Chapter 5: Factions

Note- My end sem exams are coming and I will be swamped so the update might be slow.

In the previous chapter

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"Follow me, Sir Knight. I shall guide you to your quarters," the butler said, gesturing toward the hallway. Sreet gave him a nod and followed.

After leading Sreet to a well-furnished room, the butler paused at the door. "Should you require anything, do not hesitate to call upon me," he said before departing with a respectful nod.

Sreet glanced around the room, then sprawled on the bed with a thoughtful smirk. "A council, huh? Interesting," he murmured to himself.

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In a dimly lit manor meeting room, four figures sat around a large wooden table, discussing something serious.

"Is it true, my lord, that a knight has come to serve you?" asked the fattest man in the room. His many gold rings gleamed under the lantern light, and his greedy expression matched his tone. The Lord gave a simple nod in response.

The lord's advisor, a sharp-eyed man who ran the town's administration, leaned forward. "But, my lord, what task should we assign him? Protection? Training? Or should we expand the militia and put him in charge of that?"

Before the lord had a chance to speak, the man in light armour, wearing a steel chest plate—the town militia commander—acted rapidly to interject. "No, my lord! I can handle the militia myself. I believe we should put him to work training recruits. That would bolster the quality of our guards and soldiers."

With his chin stroked thoughtfully, the lord declared, "Trainer of recruits it is."

Meanwhile, in his private room, Sreet was training in swordsmanship. Without wanting to gain attention, he practised secretly, his steps sharp and calculated. Someone suddenly knocked on the door. He stopped, turning towards it.

 "Come in," he said brusquely.

The butler entered, lowering his body a little. "The lord and council await you," he announced.

Sreet nodded and followed the butler down the hallway. Just as they reached the meeting room, the butler halted, looking about cautiously. In a hushed tone, just loud enough for Sreet to hear, he whispered, "My lord, I do hope you won't serve the lord or join the council. They are rotten to the core."

Sreet raised an eyebrow, amused. Interesting, he thought to himself. Without replying, he opened the door and stepped inside.

The lord rose from his chair, smiling. "Sir Knight, welcome! Let me introduce my council. This is Adam, my trusted advisor. That is Evans, our treasurer. And here is Commander Aldred, who leads the town militia."

Sreet's sharp eyes scanned the room, scanning each man as if reading him open. A fat, greedy, and foolish lord, a treasurer gaunt over gold, a weak, power-hungry head of the militia, and an advisor who made his strings quite evident. How ordinary. No wonder the town smells of poverty.

The lord's voice cut into his reverie. "Sir Knight, would you be interested in training our new guards?"

Sreet paused, then responded, "Well, I can do that. But I want to make a different team's recruits."

The lord was nodding his head now excitedly. "Yes, Sir Knight—"

But before he could continue, Aldred, the militia commander, stood up suddenly. "I will have to disagree. We cannot allow"

Even before he could get the words out, Sreet unleashed energy. It was not the aura of a knight, but an apprentice's and it was enough to make the skin crawl in this room. The council stiffened, their faces pale. Aldred's knees shook.

"I. I agree too," Aldred stuttered and sat himself down quickly.

The lord wiped the sweat from his brow and nodded hastily. "Then it's decided. What shall we name this new team?"

Sreet's calm yet commanding voice filled the room. "The Iron Revenants."

The council exchanged nervous glances but nodded in agreement. Their faces glistened with sweat as they approved the decision.

[New Message]

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Sreet then went straight to his room and manor and checked his system message.

.

Skill Name: Faction Insight(Level 1)

Type: Passive

Description:

Allows the user to manage their faction effectively. The user can recruit members, create sub-factions, and analyze each member's loyalty, skills, potential, and personality. Detects signs of betrayal or wavering loyalty and provides an overview of faction strength and structure.]

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Next Day 

Sreet came into the training grounds. He was crunching in his boots in the dirt as he surveyed the recruits. They were single file; their eyes were all fixed on the entrance. They nervously waited and at the front stood the trainer. He was a tired man looking more relieved than anything at seeing Sreet arrive.

Recruits bowed in her greeting, their bowing awkward and unsynchronized. Sharp eyes noticed the laziness, the nervousness, but something like a glimmer of determination on some of their faces.

The trainer bowed low and stepped forward. "Sir Knight, these are recruits under the lord of Gwalior. I have trained them to the best of my capacity he said, exhausted.".

Sreet barely looked at him. "Get out of my way," he commanded his voice steady and strong.

He shouted to the recruits, "Run! One hundred laps around this field of training. Now!"

