After enjoying a rather exhilarating breakfast, Luka eventually found himself standing in the centre of the training field.

’This place needs improving...’

He crushed a stone beneath his foot while watching two knights training with each other, their blades clashing with a dull, repetitive tempo. The yard was wide enough, but the ground was uneven, the practice posts were old, and several targets leaned to one side as if a strong breeze might defeat them before any archer could.

It was not good enough for a training field.

It was a piece of flattened dirt where men happened to swing swords.

’No wonder Babylon weakened so much.’

The skill of the knights themselves was not terrible. Their stances were firm, their grips steady, and neither man wasted much movement. Yet it wasn’t enough, as their skill could barely reach the bottom ranks of the kingdom’s knights.

He needed knights who could fight fallen for hours.

He needed archers who could kill a rampaging orc from a hundred metres away.

’There’s not enough time to fix everything...’

"Master."

Vaun’s soft voice came from beside him.

She had changed from the maid outfit into a plain dark tunic and fitted leather trousers, though the faint redness on her ears suggested Luvia had not allowed her to escape the bet without further teasing. Her midnight-black hair was tied high, falling down her back in a long, smooth tail, while her silver eyes studied the field seriously, in an atmosphere that suited her far better than the earlier servants’ attire.

"What’s the matter, Vaun?"

She paused for a moment before speaking, as if gathering her confidence.

"I was wondering if I could have your permission to use the nearby woods as a training field, since this place isn’t quite useful for anything but stamina training."

Behind her stood twenty-six young men.

Young men from Amol and the nearby town stood in loose rows with hunting bows in their hands. Some looked nervous. Some looked excited. A few looked far too proud for men who had likely never fired at anything more dangerous than a deer or a starving wolf.

Luka turned his gaze toward them.

"These are the men?"

"Yes, Master. The members from Amol still haven’t returned, and a lot of them need a short rest after nearly five days of constant fighting and travelling."

Vaun’s voice was calm, but he noticed the slight tension in her shoulders.

"There are seventeen from Babylon, nine from the southern village and their skill varies... while discipline is pretty poor."

"Well, that can be corrected with the right training."

"...Some even show a resistance to being taught by me."

Luka looked at her for a moment.

"I believe they’ll stop once they see your true skills, don’t be easy on them and show them just how inferior they are compared to you."

Vaun’s lips parted slightly, forming a lovely smile, before she quickly tightened them and stopped herself.

’Well, only time will tell...’

He didn’t know how skilled Vaun was, but he saw from the hunters who helped in Amol how quickly they adapted to the situation. He couldn’t help but think that Vaun didn’t need anything more than permission and responsibility to force her back.

Luka walked toward the recruits, and their murmurs died quickly. The two knights stopped sparring as well, turning to watch him with curious eyes.

"You are not knights, you are not even warriors right now..."

His voice carried across the yard.

"You are not here to become heroes or champions, so if you came here hoping for praise and people to sing songs about your deeds, leave now."

Luka’s gaze swept across their faces.

"You are hunters, sons of farmers, boys who know the surrounding hills, trees and forests. But do not feel inferior, as that is more useful to me than another fool who only takes value in his pride or honour."

Several recruits shifted uneasily.

Vaun watched him from behind with silent attention.

"From today onward, you will train under Vaun. You will learn various skills and abilities to kill before an enemy reaches Babylon’s walls. If the fallen appear on the western road, you are our first line of defence and the most important part of Babylon’s future!"

One young man swallowed and glanced toward Vaun.

"Do you have something to say?" Luka stared at the young man, giving him a chance.

"My Lord, I mean no disrespect, but she is..."

"An elf?"

The young man’s face paled.

"A woman?"

The yard became painfully quiet as Luka glanced at Vaun, who remained silent even with the sudden rejection.

"Vaun."

"Y-Yes, Master."

"Take his bow."

To avoid them complaining because her bow was special, making any test or display of strength seem unfair, he made her take the young man’s crude bow.

One moment she stood behind Luka, and the next she was beside the young man, his bow already turned from his grip, the string drawn lightly against his throat while his arrow rested between her fingers.

The recruit froze.

Luka looked at the others.

"Is this enough for you to understand her skill and prowess?"

No one answered.

