Rage woke to the sound of movements just outside his quarters . Boots crunching against dirt, voices murmuring, the shifting of metal and leather as trainees passed by. Their footsteps were steady and disciplined.
He exhaled, pushing himself up. His muscles ached, the familiar stiffness of constant training settled deep in his limbs, but it no longer felt unbearable. Just another part of the routine.
His eyes flicked toward the small wooden table beside his bed, where a piece of bread sat waiting. Without thinking, he grabbed it, tearing off a chunk with his teeth as he moved. No time to sit and eat. He had procrastinated enough.
Shrugging on his gear, he stepped out, still chewing as the morning air hit him.
Outside, the air was crisp. The sun hung low while its golden light spilled over the fortress walls.
Some faces were bright with anticipation, others steeled with quiet determination. A few soldiers gave him nods of acknowledgment -- subtle gestures of respect. Others barely spared him a glance.
He ignored it. None of it changed the day ahead.
A group of children ran past. One of them, a small boy clutching a wooden sword, paused just long enough to flash him a wide, toothy grin before dashing off again.
Above, birds flew from the rooftops. Their wings moved in the morning wind. The wind was cool. It blew across the field before the training would begin that day.
***
Rage reached the training grounds, his steps were steady as he took in the sight before him. The trainees had already begun to fall into formation, their postures were rigid, faces set with quiet focus. Some adjusted their stances, others exchanged brief nods, preparing for whatever came next.
Without hesitation, he stepped in and joined them.
Ignia stood before them, arms crossed, a smirk playing at the edges of her lips.
"You've all been watched," she announced, her voice carried over the crowd.
"Every run, every movement -- your strengths, your instincts. You might not have noticed, but your bodies have already chosen your weapons."
A murmur passed through the trainees, some glanced at each other, others gripped their fists in anticipation.
"Today, you meet your trainers."
One by one, names were called. Instructors stepped forward. They were old and skilled warriors.
The first group went to the swordsmen. A broad-shouldered knight in polished steel waited. His presence demanded discipline. He looked at each trainee. His sharp gaze judged them before he nodded them forward.
Next came the shield bearers. They were sent to a tall instructor with deep scars on his left arm. The marks showed he had fought many battles. He did not wait. He shouted at the recruits to step forward. His loud voice covered the murmurs around him.
Next, a group of archers gathered. They were guided by a thin, sharp-eyed woman in a hunter's cloak. She held a longbow in one hand and rested the other on her hip. She watched her trainees carefully, judging them with the patience of an experienced marksman.
Then came the spearmen. They were led by a warrior who moved with the ease of someone skilled. His spear was planted in the ground. His stance was relaxed but disciplined. He motioned for the trainees to follow. His quiet presence was more commanding than any shouted order.
Rage waited.
Then waited longer.
By the time the last trainee had been assigned, he was the only one left standing.
He glanced at Ignia. "So, do I get sent back to the old blacksmith or -- "
She laughed. A sharp, amused sound. "Not quite."
She stepped aside, and from the shadows of the fortress, another figure emerged.
A tall, lean woman stood nearby. Her presence was sharp and commanding. She moved with careful, controlled steps. Wolf-like ears twitched on her head. Her eyes fixed on him with an unreadable expression.
She said nothing.
"Meet your trainer," Ignia said, smirking. "Deltia."
[SYSTEM] Deltia Lv.48
[SYSTEM] class : Assassin
[SYSTEM] loyalty : 46.5%
Rage looked at her. Claws extended from her fingers, sleek and deadly. They were black as obsidian and sharpened. Unlike the others, she said nothing. She just stared, sizing him up, waiting.
Before Rage could speak, Ignia tossed something to him.
Balmung.
The weapon shifted and morphed, wrapping around his arm as a gauntlet.
Deltia's ears twitched slightly.
Still, she said nothing.
Rage glanced at Ignia. "So... she doesn't talk much, huh?"
Ignia only grinned. "You'll get used to it."
Rage shifted his gaze back to Deltia. His eyes moved to the wolf-like ears on her head.
"Hey, are those ears real?"
A single twitch.
No words. No reaction. Just that slight, almost imperceptible flick.
Rage smirked. "I'll take that as a yes."
He tilted his head. "Can I touch them?"
