The training ground, which normally echoed with the rhythm of drills and shouted commands, had transformed into something else entirely.
A stage.
And every passing minute, more arrived to find their seat—if not physically, then with eyes locked onto the centre of the field where Luke and Commander Alec stood. The gravel circle, lined by old wooden rails and stone benches, was now surrounded by walls of armoured spectators, shoulder to shoulder, craning necks, and hushed whispers.
It started subtly. A few knights nudged one another, murmuring questions.
"Is it true?"
"He challenged him?"
"What in the Saint's name for?"
But soon the quiet turned into chatter. The training ground buzzed with a low roar of voices, all floating with the same tension, the same strange curiosity. Some had shown up without even knowing why, only to freeze when they saw who was standing inside the ring.
"Is that... the Commander?"
