Chapter 120 – TRAINING OF THE KING
The castle halls, once silent and empty, now echoed with the sound of clashing steel and burning magic. Shen stood breathless, sweat pouring down his face, his twin blades trembling in his grip.
Lare circled him calmly, his radiant sword resting on his shoulder. "You rely too much on rage, boy. Power without control is just noise."
Shen growled, tightening his stance. "Don't lecture me. I've fought countless battles—"
"And that is why you keep breaking yourself." Lare's voice cut like a blade. "Listen, if you truly want to master your strength, you must learn the Arts of the First Drifters. Techniques that existed long before your so-called Dark Mage forms."
He raised his hand, and the white space shifted. Walls stretched into an endless battlefield of stone pillars and broken skies. Runes floated in the air, glowing with forgotten power.
"This," Lare declared, "is the Sanctum of Daffodils, where the first Drifters forged their arts. You will train here, until your soul bleeds into the ground."
Shen clenched his teeth but lifted his blades. "Then let's begin."
The first lesson came brutally. Lare lunged, not with magic, but with pure technique. Every strike of his sword forced Shen to defend, every movement too sharp, too precise. Shen's dark magic lashed out wildly, but Lare slipped through it like wind.
"Lesson one!" Lare shouted as his blade grazed Shen's cheek. "Balance the curse. Power is not destruction—it is harmony between rage and will!"
Shen staggered, his aura flaring, but he forced himself to breathe, to steady the chaos inside. His Terminal Curse aura thinned, focusing instead of exploding. For the first time, his attacks sharpened.
Lare's grin widened. "Good. You're learning."
Days blurred into weeks. Shen was broken, rebuilt, and broken again. His body cracked under the strain of drills, duels, and meditation. He learned how to channel his Dark Magic into a single, refined strike. He learned to steady the Terminal Curse without letting it consume him.
And then—at the edge of exhaustion—he felt something shift. A new rhythm. A new pulse. His aura no longer raged blindly. It moved like a storm in harmony, each breath controlling the tide.
Lare lowered his sword, satisfied. "Not bad, boy. You may yet be worthy of the crown you claim."
Shen, panting, wiped the blood from his lips. "This… this is only the beginning."
Lare's eyes gleamed. "Exactly. And the next lesson will either make you… or kill you."
The battlefield trembled, as if answering his words.
To be continued…