A sharp glint.
Deltia's claws were already out.
A silent warning.
Rage casually lowered his hand.
"Of course."
***
Deltia led him to a vacant training space, away from the others.
A lone wooden dummy stood in the center, its surface was scarred from countless strikes.
She said nothing.
Instead, she raised her hands, flexing her fingers as her claws gleamed under the sunlight. Then, without warning, she moved.
She shot forward, closing the distance in a heartbeat. Her movements were precise and fluid yet explosive. In a blur, she kicked off the ground, twisting mid-air, her claws were slashing in controlled arcs.
Then came the real display.
She launched herself at the nearby wall, planting a foot against the stone and propelling herself higher. A second step had her running along the surface. Kicking off, she spun in the air -- a somersault so seamless it looked weightless -- before landing atop the dummy with feline precision.
Her claws hovered just above its neck. A silent kill.
She held the position for a beat, then hopped down, turning to face Rage.
Still no words. Just expectation.
Before he could comment, a familiar voice cut through the air.
"Remember, no magic."
Rage turned to see Ignia passing by, hands rested lazily on her hips. She smirked. "Unless, of course, you're eager to visit the hole again."
Rage exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders. "Yeah, yeah. I get it."
Ignia smirked but didn't press further as she continued on her way.
Rage turned his head back to Deltia.
She had dropped into a low crouch, balancing effortlessly on all fours. Her spine arched slightly, every muscle in her body taut and coiled like a predator ready to pounce. Her claws pressed into the dirt, legs spread just enough for stability.
He blinked. "Ten out of ten. Nice view from here."
Deltia either didn't hear or didn't care. In the next instant, she moved.
She lunged at the training dummy, her form was a blur of speed and precision. A single leap sent her twisting mid-air, claws flashing in a controlled arc. The impact was clean, surgical.
The dummy's head hit the ground with a dull thud.
Deltia landed lightly, her expression was unchanged as she straightened. Then, without a word, she turned back to Rage.
It was his turn.
Rage took a breath and rolled his shoulders as he stepped forward.
"Alright, fine. My turn."
He flexed his fingers, steadied his footing, and lunged.
The moment he pushed off, he realized something. Deltia made it look much easier than it was.
His movements were fast and strong, but they lacked the precise control she had shown. He tried to leap, but his balance failed. His feet hit the dirt awkwardly, sending him tumbling forward. The momentum carried him into the training dummy. He crashed shoulder-first, toppling it like a heavy stone. The wooden figure rocked and then fell, hitting the ground with a hollow thud.
Silence filled the air.
Rage groaned and pushed himself up. He brushed the dust from his arms and looked toward Deltia. She was still watching.
Her face showed nothing. Then one of her ears twitched.
He thought he saw a small hint of amusement in her eyes.
Deltia walked toward him without a word. Her steps were light and steady. She stopped in front of him, her yellow eyes fixed on his.
Then she raised her hand.
Her claws shone in the sunlight as she moved her fingers. The sharp points caught the light.
It was a silent message.
She flicked her gaze toward Balmung, still wrapped around Rage's arm.
The meaning was clear.
He had to copy her.
Rage smirked. "Alright, let's pull a Wolverine with this."
He focused on Balmung, willing it to shift. The metal rippled and responded at once, but it did not just copy. It refined.
Where Deltia's claws were smooth and natural, Balmung shaped itself into something grander. The fluid steel stretched and formed long talons, sharper and more defined. It gleamed with an edge that looked unnatural. Each claw curved slightly, thin lines appeared along the surface as if the weapon refused to be anything less than perfect.
Rage flexed his fingers, feeling the weight of his new claws.
"Huh. Fancy," he muttered.
He glanced at Deltia for approval.
She simply stared. Then, without a word, she attacked.
Rage barely had time to think. His body moved on instinct.
The moment Deltia struck, he raised his arms, crossing them in front of him. Her claws met Balmung's steel, the impact was sharp, controlled.
A perfect block.
For a split second, Rage stood there, braced, his stance was solid. He hadn't planned it, hadn't even thought about it. His body just reacted.
Deltia pulled back, tilting her head slightly. Then, for the first time, she spoke.
"Good."
