Chapter 151 Meanwhile at the Capitol

Chapter 151 Meanwhile at the Capitol
VISCA -

Visca brought the flat of his practice blade down against the young warrior's wrist hard enough to knock the weapon from his grip.
Steel clattered across the packed dirt, and the boy stumbled back with his shoulders rising toward his ears. Around them, the training yard smelled of cold mud, sweat, and oiled leather. Morning frost clung beneath the weapon racks while old snow melted along the walls.
"Again," Visca said.
The boy bent for his sword, but his fingers fumbled around the hilt before he managed to lift it. "No." Visca tapped his knee with the tip of his practice sword. "Your weight is too far forward. If you strike low, you fall. If I strike high, you cannot recover. Set your feet before you lift your weapon, or the blade is just for decoration."
The boy swallowed and adjusted his stance.
Visca watched the movement, then nodded once. "Better."
It wasn't praise, exactly, but the boy's shoulders eased as if it had been. Visca turned away before the relief in his face could cling to him. Alpha Dax had given him the training yard after everything, and Visca had taken the post with hands that still felt unclean no matter how often he washed them.
Across the yard, one of the larger boys hooked his boot behind a smaller recruit's ankle and sent her sprawling into the mud.
Laughter snapped through the cold air.
The girl landed hard on her hands and knees. Her practice blade slid away from her and stopped near the boot of the boy who'd tripped her. He bent, picked it up, and held it above her head while two others laughed.
Visca crossed the yard before the girl could respond.
The laughter died as the trainees noticed him. The larger boy lowered the sword, but too late. Visca stopped in front of him and held out his hand.
The boy placed the weapon in his palm.
"If your blade is sharp enough to mock, it's sharp enough to hold formation," Visca said.
The boy's throat moved. "Yes, sir."
"You will run the wall until your breath teaches you respect."
The boy's face paled, but he ran.
Visca turned to the other two who had laughed. "You will join him. Since his humor pleases you, his consequence can as well."
They moved without another word.
The girl stood with her spine stiff and her chin lifted too high. A narrow cut marked the heel of her palm where the frozen ground had scraped it open, but she folded her fingers inward, trying to hide it.
Visca handed her the practice blade. "Clean your hand," he said as he did.
Her eyes flicked up to his. They were dark, sharp, and guarded before they dropped again. "Yes, sir."
He almost walked away, but the sight of her mud-soaked knee and clenched fingers sat wrong inside his chest. His mouth tightened before he said, "When you fall, get your feet under you before you reach for the blade. A weapon in your hand means little if your body is still on the ground."
She nodded and said, "Yes, sir."
Visca turned back toward the center of the yard and called the next rotation forward. The rest of the morning passed beneath the strike of wooden blades and the grunt of bodies learning to take a hit. He corrected shoulders, wrists, knees, and grips until the work settled into the old ache in his joints.
A guard stepped through the gate near midday, his cloak snapping in the wind as he crossed the yard. Visca saw him before the man spoke and lowered his practice sword. The trainees nearest him fell still as the guard bowed his head.
"Alpha Dax requests you in his office."
The cold seemed to press through Visca's coat.
He looked once across the training yard, and sweat cooled along his spine beneath his tunic.
He handed the practice blade to the nearest instructor. "Continue stance drills until I return. No sparring without supervision."
"Yes, sir."
Visca followed the guard to the gate and into the castle. Mud dried in uneven flakes along the edges of his boots. Every step away from the training grounds felt like a step away from a duty he'd not yet earned the right to leave.
Dax's office doors were already open when he arrived.
Alpha Dax stood beside the window, one hand braced against the back of a chair while he looked out over the pale grounds. Strength sat in the line of his back and in the stillness of his shoulders.
Visca bowed. "Alpha."
"Visca." Dax turned from the window. "Sit."
Visca lowered himself into the chair across from the desk. He placed his hands on his knees to keep from flexing them.
"I have received another report from the eastern border," Dax said. "An old structure was found near a dried riverbed. Stone altar, burned symbols and fresh wax."
Visca's jaw tightened. "Latara."
"That's what I believe," Dax crossed to his desk and lifted a folded parchment. "Landis was not the only child to find a place that should have been dead. The Vile God is gone, but the fear that fed him was older than one shrine, and older than one village."
Visca took the parchment. The ink showed markings, locations, witness notes, and references pulled from records that had likely been buried in dust for years.
"This requires inspection and not by someone weak-minded."
"You're right." Something in his tone pulled Visca's gaze. Dax continued, "I wish for you to find every forgotten shrine that can still be found and destroy them."
Visca's muscles went utterly still.
Dax's face held no softness, but neither did it hold contempt. Even punishment would have sat easier.
"If you wish me removed from the training yard, Alpha, I will go where I am commanded."
Dax's eyes narrowed slightly. "I'm not removing you."
Visca's fingers tightened against the parchment.
"I gave you the warriors because I trust you to shape them," Dax continued. "I'm giving you this because I trust you. Your experience and loyalty are required in order to make sure that these vile scars on my land are dealt with."
The words struck beneath Visca's ribs and stayed there.
He lowered his gaze to the map. His throat felt thick, but he forced the response through it. "When do I leave?"
"Tomorrow morning." Dax walked back to the window. "And you won't be going alone."
"I can handle it-"
"It wasn't a request, Visca."
Dax looked at him then. "I need shrines destroyed, not another ghost added to them. Choose one person from the training yard. Someone who can ride, carry orders, and witness what's been done and what happens."
Visca bowed his head. "As you command."
Dax studied him for another breath. "This isn't exile, Visca."
The words loosened the knot inside his chest, but they didn't remove the weight building on his shoulders. Ever since Visca had been granted his position, he'd feared it being taken away again.
"I understand, Alpha," he said.
But as he left Dax's office and returned through the corridors, the parchment felt heavier than any blade he'd held that morning.