The sun had not yet risen. The forest was still cloaked in darkness, the trees swaying quietly in the breeze. A faint chill brushed the ground as Kaelen, half-asleep, stood outside Razen's hut.
Razen stepped out of the shadows, holding a thick scroll in one hand and a large cup of bitter-smelling tea in the other.
"Drink this," he said. "It'll keep your muscles from tearing too quickly."
Kaelen took a sip and almost spat it out. "This tastes like burnt wood!"
"It is," Razen said calmly. "Mixed with forest herbs. Now listen."
He unfurled the scroll and held it up in front of Kaelen.
"This," Razen said, "is your training chart for the next two months."
Kaelen blinked. "This is… two full pages!"
Razen's voice turned colder. "You'll train every single muscle in your body. From your fingers to your neck. From your feet to your eyelids. Morning starts at 3 AM. Night ends when you collapse."
Kaelen's jaw dropped. "You're serious?"
Razen didn't blink. "By the end of these two months, your body must be so hard that a regular sword cannot even scratch you."
Kaelen shook his head. "This is impossible…"
"Was it possible for you to survive the forest trial?" Razen asked.
Kaelen hesitated. "No."
"And yet, here you are."
Kaelen clenched his fists. His arms were still sore from yesterday's sword swings. Just holding the blade had nearly pulled his shoulders from their sockets. "But I can barely grab that sword."
"That's why you'll swing it a thousand times every day," Razen replied. "Ten sets of one hundred. No breaks unless your body gives out. If it gives out, you rest. Then start again."
He handed Kaelen a small scroll with an empty grid on it. "Every day, you'll log your number of swings, chakra pulses, meditation time, and recovery hours."
Kaelen looked at the scroll in disbelief. "You want me to measure my pain?"
"No," Razen said, "I want you to measure your progress."
---
The First Trial – Day One
Kaelen began with the basics—carrying the sword across the training ground ten times. On the third lap, he collapsed. His palms were raw. His arms shook violently. But Razen said nothing. Just stood there—watching.
Kaelen slowly stood up, grabbed the hilt again, and kept walking.
Next came the sword swings. At first, the blade moved no faster than a falling tree. Kaelen barely lifted it overhead before slamming it into the dirt. Over and over again.
Sweat rolled into his eyes. His breath came in sharp bursts. His legs ached from the weight. But by the 50th swing… something inside him clicked. His grip felt stronger. His arms steadier.
"Don't chase power," Razen said. "Chase control."
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Nightfall
By the time the moon rose, Kaelen had completed 700 swings. Not 1000—but far more than he thought possible. His body trembled as he sat near the fire.
His hands were wrapped in bandages, fingers stiff, muscles twitching from overuse.
"I… I didn't finish…" Kaelen said weakly.
"You did more than you did yesterday," Razen replied. "Mark it. Rest. And tomorrow—do better."
Kaelen nodded and picked up his scroll, logging each set.
The fire crackled. Thunder rumbled softly in the far distance.
And Kaelen, despite the pain, smiled faintly.
He had taken the first step.
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