Ten minutes. That's all we got.
Ten minutes to catch our breath, to stop shaking, to pretend our legs weren't made of jelly. I sat in the snow with the others—some standing, some collapsed, all of us trying to recover from those twenty laps that had nearly killed us.
My chest still heaved.
Huff... huff... huff...
Every breath felt like swallowing glass. The cold air burned going in and burned coming out, leaving my throat raw and my lungs aching.
[Your heart rate is slowly stabilizing.] Nova's voice floated through my mind, calm and clinical.
Great. Tell me when my legs stop feeling like noodles.
[That will take longer.]
Thanks for the honesty.
I looked around at the other recruits. Twenty-nine of us, spread across the training yard in various states of misery. The gray-bearded guy—I heard someone call him Dain was still lying in the snow where he'd collapsed, flat on his back and staring at the sky like he'd given up on life entirely.
The short-haired woman, Mira, was doing stretches nearby, her face still pale but determined, refusing to let the exhaustion win.
...And Kael.
That bastard was standing near the front, arms crossed, talking to a couple of other guys like he hadn't just run five miles in the snow without breaking a sweat. He glanced my way, that stupid smirk plastered on his face, and said something that made them laugh.
I really don't like that guy!
[The feeling seems mutual.]
Yeah. Lucky me.
"Alright, listen up!" Vex's voice cut through the morning air like a blade, sharp and impossible to ignore. "Next exercise. Obstacle course. You'll go one at a time. I'll be timing you."
He pointed to the course stretching across the far end of the yard—walls to climb, ropes to swing on, mud to crawl through, more walls, more ropes, and a final sprint to the finish line that looked about as welcoming as a dead end.
"The three slowest ones clean the latrines tonight. Move!"
The obstacle course was exactly as awful as it looked.
I watched the first few recruits go. Some were fast, moving through the course like they'd done it a hundred times, their bodies knowing exactly what to do without thinking. Others struggled, falling off walls, getting stuck in the mud, their times climbing higher and higher.
The results were called out and written on a board for everyone to see.
When my turn came, I ran.
The first wall was eight feet high. I jumped, grabbed the top, and pulled myself over with everything I had. Landed hard on the other side, my ankles screaming in protest. Ran to the ropes. Grabbed one, swung across a muddy pit that looked like it would swallow me whole if I fell.
Almost lost my grip halfway across.
Crawling through the mud was disgusting. It got in my mouth, my eyes, my clothes, seeping through every layer like it belonged there. I kept going.
More walls. More ropes. More running.
By the time I crossed the finish line, I was gasping again, my chest heaving, my legs threatening to give out. My time wasn't the worst. Wasn't the best either. Somewhere in the middle, where I seemed to live these days.
Kael's time was near the top, of course. He smirked at me when he finished, like his existence was personally designed to annoy me.
Ugh... I hate that bastard's smirk.
_
The morning continued.
More running. More exercises. Push-ups until my arms gave out and then push-ups after that. Squats until my legs stopped working and then squats to make sure they were really done.
Pull-ups where I hung from the bar and tried not to fall, my muscles screaming with every inch I managed to move.
By noon, I couldn't feel my body anymore. It was just pain, everywhere, all the time, a constant background hum that never quite went away.
We got a break for food. Real food—hot stew, bread, water. I ate like I hadn't seen food in weeks, shoveling it into my mouth without tasting any of it.
The recruits around me did the same. Nobody talked much. We were all too tired, too focused on getting calories into our bodies before the next round of hell.
Even Kael was quiet, focused on his food. But every now and then, he'd glance my way. Still had that smirk.
What's his problem?
[He sees you as competition. Or maybe just a plaything. Something to test himself against.]
I'm literally at the bottom of every exercise. How am I competition?
I ignored the last part. Didn't need to hear it.
[Doesn't matter. You're a noble. You're from a Great House. To someone like him, that's enough reason to hate you.]
I clicked my tongue.
...Just great.
_
The afternoon was worse.
More running. More exercises. Vex pushed us harder, faster, longer, like he was trying to break us just to see how long it would take. People started dropping out, throwing up on the side of the yard.
