Chapter 100
Betrayed by Blood
Cain stood silently at the edge of the training grounds, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His eyes were narrowed, watching as the warriors moved through their drills. They were training hard for the festival. Usually, most packs would be attacked by rogues during times like this, and Cain was nothing if not meticulous. He hated surprises and weakness even more, so the guards were training 20 hours a day. He wanted no surprises on the day of the festival.
The sound of clashing swords, the thud of feet hitting the ground, and grunts filled the air, but Cain was unfazed by the noise. His gaze was focused, calculating. Every movement, every shift in stance, he took it in, analyzing every move and mistake. Ready to step in when someone wasn’t getting it right or when they were being foolish.
Beside him, Gerald’s footsteps crunched against the dirt as he approached. Gerald paused next to Cain, his eyes scanning the scene with a knowing look.
"These are the new recruits?" He asked, and Cain hummed, glancing at the man. "This is very impressive for new warriors. They have improved so well, one wouldn’t tell they were still in training," Gerald remarked, his voice low, but there was a hint of pride in it. "You’ve done such a great job, Cain. I can see how well they’re trained."
Cain’s lips barely curved into a smile as he glanced sideways at him. "Thank you! You always had a good eye for strength," Cain replied.
Gerald’s gaze flickered across the field, his eyes settling on a particular group of fighters. His lips curled slightly upward, as if he were seeing something only he recognized.
He looked at Cain. "You know, I remember suggesting that same move to your father years ago, but he never listened to me," Gerald said. "The way that warrior just swept his opponent’s feet from under him... I taught you that when you were just starting to learn control. I can’t believe you still know that move."
Cain smiled, his eyes drifting to the same warrior who executed the move with precision. He couldn’t deny the truth of Gerald’s words. His father, Edward, was an adamant, obsessive man, and what that meant for the warriors was that they could only move in one particular way. There was no room for change, so when Gerald had suggested the move, it was immediately shut down. His father had labeled it weak and foolish. ’What can a beta know about fighting? Sit here and calculate the losses and gains, will you?’ he had spat out.