A single word. Quiet and without emotion. Yet it carried weight. Her ear twitched slightly, a small sign.
Rage blinked, still processing. Only then did it hit him.
All those months of running, every sprint and lap, every time he pushed his body past its limit, had sharpened him. It trained not only his endurance but also his reflexes and reaction time. And he hadn't even noticed.
He barely had time to process before Deltia moved again.
A sharp swipe -- faster than before. He met it head-on, but this time, instead of taking the hit directly, he angled his claws, deflecting the blow to the side. The force slid past him harmlessly, a clean parry rather than a simple block.
She adjusted fast and lunged for his ribs. His body moved before he could think. He stepped aside, and her claws cut through the space he had just left.
Then came the real test.
Deltia attacked in a fast blur, striking left and right, then sweeping low. Her moves were steady and sharp. Rage barely kept up. He blocked, parried, and dodged, his body moved faster than he expected.
But she wasn't done.
She faked high, then struck low. Her claws aimed for his legs. He caught the move at the last moment and jumped back, barely avoiding the hit. His boots slid on the dirt, but he stayed standing.
Then came the last strike, a direct slash at his face. Rage did not block it. He caught her wrist in motion and pushed it aside. The move was smooth and steady, done by reflex, not thought.
Silence.
Deltia took a step back, her expression was unreadable. A soft exhale.
Her ear twitched.
"Better."
Then, without warning, she lunged again.
"But not enough."
Rage barely had time to react.
Deltia blurred. One moment she was standing a few paces away, the next she was right in front of him. Too close. Close enough that he could see the sharp gleam in her eyes, the subtle twitch of her ears.
For a second, she just stood there. He swore he felt her breath, as if she were... sniffing him.
Then -- she was gone.
His instincts kicked in. He turned, but before he could fully react, she was already behind him.
A sharp chill ran down his spine.
Something hovered just above his neck. He did not need to look to know it was her claw, still and sharp, rested near his skin.
A quiet reminder.
If she had wanted to, the fight would have been over.
A long beat passed. Then, just as effortlessly as she had appeared, Deltia lowered her hand and stepped back.
"Tomorrow," she said, voice as unreadable as ever. "Early."
And just like that, she was gone.
***
Rage woke to an explosion of pain.
A sudden weight dropped onto his stomach while he was still on the bed.
"You're slow."
Deltia's voice was flat, as if she were simply stating the weather. No greeting. No warning.
Rage groaned, rolling onto his back, his brain was still catching up. The sunlight barely trickled in through the fortress slits. It was stupidly early.
"You said early," he muttered, rubbing his face. "Not war crime early."
Rage barely had time to grab his trousers before Deltia moved.
No warning. No countdown. Just the blur of her form as she lunged.
Her claws flashed in the dim morning light, slicing through the air where his ribs had been a second ago.
"Oh hell no -- "
He barely twisted away, yanking his trousers up mid-sprint as his legs burned to life.
Deltia was relentless.
No wasted movement. No hesitation. Just pure, predatory speed.
Rage vaulted over a bench, his pulse was pounding in his head. A sharp rush of air passed behind him, a near miss, followed by the crack of wood as Deltia tore through the obstacle with ease.
"This is attempted murder!" Rage shouted over his shoulder.
Deltia said nothing.
Only chased.
Vendors were setting up their stalls, shaking out cloth covers and arranging goods. Guards leaned against walls, yawning, their shifts barely started. Soldiers sat on crates, cleaning their gear, the rhythmic scraping of whetstones against metal filled the quiet.
Then they saw Rage and Deltia.
Rage, was sprinting half-dressed, eyes wide with a mix of exhaustion and survival instinct.
Deltia, right behind him, silent and fluid, her claws were gleaming in the morning light.
Conversations paused. A merchant, halfway through setting up his stall, froze with a crate in hand. A soldier polishing his blade stopped mid-motion.
As eyes followed the chaos, a silent understanding passed between them.
They had seen trainings before, harsh drills and brutal fights, but this was different.
This was a hunt.
And from the way Deltia moved, from the way Rage barely kept ahead, it was clear who the predator was.
Instinctively, their eyes turned upward toward the high balcony of the queen's castle.
And there she was.
