SWNOVELXO Chapter 27: Vael de Eisenklinge
The Cradle taught many things, how to wield a blade, command mana, and survive pain that would break most people.
But no lesson ever spoke of the real power hiding behind perfect smiles and polished family names.
The room wasn't large, but it practically dripped with luxury that most students could only dream of. Soft velvet couches that probably cost more than a year's tuition. Heavy curtains in deep burgundy that blocked out the harsh training ground sunlight. A low-burning flame flickered inside an ornate glass lantern, casting dancing shadows on walls lined with expensive tapestries.
This wasn't a training hall or a cramped dorm room. This was one of those hidden places, the kind the younger students whispered about in hushed tones but never actually saw. The kind of room that reminded you that not everyone at the Cradle was equal, no matter what the instructors pretended.
And seated at the center of it all, smiling faintly with his eyes closed like he was listening to beautiful music only he could hear, was Vael de Eisenklinge.
His white hair caught the lantern light and shimmered like fresh snow, framing a face that was almost too pretty to belong to a boy. The kind of delicate features that made people underestimate him right up until they realized their mistake. When he bothered to open his black eyes, they cut through people like shards of obsidian glass. But right now they stayed shut, giving him that eerie, always-smiling calm that made everyone around him nervous.
One knee rested elegantly over the other. When he spoke, his voice was honey-smooth and dangerous.
"Remind me again what you said about me behind my back?" he asked, still not opening his eyes.
The trainee kneeling in front of him didn't answer. He couldn't really, his lip was split open and swelling fast, with dried blood crusted at the corner of his mouth.
A younger Cradle trainee stood nearby like a statue, quietly holding a chilled cloth and trying his best to be invisible. He'd learned not to speak unless Vael told him to. Everyone knew Vael liked his servants silent and loyal.
Vael reached out slowly, almost gently, brushing imaginary dust from the bruised boy's shoulder with the back of his pale hand. His touch was light as a feather, but somehow it made the injured student flinch harder than any blow.
"I do value honesty, you know," Vael said conversationally, like they were discussing the weather. "I just don't value it from insects who think they're clever enough to gossip about their betters."
The door opened with barely a whisper of sound.
A maid entered, her face carefully blank but her movements precise and respectful. She carried a sealed mana scroll in her hands, the expensive kind that shimmered with faint gold light and pulsed with magical urgency. The kind that only came from very important people with very important messages.
Vael took the scroll with just two fingers, still wearing that pleasant smile. He didn't even bother looking at the maid.
"From Lady Cassia?" he asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.
The maid dipped her head in a quick bow and left without saying a word. Smart woman.
Vael finally opened his eyes, slowly, like a cat waking up from a nap.
Cold. Sharp. Amused by some private joke.
He unfolded from his chair with fluid grace, and the magic seal on the scroll flared to life in his hand as he read whatever message the lady of the family had sent.
"Well, well," he murmured, his smile growing wider and somehow more dangerous. "Looks like I've just been promoted from bored to useful."
He turned to the trainee who'd been holding the cloth, not even glancing at the boy still kneeling on the floor. "Clean him up properly. Make sure he looks presentable. Then find his younger brother and ask him if he has any interesting opinions about me he'd like to share."
The junior student nodded quickly, probably grateful he wasn't the one bleeding.
Vael slipped the scroll into his coat pocket and glided toward a private door hidden behind one of the tapestries. As he walked, he started humming under his breath, something smooth and melodic that somehow sounded poisonous.
The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving the others to deal with the mess he'd made.
Just like always.
---
Meanwhile, on the actual training grounds where normal students trained like normal people, Ares and his classmates stood in a loose line facing their two instructors. Both Jareth and Sinclair had matching grins that could only be described as evil, which was never a good sign.
Sinclair clapped her hands sharply to get everyone's attention, her green eyes sparkling with the kind of enthusiasm that usually meant someone was about to suffer.
