It was early morning, and a light fog had settled over the plateau where the Blue Lions and the newly arrived recruits had taken formation for their muster as a united battalion. Each student had been assigned twelve soldiers, including a seasoned noncommissioned officer who had already experienced combat and would serve as both mentor and advisor to the newly up-and-coming officers.

With a wax board in hand and a stylus in the other, Dimitri followed closely behind his professor as Kratos began to pass the platoon of armored knights that had been assigned to him personally. Their sergeant, who was arguably the most experienced out of the new arrivals, raised his hand in salute as the brigand stopped in front of him.

"Sir," The grizzled man began, keeping his eyes straight forward. "Sergeant First Class Mattias Bolander of the Kingdom's 1st Armored Cavalry Division, 3rd Heavy Assault Battalion. My platoon and I are ready for inspection, Sir."

Unbeknownst to everyone on the plateau with him, with the exception of Mimir dangling from his hip, Kratos felt a strong sense of nostalgia settling over him, like he'd returned to a place that he hadn't realized he missed. Yet, even though these were not spartans that he had once led, the Ghost of Sparta had always valued the kind of military discipline that the man in front of him had exuded.

"Very good." Kratos told him and stepped to one side to inspect each rank. It only took him a brief moment to assess the line before he nodded curtly. "Adequate," he muttered, and Dimitri quickly scribbled the note on his wax board as Kratos moved back to the front of the formation.

Turning to his sergeant, Kratos asked, "And you- share something of yourself."

The man straightened slightly, a sense of pride visible on his face. "Sir, I have served Lord Blaiddyd in the Kingdom's central army for ten years now. I've been stationed in a number of places from the mountain pass of Ruska to patrolling the Itha Plains, and it was there when I'd received orders to take my new command here on Garreg Mach."

"Itha Plains, you say?" Mimir spoke up from Kratos' hip. "Isn't that the place where the wildlife tends to grow into… well, monstrous proportions, shall we say?"

The sergeant nodded grimly. "Indeed, that is correct. We know not what goes on there to manifest such creatures, and it's suicide to even try venturing in there without an entire army behind to back you up: Wolves the size of small cottages, birds with wingspans wider than a King Wyvern… you can imagine the kind of carnage that would follow if they weren't already busy keeping their own population in check."

"That, I do not doubt." The awestruck head agreed.

"I have seen my fair share and fought alongside many men," the man said to Kratos, "but to be able to serve alongside His Highness throughout his tenure at the Officers Academy is the highest honor I could hope for, Sir."

Kratos looked the sergeant over one last time, his gaze steady as he took in the man's composed stance and clear dedication. After a moment, he gave a satisfied grunt and a curt nod. Without another word, he turned and moved on to the next formation, all of whom were women that Ingrid presided over.

"Good morning, Sir!" A taller woman next to Galatea saluted enthusiastically. "Wing Leader Freja Arnulf, 2nd Aerial Company of the 5th Sky Legion, reporting as ordered!"

Kratos once more grunted in acknowledgement. "And what is your story?"

"Sir! For six years, I have served honorably under Lord Galatea's leadership. I was tasked with helping to enforce the border between us and the Daphnel region of the Leicester Alliance, but we also worked with Marquess Edmund in ensuring safe passage of ships in the Whitehorn Sea."

Kratos raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "The Galatea-Daphnel borders. What role did you play there?"

Ingrid's new NCO nodded as if anticipating the question. "Sir, Lord Galatea and Margrave Daphnel have had a long and bitter rivalry for years now. Tensions usually spill over from time to time, and we were only tasked with keeping the peace and making sure neither side oversteps. Thankfully, it has nothing to do with any formal border dispute between the Kingdom and the Alliance, and we try to stay on good relations by helping them to protect trade."

"Ah, nothing like a good old-fashioned rivalry to keep things lively, eh?" Mimir said lightheartedly. "Though I suppose playing peacekeeper isn't exactly what one would expect from knights in the sky."

The Ghost of Sparta gave the head a low grunt in response before asking, "And how are you and your troops on the ground?"

