Chapter 15: Trial by Ice

Liam stood in his small chamber, the grimoire open on the table before him. The short sword and shield he'd been using for practice during his training with Brad were propped against the wall, feeling familiar now, but still inadequate for the task ahead. It was the morning of the demonstration, and his stomach churned with a mixture of dread and determination. Three days. Three days of relentless study, grueling practice, and pushing himself to the absolute limit… and he still felt woefully unprepared.

A sharp rap on the door startled him. He expected Brad, but when he opened it, he found his father, Arthur Volgunder, standing there. This was unexpected.

"Father?" Liam asked, his voice a mix of surprise and apprehension.

Arthur's face was unreadable, his expression stern. "It is time, Liam," he said, his voice devoid of warmth. "The attack force is assembled. They are waiting to see if you are worthy of joining them." He paused, then added, almost as an afterthought, "I have something for you. A weapon more… suited to your current… abilities."

He gestured to a servant, who approached carrying a sheathed short sword. It was simple, elegant, and yet, there was something about it that caught Liam's eye. The scabbard was unadorned, but the hilt was wrapped in a deep blue leather that almost seemed to shimmer in the dim light.

"This belonged to your mother," Arthur said, his voice softening slightly, a rare crack in his stoic façade. "It is made of mithril. A good blade. She… she would have wanted you to have it."

Liam's breath caught in his throat. His mother's sword? He had never known she even owned a sword, let alone one made of mithril. He reached out and took the weapon, his fingers trembling slightly.

As he grasped the hilt, he felt a strange surge of energy, a tingling warmth that spread through his hand and up his arm. It wasn't the cold of his ice magic, but something different, something… resonant. He looked at his father, questioningly.

Arthur simply nodded, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "It is yours now," he said. "Use it well."

Liam drew the sword from its scabbard. The blade was a pale, silvery-blue, almost translucent in the light. It was lighter than any sword he had ever held, yet it felt incredibly strong, perfectly balanced. He could sense a power within it, a hidden potential waiting to be unlocked. He sheathed it, the familiar snick a small comfort in the face of the overwhelming uncertainty.

"Thank you, Father," Liam said, his voice filled with a mix of awe and gratitude.

Arthur cleared his throat, his expression returning to its usual sternness. "Now," he said, his voice firm. "Let us see if your… reward… is justified."

Liam followed his father out of the keep and towards the arena. The morning air was crisp and cold, a stark reminder of the power he carried within him, and the power he was about to be tested against. As they approached, Liam saw that the arena was already filling up, though not with the boisterous crowds of the tournament. This was a more somber gathering: the assembled attack force, knights from various families who had answered the Volgunder call to arms, all standing in silent ranks, their faces grim, their eyes fixed on the raised platform where Arthur would soon stand.

He spotted Gareth, Anya, and Freya near the front, their expressions uncharacteristically serious. Even their usual arrogance seemed muted, replaced by a sense of shared purpose, of impending danger. Brad stood a little apart from the others, his usual watchful, almost protective, stance.

Arthur led Liam to the center of the arena, then turned to face the assembled warriors. He raised a hand, silencing the low murmur of conversation.

"Today," Arthur's voice boomed, amplified across the courtyard, "we prepare to strike back against the Rubak threat. But before we march to war, there is a matter to be settled." He gestured towards Liam. "My son, Liam, has requested to join this force. He claims to have developed… certain abilities… that he believes will be of use. I, however, remain unconvinced. Therefore, I will test him myself. Here, before you all. I will determine whether he is truly ready to face the dangers that lie ahead, or whether he is a liability, a danger to himself and to others."

Liam swallowed hard, his mouth dry. He could feel the weight of hundreds of eyes on him, judging, questioning, doubting. He gripped the hilt of the mithril short sword, the cool metal a small comfort in the face of the overwhelming pressure. He had asked for this. He had insisted on it. Now, he had to prove himself.

Arthur drew his own longsword, the legendary blade of the Volgunder family. He did not activate any special techniques, not yet. He simply looked at Liam, his eyes cold and assessing.

"Begin," Arthur said, his voice flat.

Liam drew his mother's mithril short sword, the pale blue blade gleaming in the sunlight. He held his shield before him, his grip tight.

Arthur attacked, but it wasn't a full-powered blow. It was a testing strike, a measured thrust aimed at Liam's shield.

Liam reacted instinctively, raising his shield to deflect the blow. But he also, subtly, channeled his magic. He didn't form the full ice sphere, not yet. He focused on reinforcing the shield, imagining a thin layer of frost spreading across its surface.

The longsword struck the shield, and there was a sharp, almost crystalline clang. Arthur frowned, his eyes narrowing. He had felt the unnatural coldness, the unexpected resistance.

"Again," Arthur commanded.

He attacked again, this time with more force, a series of rapid thrusts and cuts aimed at different parts of Liam's body.

Liam defended, relying on his footwork, on the techniques Brad had taught him, parrying with both his short sword and his shield. He was holding his own, but it was a desperate struggle.

