The gate closed behind us with a sound that felt final in a way training never had.
No instructor followed.
That absence settled into the group almost immediately. Steps slowed. Conversations died before they could begin. Beyond the boundary stones, the land did not feel hostile—only unconcerned.
This was not a battlefield.
It was worse.
It was a place where mistakes would not be corrected.
Our target was supposed to be simple.
Low-grade monsters. Creatures that hunted in instinct rather than strategy. The kind meant to teach confidence through repetition.
None of us believed that description anymore.
Weapons were drawn earlier than necessary. Eyes moved constantly. Even the most vocal among us grew careful with their footing, as if the ground itself might betray them.
I stayed quiet.
Not because I had nothing to say—but because saying anything would have implied authority I did not yet have the right to claim.
The first monster appeared without warning.
It burst from the brush in a rush of movement and noise, malformed and fast, more ugly than terrifying. Someone shouted. Someone else froze.
Steel met flesh.
The creature screamed.
The sound was wrong—too sharp, too aware.
The trainee who struck it hesitated at the resistance of bone.
That hesitation almost killed him.
I moved without thinking.
Not forward.
Sideways.
I corrected space, forced the creature's weight to shift, just enough for another blade to land where it should have the first time. The monster collapsed violently, thrashing before going still.
Silence followed.
No one cheered.
One trainee vomited.
We stood around the body longer than necessary.
Blood soaked into the soil. Steam rose faintly from the wound. This was not practice flesh. This was not a dummy.
This had been alive.
"Execution confirmed," someone said finally, voice thin.
The words felt ceremonial—and hollow.
As we moved on, the pressure inside me stirred.
Not approval.
Not warning.
Recognition.
This was the difference between theory and consequence.
And we had only just begun paying for it.