At dawn, Vetril awoke in a fit of dizziness, his consciousness still wandering between blurs. His head felt heavy, as if weighed down by a boulder, and his limbs were sore and weak. There was a faint smell of herbs in his nostrils, and some stale odour from the wooden bed. The faint morning light poured into the room through the window pane, the light was dappled and reflected on the ceiling with some warmth.
The memories of last night flooded into his mind - the misery of the town, the blood of his parents, the corpses of his friends ... A sharp pain spread through his chest, as if a dull knife was slowly cutting into his heart. He sat up violently, the sky spinning in front of his eyes, and the trauma in his chest felt as if it was going to tear painfully.
He gasped for air, like a drowned man struggling to surface, cold sweat dripping down his forehead and soaking his lapel.
'Awake?'
A low, hoarse voice came from the side.Vetril turned his head sharply, and what met his eyes was a face covered in scars. Leon Frostblade - the captain of the seventh patrol of the Flowing Glory Knights, the man who had taken him away from his home in the fire of war.
'Has the demon ... been crushed?' Vetril's voice was hoarse and trembling, dripping with unease and anticipation. His fists were clenched, and the fire of hatred burned in his eyes. However, Leon just looked at him with a calm gaze and did not answer immediately.
After a moment of silence, Leon slowly spat out two words, 'No.'
As if struck by thunder, Vetril's breathing was instantly disordered. His nails were deeply embedded in his palms, blood dripping down his fingers, and his eyes became furious and impulsive in an instant.
'Why? Where is the Knights? What about the Kingdom Army? Did they just let that demon continue to wreak havoc? And why did you guys arrive so late, if it wasn't for you, everyone wouldn't be dead!' Vetril said.
'For that I am very sorry, as we were lured in the opposite direction by the cultists and that is what caused us to arrive too late.' Leon said.
'Where is that demon? I'm going to kill it myself!' Vetril screamed. He violently lifted the covers and tried to stand up, however a sharp pain swept through his body and he stumbled, nearly falling.
Leon grunted softly, sarcasm in his tone, 'In your current state, you can't even get out of bed, and you're still thinking about revenge? Are you planning to use your stubbornness to piss off demons?'
Vetril jerked his head up and stared angrily at Leon, but the other party's face still had that same unperturbed expression.
'Anger doesn't make you stronger, fool.' Leon slowly approached, towering over him, 'If you could get revenge by being angry, then your family wouldn't be dead.'
Vetril gritted his teeth, knuckles white. He hated to retort immediately, but reason told him that Leon was not wrong.
'I can teach you.' Leon turned towards the window and looked out at the bustling streets, his voice low and firm, 'But you must understand that vengeance is not by anger, but by strength. Right now, your hand even trembles when you hold the sword.'
The words were like sharp needles piercing Vetril's dignity, he clenched his teeth, his voice low and trembling, 'Teach me ... to make me strong.'
The corner of Leon's mouth rose slightly, but there was a hint of coldness, 'Very well, from today onwards, you are my student.'
Vetril's heart shook with both anger and resentment. He didn't like Leon's glib attitude, as if his suffering was nothing more than a joke in the other party's eyes. But at the same time, he clearly realised that Leon's indifference hid some kind of deep meaning.
He slowly unclenched his clenched fists, the blood on his palms faintly aching. He wanted to retort, to vent his anger, but reason silenced him. He took a deep breath and looked up straight at Leon, no longer only impulsive, but with determination in his eyes.
'I will learn.' Vetril's voice was low, but firm.
Leon nodded in satisfaction, but a hint of mockery still hung at the corner of his mouth, 'Very well. However, don't think that I will show mercy. Since you want to get stronger, be prepared for hellish torture.'
Vetril didn't flinch, his gaze as firm as a burning flame.
A short while later
Outside of Quicksilver, in Leon's manor, Vetril officially embarked on the path of training. However, the first day of training gives him a taste of what hell is.
'Pick up the sword.'