Then, Arthur shifted his stance, his body coiling. He was preparing to use a Volgunder technique, one of their family's closely guarded secrets. Liam recognized it instantly: the Swiftwind Stance. It wasn't magic, not in the way Liam's ice was magic. It was pure swordsmanship, a technique that maximized speed and agility through precise footwork, breathing, and body mechanics.

Arthur moved, a blur of motion, his longsword a whirlwind of steel. Liam, caught off guard by the sudden increase in speed, struggled to keep up. He was forced back, his defenses crumbling.

He knew he couldn't rely on his swordsmanship alone. He needed something more.

He focused, channeling his magic, and created the Orb of Frozen Warding, the thin, shimmering sphere of ice forming around him. It was a desperate gamble, a last resort.

Arthur, his movements still incredibly fast, struck at the sphere. The longsword met the ice, and for a moment, the sphere held. But then, with a sharp, cracking sound, it shattered, the fragments of ice exploding outwards.

Liam, anticipating the failure, had already moved. As the sphere shattered, he raised his shield, channeling his magic into it. Intricate, mosaic-like patterns of frost spread across its surface, reinforcing it, making it far stronger than it appeared.

Arthur's next blow struck the shield, but this time, it didn't break through. The shield held, deflecting the attack, though the force of the impact sent a jolt of pain up Liam's arm.

Arthur, however, didn't stop. With a speed that defied belief, he used the Swiftwind Stance to move around Liam's shield, striking him with the pommel of his longsword, not the blade. It was a controlled blow, meant to test, not to kill, but it was still powerful enough to send Liam sprawling.

Liam crashed to the ground, the air knocked out of his lungs. He lay there for a moment, stunned, gasping for breath. He had failed. He had failed to impress his father, failed to earn his place in the attack force, failed to avenge Van.

"Is that all you've got, Volgunder?" Arthur's voice was harsh, cutting through the silence of the arena. "Get up! Show me your resolution! Revenge is not for the weak! Get up, and don't forget you are a swordsman before a mage!"

Liam's head swam. He felt a surge of anger, of defiance. He wouldn't give up. Not now. Not ever.

He struggled to his feet, ignoring the pain in his side, the throbbing in his head. He raised his short sword and shield, his grip tightening.

He would fight. He would show his father, he would show everyone, what he was capable of.

He focused on Van's training, on Brad's advice. He wouldn't rely solely on his magic. He would use his skill, his cunning, his determination.

Arthur attacked again, his movements still incredibly fast, his longsword a blur of motion. But this time, Liam was ready. He anticipated the blows, parried with his short sword, deflected with his shield. He used the "frost-step" footwork, moving silently, swiftly, unpredictably.

He was still outmatched, still on the defensive, but he was fighting. He was showing his father, he was showing everyone, that he was not a weakling, that he was not a failure.

"He's… improved," Gareth murmured, watching from the sidelines. His voice was a mix of surprise and grudging admiration.

Anya and Freya were silent, their eyes fixed on the fight. Then, Anya gasped. "Look!"

Faint, yet unmistakable, a second star flickered to life on Liam's tunic, beside the first. He had achieved the 2-star ranking, a testament to his growth, even in this desperate struggle. It was subtle, almost missed in the heat of the combat, but it was there.

Arthur saw it too. A flicker of surprise, quickly masked, crossed his face.

Then, Arthur pressed his attack, forcing Liam to use his magic one last time.

Liam, his body screaming in protest, focused his will. He created the Orb of Frozen Warding again, this time summoning every ounce of his remaining power. The ice sphere that formed around him was thicker than before, more solid, but still visibly straining his reserves.

Arthur struck, his longsword aimed at the center of the sphere. The impact was deafening. The ice shattered, exploding outwards in a shower of glittering fragments.

But Liam was unharmed. He had used the brief moment of protection afforded by the sphere to move, to reposition himself, to avoid the full force of the blow.

Arthur lowered his sword, his eyes fixed on Liam. He had seen enough.

"Well done," he said, his voice grudging, but containing a hint of… something else. Something that might have been respect. "You have survived a 6-star attack, using a combination of skill, and magic. You have proven yourself… resourceful."

He paused, then added, his voice hardening, "You may join the attack force, Liam. But do not think for a moment that this means you are ready. You have much to learn. And you will be held to the same standard as every other Volgunder warrior. Perhaps, even higher."

Liam nodded, his body trembling with exhaustion and relief, but also with the sudden, unexpected weight of a second star glowing faintly on his tunic. He had done it. He had passed the test.

He looked up at his father, meeting his gaze. "I understand, Father," he said, his voice hoarse but firm. "I won't disappoint you."

As he turned to leave the arena, heading back towards the keep, he heard a soft chuckle behind him.

He glanced back and saw Brad standing near the edge of the arena, a faint smile playing on his lips. Brad caught his eye and subtly tapped his own chest, right where Liam's new star was now displayed. Then, he gave Liam a knowing nod.