attack, not giving Kael a moment to recover.
"You're too slow!" Kerric's voice was sharp, the edge of his blade sharper. He slashed toward Kael's legs, forcing him to sidestep, barely avoiding the blow.
Kael swung in a wide arc, but Kerric ducked easily, stepping in close to knock Kael off balance. Kael hit the ground hard, the wind knocked from his lungs. Kerric towered over him, eyes cold and assessing.
"Is this it?" Kerric spat, standing back. "Get up."
Kael forced himself to his feet, but no sooner had he raised his sword again than Kerric attacked. This time, the blows were harder, faster. Kael struggled to keep up, every block and parry draining his already depleted energy. Kerric wasn't just teaching him to fight, he was teaching him to survive when every part of his body screamed for him to stop.
Kerric's strikes were ruthless. His eyes never left Kael, watching his every move, his every hesitation. "You're weak because you hesitate," Kerric growled as their blades clashed again. "An enemy won't wait for you to decide. Strike first or die."
Kael swung his sword again, this time with more determination, but Kerric's skill was overwhelming. Within moments, Kael was disarmed, his sword knocked from his grip and Kerric's blade at his throat.
"You're not ruthless enough," Kerric muttered, his voice cold. "Next time, strike before your opponent even knows you're there."
Kael clenched his jaw, glaring up at Kerric as he stepped back. His body screamed for rest, his mind begged for relief, but he wouldn't let himself give in. Not now. Not when Kerric was watching.
Kerric wasn't finished. "Again," he ordered, handing Kael back the sword. The younger mercenaries looked on in silence. Bran, in particular, stood at the edge of the training circle, arms crossed and eyes narrowed, watching every move.
This time, Kerric switched tactics. Instead of the relentless attacks, he started with feints, forcing Kael to react, to anticipate strikes that never came. Kael swung too early, too late, his body aching with the effort to keep up. Kerric stepped inside his guard and delivered a brutal elbow to Kael's ribs, sending him sprawling into the dirt once more.
"You wait for your opponent's move," Kerric snapped. "That's how you die. Make them react to you. Don't wait for them to strike first."
Kael coughed, tasting blood in his mouth. His hands trembled as he pushed himself up, but he forced his legs to stand. The pain was unbearable, but he wouldn't let Kerric see him break.
For hours, Kael endured the same brutal regimen. Kerric's blows came faster and harder each time, the lessons more punishing. When Kael faltered, Kerric was there, driving him harder. The lesson was clear, there would be no mercy in battle.
Kael's arms burned with exhaustion, but he swung his sword, focusing only on the task ahead. His blade was heavy, his vision blurred from pain, but Kerric kept pushing him. Every misstep was met with another strike, another lesson.
"Again!" Kerric barked, driving Kael to the brink.
But something began to change. As the hours dragged on, Kael's body moved on instinct. The pain was still there, but it had become background noise. His strikes became sharper, his defenses tighter. When Kerric attacked, Kael no longer flinched. He fought back.
It wasn't enough to match Kerric, Kael knew that. But it was enough to show Kerric that he wouldn't break. Not yet.
By the end of the session, Kael's body was spent. He collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath, his fingers trembling around the hilt of his sword. But Kerric's eyes, usually so cold, held a flicker of something else, approval.
"You're getting there," Kerric said quietly, barely loud enough for Kael to hear. Then, louder, "That's enough for today. Rest up."
Kael laid in the dirt, his vision swimming, but there was something new inside him. Despite the pain, despite the exhaustion, he hadn't broken.
And as he caught Bran's gaze from across the yard, Kael knew that more battles, inside and outside the training circle, were coming.