Far to the north, in the capital of the Kingdom of Solvarin—Vizag—
stood the royal castle.
Its towering walls of white stone rose above the city like an unshakable guardian. Within its inner chambers lay the Hall of Council, a vast circular room illuminated by crystal chandeliers that hung from the vaulted ceiling. Golden light reflected across polished marble floors, and a massive round table of dark oak stood at the center.
Around it sat the most powerful men in the kingdom.
Each wore garments of wealth and authority—robes embroidered with gold thread, medals of rank pinned proudly to their chests. Their presence alone carried the weight of a nation's future.
At the head of the table sat the king.
His heavy frame rested against the throne-like chair, one hand placed upon his stomach as he listened in silence. His expression was calm, but his eyes remained sharp.
Around him, the councilors debated in low but urgent voices.
"The movements near the Divine Wolf's territory cannot be ignored," one nobleman argued.
"Our scouts have confirmed increased activity," another added. "If the beast has truly awakened, it will disrupt the balance along the border."
A tall, dignified man rose from his seat.
His armor bore the insignia of high command.
"Your Majesty," he said respectfully, bowing his head slightly, "the safest course of action would be to deploy Sir Ethan Greywhite and Sir Bard to the Velmoran frontier."
He paused briefly.
"Our neighbors in Velmora have never hesitated to exploit weakness. If they sense instability within our borders, they may attempt to encroach upon our territory."
Murmurs of agreement spread across the table.
The king remained silent for a moment.
Then he straightened slightly in his seat.
His voice, when he spoke, carried absolute authority.
"Send Sir Ethan Greywhite."
The room fell silent instantly.
He continued.
"Deploy him with ten Knights to the Velmoran frontier."
His gaze swept across the council.
"The capital will retain its remaining forces. Our greatest strength must remain here."
The nobles nodded in agreement.
One of the royal messengers stepped forward and bowed deeply.
"Your Majesty, the order will be transmitted immediately. However, it will require approximately two days for the message to reach Embrek."
The king gave a slow nod.
"So be it."
Behind the Embrek Church of Light, in the overgrown backyard—
the sound of impact echoed through the quiet air.
Not a spar.
A beating.
"Agh—!"
Aleck stumbled backward as Reyla's fist struck his shoulder, sending pain radiating through his body.
He barely managed to stay on his feet.
"That hurt!" he protested weakly, clutching his arm. "You hit me too hard again!"
Reyla rolled her wrist casually, completely unbothered.
"This is training," she said calmly. "Your body won't grow stronger if you aren't pushed past its limits."
A smirk spread across her face.
"It builds endurance."
She stepped forward again.
Aleck flinched instinctively.
"Then why are you smiling?" he asked nervously, fear creeping into his voice.
Reyla's grin widened.
Aleck clenched his fists.
You damned brute…
Once I learn resonance properly, I'll beat you senseless…
The thought remained safely inside his head.
He valued his life.
The training continued.
Time lost meaning.
Blow after blow struck his body.
His arms.
His shoulders.
His legs.
At first, every strike felt unbearable.
His body screamed in protest.
But slowly—
Something changed.
The pain dulled.
Not completely.
But enough.
Each strike no longer shook him the same way.
His body endured.
Adapted.
Survived.
Two hours passed.
Finally, Reyla stopped.
Aleck stood there, barely breathing, sweat and dust clinging to his skin.
Reyla observed him carefully.
Then she smiled.
A genuine smile.
"Congratulations," she said.
Aleck blinked weakly.
"You've begun using partial resonance."
Aleck froze.
"…What?"
Reyla crossed her arms.
"Resonance strengthens the body by aligning it with the natural force of the world," she explained. "But controlling it requires mental stability. Most people collapse the moment they try to sustain it."
She looked directly at him.
"The side effects can be severe. Fatigue. Vomiting. Sometimes even coughing blood."
Aleck swallowed.
Reyla continued.
"As your body and mind improve, you gain better control. You can direct resonance to specific parts of your body, reducing energy waste and maintaining it longer."
She gestured toward him.
"But beginners can't do that."
