Chapter 11 – The Price of Pride
"That's all for today," announced the mustached instructor with a hoarse voice. "What you saw this morning will be the only fucking lesson you'll get from us. From now on, if you want to survive, you'll have to train until your muscles beg for mercy."
He walked slowly in front of us, hands behind his back, like an executioner giving his final sermon.
"The Eight Steps aren't a luxury, they're a necessity. You mess up once, and your skull will be just another decoration on the battlefield. So sweat, bleed, but master them. Because I won't repeat anything."
Everyone's eyes were fixed on the ground.
"Now get out of here. Go eat something before you pass out. But listen carefully: the cafeteria is shared with the nobles. Don't get into trouble... or do, and find out what your skin is worth."
Most scattered without a word, dragging their feet toward the mess hall.
When we arrived, we were met with a tense scene: over a hundred commoners stood at the entrance, murmuring among themselves. They didn't dare cross the threshold.
"What the hell's wrong with them?" Dixon asked, frowning.
"Looks like they're scared to go in," I replied without stopping. "Like we're invading enemy territory."
The cafeteria was colossal—high ceilings, carved stone columns, long polished wooden tables, and a massive open kitchen at the back. It could easily feed five thousand people, yet it was almost empty.
Without thinking, I grabbed a tray and walked toward the food line. Behind me, Dixon followed with a nervous smile, and then Cedric, a quiet but strong guy with an intense gaze.