Chapter XXV – The Road of Ashes
The next morning dawned quiet.
The fires in the village square had burned low. Frost covered the rooftops, glinting like shards of glass under the first light. Smoke rose lazily from chimneys. The people of Broken Pines were still asleep, their nightmares silenced at last.
Rodrik stood at the edge of the square, watching as Auron, Lucian, and Finn prepared their gear. His armor was half-buckled, his cloak marked by ash and dirt. But his stance remained that of a commander; unbent and unyielding.
When Auron approached, Rodrik didn't look up. "You fought well yesterday."
Auron nodded. "We were lucky."
Rodrik's lips curved slightly. "Luck favors the trained." He finally turned, studying him. "You're steadier now. That's good. Fear's still there, but you're carrying it better."
Auron hesitated. "I… felt something in that fight. Not rage. Just clarity. Like I could finally hear what my blade wanted."
Rodrik gave a small approving grunt. "That's the first lesson every swordsman chases. You reached a new realm in swordsmanship, didn't you?"
Auron blinked. "The first step, I think. The blade and the body moved together. The world slowed."
Rodrik's grin was sharp. "That's the taste of it. Don't lose it. The Sword path demands control, not fury. Once you start using that power for destruction's sake, it'll consume you."
He looked toward the road winding south through the trees. "Pack up. We move in ten. The capital won't wait."
********
The journey began at sunrise.
The air was crisp, the landscape vast and empty. Frosted plains stretched out for miles, broken only by ridges of dark rock and patches of black pine. The road wound southward through valleys and frozen creeks, the horizon painted with streaks of pink and gold.
Rodrik rode ahead on his warhorse, his presence commanding even without trying. Auron and Finn walked beside the wagons, sparring with wooden swords whenever they could steal a moment. Lucian rode in the rear carriage, his hood drawn low, lost in silent meditation. The faint shimmer of divine energy flickered around his hands; silver, then gold, then gone.
By the second day, the rhythm of the road had become its own kind of peace.
Rodrik called them to a halt by a frozen stream. "Drink, rest, and listen," he said, dismounting. "You've earned your lesson for today."
Finn dropped beside Auron, wiping sweat from his brow. "Another speech?"
Rodrik smirked. "A lecture that'll keep you alive."
He drew his sword and set it in the dirt, point-down. "You already know the threat ranks - zero to five stars. But you don't yet understand what lies between."
Lucian stirred slightly in the wagon, listening.
Rodrik crouched, tracing a rough circle around the blade with a stick. "Each star is more than just power. It's philosophy. It's how you use the mana that defines you."
He pointed to the center. "Zero stars is instinct. Survival. Raw will. They swing because they must."
The first ring. "One star is discipline. Soldiers. They fight in patterns, formations, following order."
The second ring. "Two stars is awareness. Fighters who read the flow of battle. They anticipate."
The third ring. "Three stars is domain. They bend the field itself, their aura influencing the world."
He paused, then marked two outer circles. "Four stars are sovereignty. The power to rewrite the laws around them. And five stars… I don't know much about them but it is point where shit begins to get real."
Auron listened in silence, the frost biting at his boots.
Rodrik straightened. "Remember this, stars aren't given. They're claimed. A farmer can reach three stars if he learns to master his craft. A knight can die a two-star fool if he never learns humility."
Finn tilted his head. "Then what's beyond five?"
Rodrik smiled faintly. "Legend. The realm of myths and bizarre figures. None of us will see that. Be content climbing your ladder before you dream of the sky."
Lucian's quiet voice cut through the wind. "And the Academy, where does it stand among all this?"
Rodrik turned to him. "Ashford? It's the forge where stars are made."
He stepped closer, resting one hand on the pommel of his sword. "It's one of the Three Great Academies of the continent the others being Valemyr in the south and Ophiron in the east. Each built on old magic and old bloodlines. Ashford belongs to House Veyrin, the Lion Throne. It trains knights, mages, strategists; the pillars of the Ironheart Kingdom."
He paused, eyes narrowing slightly. "And this year, the Holy Dragon Test will be special. A battle royale among the strongest of every house, sect, and bloodline. Twenty thousand enter just 900 hundred walk in."
Finn's eyes widened. "Why is it special?"
