"Objective: Recover banner at central tower. Return by the northern route. Do not cross west bridge," Aveline read seriously. "Priority: maintain formation."
Hal blinked.
"Maintain formation? In those ruins?"
Bromir leaned forward.
"It means we don't split up."
Lysander swallowed.
"That makes us slower."
Eryndor nodded coldly.
"But it will help us cover the flanks."
Aren looked toward the terrain.
The central tower rose in the distance.
Between them and the tower, there were multiple paths. The west bridge was the most direct.
'Do not cross west bridge,' he repeated in his mind.
Aveline folded the parchment and put it away.
"Let's go," she said. "No discussion."
Aren clenched his jaw.
"Alright," he said at last. "North route."
They entered.
The ruins smelled of damp earth and old wood. There were marks on the ground, as if hundreds had run through there before. The mist slipped between the walls, hiding corners and distorting distances.
Aren moved to the front by instinct, but Aveline stopped him with a hand on his arm.
"Formation," she reminded him.
They moved in a simple pattern: two in front, two behind, the rest in the center. Aren ended up in front alongside Aveline.
Hal muttered under his breath.
"I'm in front with them… I'm in front with them…"
Bromir snorted.
"If you faint, I'll carry you like a sack."
"You won't," Hal protested.
"I will."
Lysander walked in silence, but Aren noticed something: for the first time since he had met him, the gnome seemed more confident.
'That's it, little friend,' Aren thought. 'We can do this.'
A sound came from the left.
Footsteps.
A rival team emerged from the ruins, running toward the west bridge.
"Idiots!" Hal whispered. "They're going to get disqualified!"
They had no time to watch or say anything else.
A figure jumped down from a broken wall and landed right in front of them.
It was an instructor, his face covered by an iron mask, his sword pointed at them.
They had no time to react.
The masked man lunged at them.
Aren raised his weapon to block, but Aveline moved first. Her strike was not elegant, but it was powerful.
The swords clashed, locking briefly before both stepped back a few paces.
Aren took advantage of the opening to turn his wrist, deflect, and attack from the left flank with a clean movement. However, the instructor managed to block his strike.
"Maintain formation," Aveline said through clenched teeth.
Bromir stepped forward and raised his large shield, covering the rear. Hal and Lysander stayed behind the shield, ready to strike at the legs if he came closer. Eryndor, meanwhile, attacked the right flank to prevent an escape.
For a second, Aren felt everything fall into place.
They were not an improvised group.
They were… a team.
Together, they managed to keep the instructor at bay, until Aren landed a cut on the breastplate, leaving a small mark.
Immediately, the masked man planted his sword into the ground and nodded, satisfied.
Aren and the others lowered their weapons and, without another word, kept moving forward.
They had not completed the mission yet, but that small victory lifted their spirits.
The path along the north route was longer and grew narrower with every step.
They were forced to circle the walls and pass through a dark corridor.
They picked up their pace slightly until the central tower rose before them.
The entrance was a low arch. Inside, the staircase spiraled upward.
As they climbed, they noticed something on the steps. Boot marks, scratches in the stone, even traces of dust still hanging in the air.
"Others passed before us," someone murmured.
Aveline nodded without looking back.
"And not long ago."
They advanced carefully, maintaining formation even in the tight space. Bromir took the rear, his shield almost scraping the walls. Hal and Lysander walked behind Aren and Aveline, alert to any strange movement.
They did not take long to find the first clear sign.
A disabled trap.
A spike mechanism jutted from the wall, frozen halfway through activation. The spring was strained, twisted by use.
"This was meant to break legs," Bromir said, inspecting it. "Whoever passed through here was lucky… or crawled back."
A little higher up, they found a broken strap and a leather shoulder guard abandoned near the wall.
Hal swallowed.
"That's recruit equipment…"
No one answered.
There was no need.
The idea was clear: another group had arrived before them, and they had not left unharmed.
Aren felt a weight in his chest.
"Let's move slowly," he said quietly. "Stay together."
Aveline looked at him for a second.
Then she nodded.
They kept climbing.
The stairs seemed endless. The air grew colder with each turn, and the mist began to seep in even there, as if the tower itself were breathing.
Finally, the light changed.
The last stretch opened onto a wide platform, exposed to the sky. There, gently waving in the morning wind, stood the banner of the Order of the Solar Blade.
It was… too close.
"I don't like this," Hal whispered.
Aren felt the same.
Then he saw them.
Three figures moved out from behind broken pillars.
An instructor, tall, wearing dark armor and a closed helm. Beside him, two squires with full gear, shields, and swords.
They did not say a word.
They did not need to.
"Formation," Aveline ordered at once.
The instructor advanced first.
His presence was different from the previous one. He did not attack quickly, but with heavy confidence, as if he knew time was on his side.
"Don't break ranks," Aren said, tightening his grip.
The first clash was brutal.
The squires attacked the flanks, trying to split the group. Bromir took the impact of one of them with his shield, growling from the blow. Hal and Lysander reacted instantly, striking low and forcing him back.
Eryndor moved like a shadow, blocking and counterattacking without wasting a single motion.
Aveline charged the second squire with direct force, driving him back with heavy blows.
Aren faced the instructor.
The clash of swords rang out with a deep, sharp sound.
Aren felt the difference immediately.
This man was not holding back.
"Good," said the deep voice behind the helm. "Let's see what you have, two hundred seventeen."
The instructor attacked with a series of precise strikes, forcing Aren to retreat. Each impact ran through his arms like a hammer. Aren blocked, deflected, turned… but he could barely take the initiative.
He remembered the formation.
"Don't separate!" he shouted.
Aveline turned just in time to cover his flank, intercepting a blow aimed at his side.
"Focus," she told him without looking at him.
Aren nodded.
He took a deep breath, feeling the exhaustion and pain in his body. He had reached his limit. That sensation was familiar.
He remembered the mansion courtyard. The endless hours practicing with the wooden sword. His instructor's voice corrected every mistake.
And then, without seeking it, another memory surfaced.
Lylia.
Sitting in the garden, he was covered in bruises and she was frowning with absolute seriousness.
"I don't know how to do this well," she had said, clumsily placing her hands over the wound. "But… I want you to be alright."
A warm, unstable light had covered her hands and the wound.
"May the blessing of Alfi and Zori always be with you," she had said with a gentle smile.
Aren returned to reality, feeling something move through his body.
It was not an explosion.
It was an awakening.
A soft glow ran along the blade of his sword, barely noticeable, as if the light of dawn were reflecting on the steel.
"I won't give up!" he shouted, throwing himself forward once more.