"We train regularly on foot, sir. It's not our specialty, but my sisters and I can hold our own if it comes down to it."

"Hm. Very good." Without further comment, Kratos turned and began moving through the remaining formations.

As soon as his back was turned, Freja leaned over to Ingrid and whispered, "Is healwaysthis intimidating?"

Ingrid simply shrugged. "You get used to it."

With that, Kratos continued down the line as each NCO introduced themselves and their platoon.

"Sergeant Second Class Roland Dufort of the Kingdom Light Cavalry Division, 2nd Cavalry Troop."

"Corporal Elna Leclerc, Kingdom Magic Corps."

"Sergeant Steffen Müller, Kingdom Light Cavalry, 4th Archer Brigade."

"Field Sergeant Beatrice Novak of the Kingdom Field Medic Corps, 1st Medic Unit."

"Sergeant First Class Arne Soren of the Kingdom Light Infantry Division, 5th Infantry Squad."

"Chief Medic Sergeant Katherine Fischer of the Alliance Physician Medical Brigade, 2nd Healer Company."

Kratos stopped abruptly near the end of the line upon reaching Dedue's unit, noting the Church of Seiros crest on the soldiers' armor, including the NCO's. He looked younger and much less experienced than the other battalion leaders, and Kratos furrowed his brow as the shorter man before him nervously raised his hand under the Spartan's scrutiny.

"I- um, Sergeant Third Class Viktor Karadimas, reporting from-"

"You are not Kingdom soldiers." The brigand cut him off sharply.

The NCO faltered, lowering his hand slowly, his eyes darting to Dedue for reassurance before meeting Kratos' stare. "N-No, sir." He swallowed. "We were assigned by the Church under the orders of Lady Rhea herself."

Kratos narrowed his gaze, staring down the sergeant before shifting his focus on Dedue. "What is the meaning of this?" The NCO let out a quiet, shaky breath, visibly relieved to no longer be the subject of Kratos' ire. He took a small step back, letting Dedue take the lead in addressing the question.

"Forgive me, Professor Kratos." Dimitri's aide began. "But apparently there have been some… discrepancies, when the unit that I was assigned arrived last night."

Kratos' eyes narrowed further. "Elaborate."

Deduce took a breath through his nostrils but continued to meet his gaze steadily. "As I am certain you are aware, Professor, I am of Duscur descent," he stated plainly. "Many within the Kingdom still harbor… unfavorable views toward my people. When my company arrived, they made it clear they were not going to serve under me and would refuse to attend the morning muster."

Standing beside his professor, Dimitri shifted slightly, his gaze scanning the reactions from both his classmates and some of the troops in neighboring battalions, who were now casting curious glances in their direction.

Kratos' expression darkened. "Why was I not informed of this sooner?"

"Again, my apologies, Professor." He answered calmly. "But I did not wish to complicate matters any further and avoid drawing unwanted attention to the situation. Since I have no direct authority over these men without formal rank or position, I cannot compel them to follow my orders. Even though my role is sanctioned by the Church, they still ultimately answer to their respective lord."

Kratos fixed Dedue with a hard stare before shifting his gaze over to the rest of the battalions, and those who had been glancing in their direction quickly snapped their heads forward back to attention, including his own students.

"Hrm…" The ashen-skinned warrior let out a low, rumbling sound before turning his attention to the Church NCO in front of him. "Where are these men?"

Before he had a chance to answer, the Wing Leader next to Ingrid quickly raised her fist to gain his attention. "Um, excuse me, Sir," she called out in uncertainty, "But the last I saw of Sergeant Rorie was when he and his men were heading toward the garrison pub inside the monastery." She lowers her arm. "I'm not sure if they're still there, but…"

Kratos had heard enough. He cast one final glance at the Church leader before turning on his heel and marching swiftly toward the fortress, surprising everyone. Both Dimitri and Dedue looked at each other for a brief moment as the prince quickly shut his wax board and his aide breaking formation before hurrying to follow their professor.

"Professor!" Dedue called out after him. "Professor Kratos, wait!"

