The next day, their first official training began.
The sun had barely risen when the trainees assembled on the training grounds, their breaths misting in the cold morning air.
They were arranged in lines of ten, ordered by height.
Valen was placed in the third line, right in the middle—giving him a perfect view of the instructor.
A grizzled, scar-faced veteran paced before them, his expression permanently twisted into a scowl. His voice cracked like a whip in the morning chill.
"Listen up! My name is Martin, a Fifth Circle Knight. I'll be your instructor for the next two months."
His boots thudded heavily against the packed dirt as he walked the line.
"I don't care if you're a noble or a farmer's son. Out here, you're all the same. From now on, you will follow my orders—exactly as I say—without complaint. Do you hear me?"
"Yes, sir!" they chorused.
Even the noble-born recruits didn't dare to argue. A Fifth Circle Aura Knight was someone to fear and respect.
Aura Knights were the pillars of the military, and reaching the Fifth Circle was nearly legendary.
There were nine levels in total, each one more grueling to ascend than the last.
Having someone of that caliber as their instructor was a rare privilege—and a silent warning.
"Your first task is simple," Martin barked. "Run for two hours as a warm-up. Now, MOVE!"
The thunder of hurried footsteps echoed across the wide training field. Dust kicked up around them as they sprinted past squads of seasoned soldiers already deep into their morning drills.
Valen kept a steady rhythm, his breathing calm and measured.
Fortunately, Dravi had been strengthening this body for the past year. If I'd come here as I was before… I probably would've collapsed thirty minutes in.
His brown eyes flicked to the side, spotting Arwin running a few paces ahead with his two friends—Wren and Aldor, both sons of noble households.
Valen shook his head. They still won't associate with the commoners.
But he understood their reasoning. Even though his family still carried a noble title, his estate was nothing but an empty husk now. He was actually no better than the commoners.
In terms of prestige, Arwin's family was leagues above Valen's fallen house. Even the other noble recruits had more prestige than him.
When Arwin had tried to establish his authority by demanding that Valen give up his chosen bed, Valen chose to oppose him.
It wasn't out of arrogance or a desire to pick a fight—it was the role he had chosen to play. And once he stepped onto this path, there was no room for hesitation.
Dravi couldn't truly help him—he was merely a wisp of a soul. That's why, when Valen chose to contradict Arwin, he made sure to keep it subtle—small enough to be dismissed as childish squabbling.
After all, if they truly wanted to crush him, he wouldn't be able to resist. He knew he was alone.
The stronghold preached fairness, but nobles still planted their pawns everywhere. If he openly offended any of them, their revenge would come swiftly—and he wouldn't survive it.
But his plans for the future left no room to cozy up to people like them. And with his cursed reputation—even if most dismissed it as superstition—people instinctively kept their distance. If he'd been a commoner, he would have been burned alive long ago.
Planting the mark on Arwin wasn't just to annoy him—it was a test.
The cursed ability Dravi had been teaching him—the Mark of Misfortune.
It allowed him to siphon karma from his targets. Commoners didn't have much karma, but even scraps were valuable.
If he could siphon enough, he could fulfill his wish—and improve his own talent. If he gathered enough karma points, he could even ascend to the level of a Son of Heaven—blessed in every skill.
He could plant only one mark per day, but the marks would remain unless he removed them or they were destroyed.
Valen accelerated his pace, overtaking Arwin's group. As he passed, a tiny black worm slipped from his sleeve, unseen, and crawled toward Wren.
It quickly burrowed into the sole of Wren's foot, forming an inverted triangle with a dot on top—the mark of misfortune.
Valen smirked, satisfied.
They were his first targets in this batch. He had a hunch they were skilled—arrogant, yes, but their families would have provided the best training. With those resources, they might easily be among the top recruits.
That means they're likely headed for a promising future—their karma should be far richer than most.
For now, this was simply a test. He wanted to see how the mark would perform on opponents like.
—
After the run, the real torment began—grueling push-ups, squats, planks, and endless rounds of lifting heavy logs.
Muscles burned. Arms trembled. But no one dared complain.
Finally, they were dismissed for the morning meal.
The cafeteria buzzed with the clatter of trays and the low drone of exhausted conversation. The food was simple—hard bread, watery stew, and a thin strip of dried meat.
Valen sat by the window alone, eating at a slow, lazy pace while observing the room.
Cough! Cough!
Arwin panicked, choking violently on a piece of bread as his friends scrambled to help him.
Nearby trainees glanced over, some snickering quietly, some turning away to hide their amusement.
Valen calmly sipped his water, his faint smile tinged with satisfaction.
The mark slowly siphons luck from its host. The longer it stays, the worse their misfortune becomes.
His family's downfall had taken years—but that was before he understood his own power.
Arwin would fall much faster.
When their break ended, the recruits returned to the training field.
"Get in formation quickly. Don't dawdle," Martin barked, his sharp gaze sweeping over them.
Beside him was a long table lined with various practice weapons.
"Starting from the first group—select your weapons."
The first group eagerly stepped forward, choosing swords, lances, polearms, bows, daggers, maces, and war hammers.
Though the weapons were dulled for safety, the recruits' excitement was palpable.
Valen's pulse quickened.
I've only ever sparred with the guards at my estate. I don't know how skilled the other recruits will be.
Some commoner families encouraged their children to train early, so he refused to underestimate anyone.
When it was Valen's turn, he strode forward and quickly selected a dagger.
He tested its weight in his palm and nodded in approval. Aside from its dulled edge, it was perfectly balanced.
This will do just fine.