"Now that we've all got our shiny new weapons, it's time to actually learn how to use them without accidentally cutting off our own limbs," she announced cheerfully. "Sir Jareth and I will split you up based on your weapon choices. I work best with long-ranged combat, so Maelia and Sylas will be stuck with me. Sir Jareth specializes in close-range fighting, which means Lysandra and Ares get to enjoy his tender mercies."
'Great,' Ares thought, glancing at Jareth's predatory grin. 'This is going to hurt.'
The trainees broke into their assigned groups, following their instructors to different sections of the training ground.
Jareth led Lysandra and Ares to a quieter part of the field, away from the sounds of Sinclair already putting Maelia and Sylas through their paces. Both trainees were obviously nervous, they could practically feel the upcoming pain radiating from their instructor.
Jareth cleared his throat and looked at them with the kind of serious expression that meant the fun and games were officially over.
"Up until now, you've both been fighting based purely on instinct," he said bluntly. "Slashing wildly, thrusting randomly, leaving openings big enough to drive a cart through. But that amateur hour nonsense ends right here, right now."
He paused, letting that sink in for a moment.
"The path of the sword is one of the most common in combat, but that doesn't make it easy. Very few people ever truly master the art, because mastery requires discipline, patience, and the willingness to have your ego beaten out of you until you learn to listen."
Jareth stretched out his arm and focused on the black ring on his finger. There was a subtle glow, followed by a brief flash of light, and suddenly there was a sword in his hand, a beautiful, deadly blade that seemed to appear from nowhere.
Both Ares and Lysandra's eyes went wide. This was the first time they'd seen someone summon a weapon from a storage ring, and it was definitely cooler than just carrying your sword around like a normal person.
"Before we begin turning you into something resembling competent fighters," Jareth said, holding the sword like it weighed nothing, "I have one important thing to tell you. If you want to grow your strength, you need heart. And strength doesn't just mean your mana level or how hard you can swing a sword. Every power in your arsenal, physical, magical, mental, emotional, all of it combines to make you who you are as a warrior."
He looked each of them in the eye, his expression deadly serious.
"Talent will only get you so far. Heart and determination will carry you the rest of the way."
After delivering this inspiring speech, Jareth immediately shrugged off the philosophical mood and his face hardened into instructor mode.
I
"Right then. Time to see just how much work we have ahead of us."
---
The next few hours were a brutal education in the difference between "knowing how to hold a sword" and "actually being able to use one."
Ares and Lysandra began their blade instruction under Jareth's unforgiving guidance. He wasted no time drilling them through core stances that made their legs burn and precision footwork that left them stumbling over their own feet. He emphasized control over flashy moves, something that was particularly hard for both of them to accept.
Lysandra's natural finesse with her rapier demanded fluid posture and lightning-quick thrusts that required perfect balance. She had to learn to move like water while striking like a viper. Ares, wielding his short sword, needed to master firm pivots and reactive counters that could adapt to any situation. His weapon was about versatility and quick responses, not dramatic flourishes.
Their mornings became a grinding routine of mirrored cuts, basic guard transitions, and sparring sequences that were constantly interrupted by Jareth's sharp corrections whenever their forms started to slip.
"Lysandra! Your wrist is too loose, you're telegraphing that thrust from three seconds away!"
"Ares! Stop trying to overpower everything! Use your opponent's momentum against them!"
"Both of you! Again! And this time, try to remember that your enemy won't politely wait for you to get into the perfect stance!"
As the sessions progressed, Jareth introduced real-time sparring drills that forced them to parry and counter within split seconds. The pressure was intense, one moment of hesitation or poor positioning could mean eating a wooden practice sword in the ribs.
Ares struggled with patience, often pushing too hard and leaving himself open to counters. Lysandra excelled at timing and precision, but had to learn to commit fully to her strikes instead of holding back. Under Jareth's relentless guidance, both of them slowly began to feel like their weapons were becoming natural extensions of their bodies instead of awkward tools they were trying to figure out.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the training ground, Sylas and Maelia were getting their own education under Sinclair's calm but tactically ruthless instruction.
