Just then, a soldier tossed a spear to Levi. The man caught the spear mid-air and spun it so fast that it left afterimages and stirred a mini whirlwind!
Swoosh!
In an instant, Asher saw the spear’s tip hovering right before his nose.
“Let me see your skills, white hair,” Levi growled.
Asher reached out for Euodias, but Moses stepped forward, stopping him with a firm hand.
“Let me fight him. This man isn’t worthy of crossing weapons with you.”
Asher smiled faintly. “He is.”
Shing!
When Euodias was unsheathed, the crowd’s eyes narrowed.
“What a fancy blade.” Levi scoffed and twirled his spear before assuming a battle stance, his eyes locked on Asher like a bear eyeing a wolf.
But Asher didn’t move. He simply stood in the same spot without assuming any battle stance, the tip of his sword resting lightly on the ground as he gazed at Levi without the slightest emotion.
Soldiers began gathering in a dense circle, murmuring quietly. Yet no one spoke loud enough to interrupt the tension.
Asher expected them to bash him with their words, but instead, it seemed like these men wanted to see their leader prove his worth—a reason to follow and obey him.
Levi charged forward, his spear a blur of motion and a menacing look. But, to Asher’s sharp eyes, the flaw in his movement was clear: one of the man’s feet was weaker than the other, clearly, it was the regenerated one.
As Levi thrust the spear, Asher sidestepped with ease and wrapped his fingers around the shaft in one swift motion. Levi tried to pull it, but before he could react any further, he saw the triangular tip of Asher’s sword just an inch away from his neck.
“You lose,” Asher said, his voice calm but firm.
He then sheathed his blade with a decisive snap and looked around with a hardened gaze. “Does anyone else wish to challenge my authority?!”
No one spoke much less raise their hands.
Seeing this, Asher exhaled and then addressed the crowd.
“Listen well. Our duty is to make sure we raid every convoy from Edom and kill all the rat beastmen. But we have to let them know that there is another party and make sure that they don’t link it to the Winter Stronghold.”
He breathed out and stepped forward, his golden eyes glinting.
“So from now on, we shall bear the mark of the wolf. I will train you to my standard—my standard alone. Those who object can challenge my leadership at any time.”
The soldiers exchanged wary glances, their expressions a mix of scorn and doubt. To these fallen knights, Asher was still a kid spouting rubbish to look like a true captain.
Unfortunately, they couldn’t have been more wrong.
The Asher they faced wasn’t the soft-hearted lord who once sat on the throne of Ashbourne county. This man had become a cold-hearted swordsman who was determined to do whatever it took to force his way into the spirit world.
And since the spirit world was like the hell mode of Tenaria, he had to train to his utmost and these men also had to endure the training to face the rat knights or they would be no more than a few extra kills for the rat knights.
“Don your armor,” Asher commanded. “Training begins now!”
The first drill was grueling: soldiers thrust their spears into tree trunks, over and over again, until their arms screamed in protest. By nightfall, the soldiers marched back to camp, exhausted, some complaining and some harboring resentment towards Asher.
Under the darkened sky, while everyone was doing their own stuff, Asher sat on a log with Moses and Simon before him.
The orange glow of the flames burning between them flickered shadows on Asher’s face in an ominous light, making his bright golden eyes.
At that moment, he looked more like a wolf—watching and waiting—-ready to strike in the night.
“My lord, many of them don’t like you. Don’t you think you went hard on them?” Simon asked softly.
Asher met his gaze with unwavering intensity. “I don’t need them to like me. I need them to first be able to survive. In their current condition, they wouldn’t last against a rat knight. Those things wear full plate armor, far stronger than mere steel. Meanwhile, what we have are sleeveless leather vests, spears and wooden shields. Even if the shields and the spear’s shafts might be made from ice wood, they are nothing compared to forged metal.”
Simon hesitated, unable to refute Asher’s harsh assessment.
“Tomorrow, you shall scout the road. We can’t allow any convoy to reach Winter Stronghold.”
“I understand.” Simon nodded, turned, and left.
“Your Lordship, who shall keep watch during the night?” Moses asked.
“I will.”
Moses blinked, momentarily speechless, but it seemed like Asher wasn’t kidding.
After Moses and every other soldier had settled to sleep, Asher unfurled a leather scroll and began his practice. His movements were methodical yet intense as he kept swinging Euodias while also experimenting and trying new stances he had come by in the Shura Battle Force Art.
His sword strikes were dominant, aggressive and unrelenting. He utilized this monstrous strength to gradually carve out his own unique fighting style, but this style opened his defence and also drained a lot of his stamina, putting immense strain on his sacred knight body.
Although he wielded Euodias, his fighting style was similar to people who wielded greatswords.
The blade carved out blue crescent light in the darkness, as he kept moving, the glowing arches vivid against the falling snow.
Hours trickled by, but Asher didn’t falter. He continued perfecting his footwork according to the Art while sweat poured down his body!
This was a crazy feat since it was snowing and his body’s internal heat resulted in constant steam leaving his body akin to smoke.
Wrapping both his hands around Euodias’ handle, Asher unleashed a thrust that blew open the earth. The force cleared the snow, leaving a trench that was two meters deep and five meters long.
His battle force circulated around him briefly before vanishing. Breathing heavily, he sat crossed legs, meditating on his training.
As his focus deepened, a familiar presence materialized before him.
“Asher,” came a voice tinged with bittersweet emotion.
He opened his eyes to see Atticus, his expression a mix of pain and concern.
“You are hurting yourself in the name of training,” Atticus said, his voice heavy with regret.
When one trained the body to the extent that it hurt badly yet ignored it, that fellow was on his way to disaster.
This was because none of them ever lived long. A living example was… Torah Ashbourne!
“Lord Atticus,” Asher replied, his gaze shifting to the white wolf lying on top of a boulder looking at him. Looking at that wolf, all Asher could see was Sirius.
“You’ll end up becoming Zorah if you do not stop,” Atticus warned.
Asher ignored the plea. “Do you know how a mortal can walk in the spirit world?”
Atticus’s tone sharpened. “Asher! You are drowning yourself in anger and self-blame! You will lose what makes you an Ashbourne—the unyielding heart of a warrior!”
But Asher turned his back to him and began to walk away. “You’re of no use to me. Send me back.”
