The Weight of Envy
Silverglade did not believe in rest days.
Week two became a single, endless crucible.
#### The Knights – The Western Ridge
Aldric’s soldiers trained from before dawn until the stars came out.
The elves called it “the Dance of Ten Thousand Deaths.”
Every morning the humans were dropped blindfolded into different parts of the forest.
Every evening they crawled back missing skin, pride, and sometimes consciousness.
- Trees walked and tried to crush them.
- Illusions turned squad-mates into demons for hours.
- Gravity flipped without warning; men fell upward into branches that beat them like drums.
- Rivers froze mid-flow and shattered into razor shards.
By the fourth day half the knights were vomiting after every session.
By the seventh, no one vomited anymore; there was nothing left.
Aldric himself lost three teeth to a root that punched him in the face, had his ribs cracked twice, and was healed only to be thrown back in.
He never complained. None of them did.
They had seen Low Cradle.
They had seen half a dozen villages that were now only names on a map.
They had carried the bodies.
They knew why the elves were trying to kill them gently—so the demons would fail to do it brutally.
At night they sat around fires, bruised and bleeding, and spoke in low voices.
“Remember Sergeant Halvors?” one whispered.
“Died because he was half a heartbeat slow.”
Another laughed, hoarse. “Won’t be slow again.”
They swallowed every complaint.
Because they had seen too much death to pretend this was unnecessary.
#### The Regular Cadre – The Moonlit Yard
The twenty mentors and the nine remaining summoned (the fifteen otherworlders minus the six in the Warden Circle) were not so stoic.
Their training ground was a vast, circular yard of white moonstone open to the sky.
No shade. No mercy.
Every day began the same way.
A dwarf sergeant named Gromm Ironvein would blow a horn at the first hint of light.
“Up, maggots! Ten laps around the yard—full gear!”
The yard was two leagues around.
Most made four laps before collapsing.
Gromm didn’t care.
“Vomit if you must. Crawl if you must. But move!”
Prince Edric vomited on lap six and kept running with bile on his chin.
Lady Amabel fainted on lap five and was dragged by her ankles until she woke up screaming.
Lord Gavain tried to bribe Gromm with promises of gold. Gromm laughed so hard he cried, then added five extra laps “for insulting dwarf honour.”
Some improved dramatically.
- Dante and Taro, after a week of being beaten senseless by the dwarf-elf berserker Ragna, moved like twin storms—blades and teleports weaving together in perfect, lethal harmony.
- Yuna could now walk through her own white fire without a blister.
- Cassian’s light constructs lasted hours instead of minutes.
- Asha’s vines grew living armour thick enough to stop arrows.
Others stayed exactly where they were.
Milo still froze when anything growled.
Two noble mentors still hid behind whoever was closest.
Prince Edric’s sword work actually got worse—he was too angry to learn.
The elves noticed everything.
They never shouted.
They simply adjusted the difficulty until the student either adapted or broke.
#### Evening Conversations – The Hollow Root
Every night the thirty-five (twenty mentors + fifteen summoned) gathered in the great hall of the Hollow Root.
Food appeared without servants. Wine flowed like water. Bodies ached.
Conversation always turned to the same places.
**Table of the Bitter**
(Dante, Taro, Prince Edric, Lord Gavain, Lady Amabel)
Dante stabbed his venison as if it had personally offended him.
“They get private lessons with the Warden Circle while we’re puking our guts out for dwarves.”
Taro nodded furiously.
“It’s not fair. We’re supposed to be the heroes.”
Edric’s voice was ice. “When we return to the capital, certain people will answer for this humiliation.”
Gavain muttered, “I’d rather be on the front line than let those upstarts get all the glory.”
**Table of the Resigned**
(Eren, Leon, Rowan, Milo)
Eren poked at his food. “Honestly? If those six want to throw themselves at demons first, let them. One less thing between me and going home.”
Leon nodded so hard his neck cracked. “Exactly. I didn’t ask to be here.”
Rowan said nothing, just stared at his plate as if it might bite him.
Milo whispered, barely audible, “I just want to wake up and be back in my bed…”
**Table of the Curious / Worried**
(Livia, Yuna, Asha, Cassian)
Livia’s voice was soft. “They don’t come back bragging. They come back… broken. Did you see Rin’s face today? She looked like she hadn’t slept in years.”
Yuna, quieter than usual: “I walked through my own fire today without burning. But when I saw Zeon limping… I realised they’re paying a different price.”
Cassian pushed his glasses up. “Their improvement curve is exponential. Whatever the wardens are doing, it’s not normal training. It’s forging.”
Asha hugged herself. “Do you think that we would be like them if we managed to reach their expectations?”
Her words were followed by silence, as if it were a terrifying ordeal.
**The Corner Table – The Six**
They sat apart, as always.
Rin’s left hand was wrapped in fresh bandages—she had finally taken a real wound that morning.
Zeon’s knuckles were split and bleeding through the wrappings.
Kael had a black eye swelling shut.
Noel’s fingers trembled when he tried to hold a cup.
Silas kept forming and melting tiny snowflakes on the table, unable to stop.
Rhys’s gloves were off for once; his palms were raw and blistered.
No one spoke for a long time.
Finally Zeon broke the silence.
“They hate us now.”
Kael’s laugh was soft and empty. “Good. Hate is honest.”
Silas stared at the snowflake melting between his fingers. “I froze a lake today. An entire lake. And the warden still said ‘not enough.’”
Noel’s voice was hoarse. “I saw a future where I killed everyone at this table. The elf made me watch it on repeat until I stopped flinching.”
Rhys tapped the table twice—sharp, deliberate.
Translation, from those who had learned to read him: They’re making us into weapons.
Rin finally spoke, voice raw.
“They’re not making us into anything.
They’re stripping away the parts that can’t survive what’s coming.”
She looked up, eyes haunted.
“And there’s less of me left every day.”
Zeon reached across and covered her bandaged hand with his.
Silence fell again, heavier this time.
Outside, the eternal trees whispered.
Inside, thirty-five teenagers ate beneath the weight of futures none of them had chosen.
Some dreamed of glory.
Some dreamed of home.
Some no longer dreamed at all.
The war had not yet reached them.
But Silverglade was already winning.
End of Chapter 15.