"Well," Rodrik said. "The top ten rankers will have a chance to acquire a relic a dragon bone. Remember you'll face heirs of noble houses, child prodigies from the Empire, and beasts wearing human skin. You need to stop thinking like survivors. Start thinking like predators."
Lucian exhaled softly. "Are they're going to be participants from outside the kingdom?"
Rodrik met his gaze. "They die."
The silence that followed was long and heavy. Only the wind moved, carrying faint snow from the ridge above.
Auron looked up at the distant sky, red fading to pale gold. "Then we'll just have to be the top ten."
Rodrik's grin returned sharp and approving. "Good. Now get up.your lesson one has not still ended."
He drew his blade again. "Same rule. Land a single hit, and I'll let you rest."
******
They trained as they marched.
Each stop became a battlefield. Finn learned to adapt; rolling under strikes, kicking snow into Rodrik's eyes, fighting dirty when skill failed. Auron grew sharper, calmer, his movements controlled, economical.
Lucian, though still weak, stood apart each night practicing mana control, tracing new runes with shaking hands. The silver light from his arms grew steadier each day.
For three days, Rodrik's lessons broke them down.
"Your sword arm's too high," he barked.
"Finn, stop watching his feet; feel the rhythm!"
"Auron, your anger leaks through every strike. Breathe through it."
And always, when they faltered, he repeated, "The man who survives is not the strongest. He's the one who learns fastest."
They slept little. Their hands blistered. But on the fourth day, when Finn feinted left and Auron lunged right, the tip of Auron's blade grazed Rodrik's gauntlet.
Rodrik froze.
A slow smile spread across his face. "There it is."
Finn collapsed backward, laughing breathlessly. "Finally."
Rodrik nodded once, satisfied. "You're starting to listen to each other. That's the only reason you survived the shaman. Keep that rhythm."
He turned his gaze southward. "Ashford is close now. Another week's march."
*****
By the fifth day, the road widened into trade paths. Merchant caravans passed, their banners fluttering in the cold wind. The world grew louder, alive again, traders shouting, wagons creaking, bells ringing faintly on horses.
Lucian sat beside Auron during one of the halts, hands clasped around a cup of steaming broth. His face was pale but calmer, the divine light beneath his skin steady at last.
"You're quieter lately," Auron said.
Lucian gave a tired smile. "I'm learning what silence costs. That mana in me; it's power I barely understand. But it's mine now. I need to make sure it doesn't own me."
Auron nodded. "Rodrik says control is everything."
Lucian chuckled. "Then maybe there's hope for both of us."
Finn dropped beside them, face red from the cold. "If Rodrik makes me spar one more time, I'm throwing myself into the nearest lake."
Auron smirked. "He's just preparing you to die heroically in front of nobles."
"Great," Finn said dryly. "I'll be famous for dying a fools death"
The laughter, brief as it was, warmed the air around them. For the first time in months, the weight in their chests felt lighter.
******
On the sixth evening, they reached the edge of the Northern Ridge.
Before them spread the Ironheart Kingdom.
Endless plains of silver and stone stretched to the horizon. Far beyond, on a hill crowned in gold, rose the capital Ashford. Its towers caught the light of the setting sun, gleaming like molten steel. Spires climbed skyward, wrapped in banners of red and gold. A massive gate of obsidian and brass guarded the outer wall, etched with the emblem of House Veyrin: a lion's head split by a sword.
The sight stilled them all.
Finn whistled low. "So that's the capital."
Rodrik dismounted, his expression unreadable. "The heart of the kingdom. Every ambition, every betrayal, every glory; it starts here."
Lucian exhaled softly. "Feels… heavy."
"It is," Rodrik said. "This city eats the unprepared alive. But if you survive long enough, it makes legends."
He looked back at them the boy with frost in his veins, the noble heir with divine runes, and the street-born squire still smiling despite it all.
"You've come far," he said quietly. "Further than most ever will. But this—" he nodded toward the city—"this is where the real fight begins."
The wind rose, carrying the clang of distant bells and the faint scent of iron and smoke.
Auron tightened his grip on his sword. "Then let's not waste it."
Rodrik's answering smile was small, proud, and just a little dangerous. "Welcome to Ashford."
The sun dipped below the horizon, setting the walls ablaze in crimson light. For a moment, the three of them stood at the edge of the world they had bled to reach, unaware that within those shining towers, destiny was already waiting quiet, patient, and ready to strike