Chained Hearts: From Slavery to Sovereignty
Chapter 127: The Training Ground

Chapter 127: Chapter 127: The Training Ground

The training ground behind the City Lord’s fortress had been abandoned for a long time. Ever since the fall of the previous City Lord, the number of knights in Galdreth had dropped to almost none. With no one to train and no one to lead them, the area was left to gather dust.

When the new City Lord took over, things were already a mess. He had no time to appoint new knights or restore the training ground. It simply remained unused.

So, for the time being, while Cassian and his knights stayed in the fortress, he decided to use it. It was quiet, open, and perfect for keeping his men in shape. And just like that, the forgotten ground found purpose again.

As the knights walked towards the training ground, they felt the air outside was thick with tension.

Not from the weather—the weather was a clear, crisp morning with the kind of breeze that usually made morning drills feel bearable—but from the overwhelming silence of eight knights walking toward their death. Or at least, that’s what it felt like.

They moved in a stiff line, their boots hitting the dirt in synchronized dread. No one dared to speak now. Not a single joke. Not a single whisper.

Because there, standing in the middle of the training ground, was Leader Hayes.

Cassian stood like a statue with a sword in hand, his cloak fluttering ever so slightly in the wind. He wasn’t even doing anything threatening just existing, but his presence alone was enough to make every knight suddenly regret every bite of breakfast and every word of gossip.

He hadn’t said a single thing since storming out of the dining hall. He hadn’t looked at anyone either.

Cassian simply stood there, face carved from stone, gaze fixed on the training dummies across the yard—but everyone knew he wasn’t seeing them.

He was brooding—and brooding Leader Hayes was worse than angry Leader Hayes.

The knights slowly filtered into the grounds, forming a line like nervous schoolchildren. None of them dared to meet his eyes. No one dared to ask questions. Orion, the only one brave enough—or perhaps dumb enough—to try speaking, opened his mouth slightly.

Cassian’s head turned. Just a little, and just enough.

Orion shut his mouth at once.

Cassian’s voice finally broke the silence. "Since you all had so much energy at breakfast... why not burn some of it now?"

No one moved.

He turned fully toward them, his eyes like sharpened blades. "Pair up. We’re doing hand-to-hand sparring. No weapons."

A few of the knights looked like they’d just been sentenced to death.

Cassian’s lips curled into a smile. It wasn’t a nice smile. It was the kind of smile you’d see on a man who had plans—and none of them were good.

"And if I see anyone going easy just because you’re friends... I’ll spar with you myself."

A collective shiver ran through the group.

"Orion," Cassian called.

"Y-Yes, sir?"

"You’re with me."

A muffled snort came from somewhere in the line. Probably Alistair.

Cassian heard it. Of course he did. He didn’t say anything. He just looked at Alistair for a second too long.

That was enough.

As the pairs began to separate, and the unfortunate souls realized they couldn’t escape the hell they’d just walked into, Orion dragged himself to the center of the field like a man marching to the gallows.

Cassian didn’t wait. The second Orion lifted his arms into position, Cassian struck him.

Fast, precise, and brutal.

Orion barely managed to block the first hit before a sharp jab to his side knocked the wind from him.

"Pay attention," Cassian snapped. "Or you’ll be eating dirt."

"Yes, sir—!"

Orion stumbled back, trying to recover, but Cassian was already on him again, movement fluid like water and merciless like a hammer.

It was clear to everyone now.

This wasn’t just training.

Leader Hayes was working something out—and poor Orion had become the chosen outlet.

The rest of the knights pretended to focus on their own spars, but all eyes kept drifting back to the center, where Cassian and Orion were locked in a vicious blur of motion.

"Ten gold says Orion gets thrown in the mud," someone whispered.

"Too late. Already happened yesterday."

"No, I mean today. Look at Leader Hayes’ face. He’s possessed."

"Possessed by rage."

"Possessed by something."

Another round of grunts and gasps echoed through the grounds as Cassian landed a particularly punishing blow that sent Orion sprawling back, barely catching himself before he face-planted.

And then, just as Orion staggered upright, a shadow moved at the edge of the field.

Dorian.

The City Lord had arrived.

And he was leaning casually against the fence, watching with that same infuriating smile that had caused all this in the first place.

Cassian’s eye twitched.

And Orion?

Orion quietly mouthed a prayer.

Because he was the most innocent one here—why did it have to be him?

Orion could barely hold back his tears as he dodged another sharp jab from Cassian. He hadn’t even said anything bad! When the other assholes were busy making dirty theories and wild guesses about Leader Hayes and the City Lord, he was the only one who kept quiet. He didn’t even laugh. And yet—he was the one getting beat into the ground like a sack of stolen gold.

Why me? Orion wanted to cry. This wasn’t fair.

Shouldn’t Leader Hayes have picked Sir Alistair? That smug bastard had been the one with the loudest mouth! He was the one who said "kiss" first! If anyone deserved a broken rib, it was him! But nooo, the universe had decided Orion’s bones were the ones that needed cracking today.

He glanced at his fellow knights, silently begging for help—but all of them were suddenly far too focused on their own matches, refusing to meet his eyes.

All except that smug-faced demon.

Sir Alistair.

His attention was more on him rather than his own current match, he was grinning like he’d just won a lifetime supply of alcohol. That bastard. Orion could practically see the satisfaction radiating off of him like heat from a furnace.

But then—

The heavens finally opened.

Cassian’s cold voice rang across the field, sharp and clear.

"Alistair. You’re next."

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