The summer sun broke clean over the Ikanbi training grounds. Dew clung to stone and bamboo. A stillness blanketed the land, not of silence, but of waiting.
One hundred and fifty warriors stood in orderly formation, their bodies lean from hardship, their eyes hollowed from the battles they had already faced. These were not the same young warriors who had stepped into the beast realm months before. These were soldiers.
Mala stood in front of them. The wind teased her hair as she looked across the ranks. Her voice carried firm and even.
"Today, I will lead you."
Behind her, Ben approached—his presence quiet, yet undeniable. With him walked Sema, calm and composed, and Mia, eyes sharp with curiosity. Their arrival drew attention, but no explanation came. Only a nod from Ben to Mala.
He would not lead them today. He had other reasons for coming.
From beyond the bamboo forest, the trees stirred unnaturally. A pressure rolled across the earth like thunder with no sound. Then he appeared.
Twa Milhoms, barefoot, shirtless, and without expression, stepped into view.
Without a word, he raised his hand.
The world turned white.
—
When color returned, they were no longer in Ikanbi.
Before them stretched a great stone city, its gates wide and guarded, its walls towering. Beyond it stood the Wall of Ten Thousand Teeth, a towering fortification as wide as a river and built for war.
The warriors looked around, stunned. The roads were paved with shaped stone. Watchtowers loomed with archers bearing metal-tipped arrows. Civilians moved in patterns, guided by laws unseen.
Then came the sound of drums.
From beyond the wall, enemy banners rose—rows of armed men with gleaming swords, polished shields, and iron helms. A real army.
Mala took a deep breath. "Form ranks," she ordered.
The Ikanbi warriors moved into formation. Their clothing was roughhide, their weapons still stone or sharpened bone. But they stood firm.
Ben, however, was already walking away.
He passed the defenders. Passed the gate. Into the city.
Sema and Mia followed in his shadow.
—
Ben had one goal: to learn everything.
He entered the forges where men with black arms hammered molten metal into blades that glowed like fire. He memorized their rhythm. He studied the bellows, the tongs, the shape of the hammers. He watched how they cooled steel, how they bent it to their will.
Every moment burned itself into his mind.
Claymore. Sword. Halberd. Hook-blade. Spike club.
He would bring them all back. Not just the forms—but the means to forge them.
He entered the barracks. Spoke to swordmasters. Watched sparring sessions. Studied their footwork, their formations, how they held the line even as arrows rained.
This was not survival. This was war—planned, deliberate, powerful.
—
Sema, under Ben's quiet instruction, found her place among the potters.
She learned how clay was chosen, how it was shaped into bowls, jars, ovens, and sealed containers. She touched spinning wheels and drying racks. She saw how fire was controlled to strengthen form without cracking it.
Mia, meanwhile, wandered among the weavers.
She observed how they harvested fibers from plants, how they twisted strands into thread, dyed them, then wove fabric on looms larger than any she had ever imagined. She asked no questions, only watched. Her hands twitched, already trying to memorize the motion.
It was a different world. One of tools, fire, pattern, and logic.
—
At the wall, the Ikanbi warriors braced themselves.
The first charge came.
Mala barked orders, her voice hard. "Hold the wall! Do not break!"
And they held. Against swords that split bone. Against arrows that whistled death.
Blood fell.
But so did the enemy.
Even without armor or steel, the Ikanbi fought with fury and unity. The training from Twa Milhoms had not left them.
Mala did not retreat. She stood above the gate, defending it herself, wielding her stone-tipped spear like a storm.
Ben returned only once—just to watch.
He stood at the edge of the wall, looking down on the battle.
His eyes were not on the enemy. But on the gate's hinges.
The way the stone was cut.
The melt patterns in the discarded blades.
This was what he had come to see.
—
When the sun finally fell, and the drums ceased, the battlefield grew quiet.
Mala had lost warriors. But the wall held.
Ben, Sema, and Mia each returned with their lessons etched deep in memory.
This was not just a trial.
It was a glimpse of the future.
And the future would not be carved in stone.
It would be forged in flame.
Ben had seen enough.
The forging of steel. The curve of the claymore. The way heat and hammer shaped the world. He had learned what he came to learn.
Now it was time to return to the wall.
He moved like silence through chaos, Sema and Mia trailing him. They didn't understand why he was so calm, only that the air bent around him.
Ahead, Mala stood alone on the crumbling stone wall. Her comrades had fallen. Blood soaked her left arm and leg. Her spear trembled in her grip, but her stance did not.
A hail of arrows darkened the sky.
Ben stepped beside her without a word. He reached back, grabbed both Sema and Mia by the wrists, and pulled them up beside them.
"What are you doing?" Mia asked, panic rising. "This is—this is—"
Sema said nothing, but her steps faltered. She was a three-ring warrior, yes—but more scribe than soldier. She had never stood in the open under falling death.
Ben looked to none of them.
He simply stood there.
The arrows fell.
They struck him first. Dozens. Piercing flesh, embedding in his shoulders, back, and arms. Mala didn't move—she too took the full force of the assault. Her body jerked, but she held the line.
Then came the screaming. Mia's first. Sema next. Arrows sank into their backs, their legs, their chests. Neither had known such pain.
In that final moment—breath gone, vision dimming—they understood.
And then they vanished.
All four of them—Ben, Mala, Sema, and Mia—reappeared in Ikanbi.
The cold wind of the real world struck them as they crumpled to the ground. Snow cracked under their return. The trial was over—for now.
Mia rolled away, coughing blood that wasn't real. Her hands shook violently.
Sema, pale and wide-eyed, sat up slowly. Her gaze found Ben across the ground.
He rose first.
Bleeding from no wound. Breathing calmly. He turned to them and simply nodded.
Mala pushed herself up next, gripping her shoulder, her body still tense, still half in battle.
Sema met Ben's eyes.
"You knew," she said hoarsely.
He didn't respond. But she understood.
From the other side, Mia sat hunched over, arms around her knees. She had thought seduction was a way in. She now understood—death and pain were the only real currencies in this world.
And the malitia paid in full.