The dawn barely brushed against the windows when the sound of footsteps echoed through the halls.
The four heroes were dragged out of sleep by the noise of apprentices already leaving their rooms. Crumpled blankets flew off as they reluctantly got up, eyes half-closed.
Matheo: (yawning) "…Why does it feel like I only slept two minutes?"
Rehann: (putting on his tunic) "Because you did sleep two minutes."
Anthony: (groaning) "I can't… my legs don't wanna move…"
Max: (grabbing his arm) "Come on, soldier. If you're late, Nora's gonna kill you before your training even starts."
They followed the other apprentices down the corridor until they reached a large, bustling hall — the cafeteria.
The warm air and the smell of fresh bread, porridge, and grilled meat instantly made their stomachs growl.
At one of the long tables, a familiar face waved at them — Cassian.
Cassian: "Oh, already awake? You guys look like you survived yesterday… more or less."
Rehann: (patting his shoulder as he sat) "Survived is a big word."
Anthony: (slumped over the table) "Man, I saw the light at the end of the tunnel yesterday…"
Cassian: (chuckling) "Ahaha, welcome to the apprentice life."
They ate ravenously, trading bits of stories from the day before. Then, like obedient soldiers, each went to meet their respective masters for day two.
Outside, Nora was already waiting, arms crossed. At her feet lay a pile of metal weights and thick ropes.
Nora: "Today, you'll run… but tied down."
Anthony swallowed hard. Two apprentices came over to strap weights to his ankles and a bag full of stones onto his back.
Nora: "Then, push-ups, sit-ups, pull-ups. And you won't stop. If you collapse… you start over."
Anthony: (pale) "…Start over?"
Nora: (with a predatory smile) "Exactly."
The day turned into hell for him. With every lap, his legs trembled; his arms gave out during pull-ups, but Nora's voice kept cutting through the pain:
Nora: "Lower! Faster! You think the enemy will wait for you to catch your breath?!"
Anthony, on the verge of tears, repeated to himself, "Hold on… hold on… hold on…"
Meanwhile, in the weapon masters' hall, Nora stood before the apprentices.
She spun her sword; the blade hissed sharply through the air.
Nora: "Your weapons are not tools. They are not weights you simply hold. They are an extension of yourself. As long as you treat them like objects, you'll be slow. To wield them properly, you must understand them — become one with them."
Rehann tightened his grip on his staff, trying to feel what she meant.
Beside him, Cassian whispered softly:
Cassian: "You gotta close your eyes. Breathe. Empty your mind… feel it. Imagine it's your arm extending."
Rehann did as he said — closing his eyes and breathing deeply.
Cassian: "Can you feel it? Can you hear it? Do you understand it?"
Rehann: "Yeah… I think I do…"
He made a simple motion. The staff suddenly felt lighter, smoother — almost alive.
Nora, watching closely, allowed a faint, rare smile.
Nora: "That's it. Now do it again. A thousand times until you truly understand it."
For the rest of the day, the weapon apprentices repeated the motion over and over, until their arms burned.
In the courtyard, Thorak towered over Matheo, licking his lips like a predator.
Thorak: "Yesterday, you collapsed. Today, you fight back. If you fall again… I want you to get up until your body gives out."
Matheo: "…How am I supposed to fight back when you don't even give me the chance?!"
Thorak: "Watch your enemy. Find the opening that lets you strike."
Without warning, Thorak lunged forward — his fist slammed into Matheo's shield like a cannonball. The impact nearly threw him off balance, but he held firm.
Matheo: (gritting his teeth) "I'M NOT READY YET!!!"
Thorak: "Ready or not, I don't care. On the battlefield, your enemy won't wait for you."
Thorak unleashed a flurry of blows — each one stronger and faster than the last. Every strike pushed Matheo deeper into the sand.
Thorak: "Come on… resist! Please, resist!"
Frustrated by being unable to do anything but block, Matheo's rage exploded. He instinctively parried Thorak's punch and swung his axe in a devastating arc — which Thorak easily dodged before knocking him down with a brutal slap.
On his knees, gasping for breath, Matheo clenched his teeth and forced himself back up.
