Days 1–5: Bruises and Banter
The first five days felt like round two of the torture session. Kael's mornings began with running laps around the entire field while carrying two buckets filled with stones. If he spilled even one pebble, he had to start over.
"Why does this feel like punishment for existing?" Kael groaned, arms trembling.
"Because you exist weak," Grandpa replied.
Kael nearly cried.
By the fifth day, though, he noticed he was running faster, spilling fewer stones. He still whined constantly, but his stamina was building.
"Grandpa… if this keeps up, I'll have legs of steel and arms of noodles."
"You'll have arms of steel too, once you stop flapping your mouth."
Days 6–10: Weapons of Imagination
Every day, Kael experimented with the gloves. A broomstick became a halberd. A frying pan transformed into a round shield that reflected sunlight into Grandpa's eyes. At one point, Kael even turned a wooden spoon into a dagger.
"Fear me, Spoon Slayer of Eatheria!" he declared dramatically.
Grandpa smacked the spoon out of his hands with his staff. "Focus."
But Kael's creativity grew sharper. The gloves no longer fought him as much—they hummed, as if amused by his antics.
Days 11–15: The Beating of a Lifetime
Grandpa took things up a notch. Kael sparred against two mechanical dummies at once. Then three. By the fifteenth day, there were five surrounding him, each swinging clubs and poles.
Kael stumbled and yelped with every blow. "WHY do you even have these machines?! You retired, not started a circus!"
"Discipline," Grandpa answered, striking one dummy down with his bare hands just to show off.
Kael groaned but didn't give up. By the end of Day 15, he managed to knock all five dummies down without collapsing.
He lay on the ground afterward, covered in bruises. "So this is what victory feels like… pain."
Days 16–20: Element Training
Grandpa wasn't done. Now Kael had to fight in different terrains.
In the rain, where his grip slipped.
In the mud, where every step felt like sinking.
In the forest, dodging tree roots and branches.
On Day 20, Grandpa even lit small controlled fires around the clearing. Kael had to fight in smoke, eyes stinging.
"I can't breathe! I'm gonna die!" he shouted.
"Then die less loudly," Grandpa said calmly, watching.
Days 21–25: Breakthrough
Kael felt something new. His transformations became sharper, cleaner—less random chaos, more his will.
A wooden staff became not just a spear, but a Storm Spear—its jagged metal head shaped like lightning, a weapon born from Kael's imagination.
Grandpa's eyes narrowed as he saw it. "Hmph. You're beginning to imprint yourself into the relic."
Kael twirled it and grinned. "So you're saying I'm awesome? Don't worry, Grandpa, I already knew."
Grandpa hit him on the head with his staff.
Days 26–29: Pushing Limits
Grandpa's training grew harsher. Kael had to fight blindfolded again, but this time against his grandfather himself. Each blow Kael blocked was a small miracle.
"Listen to the world," Grandpa said. "Don't just see the attack. Feel it."
Kael gritted his teeth, blocking a low sweep, then countering with a wild upward strike. For a brief moment, Grandpa's eyes widened as Kael's blade nearly grazed him.
By Day 29, Kael wasn't just reacting. He was moving with intent.
Day 30: The Stormound Way
The final day of training dawned with storm clouds overhead. Fitting.
Grandpa faced Kael in the clearing once more.
"Thirty days," he said. "Show me what you've learned."
Kael's grin was cocky, but his eyes were sharp. He grabbed a broken branch, and in his hands it twisted into a double-edged weapon: half-spear, half-scythe. His own creation.
Their battle was fierce. Grandpa's staff struck like a thunderbolt, but Kael matched him blow for blow, sparks flying. Kael's movements weren't just chaotic anymore—they had rhythm, flow, creativity fused with control.
At last, Kael leapt high, twisting his weapon into a massive glaive mid-air. He brought it crashing down, the ground splitting with the force.
Grandpa barely blocked in time. The clash shook the clearing.
Silence followed. Both stood frozen. Then Grandpa lowered his staff slowly, breathing hard.
"…You're still reckless. Still too loud. Still too goofy."
Kael blinked, then gave a sheepish smile. "Uh… thanks?"
"But," Grandpa said, eyes stern but proud, "you are no longer a boy with gloves. You are a Stormound training to master them. And that is enough—for now."
Kael's grin stretched ear to ear. "So… can I finally take a nap?"
Grandpa turned, walking away. "Tomorrow, we begin endurance training."
Kael fell to his knees, screaming at the sky. "ENDURANCE?! Grandpa, I'll endure in bed!!"
The storm rumbled above, as if laughing at him.