Vaun released him and stepped back with quiet grace.

"She will command you because she can train you well enough so I can keep you alive, if you wish to become strong. Follow her advice! If your pride cannot endure that, then return to your fields before this way of life kills you."

The recruits lowered their eyes one by one.

Luka turned to Vaun.

"Your duties as the Bow of Babel begin today. I hope that you realise each of these men will become tied to your future reputation as Babylon’s Rangers. Do not go easy, show them no mercy and create the strongest archers possible."

Her silver eyes widened slightly.

He continued before she could shrink from the words.

"I am not an archer, nor do I know what is most important... so I leave the small details for you, but the goal is for each man to be able to slaughter an Orc or Goblin with a single arrow at a minimum distance of fifty metres before winter ends."

Vaun bowed.

"As you command, Master."

Luka looked over the uneven field again, seeing not what it was, but what it needed to become.

He then muttered something, barely loud enough for Vaun to hear. "If you do well, I will grant any wish you might have..."

He didn’t wait for her to respond, though, and instead stepped onto the training field, taking one of the practise swords as he faced the group of knights who looked at him with displeasure.

’It seems my words have hurt their fragile pride.’

With the flick of his wrist, the wooden sword danced in a neat crescent arc before landing on his shoulder.

"Well, it seems you have an issue with what I said."

One of the older knights stepped forward, his jaw clenched tightly with furrowed brows beneath a sweaty fringe of brown hair. He didn’t look like a fool, nor did his anger come from arrogance.

Luka could see the hurt behind his eyes, a man who had protected Babylon for years, only to hear his new lord call their strength insufficient.

"My Lord, we have guarded these lands since before you could walk."

"I know, but that isn’t enough anymore."

"....What?"

"The world will soon change, and reveal just how pathetic your strength truly is."

The knight’s grip tightened around his practice sword, and the others behind him shifted with restless discomfort. Luka lifted his wooden blade from his shoulder and pointed it toward the man.

"Name."

"Sir Randel, my Lord."

"Then come, Sir Randel. Show me what Babylon’s old guard can do. Let me see just how much hope there is for your future!"

Randel hesitated only for a breath before stepping into the ring. The recruits behind Vaun all shifted closer at once, their earlier nervousness turning into curiosity. Even the two sparring knights moved aside, creating a rough circle around the pair.

Luka lowered his sword and slowly started to shift his weight between each leg, bouncing on the spot.

’Well, this should be a good warm-up.’

"Attack."

Randel obeyed.

A sharp, direct strike came from Luka’s right, aiming for his shoulder with enough force to bruise him through his clothing. Luka twisted his wrist and caught the blow near the base of his own blade, guiding it aside before stepping into Randel’s space.

The knight’s eyes widened.

Luka’s wooden sword tapped his throat.

"Dead."

A murmur spread through the yard.

Randel froze, then lowered his weapon with a bitter expression.

"Again."

This time, he attacked faster. Luka let him swing twice, watching the path of his blade, the tension in his knees, the way his shoulder shifted before committing to a strike. Randel was experienced, but every movement carried too much honesty.

Luka slipped past the third swing and struck the back of his knee.

Randel dropped to one leg.

The wooden blade touched his neck again.

"Dead."

The knight clenched his teeth, but Luka stepped back before pride could turn into humiliation.

"You are strong enough against bandits and raiders. But against the fallen, your neat swordsmanship would kill one, then the rest would swarm at you, tearing your body apart without mercy."

Randel bowed his head.

"...Understood."

Luka looked past him toward the other knights.

"Next."

For several seconds, no one moved.

Then another knight stepped forward.

Then a third.

Then a fourth.

By the time the morning sun rose above the manor roof, Luka stood in the centre of the training field with sweat dripping down his cheeks, while resting his wooden sword against his shoulder, watching the pride of Babylon’s knights gather one by one before him.

’These old knights can be taught; they’re not too far gone.’

He quickly lowered his sword and spread one arm towards them. "You have fought well. I won’t take back my words, but I do admit you all have the potential to surpass your current limits and become true knights... Tell me, do you have the willpower, the drive to attain a strength far beyond what you hold now?"

There was no hesitation as the knights all stood straight, saluting Luka with one hand on their heart, another behind their back.

"We do, My Lord!"