Vetril bent down to pick up his training sword, but he didn't want a violent impact to hit him just as he gripped the hilt. Before he could react, his entire body had been knocked to the ground.
'Too slow.' Leon said coldly.
Vetril gritted his teeth and braced himself to raise his sword again.
'Again.'
Sword winds whistled as Leon pressed Vetril relentlessly, each attack causing him to feel unbearable pain. However, he didn't shout to stop, nor did he retreat.
The training lasted from early morning to dusk, Vetril's hands had long been worn down with blood blisters, and sweat mixed with dust muddied his thin body.
'Is this your limit?' Leon stood in front of him, towering over the kneeling teenager.
Vetril gasped and looked up at Leon, something burning in his eyes.
'Again.' He whispered.
Leon looked into his eyes and a cold smile curled up at the corner of his mouth.
'Very well.'
The training went on day in and day out, Leon never showing any mercy.Vetril started with the basics, waking up at five in the morning and running five laps around the manor, followed by repetitive exercises in basic swordplay.
Once one morning.
'Third left hand!' Leon's roar coincided with the arrival of a crossbow bolt, and Vetril instinctively grabbed his short-hilted cleaver and deflected it, sparking the spine of his sword with an arrow of fine iron. Four months of training for such sudden attacks and now he could judge which sword type to use the instant he heard the bowstring rattle.
There was another time under the blazing midday sun one day.
The surface of the oak stake was covered in a spiderweb of sword marks, and Vetril repeated the basic thrusting motion, making each strike so that the tip of the sword penetrated the hanging brass ring without making a sound. When the thirtieth succeeded, the brass ring was suddenly replaced with an oil-soaked leather ring - a trick of Leon's - and the slippery touch deflected the sword by half an inch.
And once in the twilight.
Twelve oak barrels were lined up along the edge of the training ground, and Vetril had to take turns pushing the containers of different liquids: the mercury barrels for explosiveness, the asphalt barrels for endurance, and the barrels filled with live eels for balance control. When his shoulder hit the barrel containing iron sand for the third time, Leon suddenly splashed out the treasured wine.
'Remember the flavour.' The instructor picked at the wine-soaked dirt with the tip of his sword, 'I'll use this wine to clean your sword when you cut down your first enemy.'
Just like that, three years passed by in a hurry.
The fifteen year old Vetril had long since ceased to be the child consumed by war back then. His swordsmanship became more and more pure, his pace steady and sharp, and even Leon had to admit that his growth far exceeded expectations.
However, the goal in his heart had never changed.
'The demon ... is not dead yet.'
These words were as deep in his soul as a brand.
Early one morning, Vetril made a thought, and then the status panel appeared.
Status Panel
Name: Vetril Dawnsinger
Age: 15
Rank: 9
Realm: Apprentice Knight
Comments: Unlimited potential
In fact, Vetril reached level 9 two years ago, but for some reason no matter what he did he couldn't condense the core of the source, he even asked Leon's opinion specifically for this reason, and the result was that Leon also said he wasn't sure, so Vetril could only continue with the basic skill training first.
'It's almost time.' Leon suddenly walked over and handed Vetril a letter.
'This is?' Vetril took the letter and looked at Leon suspiciously.
'Entrance qualifications for Grant Academy.' Leon clasped his hands to his chest and spoke in a bland tone, 'It's time for you to go to a wider place to sharpen yourself, perhaps here you can find the answers to your problems.'
Vetril froze, 'But ...'
'This place can't teach you anything more.' Leon interrupted, 'Go there and you can learn higher level swordsmanship, tactics, and more of the truly powerful.'
Vetril looked down at the letter, his fingertips tightening slightly.
'But remember.' Leon walked up to him and patted him on the shoulder, 'Your sword shouldn't just be for revenge.'
Vetril was silent for a long time, and eventually, he looked up, his gaze firm.
'I understand.'
Grant Academy - a proving ground for the strong, and the starting point for Vetril's new journey.