The first rays of morning light barely crept over the horizon when Lucius arrived at the training grounds. The cold air bit at his skin, but he welcomed it—it helped dull the soreness in his body from the past week.
Darius Varro stood in the center of the grounds, arms crossed, watching the soldiers go through their morning drills. He hadn't acknowledged Lucius' presence yet, as if testing his patience.
Adrian stood nearby, casually leaning against a wooden post, looking entertained.
After what felt like an eternity, Darius finally turned to him.
"Pick up a sword," he ordered.
Lucius stepped forward toward the weapon rack. His fingers hovered over the polished steel blades, but before he could reach for one, Darius barked,
"Not those. Those are for warriors. You're not one yet."
Lucius frowned but followed Darius' gaze. There, on the ground, lay a training sword—a thick, dull iron blade used for beginners. Unlike the finely crafted swords in the rack, this one was heavy, its weight uneven.
He lifted it. The moment he did, his arms trembled.
It was heavier than he expected.
The First Lesson
Darius studied him for a moment before giving the next instruction.
"Hold it still."
Lucius adjusted his stance and tightened his grip. A minute passed. Then two. His arms began to burn.
The blade felt heavier with each passing second. His fingers ached. Sweat trickled down his forehead.
Five minutes in, his arms gave out, and the sword crashed to the ground.
Darius clicked his tongue. "Too weak to even hold a sword properly. And you think you can become strong?"
Lucius clenched his jaw. He bent down, picked up the sword again, and resumed the stance.
The knights in the background chuckled. "He's really struggling with a training sword?" one of them muttered.
Lucius ignored them.
Darius watched in silence. He didn't correct Lucius' stance, didn't guide him—he simply let him struggle.
Minutes later, Lucius collapsed again.
"Not even half an hour," Darius muttered. "You won't survive a single battle like this."
Lucius' breathing was ragged, but he refused to complain.
Darius sighed and turned away. "You're done for today."
Lucius' fingers tightened around the hilt. "No. Again."
Adrian raised an eyebrow, amused. Darius slowly turned back, his gaze narrowing.
"Again?"
Lucius forced himself up, his body screaming in protest.
"Again."
Darius watched for a long moment before scoffing. "Fine. But don't expect sympathy."
And so it continued.
Lucius held the sword, arms shaking, sweat dripping down his back. He collapsed. He got up. He collapsed again.
Each time, his body begged him to stop. But he refused.
By sunset, his hands were covered in blisters, and his muscles felt like they were tearing apart.
Yet, as he stood there, chest rising and falling with exhaustion, he realized—
Today, he lasted longer than yesterday.
The road to strength was brutal. But for the first time, Lucius knew—
He was walking it.