"I wouldn't bother, lads." Mimir warned them with a knowing look while his head swayed from Kratos' hip with each giant step. "Best you both stay out of his way for the moment. Trust me on this one."

Meanwhile, inside the garrison's pub, the men lounged around the tables and bar, filling the room with conversation and laughter. The sergeant, seated at the bar, raised his empty mug toward the young man tending to it. "Oi!" He yelled out over the noise. "Another round!"

The soldier nodded, grinning as he poured ale from a large barrel. Just as he was about to hand the refilled mug back to his sergeant, a sudden bang echoed through the room. The laughter died instantly as the heavy wooden door swung up, slamming against the wall and revealing a towering, white-skiined man with red tattoos. Kratos' form had almost completely enveloped the doorway, and some of the men who'd previously been enjoying themselves could barely see the two students behind him as the spartan stepped heavily inside, his piercing gaze sweeping the room.

The junior soldiers gaped at the man that had stormed in, their laughter and conversation forgotten as they sat frozen, unsure of what to say or do and exchanged nervous glances. The sergeant, however, didn't share his men's hesitation. He remained seated on his stool, a scowl crossing his face as he looked down at his spilled mug, then back up at Kratos with a glare of disdain.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he snapped, his voice loud and indignant. "Barging in here like you own the place! Now you've gone and spilled my drink!"

Being the only one to have foolishly spoken out, Kratos' attention was now focused solely on him as the Ghost of Sparta slowly marched up to the Kingdom soldier. However, at a glance, the sergeant didn't look the least bit intimidated as he took notice of Mimir's head hanging on his side, and glanced up at Kratos. "Ah, so you must be the brigand that we've heard so much about." He said nonchalantly. "Bet you get paid a tidy sum to be the Archbishop's personal lapdog- like the one you've got standing behind you." He jerked his thumb dismissively in Dedue's direction, his tone dripping with mockery.

All around them, laughter broke out from the younger soldiers. However, there was an unmistakable hint of nervousness in all of them as Kratos continued to look down at the sergeant.

"You are Kingdom soldiers, are you not?" The professor asked him in a restrained, yet impatient voice. "And are you not the leader of these men?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

Kratos took an audible breath through his nostrils, his gaze remaining fixed on the sergeant. "You and your men are late to formation." He tells him with an oddly cool tone. "You were supposed to be outside and attending muster."

"What, you mean with him?" The man named Rorie gestured dismissively at Dedue and shook his head. "Forget it, slaphead. My men and I would rather march barefoot through the Valley of Torment than follow a treacherous swine into battle."

His sneer grew as he continued, "And one more thing: even if you were to go and complain to Captain Gwendal or Lord Rowe about it, they're about as likely to tell you the same thing I'm about to say to you right now. So how's about you mind your damn business, and sod off!" Rorie then let out a loud, mocking laugh and turned his back on Kratos, facing the bar once more. His men, though visibly uneasy, chuckled nervously before following his lead and settling back down.

Kratos didn't react immediately. Instead, his eyes shifted from one side of the room to the other, taking in each face around him. Then, without warning, his foot shot out against one of the legs of Rorie's stool. The sound of splintering wood filled the room as the leg was taken out from underneath him, and the sergeant found himself flailing as he fell back in his stool and crashed heavily on the floor with a loud thud.

Once again, the room fell silent as the men around them stared in shock at what just happened, and Rorie could only gaze up at the ceiling with a surprised expression. However, it wasn't long until he scrambled to his feet, his face twisted in fury as he turned to face Kratos.

"Oh, is that how it's gonna be, eh?!" He yelled at him before swinging a fist up at the taller man's face.

Kratos moved effortlessly, stepping aside to avoid the strike and using the sergeant's own momentum against him. In a fluid motion, he grabbed Rorie's wrist with one hand, and with the other, seized the back of Rorie's head and slammed it down onto the bar top, pinning him firmly in place. But the spartan wasn't finished. Maintaining his grip, he twisted Rorie's arm behind his back and pulled it upward, sending a jolt of pain through the man's shoulder. Rorie let out a sharp holler, clenching his teeth in agony as his assailant leaned over him.

