Mork's eyes slowly closed. His exhaustion from the long, tiring night took over him, and he fell asleep.
As soon as Mork slept, a figure appeared in front of him and said, "Are you going to sleep all day?"
Mork suddenly woke up and looked at the figure standing there.
It was a goblin, a bit taller than Mork. Mork was silent for a moment.
The goblin said, "Do I have to repeat myself? ARE YOU GOING TO SLEEP ALL DAY?"
Mork stood up in a hurry and said, "N… no."
The goblin nodded. "Very well. Then follow me. I will tell you what chores you are going to do."
The goblin turned and walked out of the stable, while Mork followed him.
As they walked, the goblin said, "My name is Snagrot. You can call me Master Snagrot. I am the trainer of E-ranked trainees, and I will be the one training you until you move to a higher rank." Snagrot stopped and suddenly turned back, his face inches from Mork's, and said, "Understood?"
Mork leaned backward and, with a nervous smile, said, "Y… yes, Master Snagrot."
Snagrot turned back and continued walking.
"So when are we going to start this training?" asked Mork.
Snagrot replied, "Oh! It's good to see that you are eager to start training. But first things first." Snagrot stopped in front of a well, and so did Mork.
"You see this well?" said Snagrot. "Your job is to fetch a bucket full of water from it, then go all the way back to the stable and fill the water trough."
Mork's expression hardened, ready to get the job done.
"Now get started," said Snagrot.
"Yes, Master," said Mork. With a nod, he took the bucket, lowered it into the well, and fetched water. He pulled it up—the bucket was heavy, but Mork managed to lift it out. He carried it and started walking toward the stable. As he walked, he realized how far they had come from it.
When Mork finally reached the stable, he went to the water trough and emptied the bucket. But the water wasn't enough to even wet the bottom.
Mork turned back and returned to the well. "Master Snagrot, I emptied the bucket into the water trough."
Snagrot, his hands clasped behind his back, replied, "Very well. Now repeat this three hundred times until the trough is full."
Mork looked at Snagrot with terror in his eyes as those words sank in. Three hundred times. He had known it would be difficult, but he was still not prepared to face it. Unwillingly, he looked down, went to the well, and started repeating the task over and over until the trough was finally full.
When Mork emptied the last bucket, it was already noon. The sun stood high overhead. Mork fell to his knees, exhausted. His stomach growled.
Snagrot entered the stable and said, "Took you long enough to fill this. You are weak." He glanced at Mork. Mork's stomach growled again, and his cheeks flushed.
"Looks like it's time for lunch," said Snagrot.
As soon as Mork heard those words, he was overjoyed. His mouth watered, and his exhaustion was momentarily forgotten.
"You see that storeroom over there?" Snagrot pointed to a wooden room on the opposite side of the yard. "Go there and fetch the bags of horse feed one by one. Put them in the manger."
Mork's eyes widened. This was cruel and unexpected. "But I am tired," he said.
"Well, I am not. Now go and get the feed—the horses must be hungry," said Snagrot.
"So am I," said Mork.
"You will eat once the horses are fed."
Mork clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. He looked at the storeroom hesitantly, then took quick steps toward it. He opened the door and saw a pile of feed bags. Taking a deep breath, he began lifting the bags one by one, placing them in the manger. His stomach growled, his legs trembled, but he kept moving until the manger was full.
Mork collapsed to the ground, exhausted. He looked up at the roof, his vision blurry. Suddenly, he saw Snagrot standing beside him, holding a bowl above him.
"Well done," Snagrot said. "Here is your lunch."
Mork sat up and snatched the bowl hastily. Inside was a strange broth with bits of meat floating in it.
"What is this?" Mork asked.
Snagrot replied, "What do you think it is? It's your lunch. Now hurry up and eat—we have a lot of work to do."
Mork hesitated, but then raised it to his mouth and started drinking. He was so hungry he didn't even notice the taste. Within minutes, Mork finished it and held the empty bowl in front of Snagrot. "Can I have some more, Master Snagrot?"
Snagrot looked at him. Mork's lips and chin were smeared with soup. Snagrot glanced at Mork's desperate eyes, then at the bowl. After a few moments, he handed over his own.
Mork seized it and drank at once.
Snagrot kept watching him. In the end, he smiled faintly.
"Hurry up. We have other jobs to do besides eating," he said, though without the coldness or anger from before.
A few moments later, Mork placed the empty bowl on the ground, one hand on his stomach as he let out a breath of relief.
"Now your next job is to clean the stable," said Snagrot.
Mork looked at Snagrot, then at the stable. It stank, full of horse dung. He turned back with a hesitant smile. "You're kidding, right? I am a prince. Fetching water and bringing the feed is acceptable, but cleaning dung? No, I can't do this."
Snagrot stood before him with a stern look. He handed a broom to Mork and said, "Get to work, prince."
Then Snagrot left, leaving Mork with the broom, staring at the horses. He gathered his courage and began cleaning. As he passed near one horse, it defecated right in front of him. Mork stared at it with awe and disgust. But he knew he had no choice.
Mork kept cleaning until the stable was spotless. Afterward, he went to a cabin near the grounds. It was already dark. Mork knocked at the door, and Snagrot came out.
"I finished cleaning," said Mork, sadness in his tone, eyes downcast.
Snagrot looked at him. "Very well. Come in."
Mork entered the cabin.
"Sit here," said Snagrot, pointing to a chair.
Mork quietly sat. After a while, Snagrot returned with a bowl and handed it to him.
Mork slowly took it and began eating. Snagrot kept watching as he finished and placed the bowl on the table. He saw the sadness and exhaustion on Mork's face.
"You can go now. Get some sleep. You've done enough chores for the next two days. We will start your training tomorrow," said Snagrot.
Mork nodded slightly, stood, and left the cabin.
As he returned to the stable, he saw someone standing in front of it.
As he got closer, he froze. It was the Grandmaster.
Mork hesitated, then stepped forward. The Grandmaster faced the stable. Mork stood behind him.
Without looking back, the Grandmaster said, "So you are here. Or should I say… is that where you are?"
Mork did not reply. He only kept his head lowered.
"You call yourself a prince? The rightful heir to the throne? And yet here you are, a mere E-ranker—the lowest in the citadel." The Grandmaster turned and looked at him. "If there were a rank lower than E, I am certain you would have fallen to it."
Mork's eyes welled with tears, his fists clenched.
"You call yourself the son of the great King Draganov? To me, you are nothing but a disgrace to his legacy. I feel sorry, not for you, but for your father and for all the ogres who believe in you." The Grandmaster walked past him and added, "Do me a favor and end yourself before you bring further disgrace to your father's name. And by the way—good job cleaning the stable. It seems a peasant has been born in royalty."
Mork's eyes widened in shock. Until now, he hadn't realized the weight of his responsibilities as a prince, as a son.
The Grandmaster left, while Mork stood alone. Tears streamed down his face. He fell to his knees, curled into a ball, and cried uncontrollably.
After a long time, when his tears dried, he stood and turned back toward the cabin. He knocked, and Snagrot came out.
He looked at Mork. But this time, it wasn't the same Mork from earlier—there was determination in his eyes.
"So, you want to do it?" said Snagrot.
Mork gave a wrathful nod. "Yes."