After leaving Az in the care of Sophie I went back to my chamber.
I stepped into the bathroom and stopped for a moment, admiring the bathroom by how big it was. The room was huge, with high ceilings and shiny marble floors that made the lights look even brighter.
A soft scent of lavender filled the air, and I could hear the quiet drip of water from the sink.
I walked over to the shower, my feet sinking into a soft rug. The glass doors were clean and clear, showing a fancy showerhead high above.
I turned the knob, and warm water poured down, steam slowly covering the mirror on the wall.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped under the water, letting the warmth soak into my skin. It felt good, washing away the tiredness from the day.
I closed my eyes and let the water run over me, enjoying the quiet moment of peace.
***
I walked out of the shower and dried myself with a towel that was hanging next to the door. Quickly, I put on my training clothes, getting ready for the session. Without wasting any time, I headed toward the training hall.
The training ground was a large open field, surrounded by tall stone walls covered in old runes that glowed softly with magic. The ground was a mix of hard dirt and patches of strange glowing grass that made warriors move faster.
In one corner, wooden dummy that could dodge attacks stood ready for practice, while a big sand pit nearby was used for hand-to-hand fighting.
A row of weapon racks held swords that sparked with energy, bows strung with enchanted thread, and staffs that buzzed with magic.
In the centre of the field, a floating blue crystal gave off a powerful energy, creating a shield around the training ground to keep even the strongest spells from escaping.
The air smelled of sweat and metal, and the sounds of battle cries and weapons clashing echoed all around.
I walked into the training hall and made my way toward the row where the weapons were stored.
Picking up a wooden longsword, I gripped it firmly, feeling its weight in my hands.
Since I had destroyed some training dummies in the past, I decided to take extra precautions.
I approached the butler and asked him to use his magic to add an extra layer of protection, ensuring the dummy would last longer this time.
The moment I stepped onto the training ground, I was alone. The vast hall stretched out before me, silent except for the faint hum of magic lingering in the air. The scent of aged wood, metal, and the faint traces of past battles still clung to the space.
My footsteps echoed slightly as I walked toward the centre, where a single training dummy stood, waiting.
Reinforced by magic, its surface pulsed faintly with energy, a silent challenge that I was more than ready to accept. I gripped my wooden longsword tightly, rolling my shoulders and exhaling slowly, steadying my stance.
There was no audience, no instructor watching over me—just me, my weapon, and the dummy. That was all I needed.
With a swift movement, I swung my sword, aiming for its side, but the enchanted dummy reacted instantly, shifting slightly as if predicting my attack. My blade struck but barely made an impact, the magic protecting it absorbing most of the force.
I took a step back, adjusting my grip. This wasn't going to be as easy as hacking away at an ordinary target. If I wanted to land a real hit, I had to be smarter, faster.
I darted forward again, this time feinting to the left before twisting my body to strike from the right. The dummy shifted, almost dodging the blow, but I managed to graze its side. Not enough.
I clenched my jaw and kept going, pushing myself harder. The only sounds filling the space were the sharp whooshes of my blade slicing through the air and the steady rhythm of my breathing.
Every strike I threw was countered by the dummy's movements, forcing me to rethink my approach.
Minutes passed, though it felt much longer. Sweat dripped down my brow as I moved in a relentless dance, my muscles burning with every swing.
I circled the dummy, trying to anticipate its dodges, testing different angles and attack patterns. The more I fought, the more I realized brute force wouldn't be enough—I needed to outthink it.
My eyes narrowed as I studied the dummy's reactions, noting the way it shifted when I attacked a certain way. If it was responding to patterns, then I just had to break them.
Taking a deep breath, I charged in again, slashing from above. The dummy predictably moved to deflect the strike, but I was ready. At the last second, I loosened my grip, shifting the angle of my blade mid-swing and slamming it into the dummy's exposed side.
A loud crack echoed through the hall as the impact finally forced it back. A rush of satisfaction surged through me, but I wasn't done yet.
I pressed the attack, striking in quick succession—low, high, feint, spin, thrust. Each move was faster, more precise than the last. My breath came in steady exhales, my heart pounding, but my focus remained razor-sharp.
I could feel the strain in my arms, the fatigue creeping into my legs, but I ignored it. This was what training was for. Pushing beyond limits.
Finally, I stepped back, panting, my sword lowered at my side. The dummy remained standing, battered but intact. My muscles ached, my fingers trembled slightly from the effort, but I felt stronger than when I had started.
The silence of the empty hall felt almost deafening now, save for my own breathing.