The training grounds had emptied as the last traces of daylight faded beyond the horizon. The distant clang of swords and voices of knights had long since fallen silent. Yet, in the darkness, one figure remained.
Lucius stood alone, his hands trembling, his legs heavy as stone. Every inch of his body burned from the day's training, but he had no intention of stopping.
Because this wasn't enough.
If he wanted his body to handle a second magic circle, if he wanted to wield magic and the sword together—he needed more.
More strength. More endurance. More pain.
And so, his true training began.
Lucius sat cross-legged on the cold ground, closing his eyes. Magic surged from his core, flowing into his battered muscles and torn skin.
This was the first time he attempted this—using magic to accelerate his body's healing.
But this wasn't ordinary healing magic.
Most mages used healing to completely mend their wounds. Lucius did not.
Instead, he only healed just enough to continue training. His body would still ache, the pain would linger—but it would not break.
The energy flickered within him, wild and untamed. Sweat beaded down his forehead as he forcefully controlled the magic, limiting it, focusing only on repairing what was necessary.
The moment the process ended, he gritted his teeth and stood up again.
"No one will help me. No one will care. This is my fight alone."
And with that, he began.
Lucius started with the sword stance drills.
Earlier that morning, he could barely hold the training sword for five minutes. Now, he forced himself to stand longer, even as his arms screamed in pain.
His grip tightened. His shoulders shook. His mind willed him to drop the sword, but he refused.
"Just one more second."
One second turned into two.
Two turned into ten.
Ten turned into a full minute.
By the time he finally lowered the sword, his breath was ragged, but a small, almost imperceptible smile formed on his lips.
He had already improved.
Next was endurance.
He ran laps around the empty training ground, his breath coming out in short bursts, his muscles begging for relief. When his legs nearly collapsed, he used his magic again—just enough to keep going.
This was the balance he sought.
A body strong enough to endure. A will powerful enough to persist.
His heart pounded. The cold air bit at his skin.
But this was what he needed.
This was what would make him different.
This was the path only he could walk.
By the time the first light of morning crept across the sky, Lucius was exhausted beyond words. His body ached more than ever before, his magic reserves were running low, and yet—
He felt stronger.
A small step. A tiny improvement. But an improvement nonetheless.
"Not enough."
His lips curled into a smirk.
But it's a start.
And tomorrow night, he would push even further.