Dain collapsed twice—once during the running, once during the exercises. Both times he got back up, pale and shaking, but he got back up. Mira kept going, her face set in stone, never complaining, never slowing.
I kept going too. Don't know how. Just... kept going.
Huff... huff... huff...
Because if I stopped, if I gave up, then they were right. All of them. The rumors. The whispers. The smirks. They were right about me being a failure, about me being worthless, about me not belonging here.
And I couldn't let that happen.
Finally, late in the afternoon when the sun had started its slow descent toward the horizon, Vex gathered us in the center of the yard.
"Enough running," he said, his gravel voice carrying across the suddenly silent space. "Time for sparring."
A murmur ran through the group. Some looked excited, their eyes lighting up at the chance to actually hit something. Some looked terrified, probably remembering how easily they'd been destroyed in previous spars. I fell somewhere in the middle—nervous but ready, scared but determined.
Vex pointed to the fighting circles marked in the snow. "You'll be paired up. Ten-minute rounds. No mana—suppressors stay on. Just skill. Just technique. Just you."
He started calling out names.
"Mira and Dain. Circle one!"
The short-haired woman and the gray-bearded guy moved toward the first circle.
"Sera and Jax. Circle two!"
More names, more movement.
Then—
"Kael and—" He paused, looking at his list. Then his eyes found me. "Leo."
My heart skipped a beat.
Of course. Of course it's him. Out of everyone here, I get the one guy who's made it his personal mission to hate me.
[Heh. This will be interesting.]
Shut up, Nova!
I walked to circle three. Kael was already there, stretching, that smirk firmly in place like it was tattooed on his face. He cracked his neck, rolled his shoulders, flexed his hands like he was warming up for something enjoyable.
"Von Celestial," he said, drawing out the name like it was a joke. "Try not to cry too hard when I hit you."
I didn't respond. Just stepped into the circle and waited, my heart pounding in my ears.
Around us, the other spars started. I could hear grunts, thuds, the sound of bodies hitting snow, the sharp exhales of people giving everything they had. But I focused on Kael. On his stance. On the way he moved, the way he held himself, the way his eyes tracked me like I was prey.
He's confident. Maybe too confident.
[Listen to me, Host. You can't use the active skill—the mana suppressor is still on. But that doesn't mean Flash Instinct is useless. Focus on the passive effect of Flash Instinct. Sharpen your senses. Pay attention to everything—his breathing, his weight shifts, the way his muscles tense before he moves. Let your instincts guide you, not the skill.]
Got it.Thanks, buddy.
Vex walked past our circle, his presence heavy even without his aura. "Ten minutes. Start when I signal. No killing. Everything else is fair game."
He raised his hand. Dropped it.
"Go!"
Kael moved first.
Fast. Way faster than I expected. His fist came at my face and I barely got my hands up in time. Thud!. The impact shook my arms, traveled up to my shoulders, rattled my teeth. I stumbled back, feet slipping in the snow.
He didn't let up. Another punch. Another. I blocked, dodged, blocked again. My arms were taking a beating, each hit leaving a dull ache that spread through my muscles.
Huff... huff...
"Come on, noble," Kael taunted, throwing a kick that I just managed to avoid. "I thought you'd at least put up a fight. Thought that's why you're here."
I didn't answer. Too busy trying not to get hit.
But even through the panic, I remembered what Nova said. I forced myself to focus, to look past the chaos and actually see what Kael was doing.
He was good. Really good. Every move flowed into the next—punches, kicks, knees, all connected in a rhythm I couldn't follow. He kept coming, kept pushing, and I kept backing up, giving ground.
A punch caught me square in the shoulder—felt like a hammer hitting bone. Pain shot down my arm, left it hanging numb.
Then his kick connected with my thigh. My leg buckled, almost dropped me.
I stumbled back harder this time, my foot catching on something beneath the snow—a hidden rock, a frozen rut. I went down, one knee hitting the ground hard.
Kael paused. Just for a second. Like he was waiting to see if I'd stay down.
I pushed myself up. Got back in stance.
