Philip’s training sessions usually began very early—sometimes even before the sun had fully risen. When the morning mist still covered the open ground behind the Montserrat estate, he was already there.

  It was not necessarily because of extraordinary discipline—at least, Philip did not think so.

  More accurately, he simply disliked the feeling that something had not been properly prepared.

  On the wooden table beside the training yard were several familiar items: wrist straps, leather arm guards, and his practice sword. Philip checked them every morning. The routine had repeated so many times that it had become almost mechanical.

  One morning, a servant noticed and asked,

  “My lord… didn’t we check those yesterday?”

  Philip continued fastening the leather strap before answering.

  “Yes.”

  He looked up briefly.

  “But we can’t know exactly when these things will fail.”

  The answer sounded simple enough, but it was enough to stop further questions. In Philip’s mind, checking one more time was always better than overlooking something—especially something that might one day save his life.

  When the ten attendants had gathered, training began with running.

  “Three laps around the wall,” Philip said.

  One of the boys asked immediately,

  “Only three, my lord?”

  Philip nodded.

  “The first three.”

  At that moment several of them seemed relieved. But after they completed the three laps, Philip allowed a short rest before speaking again.

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  “Five more.”

  Someone muttered quietly, probably only to the boy beside him,

  “Then why say three at the start…”

  Philip heard it but did not seem annoyed.

  He simply replied in a calm tone,

  “There is never a fixed plan on a battlefield.”

  In some ways, Philip’s training style could feel somewhat… unpredictable. Perhaps he was deliberately trying to build the habit of adapting to change.

  Or perhaps he simply did not trust rigid plans.

  After running came formation drills.

  Philip paid particular attention to the spacing between each person. Because of that, the training sometimes stopped repeatedly.

  “Keep an arm’s length between you,” he said.

  One boy stepped a little too close. Philip blocked him with the wooden sword.

  “Back.”

  The boy stepped away.

  Philip explained calmly,

  “If you stand too close, when one person falls… the one behind will likely trip as well.”

  He paused briefly before adding,

  “On mud or wet grass, this happens often.”

  The comment was not merely theoretical. Philip had seen soldiers slip during practice on wet ground before, and the result had been… chaotic. On a real battlefield, the consequences would likely be far worse.

  Sparring practice followed.

  Two boys stood facing each other with wooden swords and shields.

  Philip watched from the side.

  One of them rushed forward too quickly, swinging hard but leaving his flank open.

  “Stop,” Philip said immediately.

  He stepped into the yard.

  “What did you just do?”

  The boy looked slightly confused.

  “I… attacked?”

  Philip nodded.

  “Yes.”

  Then he tapped the boy’s exposed side lightly with the tip of the wooden sword.

  “But you also opened a path for someone to strike here.”

  “If this were a real sword… you would most likely be badly wounded already.”

  The boy said nothing.

  The others remained silent as well.

  Training usually lasted until nearly midday.

  When it ended, most of them were exhausted. A few dropped straight onto the ground, breathing as if they had just escaped from something dangerous.

  Philip, however, remained standing.

  One boy looked at him and asked quite directly,

  “My lord… aren’t you tired?”

  Philip thought for a few seconds.

  “Yes.”

  He answered simply.

  “But being tired is better than being dead.”

  The remark made a few of them glance at one another. Perhaps they were not used to hearing a knight speak so bluntly.

  Another boy asked, half joking,

  “Do you really think about death that much?”

  Philip did not smile.

  “Yes.”

  He said calmly.

  “I think about it quite often.”

  To be honest, not everyone was comfortable with that kind of thinking. But in the context of a small territory in this world—where war and destruction could arrive at any time—Philip’s concern…

  …might not have been entirely unreasonable.