The next morning, the sound of a loud bell rang loud as the sunlight passed through the small windows above the beds.

  "Wake up, troops! Get on your feet; it's time for training!“ An old sergeant yelled as the men rushed towards the armory to get into their armors and to pick up their weapons as fast as they could, and slowly, one by one, they formed a line outside on the training ground, and not much later, an old sergeant walked down the yard, together with Nogryl and Aryon Smite.

  "Today we'll hone our sword-fighting skills in a sparring practice! Pick up the wooden swords in the armory!“ The old man's voice shouted, sending the troops back inside, and when they came back, they lined up again, and the man started dividing them into pairs,

  at first every man with the man to his right. As they stood one next to the other, Henry and Alwin were matched to spar among themselves. And outmatching all of the soldiers, Nogryl and Aryon had no one else to practice with but among themselves.

  All of the men took their positions in pairs of two, facing each other with wooden swords in their hands, and with the blow of the horn of the old sergeant, the groups descended into a single combat.

  Henry charged recklessly, swinging wide one swing after another towards Alwin, but his opponent parried all of his reckless blows one after another.

  "Getting tired?“ He asked, but Henry's rage just grew stronger as he clenched his teeth and growled, while his swings intensified, and as he swung, one of the swings managed to find its way past Alwin's sword and clashed against his helmet.

  "Serious, aren't we?“ The tall, slender man proclaimed after taking a step back, but Henry quickly charged at him and closed the distance again, and as their blades clashed, Alwin repelled his fierce opponent with a kick to his chest armor, and as Henry stumbled, he followed up with a blow to his shoulder and another one to his side, giving him no opportunity to regain balance. Instead of attempting to parry, Henry simply traded blow for blow, but Alwin's proficiency in swords was greater than his, and most of his blows were parried or kept at bay by the much more skilled fighter.

  After parrying one of his blows, Alwin swung hard at his opponent's head, and the blow sent him straight to the sandy floor. While Henry was seemingly counting stars, Alwin leaned on his sword and looked towards him and stated,

  "Too much swinging, too little parrying; your form is nonexistent, and your moves are predictable. You have much to learn" in a smug voice. But as soon as he spoke, the old sergeant approached and said,

  "You underestimated your opponent, which would quite likely have you killed after the first landed blow if those were real swords; besides, you wasted many opportunities to counterattack." After which Alwin groaned, and his complacent posture quickly disappeared.

  "Both of you are very young and have much to learn; nonetheless, don't let that discourage you; it's a daring heart that wins the battle after all.“ After what seemed to be a minute, most of the practice duels were already finished, all except one duo, Nogryl and Smite.

  Both of the men were well trained in the way of the sword, and both of them had an ego in it, neither yielding to the other.

  "You'll grow tired, old man!“ The champion of mankind yelled with a smirk as he swung his sword towards his opponent, but after a skillful parry, he quickly dodged a riposte.

  "I am just warming up." The paladin responded.

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  "He almost got me" Nogryl thought to himself, marveling at Aryon's skill in combat. The swords were clashing energetically between two fighters as they walked in circles around each other, and each blow was deflected after another on both sides as the sound of wood bashing against wood echoed from the walls of the fortification. Both of the men were tall and stalwart, but their moves were quick and dexterous, and they reflected the years of practice and honing that the fighters invested in their art. The battle continued for minutes as the rest of the men on the training ground watched and learned from every move. Nogryl parried an incoming attack and returned a swing, but his foe blocked with his wrist armor and landed a fist blow to his helmet, which sent the champion of mankind staggering backwards before the grand paladin sent him down to the sandy ground with a powerful overhead blow, and the battle was over.

  "The spear is my weapon of choice anyway,“ Aryon added as Nogryl struggled to stand up and the crowd awed.

  "This man is something else, I swear!“ The defeated knight thought to himself as he brushed off the sand from his armor.

  "The group combat will be next!“ The old sergeant yelled, and everyone lined up in a straight line before him, and the training continued for the rest of the day.

  "Such a harsh drill, wasn't it?“ Asked Henry as he sat in the "Wandering Knight" Inn together with Nogryl and Alwin in the evening.

  "Indeed, the army is preparing for something it would seem,“ Nogryl replied. He seemed much more serious than he used to be back when they sat around a table in the "Sleeping Boar", in their hometown of Lindenrow, that now lies burned and plundered, much as if his grief changed him and shaped him. Like the steel, the heroes were shaped by the blows that they received, and it's what made them into who they are.

  "Henry, do not rush into battle so recklessly, or you are going to need a thicker armor,“ Nogryl said as he stared at his half-empty mug of ale, and as the hours passed, the night grew darker and the men went to the barracks to take some rest for the next day, all except Nogryl.

  He practiced his moves on the training ground among the walls of the barracks, and he often inspected his shadow in the moonlight to correct his form.

  He paid attention to how he draws his sword, swings it, and how the blade would align. He paid extra attention to his posture and his guard. To the angles of his stance and how his armor would align with the opponent's blade, and every now and then, he would take a small bite of a reddish remedy from a small linen sack from his pocket, the ember root that Lynda gave him before his journey to the Wolf's Hill, where he met the White Witch, for it was needed for him to ward off the tiredness through the night.

  And as he practiced, he heard a curious sound coming from the top of the barracks.

  "This must be a wind or a stray cat", he thought as he continued his practice.

  "No damned old man in gilded armor will prove a better swordsman than me,“ he said out loud as he swung with his sword at his imaginary foe. It seemed that the impact of his defeat on his self-esteem was what drove him forward to train and practice, to better himself, and as his solitary practice continued under the night skies, he could hear the old wooden boards from the top of the barracks creak under the fast and light steps.

  "Someone is clearly there,“ he thought as he looked up towards the roof, but not much later, he saw a dark silhouette of a person that stood on the training ground.