The atmosphere in Riverend had changed.
After hearing of Greystone's destruction and the Blackfangs' growing numbers, the villagers had been thrown into a quiet desperation. Everyone moved with urgency, reinforcing the barricades, sharpening old weapons, and whispering anxiously about what was coming.
Alex had expected panic, but what he saw was something else—determined resignation. These people had lived their whole lives on the fringes of safety, surviving under a lord who saw them as nothing more than a tax burden. Now, they had to rely on themselves.
He had been training non-stop with Mira, his body aching from the endless drills. But despite the exhaustion, he could feel himself improving. His strikes were no longer wild and sloppy, his footwork less hesitant. He was learning to read his opponent, to anticipate, to react.
Still, it wasn't enough.
Mira was skilled, but she wasn't a formal instructor. She had taught him the basics, but Alex could tell there was a limit to how far she could push him. If he truly wanted to get stronger, to stand on his own, he needed to learn how people in this world actually trained for battle.
And as luck would have it, an opportunity presented itself.
"You're moving too much," Mira said, stepping back after their latest sparring session. "You shift your weight too early when you strike. It makes you predictable."
Alex rolled his shoulders, wincing. "And how exactly am I supposed to fix that?"
Mira gestured toward the far side of the village, where an older man was drilling a group of younger guards in formation. His name was Roderic, one of the few men in Riverend who had actual combat experience. He had served in a knight's household before retiring to the village, and while he was past his prime, his movements were still sharp, his presence commanding.
"You should watch Roderic," Mira said. "If you want to learn how to fight like a warrior, like a real knight, that's the closest thing you'll get around here."
Alex followed her gaze, watching as Roderic barked orders at the trainees. The way they moved, the rigid discipline in their stance—it was different from how Mira fought.
Knights, he realized, must have a structured way of training.
Curiosity piqued, he wandered over, standing at the edge of the group. Roderic's sharp eyes flicked to him immediately.
"You're that outsider," the old knight said, not unkindly. "Been hearing about you."
Alex hesitated, then nodded. "I've been training with Mira, but I need to learn more."
Roderic studied him for a long moment before grunting. "Mira fights like a rogue—fast, unpredictable. Good for the battlefield, but not for discipline. Knights train differently. We focus on endurance, defense, and control."
He gestured for Alex to step forward. "Stand in a defensive stance."
Alex obeyed, shifting his weight into what he thought was a solid guard. Roderic immediately slapped his sword arm with a wooden training blade, making him stagger.
"Too loose," Roderic said. "A knight doesn't flinch. A knight doesn't waver. We learn to hold formation, to control our breath, to endure the weight of battle."
He tapped his chest. "Knighthood isn't just about swinging a sword. It's about discipline. A knight must train their body and mind as one. Strength alone isn't enough. Without endurance, without control, a blade means nothing."
Alex listened intently, absorbing every word.
A knight's path wasn't just about skill—it was about fortitude. They were trained to withstand, to hold the line, to fight with precision and unwavering focus. It was a system built on patience, on years of refinement.
But it wasn't the only path.
Later that evening, as the villagers gathered around fires for warmth, Alex overheard a hushed conversation.
"I wish we had a mage," one of the younger guards muttered. "We'd stand a chance if we had someone who could actually use magic."
Alex, sitting nearby, leaned in slightly. "Why don't we?"
The guard scoffed. "You think mages just grow on trees? Magic's not something you just pick up. It takes years of study. And even then, most people don't have the talent for it."
Alex frowned. "How does it work?"
The guard looked at him, confused. "You don't know?"
"I'm… not from around here," Alex said vaguely.
The guard scratched his head. "Well, from what I understand, mages don't train like knights do. It's not about endurance or swordplay—it's about unlocking what's inside you. Magic comes from within, but most people don't have the ability to harness it. That's why they train at academies, or under mentors. It's a slow process. They start with theory before they ever learn a single spell."
Alex thought back to the Blackfang firecaster. "What about people like him? He didn't seem like an academic."
The guard scowled. "Rogue mages are different. They don't have the discipline of the academies. They use raw power, but they don't control it properly. That's why they're dangerous. Magic isn't just about throwing fire around—it's about understanding the balance of it."
Alex mulled over the words. Knights trained their bodies, while mages trained their minds. One path was endurance and control, the other was knowledge and refinement.
It was fascinating, but it also made him realize something.
He didn't belong in either category.
Over the next few days, Alex spent time observing both Roderic's knight drills and the conversations between the villagers about magic. He was beginning to understand the way this world functioned.
Knights were warriors of discipline, trained in formation, endurance, and swordplay. Their strength came from unwavering control, from the ability to outlast their enemies.
Mages, by contrast, were scholars of power, unlocking the mysteries of magic through knowledge and study. Their strength came from understanding the natural forces of the world and bending them to their will.
But Alex had neither.
He had no endurance, no knight's training. He had no magical talent, no knowledge of spells.
He was at the very bottom.
And that meant he had to carve out his own path.
While Alex struggled to find his place, the Blackfangs had already begun their retaliation.
In a dimly lit tent, a man sat at a makeshift table, his scarred hands drumming against the wood. Unlike the common bandits around him, he carried himself with cold precision. His armor was unmarked, his expression unreadable.
A firecaster stood before him, nervous. "We lost too many in that raid," he muttered. "Whoever led that attack… they were organized."
The man nodded slowly. "Mira," he said. His voice was deep, measured. "She's always been a problem."
The firecaster hesitated. "The villagers won't stand a chance in a real fight. We can crush them if we move now."
"No," the man said. "We're not savages. We strike when it benefits us, not when emotion demands it."
The firecaster scowled. "You're saying we do nothing?"
The man's lips curved into a cold smile. "Not nothing." He leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "We don't need to destroy Riverend. We just need to break them. Fear is a far better weapon than steel."
He gestured to a map on the table, his finger tapping on a smaller village nearby.
"We start here."
Back in Riverend, Alex sat alone, staring at his sword. He had learned so much, yet it only made him feel more unprepared.
Knights, mages… they had systems, disciplines, paths to follow.
But what about him?
He clenched his fists.
He would have to find his own way.
Because war was coming. And if he wasn't strong enough, he wouldn't survive it.