"I am able to tolerate many things," Kratos lambasted the Kingdom's NCO as the man continued to holler. "Butinsubordinationis not one of them." He emphasized this by putting more pressure on the arm, while taking care not to go too far. He leaned in slightly, his voice low but forceful. "You and your men answer to the authority of the Church- and, by extension, to me. Therefore, youwilldo as you are told, and youwill be expected to conduct yourselves as soldiers." Kratos' grip tightened just enough to drive the point home.

"Am. I. Clear?" He growled.

Sergeant Rorie let out one last scream as he cried out, "ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT, I GET IT! LET GO OF ME ALREADY!"

Meanwhile, the rest of his men could only watch, uncertain of what to do as Kratos finally released his hold on their superior. Some of them had expected him to try and take another shot at the professor, but instead all he did was hold his shoulder while wincing in pain.

"I expect you all to be out there and in formation in no less than fifteen minutes." The Ghost of Sparta told all of them. "From now on, see to it that you arrive on time so that I do not have to come looking for you again. Is that understood?"

A chorus of soft "yes sir" emanated from the younger soldiers, with Sergeant Rorie simply nodding in reluctance. Satisfied, Kratos turned to Dimitri and said, "Make sure every one of them is put on a charge for tardiness, as well as extra military instructions for whoever had recently consumed alcohol- no exceptions"

Finally, Kratos turned his gaze to Dedue and said, "There. Now there will be no excuses about any future 'discrepancies.' May these men serve you well."

x-x-x

The Knights Hall was completely empty, save for two occupants who were sparring with one another with practice swords in the center of the room. And by "sparring," it was actually Lysithea who was doing most of the aggression as she wailed away at her classmate while Ignatz stumbled back while attempting to defend himself.

"Come on, Ignatz!" she snapped at him in frustration. "What's the point of sparring if you're just going to flail around like that? Didn't Petra already teach you how to fight back?"

"I'm trying, Lysithea!" Ignatz protested, raising his practice sword just in time to block another swing. "But you really don't need to go so hard! And besides, why are we doing thishere?Isn't this where the knights train?"

"It's the only time this place is empty!" Lysithea shot back, swinging again with an aggressive strike that Ignatz barely managed to parry. "Do you really think I want people watching me flail around like an idiot? No way! Honestly, I don't know what our professor was thinking, suggesting that I even try picking up a sword. I'm a mage, for the goddess' sake! This isn't exactly my area of expertise!"

Lysithea's grip tightened on her practice sword as she suddenly pressed forward, her strikes becoming even more furious. "This is all Claude's fault! If he hadn't signed me up for that stupid tournament behind my back-" she shouted, punctuating her words with a hard overhead swing that forced Ignatz back a step, "-Then I wouldn't. Be. Doing this right now!

The last swing had hit the boy's guard so hard that his wooden sword fell out of his hands, clattering to the floor. Ignatz winced, shaking his numbed fingers. "L-Lysithea," he stammered, "Please, can we-"

"Pick it up!" she told him, pointing her sword at the fallen weapon. "We're not done yet!"

But before her classmate even had a chance to protest even further, an older, feminine voice spoke up behind her. "Not bad, for a mage," the girl turned around as Catherine leaned casually against the doorway with her arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. "Though, judging by all the yelling, it sounds like you're trying to fight your frustration more than your opponent."

Lysithea stiffened at the sight of the seasoned knight, quickly standing up straight and adjusting her grip on the practice sword in an attempt to appear more professional. "Oh, um, Lady Catherine. I, uh… I didn't see you standing there."

Catherine cocked a smile. "Hey, don't mind me, kiddo. I'm just here to witness the show you're putting on against that poor classmate of yours." She gestured toward Ignatz behind her, who was still shaking out his numbed fingers. "At this rate, you'll be ready for that tournament in no time."

Lysithea's face turned red, with indignation. "I don't need to be treated like a child, Lady Catherine," she muttered with embarrassment before breaking eye contact.

Catherine's smirk widened. "Oh, is that right? Because judging by how you've been swinging that sword around like a club, I'd say you've got a bit of growing up to do when it comes to technique. And I mean that both figuratively and literally."