For a moment they hesitated then scrambled to action; in the same disorganized mess, they ran, with some pushing ahead and others lagging. A few attempted to cheat by cutting corners, but sharp commands from Sreet brought them up short in their tracks.

As the laps continued to grow in numbers, stress began to unfold. When they were finished, most of the recruits were labouring under the breathing, red-faced, and their bodies shook.

"Pathetic," Sreet said, coldly, the words cutting through their heavy breathing. "You call yourselves soldiers? A real soldier fights past the pain and keeps going. What I see here are a bunch of weaklings."

His words straightened the men up, but not many could stand upright.

"Rig up!" he bellowed. "This was the warm-up,"

The next few hours were brutal. Sreet made them carry heavy logs to build strength and teamwork. He sprinted with weights attached to their backs and practised strikes and parries till their arms felt like dead weights. Some recruits simply collapsed, too exhausted to go any further.

Sreet strode toward them, his voice snapping like a twig. "Up. If you stand still, you're a coward. Coward? Most clenched their jaws and got up then plodded on.

By the end of that session, most recruits were lying in the corners and could not be made to stand up. Sreet looked at them and hesitated a bit upon some who, despite their exhaustion, still stood with determination in their eyes.

He pointed at them. "You, move forward."

The chosen recruits nodded and stood quivering before him. "You're weak," he said to them, his voice stern but even. "But you didn't break. That's why you'll stay. You can build strength, but you can't learn to want to fight. You will train harder than you ever have. Prove that you can be soldiers." He turned to the others. "Dismissed. If you feel this was too much, do not come back tomorrow. I do not need people who are not prepared to push themselves."

After these days, Sreet worked the recruits even harder. He didn't give them one second of letup, yet watched over them closely as they progressed. He pushed the diligent to the limits, testing endurance and upping their sharpness. Step by step, he slowly started seeing a change in the group. The recruits were not ideal, but they were getting better. By the end of the week, they stood taller, moved more quickly, and struck harder and with greater conviction. Sreet allowed himself a small nod of approval. They weren't soldiers, not yet, but they were getting closer.

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After one week of rigorous training, a 17-year-old boy, Adam, went through the dark alleys of the slums to get back home after another tiring soldier-in-training day. His heavy steps and sorrowful eyes conveyed a sense of disappointment as he looked at the people surrounding him. Because of this condition, the slums became dirty and neglected places, just like the poor state of the town under the lord's rule.

The air was heavy with rot, and broken houses leaned against each other as if ready to fold inward at any moment. Though much of the town was blighted, these slums were the worst of all. The lord and council had done nothing to help but squeeze the people dry with constant taxes.

He let out a heavy sigh, stepping towards his small, dilapidated cabin. His head was already completely soaked in irritation. "That miserable lord and council, he grumbled out loud", pushing the creaky wooden gates open." They are taking everything away from us. He wants to get stronger, make a good life for himself, and help this town. But how can I? For now, he doesn't even have a proper Knight Technique."

The hut was a small, poorly lit place; an oil lantern on the table lit him up. He tossed his bag in the corner and sat down; his muscles screamed their agony from the drills of the day. A young man stares into the dancing flame of a lantern, lost in his thoughts.

Adam did not realize that his shadow slipped through the gate behind him. He was maintaining step with every other step, no heel followed by a single step.

As he stepped back to blow out the lantern, something caught his eye. The gate was open. He froze. His heart thumped with an insistent beat. He slowly turned his head and saw the shape of a figure standing in the shadowy corner of the room.

Adam's breath caught in his chest, and his body tensed. Quick as a flash, he grabbed his wooden training sword and leaned against the wall, positioning himself for battle. His voice was strong despite the fear firmly gripping him. "WHO ARE YOU? What do you want?"

The figure didn't react, remaining perfectly silent in the dark shadows. Adam got on his nerves first. He threw himself forward, swinging his wooden sword with all the force he could muster. But before the blow could hit, the intruder reached out with astonishing speed and caught the tip of the wooden blade between two fingers.

"Calm down, Adam," the figure said in a voice so familiar and steady.

He stood there, unmoving, mouth agape in shock. "Sir Knight?"

The intruder stepped into the light to reveal the visitor. It was Sreet.

He dropped his restraint on the wooden sword, and let it dangle at his side in shock. "What. What are you doing here?" he stuttered, his mind racing. Sreet looked squarely at Adam, with a piercing stare. "You said you wanted to get stronger," he declared. "Let's see if you really mean it."