The next morning, a sharp knock on the door dragged Izikel from the clutches of sleep. He groggily shifted, only to feel the weight of something heavy pressing against his head. A book. No, several books. As he blinked away the drowsiness, he realized that his entire bed was littered with them—tomes and scrolls scattered in every direction, all detailing the war from seventy years past.
Yawning, he rubbed his tired eyes and reached for his robe. The moment he opened the door, an all-too-familiar voice greeted him with unbearable cheer.
"Good morning, Izikel!" Lyzah beamed, practically vibrating with energy.
He groaned, the mere sight of her enough to deepen his exhaustion. "What are you doing here? The sun hasn't even risen."
'Who keeps letting her in?' he inwardly fumed.
"Shut up and follow me. Dremlin and Sophia are waiting downstairs."
With a dramatic puff of her cheeks, she turned on her heel and marched away, leaving him no room for protest.
'Wait... Dremlin and Sophia are waiting for me?'
That jolted him awake. He threw on a simple shirt and tunic before heading down. As he stepped outside, the crisp morning air wrapped around him, sending a small shiver down his spine. The first rays of sunlight barely peeked over the horizon, painting the sky in soft hues of pink and gold.
Sure enough, standing before the grand estate were Dremlin and Sophia, their postures disciplined and expectant.
"Good morning, Lord Izikel," they greeted in unison.
He stifled a yawn. "It's hardly morning," he muttered, rubbing the remnants of sleep from his face. It felt as if he had only just closed his eyes. The life of Azreal Vau-Leotard, the once-revered prophet, had consumed his night. The man's story was too gripping, his cunning and arrogance so compelling that Izikel had devoured page after page, utterly lost in history.
"Forgive us for the early hour, Master Izikel," Dremlin said, his tone measured. "We need to begin preparations for the crusade."
Izikel tilted his head. "Preparations? What exactly do you mean?"
Dremlin met his gaze with calm resolve. "If I cannot dissuade you from going, then at the very least, we must ensure you are ready for the dangers ahead. Sophia has agreed to assist with your training over the next few days."
Sophia stepped forward and bowed, her usual armor absent. Instead, she wore a simple gray shirt tucked into a pair of fitted shorts, her blue hair tied neatly into a ponytail. The sight of her like this—so effortlessly graceful—stunned Izikel into silence. In the golden glow of dawn, she looked... radiant.
Any thought of returning to bed vanished. There was no way he could disappoint them now. Especially not with Lyzah standing there, practically bouncing on her heels with excitement.
'At least Sophia is here,' he mused with a sigh, allowing himself a small smile. 'Any time spent with her is worth it.'
"Izikel, you can't back out now," Lyzah teased, nudging his arm. "I came all this way to support you."
He raised a brow. "And why would I back out?"
"Oh, I don't know," she said innocently, tapping her chin. "Maybe because you're scared I'll be so much better than you that your pathetic efforts will look like a joke."
His brow twitched. "Are you saying you're stronger than me?"
Lyzah merely cupped her hands over her ears and hummed loudly, pointedly ignoring him.
'No. I won't let this little brat get to me.'
He turned back to Dremlin and Sophia. "When do we start?"
---
'When do we start?'
Those four words had sealed his fate.
For the past two hours, Izikel had been subjected to relentless physical torment—push-ups, pull-ups, laps around the absurdly massive manor.
'Why the hell is this house so big?! Who needs this much space?!'
He lay sprawled on the ground, chest heaving, staring up at the endless sky. He had never appreciated rest this much in his entire life.
Then, the sound of approaching footsteps made his stomach sink.
"Have you given up, Izikel?" Lyzah's voice dripped with mischief and pride.
Izikel forced himself upright, muscles screaming in protest. "Give up? Me? Of course not."
'What the hell am I saying?'
"I could even run another lap," he added, trying to sound confident. "And this time, I'll win for sure."
'Why am I saying this? It's not true at all!'
Lyzah's grin widened, her eyes sparkling with wicked amusement. "Oh? Are you sure about that?"
'Please just tell her no. Please tell her no—'
"Of course I am, but—"
She cut him off with a clap of her hands. "Then let's go! I'll even give you a head start this time."
'Hell no, I am never doing this again—'
"Unless..." She feigned a gasp. "You're scared of losing to a little girl?"
Minutes later, Izikel found himself crouched in a runner's stance, his fate sealed once more.
'What am I doing with my life?'
Lyzah's voice rang out behind him. "Alright, I'll count! When I hit ten, I'll start running. Run as far as you can! One... two... three..."
Izikel took off, legs burning, lungs protesting. His heart pounded like a war drum, every beat screaming for him to stop. But he didn't. He couldn't.
He stole a frantic glance behind him. Lyzah was nowhere in sight.
'Thank the gods... I might actually win!'
His hope soared. He pushed himself further, running beyond his limits. But then, the world started to blur. Darkness crept into his vision. His body faltered. His mind slipped away.
By the time his eyes fluttered open, he was lying on something soft. No, not something—someone.
His head rested in Lyzah's lap.
Warmth radiated from her touch, seeping into his weary muscles. He felt lighter, the crushing exhaustion fading away. His pulse, once erratic, now beat in a calm, steady rhythm.
His mind caught up to the moment, and he realized something else—his position granted him a clear, undeniable view under her skirt.
He bolted upright, face flushing. 'Who even wears a short skirt to train?!'
Lyzah tilted her head, smug. "You passed out."
He flexed his fingers. The soreness was gone. His body felt fully restored.
"You... healed me?"