"They unconsciously spread resonance across their entire body."
She paused.
"That's called partial resonance."
Aleck listened carefully.
"It protects you," Reyla said. "But it's inefficient. It drains your energy quickly and leaves you vulnerable if the fight continues too long."
"This is why training matters," she said. "The stronger your body becomes, the easier it is for your mind to control resonance."
Aleck exhaled slowly.
Now he understood.
This wasn't punishment.
This was preparation.
Inside the grand hall of Baron Oliver's residence, the atmosphere was calm.
Ashley and Losaile sat together near the tall windows, engaged in quiet conversation. Their voices carried warmth and familiarity, the ease of long-standing friendship.
Nearby, Amber stood before a mirror, mimicking her mother's posture with exaggerated seriousness, her small face filled with determination.
Losaile noticed and smiled faintly.
"You'll master elegance at this rate," she said gently.
Amber beamed with pride.
But outside—
In the garden—
Voices broke the peace.
Oliver and Ethan stood near the corridor entrance, their conversation halted as they overheard the words.
"…Aren't knights supposed to fight evil?"
Olric stood among a few noble children, a wooden practice sword in his hand.
His voice carried certainty.
"That boy has strange hair. He doesn't talk to anyone. Everyone in the district hates him."
He tightened his grip on the sword.
"As nobles, isn't it our duty to purify evil so our people can live safely?"
Silence followed.
Oliver froze.
Ethan's expression darkened.
Neither of them had expected to hear such words—from a child.
From his child.
Oliver stepped forward.
His presence alone silenced the garden.
Olric turned, his confidence vanishing instantly.
"Father…"
Oliver's voice was calm.
Too calm.
"What do you believe a knight is?" he asked.
Olric hesitated.
"…Someone who defeats evil."
Oliver shook his head slowly.
"If that were true," he said quietly, "then a knight would be no different from a mercenary."
Olric looked down.
"A knight exists to protect," Oliver continued. "Not to judge. Not to condemn."
His gaze sharpened.
"You speak of that boy as though he is something less than human."
He stepped closer.
"Tell me, Olric… have you ever spoken to him?"
Silence.
"…Have you ever tried to understand him?"
Olric said nothing.
Oliver's voice grew heavier.
"You condemn him because he is different."
He paused.
"That is not justice."
"That is cowardice."
Olric flinched.
"If a person has black hair," Oliver said, "does that make him evil?"
"If he had four arms… would that make him evil?"
His eyes locked onto his son's.
"Or does evil lie in the choices a person makes?"
The garden remained silent.
"You cannot become a true knight without empathy," Oliver said finally.
His voice softened—but only slightly.
"Until you learn that, you will not attend the Royal Academy."
Olric's eyes widened.
"And your training…" Oliver continued.
"…is suspended."
The words struck harder than any blade.
Oliver turned and walked away.
He did not look back.
Ethan remained where he stood.
For a brief moment, Olric met his gaze.
There was no anger there.
Only disappointment.
Olric lowered his head in shame.
Why…
His hands trembled.
Why do I have to be the one who's wrong?
His grip tightened around the wooden sword.
That boy…
His chest burned.
He'll never talk to me now.
Slowly, he raised the sword.
And began practicing.
Again.
And again.
And again.
If he couldn't earn his father's approval through words—
He would earn it through strength.
Inside the hallway, Ethan walked beside Oliver in silence.
"You were harsh," Ethan said finally.
Oliver didn't respond immediately.
"He's still young," Ethan continued. "He has the potential to become a great knight. Perhaps even greater than we were."
Oliver exhaled quietly.
"That is exactly why I must be harsh."
He stopped walking.
"Most knights in this kingdom serve for the wrong reasons," Oliver said.
"Power. Fame. Wealth."
His voice grew heavier.
"Others serve because they are given permission to kill."
He looked toward the garden.
"I will not allow my son to become one of them."
Silence lingered between them.
Ethan followed his gaze.
"If he learns," Ethan said quietly, "if he truly understands…"
"…then this kingdom will gain a knight worthy of its people."
Oliver said nothing.
But he hoped.