Kael's hands were steady as he fastened the straps of his gear. The others were watching him again, their eyes filled with something between curiosity and suspicion. Kael had survived Kerric's brutal tests, but each time he made it through, the distance between him and the rest of the mercenaries seemed to grow wider.
He knew why.
Envy.
Kerric stood at the edge of the camp, his eyes scanning Kael as he approached. The older mercenary said nothing at first, his expression as unreadable as ever.
"You're going out," Kerric said finally, his voice flat. "Scouting mission."
Kael nodded. It wasn't the first time Kerric had sent him on a mission like this.
"There's a rival group near the northern pass," Kerric continued. "I need information, numbers, weapons, anything useful and if you see a chest bring it with you. You'll go alone. Get what I need and return before nightfall."
Kael said nothing, but his pulse quickened. The last time Kerric had sent him out alone, he'd returned with blood on his hands. It hadn't been his first kill, but it had been the moment he realized something about himself.
"Understood," Kael said, his voice steady.
Kerric nodded once, a silent dismissal. Kael turned and made his way to the camp's edge, feeling the eyes of the other mercenaries on his back. He didn't look back.
The terrain was rough, the ground uneven beneath Kael's boots as he moved through the forest. His senses were honed by the weeks of training and missions under Kerric's guidance. Every sound, every movement in the trees, felt magnified, but Kael's focus remained. He had a job to do.
The camp wasn't far, just beyond the ridge. Kael crouched low as he neared the edge, scanning the area below. The camp was small, just a handful of tents, a few mercenaries scattered about. They didn't look particularly dangerous, but Kael knew better than to underestimate them. These men were seasoned fighters, and he was alone.
His eyes narrowed as he spotted what he had come for, a chest, partially hidden behind one of the tents. Whatever was inside, Kerric wanted it. That was enough for Kael.
He moved quickly, circling the camp from the shadows, his movements careful and deliberate. The mercenaries were distracted, talking and laughing near the fire. Kael slipped past them, his heart pounding in his chest. He reached the chest and knelt beside it, fingers working quickly to undo the latch.
As the chest creaked open, a figure stepped out from the shadows.
Kael froze, his hand on the chest's edge. The figure was a mercenary, tall and broad-shouldered, with a scar running down his cheek. His eyes narrowed as they fell on Kael.
"You don't belong here," the man growled, drawing his sword.
Kael didn't hesitate. The fear was still there, gnawing at the back of his mind, but it was overshadowed by something else, survival. He drew his own blade in one swift motion, blocking the mercenary's first strike with a sharp clang of steel.
The fight was quick and brutal. The mercenary was strong, but Kael was faster, more precise. His training with Kerric had paid off. Each strike, each movement was calculated. Kael was no longer a hesitant fighter, he was efficient, ruthless.
The mercenary's sword slipped from his grasp as Kael drove his blade into the man's chest. The mercenary gasped, blood spilling from his lips as he collapsed to the ground.
Kael stood over the body, his chest heaving. The killing was no longer new, but it still left a hollow feeling inside him. He didn't have time to dwell on it.
He wiped his blade on the grass and turned back to the chest. The contents were a stack of documents, sealed with the mark of the group's leader. Whatever they were, they were important enough for Kerric to send him after them.
The journey back to the camp was tense. Kael moved quickly.
When he reached the camp, Kerric was waiting. The older mercenary's eyes flickered to the documents in Kael's hand, then to the blood on his tunic.
"Did you have trouble?" Kerric asked, his voice neutral.
Kael shook his head. "No."
Kerric's gaze lingered on him for a moment before he nodded. "Good. We'll talk in the morning. Rest now."
Kael turned to leave, but Kerric's voice stopped him. "Kael."
He glanced back, meeting Kerric's cold eyes.
"Good Job," Kerric said approvingly.
Kael nodded once, then turned away, making his way back to his tent. The blood on his hands was starting to dry.