His eyebrow rose. Just slightly. "Huh."
Then he came at me again.
The next few minutes were a blur of pain and instinct.
He kept coming. I kept blocking, dodging, surviving. My arms were starting to go numb from blocking his punches. My ribs ached where his kicks had landed. My face was throbbing—I'd taken at least three good hits to the head.
But something was changing.
I started noticing things I'd missed before. The way he shifted his weight before a kick. The slight drop of his shoulder before a punch. The tiny tells that I'd been too panicked to see earlier. Nova was right—I didn't need the active skill. I just needed to pay attention.
He threw a punch aimed at my face. I ducked—actually ducked, not just flinched. Felt it whistle past my ear.
His eyes widened. Just slightly.
I didn't waste any time. I moved. My fist drove into his side—not hard, but solid enough to feel.
He grunted and stepped back. When he looked at me again, something in his eyes had changed.
"Lucky shot," he muttered.
Maybe. But it landed.
He came at me again. Faster. Harder. I could feel his frustration building—he wasn't used to people getting back up.
I dodged a punch. Slipped a kick. Blocked another punch that would have cracked my ribs.
And then I saw it. He overextended on a punch, leaning too far forward, his weight shifting wrong.
I stepped in and hit him. Right in the jaw.
Crack!
His head snapped to the side. He stumbled back, catching himself, his hand going to his face.
For the first time since this started, that smirk was gone.
Around us, the other spars had faded into background noise. I could hear shouts and grunts, but they felt far away, like they were happening in another world. All that mattered was the circle, the snow, and the guy in front of me.
Kael spat blood into the snow. Looked at me.
"Okay," he said. "Okay. You can actually fight."
"I've been telling you that."
He snorted. "No, that's not it. You've been surviving this whole time—blocking, dodging, trying not to get hit. That's not fighting. Fighting's different. Fighting means you're actually trying to win, not just trying not to lose."
He cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders. When he looked at me again, something had shifted in his eyes. The mockery was still there, but underneath it? Maybe respect? Just a little.
"Let's see what you've really got."
He came at me hard.
We traded blows in the center of the circle. He landed more—he was faster, stronger, more experienced. His fist caught my cheek. His kick hit my thigh. Every punch and kick hurt like hell.
But I landed some too. A punch to his stomach. A knee to his thigh. An elbow that caught him in the chin when he got too close.
We were both bleeding now. Okay, maybe I was the only one really bleeding—that bastard had a tough body. But hey, I still managed to make him bleed once or twice. Split his lip. Opened a cut under his eye. That counted.
We were both breathing hard now too, lungs burning, chests heaving. But neither of us was quitting.
Huff... huff... huff...
"You're annoying," he gasped, circling.
"You're still smirking, bastard."
He laughed and said, "Force of habit."
I almost laughed. Almost. The moment hung there between us—this weird, unexpected pause where we were just two exhausted guys who'd been trying to kill each other a second ago.
Then he grinned. "Let's go, noble."
He lunged.
I tried to sidestep, but the snow betrayed me. My foot slipped, my balance shifted, and suddenly I was falling sideways.
He caught me with a punch to the ribs as I went down.
Whump!
Air exploded from my lungs. I hit the snow hard, gasping, seeing stars. He stood over me, breathing hard, blood dripping from his split lip.
"Stay down," he said. Not mocking. Just... telling me.
Stay down? After all this, I stay down?
I clenched my teeth. No!
I pushed myself up. Ignored the way my arms shook, the way my vision swam. Got to my knees. Then, somehow, I stood.
His eyes widened. Just a little.
"You're insane,"
"...Probably."
But I could feel it now—my body was running on empty. The hits I'd taken, the exhaustion from the day, it was all catching up. My vision blurred at the edges. My legs felt like they belonged to someone else.
He came at me again. I dodged, barely. Blocked, barely. Everything was slipping.
His hits landed—shoulder, thigh—and I stumbled, nearly went down. Caught myself at the last second.
Huff... huff... huff...
[Host,] Nova's voice was sharp, urgent. [You're pushing too hard. Your body's giving out. You need to end this.]
...How?
