Chapter 12: One of Them

After my meeting with the Commander and getting his permission, I made my way toward the training grounds.

The sun blazed overhead, casting long shadows across the packed earth as the rhythmic clash of steel and barked commands filled the air.

At the center stood the instructor—a man whose presence could be missed in a crowd if not for the aura he exuded. Middle-aged, with brown hair streaked with gray and sharp black eyes that scanned everything like a hawk. His features were plain, the kind you'd find on any street in the capital… but his movements told another story.

This man was a seasoned veteran. A+ Rank. Just a breath away from stepping into S-.

His name? Sir Gareth. A simple name—but every knight here knew not to take it lightly.

As I walked toward him, his gaze snapped to me, one eyebrow arching slightly.

A silent question: Why are you here?

I stopped a few steps away and bowed slightly, then explained my conversation with the Commander—how I had advanced to E- rank and had come to train with the knights.

Sir Gareth listened in silence. His expression didn't change. But when I finished speaking, he turned his head toward the field.

Then his voice thundered.

"Attention!"

The sound echoed like a whip crack.

Every knight on the field froze mid-motion.

Training swords lowered. Feet halted mid-stride. In seconds, they all assembled in formation in front of him, standing tall, disciplined, focused.

Some stared straight ahead, expressionless.

But others—those who recognized me—cast sideways glances in confusion.

Why is he here?

I felt their stares, the silent judgment in their eyes.

After all, to them, I was still the spoiled noble. The disgraced heir. The weak one.

But not for long.

Sir Gareth remained silent for a moment, arms crossed as he looked across his soldiers. Then, slowly, he stepped forward and glanced back at me, as if about to speak.

his boots crunching against the packed dirt. He turned slightly, his voice rising with practiced authority—meant to carry across a battlefield, not just a training ground.

"I'm sure most of you already know the man standing here."

Dozens of gazes shifted toward me—some curious, others cold, a few unreadable.

"But for those who don't," Gareth continued, "let me make it clear."

He pointed toward me without breaking stride.

"This is Kael Thorne."

The name alone made a few jaws tighten. Others raised their brows, silently exchanging glances. Everyone here knew the stories—spoiled noble, failed heir, exile.

But Gareth's tone left no room for mockery.

"By the Commander's personal order, he will be training alongside you starting today. He has awakened to E-minus Rank, and he is more than capable of keeping up."

He paused.

"I don't care what you thought of him before. I don't care what rumors you heard. From this moment on, he is one of you."

Gareth's eyes scanned each knight, his voice lowering like the weight of a sword resting on their shoulders.

"Train with him. Spar with him. Push him as you would your brothers and sisters. This is not charity. This is discipline. We carry the name of the Knights of Thorne, and we train with pride. That means no favoritism—and no leniency."

He stepped back.

"Understood?"

"Yes, Instructor!" the knights echoed in unison, fists slamming over hearts in the traditional Thorne salute.

Gareth gave me a single nod, almost unnoticeable. "Don't make me regret this."

"I won't," I said, meeting his gaze without flinching.

This was it.

A new battlefield.

A new beginning.

And I was ready to bleed for it.

The instructor's command echoed across the training ground.

"Pair up. Wooden swords only. Begin sparring drills."

The clatter of movement followed as knights moved into position. They didn't look at me—at least, not directly—but I could feel the weight of their gazes.

No one offered to pair with me.

Of course they wouldn't.

Their silence wasn't hatred. It was worse—indifference. Like I was a ghost standing among steel.

Before the awkward stillness could stretch further, Sir Gareth barked, "Kael, pair with Thorne Squad's second spear—Daren."

A tall knight stepped forward—broad-shouldered, tanned, a small scar running across his jawline. His black eyes met mine, unreadable.

He didn't scoff.

Didn't smile.

Just tossed me a wooden sword.

"Try not to embarrass yourself," he said simply.

I caught the sword midair. The grip was rougher than what I used in my solo training, but it felt… solid. Real.

I took my stance, knees bent, sword angled across my body.

The surrounding knights began their drills, grunts and thuds filling the training ground—but I only focused on Daren.

He didn't hesitate.

His wooden blade lashed forward with speed I couldn't match yet. I parried instinctively, the impact jarring my wrist. Before I could reset, he was already coming in from the side.

He was testing me.

I blocked again. Sloppy. Too slow. His third strike knocked me off balance, and I stumbled backward, boots sliding against the dirt.

"You're late on your feet," he said. "Reset."