The next morning, Kael sat near the edge of the camp, sharpening his own sword, his eyes scanning the familiar faces around him.
Bran's eyes followed Kael, his gaze never hiding the simmering jealousy underneath. The other mercenaries didn't say much, but Kael could feel their unease. He was no longer the new recruit fighting to prove himself. He was something else now, something they didn't know how to handle.
"Kael."
The voice came from behind him. Kael turned, his hand still gripping the hilt of his sword. It was Zane. He hadn't seen him in days. Zane stood there, a small smile on his face, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Didn't expect to see you back so soon," Kael said, sliding his sword into its sheath. He stood to face Zane fully, noting the familiar features: dark hair, a lean build, and the same guarded look he always had.
"Mission went quicker than expected," Zane replied, stepping closer. "Seems like you've been busy while I was gone."
Kael shrugged. "Kerric's been keeping me on my toes."
Zane's eyes flicked to the rest of the camp. "I've noticed. The others talk about you now. Seems like you've made an impression."
Kael didn't respond, but the meaning was clear. His reputation was spreading, and not everyone liked what they were seeing. Zane's return was a reminder that the dynamics in the camp were constantly shifting.
Life in the camp continued with a dull rhythm, endless weapon drills, maintaining gear, and preparing for whatever battles laid ahead. The days blurred into one another, but the tension between Kael and Bran only seemed to sharpen.
Kael found himself drawn into more frequent sparring sessions, each one a test of strength and endurance. Bran was always nearby, watching with those calculating eyes, waiting for an opportunity to challenge Kael directly.
Zane moved through the camp, observing as he always did. He wasn't one to provoke anyone outright, but he was always calculating the social landscape. Kael wasn't sure where Zane stood now that he was back. The others were beginning to see Kael as a threat, but Zane's attitude was harder to read.
"You've gotten better," Zane commented during one of Kael's sparring sessions. He stood at the edge of the training circle, arms crossed, watching as Kael moved through a series of drills.
"Kerric doesn't give me a choice," Kael replied, catching his breath between swings.
Zane's expression flickered. "Yeah, I bet."
It wasn't long before Bran's patience ran out.
"Getting cozy with Zane, huh?" Bran's voice cut through the camp one evening as the group gathered near the fire. Kael didn't respond, but Bran wasn't finished. "You think just because you've been on a few missions, you're one of us now?"
Kael felt the eyes of the other mercenaries on him, waiting to see how he would react. Bran wasn't just provoking him, he was challenging him in front of everyone.
"Shut your mouth, Bran," Zane muttered, leaning back against a tree.
Bran sneered, his gaze shifting between Kael and Zane. "What's the matter? You afraid to speak for yourself, Kael?"
Kael's jaw tightened, but he didn't rise to the bait. Not yet.
Kerric had been watching the camp's social dynamics unfold with interest. He rarely involved himself in disputes between the mercenaries unless it threatened the mission or his control.
The campfire crackled, the air thick with the tension between the mercenaries. Bran's taunts were getting bolder, and it was only a matter of time before things came to a head.
Zane shot Kael a glance, as if weighing whether to intervene again. But Kael had learned enough from Kerric to know that sooner or later, he'd have to deal with Bran himself.
It didn't take long for Bran to push things too far.
It was during another sparring session the next day when Bran finally made his move. Kael had just finished a round with one of the newer mercenaries when Bran stepped forward, his sword already drawn.
"Let's see what you've really got," Bran said, his voice low and dangerous.
Kael met Bran's gaze, his heart pounding in his chest. He could feel the eyes of the entire camp on them, waiting for him to make a move. Zane stood at the edge of the circle, his expression unreadable.
Bran smirked, taking a step forward. "Come on, Kael. Let's see if you're as tough as everyone says."
Kael's hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. He knew that walking away wasn't an option, not anymore.
The camp grew silent, the tension thick in the air.