Sylas was learning to command space using his spear's superior reach, practicing lunges that could strike from unexpected distances, sweeps that could trip or disarm opponents, and pole reversals that gave him both defensive options and offensive control. The spear was all about controlling the distance of the fight and making sure your enemy could never get close enough to hurt you.
Maelia was developing steady draw strength and accuracy with her recurve bow while learning to shoot on the move. Sinclair made her run obstacle courses while maintaining perfect arrow placement, teaching her that an archer who couldn't hit targets while under pressure was just someone carrying expensive kindling.
"Speed means nothing if you can't hit what you're aiming at," Sinclair called out as Maelia sprinted between practice targets. "But accuracy means nothing if you're too slow to get your shot off before the enemy reaches you!"
Together, Sylas and Maelia drilled on coordination, how a spearman could protect an archer, how to control engagement range as a team, and how to read battlefield spacing so they could reposition quickly while maintaining visual awareness of multiple threats.
Sinclair stressed discipline above all else. Sylas had to learn to predict his enemies' movements instead of just reacting to them. Maelia had to master focus even when people were screaming at her and trying to stick pointy objects in her general direction.
By the end of each session, all four trainees were left breathless and aching in muscles they didn't even know they had. But their eyes were sharper, their movements more confident. Ares noticed his sword work tightening with every parry, and Sylas's spear no longer looked like something he had to think about, it just moved where it needed to be.
The training was harsh, painful, and exhausting. But the foundation it was building was already making them feel more like actual warriors than children playing with weapons.
---
After their latest grueling session, Jareth looked at the group with eyes that held a mixture of satisfaction and genuine pride. They'd only just started this routine, but he could already see the improvements. These kids had potential, and more importantly, they had the work ethic to actually develop it.
He cleared his throat, preparing to deliver what might actually be good news for once.
"For your dedication and effort today, you all get twenty merit points."
The trainees' faces lit up with surprised and happy expressions. Twenty points was actually pretty generous for a single training session.
Maelia was mostly just relieved she wasn't getting her usual penalty points for sloppy technique. Ares and Sylas were happy with how far they'd come since those first brutal morning runs. But Lysandra felt something different stirring in her chest.
She'd initially thought of Ares as someone who put on airs because of his natural talent and famous family name. But during their training together, she'd watched him struggle with the same techniques she was fighting to master. She'd seen him work his ass off, pushing through frustration and fatigue without complaining.
They might not have exchanged many words during their sessions, but she understood one thing clearly now: Ares was a hard worker who earned every bit of progress he made.
Jareth clapped his hands to get their attention again, reminding them he wasn't quite done with his announcements yet.
"Before we call it a day, there's something important you all need to know. The class captain match will be happening Friday of next week."
The mood in the group shifted immediately. This was what they'd all been working toward, the chance to prove who among them was the strongest.
"I'm sure you've all been training to the best of your abilities, and I expect you'll train even harder between now and then," Jareth continued. "But remember, only one of you can win. The rest will have to live with knowing they came up short when it mattered most."
His words hung in the air like a challenge, and each of the trainees felt the weight of it settling on their shoulders.
After delivering this motivational speech, Jareth turned and walked away without another word, leaving them to think about what was coming.
Sinclair, on the other hand, gave the trainees an encouraging wink and a warm smile before following after her fellow instructor.
"Don't let him psyche you out," she called over her shoulder. "Just do your best and let the results speak for themselves!"
As the two instructors disappeared, the four trainees stood in the fading afternoon light, each lost in their own thoughts about the upcoming competition.
The real test was coming, and they all knew it would change everything.
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A/N – Was it fire or mid? Don't just vanish—powerstone, comment, review. Let me feel your presence.