I exhaled through clenched teeth. My grip tightened.

Again.

He came, and again I moved—but this time, I was faster. His blade came for my shoulder, and I twisted, letting it graze air.

I struck—not to hit, just to show him I could.

Our wooden swords cracked together.

A pause.

He raised an eyebrow. "Huh."

That was it. Just that one sound. But in it, I could hear acknowledgment. Small, almost invisible—but real.

The rest of the knights had started sneaking glances our way now. Maybe they expected me to fall in the first exchange.

Too bad.

I wasn't here to prove anything to them. I was here to become strong enough that no one would need proof.

Daren was a C- rank awakened.

That meant his body—his strength, his speed, his instincts—were naturally superior to mine. Even without actively using mana, he was in a completely different league. I was just E- rank. One full tier below.

But who was I to complain?

This was what I came here for.

To test myself.

To learn.

To bleed if I had to.

Daren came at me again, this time faster than before. I barely had time to react. I raised my wooden sword overhead, and the moment our blades clashed, the impact rattled my arms to the bone. Pain shot through my forearms, and I staggered back instinctively, ducking and rolling to the side.

But he didn't let up.

Before I could even get back on my feet, he was already above me. Ruthless.

Another strike came down. I barely managed to dodge, throwing myself sideways as his wooden sword slammed into the dirt where I'd been a second earlier.

"You're good at dodging," Daren said, his voice calm—almost amused.

"Let's see how long you can keep it up."

I grit my teeth.

He was right.

I couldn't go head-to-head with him in power or speed. I wasn't there yet.

But if I couldn't win with brute strength… I'd win with timing.

For the next few minutes, I dodged. Jumped. Rolled. Blocked only when I had to. I gave him a pattern. I made it look like all I could do was retreat.

And then, when he lunged again—

I moved.

Just slightly. A feint to the side.

Then, raising my sword, I tilted it just enough to deflect his downward strike, using his momentum to shift his blade off to the right.

His balance faltered.

His eyes widened slightly in surprise—

My chance.

Using the momentum, I spun to my right and let my blade follow through with a full arc toward his exposed shoulder.

But then—

He did something… inhuman.

His body bent back—sharp and unnatural, a full ninety degrees like his spine didn't follow the rules of normal anatomy. My sword cut through air, missing by inches.

And in that split second—

He countered.

His wooden sword struck my stomach like a hammer.

Thud.

The air rushed out of my lungs.

Pain exploded in my gut.

I stumbled back, knees weak, the taste of iron at the back of my throat.

"Not bad," he said, stepping back. "You've got guts. And brains. But you'll need more than that to keep up."

I dropped to one knee, gasping—but I wasn't angry.

No. I was… grinning.

Because even though I lost that exchange—

I made him move.

I made him react.

I was getting better.

After two more hours of grueling sword spars with Daren—

I was done.

Completely, utterly, bruised and battered.

He didn't hold back, and I lost every match. Miserably. My arms ached, my ribs throbbed, and every breath felt like I'd swallowed broken glass.

But even through the pain, I was smiling.

Because now… it was time.

Aura training.

This was what I'd truly been waiting for.

In this world, aura was everything. The invisible force that turned men into monsters on the battlefield. It strengthened the body, sharpened the blade, and made every strike lethal.

Everyone here already knew how to wield it—how to coat their weapons, their limbs, even their entire bodies in aura.

Everyone… except me.

After my potential had been revealed back then—just B+—my family had never bothered to teach me anything further. I was dismissed, ignored. The instructors assigned to me quickly shifted focus to my siblings—especially my sisters, who had "real" talent.

I had never even been taught the basics of aura.

Until now.

On the far side of the training ground, the knights were lined up in front of the training dummies—thick ironwood frames reinforced with beast-hide and embedded mana-cores. They were strong enough to withstand the full power of Sir Gareth, an A+ rank awakened knight.

Though, of course, they weren't nearly as advanced as the dummies back at my family's estate—those things could survive an SS- rank aura blast.

Still… these would do.

I watched as the knights focused, their blades beginning to glow faintly with colorless light—raw aura. When they swung, that light followed through, carving into the dummy with force and speed far beyond natural strength.

I wanted that.

No—I needed that if I ever hoped to catch up.

I clenched my fists, my heart pounding in anticipation.

I had trained my body. I had trained my mana.

But aura?

Aura was uncharted territory.

Today, I would begin from zero.

And I would master it.

No matter how long it took.