Ignia stood at the edge, arms crossed, her smirk barely hidden. She watched the scene unfold with the same amusement as one watching a game they already knew the outcome of.
She wasn't just observing.
She was waiting.
***
The chase didn't stop.
Deltia gave no commands, no indications of when it would end. She simply pursued.
Rage ran.
Through the fortress corridors, past the training yards, over scattered crates and uneven stone paths. He ducked under hanging banners, slid across dew-slicked wood, barely keeping ahead of the relentless hunt.
The Firekeep folk stopped pretending to work.
Merchants leaned against their stalls, arms folded. Soldiers, having finished their morning routines, watched with growing interest. Even the guards, usually indifferent to anything that wasn't an immediate threat, exchanged glances.
"Still going?" one muttered.
"Still alive," another corrected.
***
By the third week, no one even looked up. Rage running for his life was just part of the morning routine now.
The time the sun had risen high enough to burn away the morning chill, the chase finally ended.
Rage stumbled to a stop, gasping for air, his body drenched in sweat. His muscles screamed, his heart slammed against his ribs, and for a brief moment, he swore the ground beneath him swayed.
Deltia, barely winded, gave a small nod toward the quarters.
He was allowed to return to his room.
No words. No praise. Just silent permission to recover. At least temporarily.
By the time Rage emerged, properly dressed and slightly less miserable, Deltia was already waiting.
She led him back to the same empty training ground. The space was eerily quiet now.
Rage flexed his arm as Balmung shifted.
Claws.
Deltia watched, then gestured toward the training dummy.
A simple command.
Strike.
Rage cracked his neck, rolled his shoulders. His body ached, exhaustion sat heavy in his bones but none of that mattered.
He stepped forward.
And swung.
The first strike was heavy, uncoordinated. More force than precision. The impact sent a dull thud through the training dummy, but Deltia didn't react.
So Rage kept going.
Strike after strike. Slash after slash. Each motion carved through the air, the weight of his claws slowly became an extension of his body.
The morning sun climbed higher. Sweat dripped from his brow, muscles burned with the familiar ache of repetition.
Midday came. A brief pause.
Deltia tossed him a ration, something dry, barely worth chewing. No words, no acknowledgment of effort. Just fuel.
Then training resumed.
The afternoon stretched long. His arms felt heavier with each swing, but he kept moving. When his form slipped, Deltia corrected it, not with words, but by attacking. A sudden swipe of her own claws, forcing him to react, to refine.
Strike. Parry. Strike again.
Evening approached, the sky bled into deep oranges and purples. His world shrank to the rhythm of movement, the sting of exertion, the growing sharpness of each attack.
By sundown, Rage stood before the battered dummy, chest rising and falling in deep, controlled breaths. His strikes were honed to precision, muscle memory taking over before thought. He no longer had to think -- his body simply reacted..
Deltia finally stopped.
She studied him for a long moment, unreadable as ever.
Then, without a word, she turned and walked away.
Training was over. For today.
***
The next day, Rage woke to the sensation of weight pressing down on him. A sudden force slammed into his stomach.
Air ripped from his lungs as his body folded, a strangled grunt escaping before his brain even caught up.
He cracked open his eyes to see Deltia crouched on top of him, eyes unblinking.
No greeting. No warning.
"Can you at least call me Onii-chan when you do that?" Rage rasped, coughing.
Deltia vanished.
Not a reply. Not a pause. Just movement.
Then claws swiped for his face.
"Oh, come on -- !"
And just like every morning, the chase had begun once more.
The morning air was cool, but his body burned from the past two days.
Deltia was ahead now, perched effortlessly on a wooden beam, waiting.
The moment she saw him, she moved.
The chase was back on.
This time, the people barely looked up.
Vendors went about their business, unpacking crates. Guards leaned on their spears, barely sparing a glance. Soldiers who had once watched with amusement now only acknowledged it with a passing nod.
The spectacle was no longer new.
Only one person watched with unwavering attention.
Ignia.
High above, the queen stood on the balcony, arms crossed, gaze locked onto Rage. The same eerie patience. The same quiet expectation.
Still waiting.
For what?
The morning burned away into the same punishing cycle -- sprints, evasion, and pain.
Rage was given a brief meal at midday.
Then the real training began.
