Chapter 3
The First Discipline
The training grounds of the Valerius estate were awake before the sun.
Kael learned this on his first morning.
He had woken when the sky was still dark, the faint gray of dawn just beginning to press against the horizon. The room assigned to him was modest for a duke's heir clean, sturdy, practical. No excess. No indulgence.
He dressed himself.
Simple clothes. Soft cloth. Reinforced stitching around joints.
By the time he stepped outside, the air was cold and sharp. Frost clung faintly to the edges of stone and grass. His breath fogged as he exhaled.
And yet
The training grounds were already alive.
Soldiers moved in formations across the open field, their boots striking the ground in unison. The rhythm was steady, disciplined, relentless. Steel clinked softly as weapons were shifted, inspected, returned.
Kael stopped walking.
He watched.
This was not the chaotic sparring of a village militia. Movements were precise. No wasted steps. No exaggerated swings. Each soldier moved as part of something larger than himself.
This is what structure looks like, Kael thought.
"Observing instead of warming up?"
The voice came from his left.
Kael turned.
A tall man stood there, broad-shouldered and weathered, his hair cropped short and streaked with gray. His eyes were sharp, assessing, and utterly unimpressed.
Instructor Roland Thane.
Kael straightened and bowed properly.
"Good morning, Instructor Thane."
Roland snorted. "Too formal. I'm not court."
Kael nodded. "Yes, sir."
Roland studied him for a long moment.
"Six years old," he muttered. "Skinny. No calluses. No scars."
His gaze sharpened.
"But your stance is wrong for a pampered child."
Kael said nothing.
"Follow me," Roland said.
They walked toward a smaller, separated section of the grounds. No weapons racks. No formations. Just open space, wooden posts, weighted ropes, and stone platforms of varying heights.
"This is where you start," Roland said. "Before soul power. Before technique."
Kael looked around.
"Your body," Roland continued, "is a liability."
Kael nodded. "I understand."
"No," Roland said sharply. "You think you understand."
He pointed to a low wooden beam about knee height.
"Balance. Walk it."
Kael stepped up without hesitation.
The beam was narrow but stable. He placed one foot in front of the other, arms slightly out, breathing controlled.
He crossed it cleanly.
Roland raised an eyebrow.
"Again."
Kael did.
"Again."
He did.
"Faster."
Kael complied.
"Now backward."
Kael adjusted and continued.
After several passes, Roland finally held up a hand.
"Enough."
Kael stepped down, calm, breathing steady.
Roland circled him.
"You have control," Roland said. "That's rare."
He crouched slightly, eye level with Kael.
"But control without stress is meaningless."
Roland clapped his hands once.
Two soldiers stepped forward, each holding a long rope with weighted ends.
Kael's eyes flicked to them.
"Run," Roland said simply.
"Where?" Kael asked.
Roland pointed to the far end of the field.
"Until I say stop."
Kael ran.
At first, it was manageable. His legs were short, but his pace was steady. He focused on breathing, posture, rhythm.
Then the ropes cracked through the air.
The weights slammed into the ground near his feet, kicking up dirt and forcing him to adjust his steps.
Kael's focus sharpened.
Predict the arc. Don't panic.
Another strike came closer. He stumbled slightly but recovered.
Roland's voice cut through the air.
"Faster doesn't mean reckless!"
Kael adjusted again.
Minutes passed.
His lungs burned. His legs screamed. Sweat soaked into his clothes despite the cold air.
Still, he ran.
Finally
"Stop."
Kael slowed, then stopped. His chest heaved. His vision narrowed slightly at the edges.
Roland walked up to him.
"Tell me what you learned."
Kael swallowed.
"That my reaction time degrades when fatigue accumulates," he said. "And that my lower center of gravity helps with balance, but limits stride length."
Roland stared.
"…Anything else?"
Kael hesitated.
"That I relied too much on prediction instead of adaptability."
Roland grinned.
"Good."
He straightened.
"You'll survive."
The second instructor arrived after breakfast.
Lady Mirelle Arkwright did not look like a warrior.
She wore simple robes, her dark hair tied back neatly. Her eyes were calm, observant, and sharp in a way that had nothing to do with physical strength.
They met in a smaller lecture chamber overlooking the estate.
Maps covered the walls.
Kael sat at a low desk. Mirelle stood beside a board.
"A knight," she said, "is not defined by strength."
Kael listened.
"A knight is defined by decision density," she continued. "How many choices you must process per second."
She turned.
"Tell me, Kael Valerius if you are stronger than your enemy, do you always win?"
"No," Kael replied immediately.
"Why?"
"Terrain. Information asymmetry. Morale. Timing."
Mirelle smiled faintly.
"Good."
She gestured to a map.
"This is a border skirmish from thirty years ago," she said. "Numerically inferior force. Better commander."
She tapped the board.
"Who wins?"
Kael studied it.
The terrain favored ambush. Supply lines were exposed.
"The smaller force," he said. "If they disengage early and force attrition."
"Correct."
She turned toward him fully.
"Power creates responsibility," she said. "Because others will follow your lead whether you want them to or not."
Kael absorbed that.
"A knight who hesitates loses lives," she said. "A knight who rushes sacrifices them."
She paused.
"You will be taught ethics not to limit you," she said softly. "But to keep you human."
Kael nodded.
The mistake happened in the afternoon.
Captain Jorvan Holt was younger than Roland but carried himself like a veteran. His soul power pressure was subtle but constant, like standing near deep water.
"Today," Jorvan said, "we test soul power control."
Kael stood on a circular stone platform etched with faint runes.
"You will release soul power," Jorvan instructed. "No martial soul. Just circulation."
Kael focused.
Soul power stirred within him calm, dense, obedient.
He released it slowly.
The air shimmered faintly.
"Again," Jorvan said.
Kael complied.
"More."
Kael hesitated.
"You're holding back," Jorvan said.
Kael exhaled.
He released more.
The pressure increased.
The runes glowed faintly.
"Stop," Jorvan said sharply.
Kael halted instantly.
Jorvan's eyes narrowed.
"You felt it, didn't you?"
"Yes," Kael said.
"The pull," Jorvan said. "Your body wants more than it can handle."
Kael nodded.
"Why didn't you stop sooner?"
Kael was silent.
"Answer."
"…Because I believed I could manage the backlash."
Jorvan's expression hardened.
"Belief gets people crippled."
He stepped forward and placed a hand on Kael's shoulder.
"Your soul power is ahead of your meridians," he said. "That gap will punish arrogance."
Kael lowered his head.
"I understand."
"No," Jorvan said. "You learn."
He turned to the side.
"Penalty."
Two soldiers stepped forward with weighted cuffs.
Kael's eyes widened slightly.
"Endurance stance," Jorvan said. "Until dusk."
Kael did not argue.
The cuffs were placed around his ankles.
He assumed the stance.
Minutes passed.
Then more.
His legs trembled. Sweat dripped from his chin. Pain built, slow and relentless.
Roland watched from a distance.
So did Mirelle.
So did the Duke, unseen from a shaded balcony.
When dusk finally came, Jorvan raised a hand.
"Enough."
Kael collapsed to one knee, gasping.
Jorvan crouched.
"Remember this," he said quietly. "Power does not forgive impatience."
Kael met his eyes.
"I won't forget."
And this time
He meant it.