The next two days blurred into a relentless storm of steel, sweat, and Grace.
From dawn until long after the sun had set, Lancet barely had time to breathe. The selected vanguard had been isolated in the Grand Combat Training Hall, where Wolfgar Windviper and his team turned the massive chamber into literal hell.
Every hour, they ran drills, read notes, studied formations and tactics of how previous parties had led successful raids into various Demon Breaks.
Each member of the party, no matter how minor their role, was put through a multitude of physical exercises. And sometimes, the usual sparring.
The air constantly hummed with the crackle of spells, the clash of weapons, and the shouts of instructors pushing everyone to their absolute limits.
Despite his hidden resentment for how he was being treated, Lancet looked forward to the training on both nights. Yes, it was torture. But good torture.
…If that was a thing.
