F-Class Swordsman, S-Class Commander

The morning broke not with drills, nor patrol calls, but with the sound of chains dragging across stone.

Two traitors knelt in the center of the training yard—wrists shackled, bloodied, their heads bowed under the weight of every eye upon them. Phantom Wing stood in a wide, tense circle around them. Alpha. Omega. C-Team. Even the mess stewards and quartermasters had come to watch.

Because this wasn't just punishment.

It was a reckoning.

Kael Drayven stood beside the traitors, his arms crossed, eyes sharp and cold. Maera and Elric flanked him. Tarn sat on a crate nearby, bruised and bandaged from the interception the day before, but alert, knife resting across his knees.

The fog that had haunted the last week was gone, burned off by sun and consequence.

Renard stepped into the center last.

Not in armor. Not armed. Just his coat, boots, and the quiet that always followed him.

The crowd parted.

He didn't look at the traitors first.

He looked at his people.

"You've all earned the truth," he said, voice low but clear. "What attacked you in the mist were not foreign agents. Not a breach from the border. Not the enemy we expect."

He paced slowly, like a teacher in a war lecture.

"They were mine."

Gasps. Stiff shoulders. Alpha looked toward Sorell. Omega exchanged sharp glances. C-Team simply froze.

"Three soldiers," Renard continued, "acting under my direct orders. Phantom Squad. You didn't know their names because you weren't meant to. Until you could survive them."

He turned.

"And yesterday, you did."

Darek from Alpha stepped forward. "We nearly died."

Renard nodded. "And now you know how close death walks in fog like that."

Kael spoke next. "The simulation was real. Because the war will be. And it won't wait for drills."

He looked down at the kneeling traitors.

"But these two weren't part of it."

Elric shoved one of the prisoners forward, making him slump with a grunt.

"They used the exercise to mask sabotage. Seven total. These two lived."

"They're moles," Renard said. "Sent by someone who didn't want this unit to stand."

He crouched before the first one. "Who sent you?"

Silence.

Renard nodded once to Kael.

Kael cracked his knuckles. "We're not nobles. We're not going to ask twice."

He drew a dagger, flipped it once, then pressed it slowly under the mole's jaw.

The man whimpered.

"It was House Faelin!" he spat. "Rodric's family!"

A collective inhale.

"They wanted to collapse the command from within. Said the 'baronling' shouldn't lead. That the tournament disgrace would cause disaster. Said if we made you fail, they'd reward us. Land. Coin. Ranks!"

Renard stood. "And did you ever ask why?"

The traitor laughed bitterly. "They didn't want to kill you. They wanted you to fall naturally. Incompetence. Unrest. That was enough. But then you kept winning. And… he couldn't stand that."

"He?"

The traitor looked up, eyes glassy.

"Rodric. He's alive. But he's not the same."

Kael muttered, "Still breathing after what you did? Tough bastard."

Renard's face didn't move. "He was supposed to be the future of their house. And I broke him."

The second prisoner, more defiant, finally spoke. "You didn't just humiliate House Faelin. You shattered them. Dozens of houses questioned their honor after the duel. No suitors. No council seat. Do you know what it means for a noble house to fall out of political favor?"

He spat blood on the stone. "It means desperation. Treason was just the price of survival."

Elric stepped forward, hand tightening on his blade.

But Renard raised a hand. "Go on."

The traitor's voice dropped lower. "The sabotage wasn't just about you. It was the signal. When we burned the tents, the enemy would take it as a go-code. An elite infiltration unit—two hundred fifty strong—already crossed into the northern ridge. They've been waiting for a signal."

Kael leaned forward. "Who are they?"

The traitor swallowed hard. "The Kingdom of Caerenhold. Fogwalkers. Mistborn. They fight with illusion, misdirection. Never show you the full force. They've been watching us for months."

A hiss rippled through the formation.

Kael stared at the traitor like he was staring at a ghost. "Caerenhold uses fog as cover. Their scouts move in trios. They train to erase camps without fire or sound. If they're here—this post is a pressure point."

Renard nodded slowly. "So this wasn't exile. It was a trap. And someone sent me here not to die, but to intercept a war before it started."

Sorell looked shaken for the first time. His rigid bearing loosened. A few soldiers from Alpha were visibly pale.

Renard turned to the watching ranks.

"Now you know why we're here. Why Ysera was reopened. Why this unit exists."

He walked slowly through the line of soldiers.

"This wasn't exile. It wasn't punishment. It was a test. And we passed."

He raised his voice just enough to carry.

"Everyone who has survived the last two weeks under Phantom Command—step forward."

A moment passed.

Then the system window rippled into the air above the yard like a divine notice.

[System Update: Field Promotion Recognition]

• Branley – Rank E → E+

• Silva – Rank E → D-

• Thorn – Rank D → D+

• Darek – Rank E+ → D

• Rin – Rank F+ → E

• Twelve Additional Unit Members Promoted

The courtyard broke into stunned whispers.

"I ranked?"

"Is this for real?"

"I haven't felt magic settle that fast since the tournament years."

Even Sorell looked at his system scroll.

Kael gave a wolfish grin. "Training under the Phantom works, huh?"

But Renard's face was still carved from stone.

"No food. No light. No contact," he said, looking to the traitors. "Until they're useful."

He turned to Phantom Squad. "Status?"

Maera saluted. "Condition stabilized. No escape risk. Ready for interrogation."

And then, to the traitors—soft, so only a few heard:

"You were promised gold for failure. Let's see what your silence is worth."

He faced Alpha, Omega, and C-Team again.

"You all ranked up. You all bled. But don't mistake pain for victory. The war hasn't started yet. All we've done is survive each other."

He looked at Darek, then at Thorn, then across the newer faces.

"You're beginning to function. But you still look at each other like rivals. You still hesitate when orders cross squad lines. That will kill you before the enemy ever touches you."

He paused.

"I don't care if you like each other. I don't even care if you like me."

"But the next time we march, we won't be sparring in fog. We'll be fighting an enemy who's watched us for months. Who uses terrain like poison. Who walks in shadow like it's daylight."

Kael stepped forward beside him.

"And they don't give second chances."

A silence followed, heavier than the mist had ever been.

Then Elric muttered, "So what now?"

Renard's voice dropped into something darker.

"We train," he said. "We learn to kill without hesitating. To guard without blinking. We become what the nobles fear and what the enemy will never see coming."

He turned, stepping back toward the command platform.

And as the sun climbed higher behind him, casting his shadow over the courtyard, his thoughts flickered inward—quiet, almost a whisper:

If unity fails… then I will be your enemy.

And they'll pray you were the one who betrayed me.