The garrison training grounds were chaos pretending to be order. One hundred twenty soldiers from twenty-three different families, each bringing their own combat traditions and cultivation methods, attempting to function as a unified force under Captain Sarah Grey's relentless coordination.
Fenix stood on the manor's second-floor balcony, watching with the cold assessment of someone selecting weapons for a specific task. His crimson eyes tracked individual movements, cataloging who showed promise and who was simply filling space in formations.
"See anyone worth selecting?" Khan appeared beside him, arms crossed.
"Thirty worth closer examination. Maybe fifteen actually worth trusting." Fenix's gaze settled on two figures drilling in the far corner—Kai and Abel, his cousins, moving through combinations against veterans who clearly outranked them but were being pressed hard nonetheless.
Khan followed his nephew's line of sight. "My sons."