Thorak's eyes gleamed with wild excitement.
Thorak: "Yes… resist. Counter. Show me you're more than just a wall!"
The duel resumed — brutal, primal. Matheo blocked, fell, got up again. Little by little, he began absorbing Thorak's blows without flinching as much.
Elsewhere, Ifryt and Max once again faced each other on the sandy ground.
Ifryt: "Yesterday you were pathetic — your attacks were slow and predictable. Today, you'll do better. Use everything."
Max: "How am I supposed to… the sand slows me do—"
Then he understood. The sand wasn't a handicap — it was training.
Ifryt: "You've figured it out?"
Max: "I think so… the sand's supposed to make me faster, isn't it?"
Ifryt: "Mmm. In a way. Now that you understand… let's begin."
A tense silence. Then Ifryt dashed forward — faking a right hook before spinning into a roundhouse kick.
Max raised his arms to block, but the impact pushed him back several feet, his boots sinking into the sand.
Max: (gritting his teeth) "Alright… this time I'm going all out!"
He lunged, throwing a straight punch to the chest, followed by an uppercut. Ifryt blocked the first, dodged the second, and countered with a storm of body shots.
Each hit rattled Max's bones.
Panting but stubborn, Max ducked low and swept Ifryt's legs — the knight staggered but didn't fall.
A monstrous hook whistled past Max's head, kicking up a spray of sand.
Max seized the moment — scooped up a handful of sand and threw it at Ifryt's face. Ifryt dodged.
Ifryt: "You already tried that trick yesterday. It won't work twice."
He vanished behind Max, elbow raised — but Max anticipated it, spun, and hurled another handful of sand, which he'd secretly grabbed earlier.
Ifryt blinked, momentarily blinded, but still managed to block the two punches Max threw right after.
Max: "What's that? You said it wouldn't work twice, huh? Hehehe!"
Ifryt: "YOU LITTLE BASTARD!!"
Max tried a spinning elbow toward Ifryt's temple — but Ifryt caught him by the face and slammed him violently to the ground.
Max (thinking): "How the hell is someone that skinny so damn strong?!"
Gasping, he tried to rise — only for Ifryt's knee to smash into his ribs, launching him several meters away.
Max staggered back up, sand swirling beneath their feet. Every step grew heavier, but every exchange made him faster, sharper. He still couldn't land a clean hit, but his movements were growing instinctive — fluid.
Ifryt: (after knocking him down one last time) "Tss… I let myself go. But it's already better than yesterday. You've got a long way to go if you plan to survive the wave."
Flat on his back, Max smiled faintly through exhaustion.
Max (thinking): "Damn… what kind of monster is this guy…?"
Ifryt: "Good. Rest. We'll continue later."
Anthony (thinking): "Fuck… this isn't possible… why am I the one getting this crap…?"
Nora stood nearby, arms crossed, watching him without emotion.
Nora: "Faster. If you can't run with weight, you'll die at the first serious hit."
Anthony forced himself to run harder. His lungs burned. His thighs felt like they were about to burst.
When he tripped and fell face-first in the dust, Nora calmly walked over and pressed her foot onto his back, pinning him down.
Nora: "Get up."
Anthony: "I… I can't…"
Nora: "Then stay down and wait for death to come."
The words stabbed through his mind like ice. Shaking, Anthony crawled, pushed off the ground, and staggered back to his feet.
After the laps, she sent him straight to push-ups — still wearing the weights.
At ten, his arms shook.
At twenty, he bit his lip until it bled.
At thirty-two, his body collapsed.
Nora: "That's your body? You think you'll survive in this world with that?"
Without waiting for a response, she ordered him into sit-ups — still weighted. Every movement tore a cry from his throat. Then, she dragged him to a pull-up bar.
Nora: "Hang. Pull yourself up."
Anthony gripped the bar — hands blistered, arms trembling. Two pull-ups. Three. His fingers slipped, and he crashed to the ground.
Exhausted, drenched in sweat and dust, he lay there, chest heaving violently.
Anthony (thinking): "…I'm gonna die… I'm really gonna die…"
Yet despite the pain — despite the fear — he pushed himself up again.
On his knees.
Ready to start over.