The air was crisp with morning dew, the sky still colored pale indigo when Ryan Ashworth walked barefoot across the cold stone tiles of the courtyard. His muscles ached with lingering pain from the drills of the past week, but the pain had become something familiar—something needed. Today was the start of the final phase: endurance.
Mei Lin stood in the middle of the training ground, arms crossed, face impassive. She no longer shouted orders like she used to, but her presence was no less intimidating.
"This is where boys are made into warriors," she said icily, her voice cutting through the stillness of dawn. "You've developed strength. Mastered technique. Now, we see if your body and mind can endure when everything else fails."
Ryan nodded curtly, jaw set, heart already racing with excitement.
She indicated down the far side of the property where a stretch of uneven ground vanished into the deep forest. "Run. Ten kilometers. Without shoes. Don't stop. Don't look back."
"Ten—what?" Ryan's eyes widened in disbelief.
Mei Lin's eyes didn't flinch. "Your enemies will not care about your pain. They'll pursue you until your legs collapse. Better your breath run out now than your life later."
He did not debate. He simply ran.
The initial kilometer ripped across his calves like flames. Pebbles scraped the soles of his feet. Thorns slapped his arms. Sweat dripped down his back as damp air clung to him. His breath was in guttural gasps by the fifth kilometer. His eyesight blunted.
He didn't stop.
By the time he staggered back into the clearing, legs almost giving out under him, he thought every bit of himself had been squeezed out. There was no time to rest, though.
Mei Lin was standing beside a pile of loaded sandbags.
"Drop and crawl," she stated baldly.
Ryan cursed but did so, crawling on his belly through the mud under a low-slung net. His forearms rubbed against sludge and gravel. His shoulders protested in agony.
"You stop before the end," she said, walking alongside him, "we start over."
Every movement was a battle—will against agony.
Then the ice barrel.
Mei Lin stood by as Ryan looked down into the drum of icy water and floating slivers of ice.
"Two minutes inside. Control your breathing."
He didn't hesitate, diving in. The cold struck like a sledgehammer. His jaw locked, his body howled, but he didn't come up.
"Good," she said. "Endurance is not only physical. It's control. Pain will arrive. But you get to decide how long it lingers."
The seconds crawled, and Ryan concentrated on his breathing, on the faraway sound of leaves. Mei Lin was quiet, but not remote. She did not taunt him. She did not avert her gaze.
When at last he emerged, teeth rattling, she offered him a towel—no word, only a fleeting glance of mutual understanding.
"Fifteen-minute break," she instructed. "Then horse stance. No complaints."
Ryan sat on the bench, drying off in the warm air. Something about her was different—still piercing, still authoritative, but… softened. Like steel that had been tempered.
"Are you going easy on me today?" he inquired.
Her eyes flashed toward him. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Ashworth."
He grinned. "That's a yes."
She didn't respond. But she didn't deny it either.
The last test of the day was the weighted vest—twenty kilograms wrapped around his waist tightly. Squats. Sprints. Wall climbs. A death-defying cycle of fatigue. Lightning ran through his limbs with each motion, but he pushed forward. No longer suffering from the pain—he was pursuing it.
By mid-afternoon, he had fallen to the mat, each breath struggling, his body a topography of bruises and raw muscle. But his eyes were clear. His will unbroken.
Mei Lin sat beside him, not scolding or encouraging.
"You're not the same man who staggered in here two months ago," she said finally.
Ryan turned his head toward her, sweat dripping down his brow. "You think I'm ready?"
"You're surviving. That's a start."
He laughed through parched lips. "Not exactly inspirational."
"You don't require inspiration," she said. "You require purpose."
There was something new in her voice. A heaviness beneath the words.
"You've changed," Ryan said softly, not accusing, just noticing.
She didn't look at him. "Change is inevitable when things matter."
The words hung there.
As the sun set low and the shadows grew long, Mei Lin stood. "Rest well. Tomorrow, you have a break."
"A break?" Ryan blinked. "You giving out mercy now?"
"No. I'm preventing injury." She glanced back once. "Don't get used to it."
Then she departed, her shape being consumed by the estate's deepening shadows.
Late that Night
The estate had become still, the only noises the faint shuffling of leaves and the far-off hoot of an owl. A gentle knock sounded against the door of Jane Blackwood's study.
"Come in," Jane said, glancing up from a folder on her desk.
Mei Lin entered, her expression unruffled, her uniform still wet from training. She bowed ever so slightly.
"He's ready for sleep," she said with a single word.
Jane sat back in her chair, watching her. "How was he?"
Mei Lin's eyes darted upward. "He ran ten kilometers barefoot, crawled in mud, did ice immersion, and wore weight through obstacle drills. He did not break. He did not quit."
Jane smiled weakly, satisfied. "Good."
Mei Lin paused. "But I am not moving him to weapon training yet."
Jane raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"His body must recover fully. Force him now, and he is injured. Two days, then we begin."
Jane nodded to herself, then gave a brief nod. "Approved. Let him rest."
Mei Lin turned away, but halted at the doorway. "He's not the same man he was when this began."
"I know," Jane said quietly. "He's becoming what he must become."
The door closed behind Mei Lin, and Jane sat in stillness, fingers lying on the edge of Ryan's file. Her gaze moved to the window, to the moonlit courtyard beyond.
Two additional days.
After that, the next stage would commence.