Mana boiled off Rowan Keir in waves.
It wasn't just pressure—it was suffocation. The ground beneath his boots pulsed faintly, scorched veins of mana threading beneath the dirt. Glyphs flickered on the pitch like they weren't sure whether to ignite or retreat. A silence had fallen across the training ground, too dense to breathe.
He stood before them—Lain Dravyn, Calyre Voss, Theren Jale. Redhollow's stars. And at this moment, they looked like children who'd just found themselves in a storm they didn't summon.
"You're talking transfers," Rowan growled, low and venomous. "Now? While the ground under your feet is still warm from my father's blood?"
The wind stirred. Grass crackled underfoot. Across the field, drills had stopped. Players had gone still.
Rowan's voice rose. "Do you know what it cost him to hold this place together? What it took to keep this team alive when there wasn't a silver coin to spare!"
Calyre tried to speak, her voice too quick, too rehearsed. "Coach, it's not like we don't care—"
"You don't care," Rowan spat. "If you cared, you wouldn't have been whispering about leaving while the blood is still in the soil. You wouldn't act like this badge"—he gestured at their chests, eyes burning—"was just a placeholder."
A wave of mana pulsed outward from him, wild and untethered. The Redhollow badges on their tunics disintegrated, burning away in a flash of searing heat and smoke.
Rowan didn't flinch. The players staggered back, shocked. His voice cut through them.
"You want out?" he said. "Then go. Off the grounds. You're done for the day. And maybe longer."
Theren started, his voice shaky. "We didn't mean—"
"You didn't mean?" Rowan stepped forward, eyes locked on him. "You didn't mean to spit on the blood, the sweat, the soul that kept this place standing? You didn't mean to betray the man who built this from ash while hiding chest pains from the players he still believed in?"
He raised his hand again. Rowan didn't know what he was doing—but something answered.
Behind him, a forge symbol flickered into view, half-real, shaped of golden light and crackling air. The temperature spiked. The field itself seemed to lean away from it—as if even the earth knew something new had just woken.
"I don't care about your excuses. I don't care about your talent. You forgot what it means to be a Knight."
His voice dropped, but it carried even farther.
"And now you remember."
He turned without another word, the forge mark fading in the wind. No one moved. No one dared.
By late afternoon, five players stood in front of him—fresh from the youth squad, visibly nervous, legs trembling beneath too-big boots and scuffed armor straps.
Rowan took them in quietly. The system flared softly, giving him exactly what he needed.
Cival Alren
Position: Arcanist
Current Role: Utility Distributor
Suggested Role: Agile Playmaker
Traits: Inquisitive, Team-Oriented
CA: 118 | PA: 310
Dara Kint
Position: Enchanter
Current Role: Support Charmweaver
Suggested Role: Mana Lure Trapsetter
Traits: Trap Sense, Calm Under Pressure
CA: 104 | PA: 275
Juno Hask
Position: Sentinel
Current Role: Central Blocker
Suggested Role: Staggerbreaker
Traits: Gritty, Poor Mana Control
CA: 109 | PA: 325
Revi Pell
Position: Elementalist
Current Role: Static Disruptor
Suggested Role: Wide Disruptor
Traits: Mercenary, Mana Sensitive
CA: 102 | PA: 289
Tenri Voss
Position: Defender
Current Role: Central Anchor
Suggested Role: Tactical Rotator
Traits: Loyal, Impulsive
CA: 120 | PA: 295
He paced in front of them. They didn't speak. He let the silence build.
"You're not ready," Rowan finally said. "You know that. I know that."
Dara flinched.
"But here's the thing." He looked each of them in the eye. "Nobody ever is."
He stepped closer. "You're here because this team needs more than raw numbers. It needs soul. Players who believe in something more than stats and exit routes. Players who show up when everyone else is already gone."
Cival straightened. Juno looked him dead in the eye.
Rowan nodded. "You're getting promoted. Effective immediately. New roles, new expectations. You'll train harder than anyone else here. And if you can't handle it, you'll fall. I won't stop you."
The five nodded as one. Revi wiped sweat from his palms. Tenri held her breath.
"But if you stay," Rowan said, "you'll be part of what comes next."
He activated the interface. Team assignments shifted. The system chimed low and clear.
As he turned to leave, Rowan said "Welcome to Redhollow."
Night fell gently over the academy. The players—every last one—stood in a wide semicircle on the central field. Even those who'd been silent all season watched Rowan now with something between awe and anxiety.
He didn't pace this time. He stood still. But his voice carried like it had been waiting a lifetime to speak.
"You all know what happened today," he said. "And you're probably wondering if it was too much."
He paused.
"It wasn't."
He took a step forward.
"This team has forgotten what it means to fight. Not just for wins. But for each other. For a cause. For a goddamn identity."
Some players shifted uncomfortably. Others straightened.
"I don't care how many goals you've scored. I don't care how many shards you've earned. I care if you leave your teammate to bleed while you check your transfer inbox."
He pointed to the badge on his chest.
"This crest used to mean something. Not fame. Not trophies. Something deeper. Something forged."
His voice rose—not yelling, but burning.
"You want to play for yourself? Go. You want to play for a paycheck? Leave. You want to be the next big thing with your mana-highlight reel? You're wasting my time."
He looked across every face.
"But if you want to be part of something that matters—something that will demand your belief, your commitment, your grit, and your perseverance—then stay. Fight. Grow. Learn."
He let the silence stretch, then added,
"And when we lose, we lose together. When we win, we win louder than anyone. And when they try to count us out—when they say Redhollow is finished—I want you to be the reason they're wrong."
He turned away.
Not a sound followed for ten seconds.
Then a single voice, cracking but strong, shouted: "For the badge."
And it spread.
"For the badge."
"For the badge."
For the badge.
The academy was quieter by midnight. Players had returned to dorms. The field shimmered with residual magic, slowly fading into the soil.
Rowan sat alone in his office—once Aleric's. The desk was cracked, the records faded, the chair still squeaked when he leaned. He opened the system.
Assistant Coaches:
– Idrin Vale (1.5★): Strategically sound, lacks presence
– Mara Kess (1★): Passionate, unproven
Medical Team:
– Single healer rotation (1★): Under-equipped, fatigued
Tactical Analyst:
– None
Administrative Staff:
– Overloaded (1★): Disorganized but well-meaning
Recommendations:
"Staff severely underqualified. No scouting infrastructure. No data recovery systems. No tactical depth. Immediate triage needed in medical, tactical, and leadership extensions."
Rowan exhaled.
Every corner was leaking.
Every support beam sagging.
And still… he didn't feel hopeless. Just heavy.
Beneath all of it—buried under ash and mana scars—was a spark. A team worth forging.
And he would be the fire.
He leaned forward, folded his hands.
"Alright. Where the hell do I start?"