She paused, watching as the two students stood awkwardly, unsure of what to do next before an idea sparked in the Captain's mind. Stepping away from the door, she strolled over to them and bent down to pick up the wooden sword Ignatz had dropped. She turned it over in her hand before looking at Lysithea with a grin. "I'll tell you what," She tells Lysithea, "If you're that determined to train, then I'll give you a few pointers myself. I've still got a bit of free time left before I'm needed elsewhere, if you'd like."

Lysithea blinked, surprised by the offer, while Catherine turned to Ignatz. "Congratulations, Ignatz. You're officially free from your classmate's wrath. Npw go take care of whatever business you've got to do before she changes her mind."

Ignatz let out a relieved sigh, nodding quickly. "Thank you, Lady Catherine! Good luck, Lysithea!" He grabbed his things and hurried out of the hall, leaving the two women behind.

The moment Ignatz was out of sight, Catherine's smile faded into a more serious expression. "You know," she said, gripping the wooden sword by the "blade" and wagging the hilt at Lysithea, "you've got quite the temper for someone who's up against an opponent that wasn't even willing to fight back."

Lysithea crossed her arms, scowling. "I was trying to get better," she retorted with flushed cheeks.

"Trying to get better by swinging like a maniac?" The Church Captain replied, unimpressed. "If you want a true master's opinion, that's actually a quick way to get yourself killed in a real fight." She then flipped the wooden sword around in her hand. "Also, you were so focused on hitting your target that you're not paying attention to what's happening around you."

Lysithea opened her mouth to argue, but Catherine cut her off. "And for the record, Ignatz was holding his own better than you think. If you'd bothered to notice instead of throwing a tantrum with a sword, you'd have seen how well he was utilizing his techniques." Catherine's lips curved into a faint smirk. "So if you ask me, I think Petra taught him well.

"But now," Catherine continued, stepping back and twirling the practice sword in her hand with ease, "you're not sparring with your classmate. Instead, you've got me now. So go ahead- try and hit me."

Lysithea gave her a reluctant look, knowing exactly what was about to happen if she tried. But now that she'd been called out, her pride was now on the line, and she let out a resigned sigh adjusting her stance. She lunged forward, and Catherine swatted the attack aside with a single flick of her wrist with the sound of clashing wood filling the air. Lysithea stumbled slightly from the force of the deflection, her frustration mounting as Catherine gave her a cocky grin.

"Come on, now," Catherine said, her tone teasing but firm. "You can do better than that."

The young mage's eyes narrowed, and something inside her seemed to snap. Subconsciously, she had decided to make it her life's mission to land a hit on the Captain of the Knights of Seiros, and she was not going to rest until she'd done exactly that. She lunged forward, swinging her practice sword with every ounce of strength she could muster. But each strike was effortlessly deflected as Catherine danced around her while making it look as though she wasn't even interested in the girl relentlessly attacking her.

Undeterred, Lysithea kept at it, her frustration only fueling her efforts. However, as time wore on, her arm grew tired, her swings slowing and her breath growing heavier. Just as her exhaustion was becoming apparent, Catherine shifted her stance, reversing their roles and going on the offensive.

With a quick flick of her wrist, Catherine lightly smacked Lysithea's arm, causing the younger girl to yelp, "Ow!"

Catherine grinned, and she said in a playful tone. "Keep up your guard, Lysithea. Just because you're tired doesn't mean your enemy will give you a break. Out there, they won't care how exhausted you are. Now come on- let me see that sword move!"

Lysithea's priorities shifted in an instant, her focus zeroing in on one thing: not letting Catherine land another hit. Catherine chuckled, clearly enjoying the challenge, but held back enough to keep the pressure on without overwhelming the younger girl entirely.

As they moved, Catherine offered pointed critiques between strikes. "Your footing's too wide- tighten it up!" she instructed. "And don't tense up so much; relax your grip a little. You'll tire out faster if you keep squeezing the hilt like that." While the heir to House Ordelia looked as though she were fighting for her life, the young Captain, on the other hand, was having the time of her life.