Balmung, still in its claw form, felt heavier than before. Not because of weight, but because Rage was finally starting to understand it.
Deltia attacked, forcing him to react.
Every missed parry earned him a fresh bruise. Every hesitation, a sharp claw swiping inches from his throat.
By sundown, Rage stood in the empty training grounds once more, body aching, lungs burning, but something had changed.
His movements were tighter. His strikes, faster.
By the end of the third week, Deltia no longer gave him breathing room. She attacked with full force, treating him less like a trainee. More like an opponent.
A small shift.
A subtle acknowledgment.
And just like that, training was over.
Deltia disappeared into the fortress.
Ignia turned from her balcony.
And Rage?
Rage stood in the dying light flexing his arm.
Tomorrow would be worse.
And he was ready.
***
The routine stretched on, day after day.
Morning came with pain. Deltia's wake-up calls were never the same -- sometimes a kick, sometimes claws dragging across his ribs, once she even flipped his entire cot with him still in it.
Rage had long since given up protesting.
The chase became instinct. His feet learned to move before his mind even woke up, dodging through the fortress, weaving between obstacles, vaulting over walls.
At first, he was prey.
By midweek, he had learned to predict.
By the third week, he was just barely starting to turn the tables -- feinting his movements, forcing Deltia to adjust her angles.
Not that it ever let him win.
She was still too fast. Too refined.
But the gap was shrinking.
The training grounds saw the real change.
His strikes were no longer just swings.
They were precise.
His claws no longer felt like a foreign weapon. The flow of metal, the way it adjusted in his grip -- it was starting to feel natural.
He no longer relied on just power.
He angled his slashes, cut through weak points. Destroyed the dummies with less effort, not more.
Deltia never praised.
But she no longer attacked randomly to punish his mistakes.
That, by itself, was an approval.
And above it all -- Ignia still watched.
Every day. Every chase. Every strike.
At first, she was waiting for him to break. Now, she was waiting for something else.
Rage wasn't sure.
But after a full month, he knew one thing.
The training was about to change.
***
Rage woke before the pain.
Before the impact. Before the claws.
He was ready.
The moment Deltia moved, he moved too.
The bed creaked as he rolled, avoiding the full force of her pounce. His feet hit the ground, muscles already tensed -- not for a chase.
For a fight.
Deltia landed light, shifting instantly, eyes locking onto his.
For the first time in a week -- she didn't bolt.
Neither did he.
No running.
No prey.
Just a low, tense silence inside his quarters.
Then they clashed.
Claws met claws.
A swipe. Parried. A counterstrike. Dodged.
They moved in sharp bursts. Deltia's attacks were fast and precise. Rage's responses were quicker than before. He was not just reacting now.
He was reading her. Matching the rhythm.
Inside the cramped quarters, furniture turned into obstacles. A stool splintered as Rage kicked off it, diving low, swiping at her legs.
Deltia jumped. Barely.
A near miss.
A clawed hand sliced past Rage's cheek -- too close. His counterstrike grazed her side.
For the first time, a deadlock.
Then they stopped.
The world held still.
Deltia's claws hovered just above his nape.
Rage's claws were poised at her ribs.
Deltia's ears twitched.
Slowly, she lowered her hand.
Rage did the same.
No words. No need.
The stalemate spoke for itself.
***
Later that day, Rage stood before Ignia.
The queen lounged in her throne, one leg crossed over the other, watching him with that same infuriating patience.
Deltia stood beside him. Silent.
Ignia's smirk deepened. "So?"
She tilted her head, amusement dancing in her eyes.
"You didn't die."
Rage exhaled, rolling his shoulders. The bruises, the exhaustion -- it was all still there. But something was different now.
He wasn't the same person from a month ago.
"I'm not going back to that hole."
Ignia chuckled. "Good."
Beside him, Deltia nodded. No words. No farewell. She simply turned and left.
Rage watched her go, then turned back to the queen.
Ignia rested her chin on her palm, eyes gleaming.
"Tomorrow," she said, "you'll train swords."
Ignia leaned back, her smirk fading into something unreadable.
"Dismissed."
[SYSTEM] Queen Ignia : Loyalty 87%
[SYSTEM] Deltia : Loyalty 52.3%
[SYSTEM] Corruption : 12.8%