The next day, Knight Combat ended with the kind of silence that came only after an entire class had been beaten into regretting someone else's existence.
The training hall doors opened, and the students of the second-year Knight Combat class began spilling into the corridor with none of their usual noise. There were no sharp complaints at first, no immediate arguments, no laughter from the more shameless ones trying to pretend they had not been pushed near collapse. Most of them were too busy breathing.
A few moved with their hands pressed against their ribs or shoulders, while others dragged their feet with the stiff, resentful gait of people whose legs had been forced to remember every mistake they had ever made. Sweat darkened collars and training shirts beneath academy uniforms hastily thrown back on, and more than one student looked as though they would have happily murdered the person responsible for the session if their arms still had the strength to lift a blade.