[You can't use the active—the suppressor's still on. But you don't need it. You've been reading him this whole time. Trust your instincts and find the opening.]
I'm trying.
[Try harder. One good hit. That's all you need.]
I took a breath and forced myself to focus, to let everything else fade away until nothing existed except this moment, this circle, this fight.
The passive effect of Flash Instinct hummed quietly in the background of my awareness, a constant presence that I'd almost gotten used to over these weeks.
My senses sharpened gradually—not through magic or enhancement, but through sheer concentration, through forcing myself to actually pay attention to the things I'd been too panicked to notice before.
I could hear Kael's breathing now, the slight rasp as air moved in and out of his lungs. Could feel the way his weight shifted on the snow, the subtle crunch that came before each movement. Could sense the tension in his muscles, the tiny adjustments he made without realizing he was making them.
There. There it is.
He moved. I didn't need to see his fist coming—I could feel it in the way his shoulder dropped, in the shift of his weight forward, in the sharp exhale that preceded the strike. I ducked, and his punch whistled past my ear, close enough that I felt the wind of it against my cheek.
He followed with a kick, but I was already moving, already reading the next tell in the way his hips turned. I sidestepped, and his boot cut through the space where my ribs had been a second ago.
He was getting sloppy now. I could feel it in the way his movements lost their precision, in the heaviness of his breathing, in the frustration bleeding into every strike. He was tired. We both were.
But while he relied on strength and speed, I relied on something else—on watching, on waiting, on seeing the openings he didn't know he was giving me.
And then I saw it. The opening. Perfect and clear, like a door swinging open in front of me.
He threw a punch that left his side exposed, his weight too far forward, his guard dropped just enough. I stepped into that space, ignoring the ache in my legs, the burning in my lungs, the way my vision wanted to blur at the edges.
I put everything I had into one punch—every ounce of strength I had left, every bit of frustration from weeks of being called worthless, every moment of being told I was a failure who didn't belong here.
Thud!
My fist connected with his face. Right on that stupid smirk that had been annoying me all day.
His head snapped back from the impact, and for a second his eyes went wide with surprise. Then he stumbled, his feet tangling beneath him, and he went down hard in the snow.
I stood there, gasping, staring at him on the ground. My chest heaved. My whole body shook. But I was standing, and he wasn't.
I did it. I actually did it.
[You hit him, Host. Right on the face.]
Yeah.
A smile spread across my bloody face, even though it hurt to move my split lip, even though my cheek was swollen and my ribs ached with every breath. I didn't care. For one moment, none of that mattered.
Kael looked up at me from the snow, and for a second I thought he'd be angry. Thought he'd jump up and keep fighting, or curse me out, or do something that would ruin this tiny victory.
But instead, he laughed.
A real laugh—surprised and genuine—that echoed across the training yard and made a few of the other recruits turn to look.
"Not bad, noble," he said, still lying in the snow, still grinning up at me. "Not bad at all."
I tried to respond. Tried to say something clever or sarcastic or even just acknowledge what he'd said. But the words wouldn't come.
The exhaustion hit me all at once, a wave so powerful it stole my breath and my strength and my ability to think. My vision blurred at the edges. The world tilted beneath me, and suddenly I couldn't tell which way was up anymore.
Huff... huff... huff...
My legs gave out. I started to fall, too tired even to throw my arms out and catch myself. I thought I'd hit the snow, thought I'd lie there for a while and let the cold take me.
But instead, I felt arms catch me. Warm and steady and familiar.
"Young Master."
Lyra's voice. Soft and gentle, but underneath it something else—worry, maybe even fear.
I looked up at her face, or tried to. She was holding me, keeping me from collapsing, her emerald eyes wide with concern. Her face blurred in and out of focus, and I couldn't quite make out her expression anymore.
"You did well," she whispered. "You did so well."
I tried to smile. Tried to say something—her name, maybe, or thank you, or just anything to let her know I heard her.
But the world went dark before I could.
The last thing I heard before unconsciousness took me was Kael's voice, distant but clear, cutting through the fading light:
Time's finished. Get him to the healer.