Chapter 71: Lions Do Not Beg
Early Morning – Fogged Training Grounds
Mist clung to the earth like a veil, softening the rough outlines of the training field behind Volundr's estate. In its center, Sairaorg Bael stood shirtless, his body bruised and hands bandaged. His eyes, though, held no trace of weariness. Only the stubborn fire of someone who refused to yield.
Volundr observed in silence as Sairaorg threw a flurry of punches at a reinforced post. Every strike echoed with force, but Volundr could see it—wasted motion, power leaking from inefficiency.
"Pause," he called out.
Sairaorg obeyed without hesitation, wiping the sweat from his brow with his forearm.
"You're forcing your strength into every blow," Volundr said, stepping beside him. "But even the strongest stone wears down when it's struck the wrong way."
Sairaorg exhaled, frustration flickering beneath his calm.
"They threw us away… like we were defective," he said suddenly.
It wasn't an outburst. It was cold, bitter truth. The words fell like stones between them.
Volundr turned to him, voice low but heavy with meaning.
"Then make yourself indispensable. That is how kings rise."
Midday – Under the Ancient Oaks
The training shifted to technique. Volundr stood beside Sairaorg with a spear in hand and drew a line in the air.
"Stop thinking like a brawler. Feel the energy."
He guided Sairaorg into stance and tapped his chest lightly.
"Focus here. Flow it outward. Use it to redirect, not overwhelm."
For the next hour, they worked in silence. Volundr demonstrated how to use small, precise bursts of demonic energy—controlled, sharpened like a blade rather than hurled like a hammer. Sairaorg stumbled at first, but he listened. Absorbed. Adapted.
Finally, during a sparring exercise, he caught Volundr's attack and shifted his stance just enough—using the taught principle—to send the taller devil sliding back a few paces.
Volundr smiled.
"You felt it," he said, eyes glinting.
Sairaorg's lips curved into the smallest of grins.
"I did."
Progress. Quiet, but undeniable.
Late Evening – Private Study, Volundr's Wing
The candles flickered softly in Volundr's study, casting long shadows across the shelves of tomes and scrolls. He sat alone, a special quill in hand, writing in a sealed black journal marked with a crimson wax insignia—one that bore no name.
The title at the top of the page:
"Future Heir Project: Sairaorg Bael"
He wrote methodically, detailing the events of the last few weeks, Sairaorg's training breakthroughs, and psychological profile. No exaggerated praise. Only cold, precise analysis.
Status: Sponsored.
Power Level: Peak Low-Class, rising.
Combat Efficiency: Improving through tactical training.
Emotional Stability: Resilient. Strong will.
Social Risk: Low.
Leadership Potential: High.
Goal: Recognition by the Maou and High Council.
Timeline: 3 Years.
He signed the page,