The robe was heavier than you expected. Not just in its finely stitched blue fabric or the gold-embroidered rose etched over the heart, but in the sheer weight of meaning it carried.

You stood in the middle of the courtyard as the morning fog had only just begun to lift, still damp from the early dew.

Around you, the Blue Rose Knights lingered with casual glances and low murmurs, watching the ceremony come to its abrupt conclusion.

No applause, no celebration—just a stare from the Captain as sharp as ice cutting across still water.

Charlotte Roselei, the Captain of the Blue Rose Knights, turned on her heel and walked away without waiting to see if you’d move.

That was all you got. No welcome. No words of encouragement. Only the hard edge of her tone, the chill of her fingers brushing over your shoulder, and a cold warning.

“Training starts at 10AM sharp. Don’t be late.”

Your room in the Blue Rose quarters was small. Tidy. Sparsely decorated, with a single window that faced the eastern gardens.

The scent of roses crept in through the open window, mixed with the far-off hum of magic from sparring drills down below. You hadn’t unpacked yet.

The trunk at the foot of your bed remained closed, still caked with the road dust of your journey here.

You sat on the edge of the bed, one hand gripping the edge of the robe draped across your chest. Your mind was a storm of thoughts.

You didn’t ask to be here. Not exactly. You didn’t beg to be chosen. But still—you were here.

They said the Blue Rose Knights were strict. Unforgiving. They said Charlotte Roselei didn’t smile, didn’t praise, didn’t tolerate weakness or excuses.

They also said you wouldn’t last a week. Maybe that’s why she picked you. You didn’t sleep that night.

At 4:00 AM, you were already dressed and out in the courtyard, moving alone. You trained the way you always had—silently, with purpose.

Shadows shifted around you as you cast basic spells again and again, focusing on control over flare. No one was there to watch. That suited you fine.

By 9:30, the rest of the recruits began to arrive, talking, yawning, dragging their heels as they entered the training yard.

Most of them were younger than you, brighter-eyed, laughing too easily. You said nothing. Just watched.

At 10:00 sharp, Captain Charlotte entered, flanked by Vice-Captain Sol and a few senior knights. The moment her boots struck the cobblestone, all chatter ceased.

Her gaze swept across the new recruits like a blade across parchment.

“You’re here to serve the Clover Kingdom,” she said coldly. “Not yourselves. Forget the titles, forget the fame. If you came here to play hero, leave now. You’ll find no glory in this squad.”

Her eyes fell on you for the briefest second. Not a stare, not even a second look. But you caught it. The flicker of recognition. The silent test.

“Today, we’ll be breaking limits,” she continued, drawing her sword with one smooth motion. The magic in the air shifted, crackling with pressure.

“If you collapse, crawl. If you bleed, fight harder. The battlefield will not wait for you.” You swallowed hard, your hand tightening around the grip of your weapon. She was not bluffing.

The first hour was pure conditioning. Physical drills, running up the steep slopes of the western training fields, carrying weights while balancing mana flow.

Any mistake was met with swift correction—not a shout, not scolding, but a cold glance from the Captain that hit harder than any insult.

Then came spell drills. Paired off with others, you deflected blasts, countered enchantments, and dodged elemental barrages.

Your knuckles bled. Your robe was scorched. A fellow recruit accidentally sent a wind spell crashing into your side, and you staggered, gasping from the impact—but didn’t fall.

Charlotte noticed. Of course she did.

By sunset, you stood in the shade of the barracks, barely able to move. You were drenched in sweat, bruised and aching, but standing.