I stood in the bathroom, my mind racing with everything I needed to do. The forest expedition loomed, and preparation felt overwhelming. The cold marble tiles bit at my bare feet, grounding me in the moment.
After a while, I stepped into the shower. Cold water slammed my cuts, stinging like needles, washing away yesterday's blood and sweat. The fresh scent of soap washing away the reek of sweat from me.
My bones creaked, muscles sore from the previous day's training. Moving hurt, but I had no choice.
After a few minutes under the icy stream, I stepped out and dried myself with a rough towel.
Back in my room, with a towel wrapped around me, I noticed the bed was made and the space tidied.
Someone had cleaned up. The room smelled faintly of some flower extract.
Most aristocrats had personal maids, but mine was fired as a punishment for my incompetence. Still, it seemed some perks remained.
Glancing around, I caught the time on the ornate wall clock, its hands glinting in the dawn light. Nearly 5:50.
I'd spent far longer lost in thought than I realized.
Panic spiked. I rushed to the wardrobe, pulling out simple pants and a white shirt, their fabric soft against my raw skin, and dressed quickly.
By the time I finished, it was 5:55. Heart pounding, I bolted from the room, racing through the palace's endless corridors. My footsteps echoed off polished marble under the flicker of dawn light through arched windows.
Navigating the maze-like structure took time, but I burst outside, still running, heading for the knights' training grounds at the back.
The crisp morning air filled my lungs, carrying the faint scent of dew-soaked grass.
Soon, Dren and the others emerged through the thinning mist. The distant clank of swords rang out, sharp against the hum of dawn insects.
I skidded to a stop, hands on my knees, panting heavily. My breath fogged in the cool air.
Dren eyed me, his face stern, his gruff voice cutting through the morning quiet. "Two minutes late, young lord. Twenty laps around the grounds as punishment."
My stomach sank. My body was already wrecked from yesterday, and running here had drained me.
Twenty laps felt impossible, but I had no choice.
I met Dren's gaze and nodded. "Alright, I'll do it. Sorry for being late."
He gave a curt nod and turned to the other knights, who were training nearby.
I spotted Tomas, swinging his sword, learning the standard sword manual that all Arventis knights used, the blade catching slants of early sunlight.
He caught my glance, held it briefly, then returned to his practice.
His focus seemed sharper than yesterday. Maybe failing to crush me, a supposed cripple, had stung his pride.
I tore my eyes away and jogged to the edge of the grounds, starting my laps. The uneven grass tugged at my boots, slowing each step.
A few minutes in, my hopes crumbled. I'd half-expected a system window to flicker before my eyes, assigning the laps as a quest with some grand reward, like in novels having names similar to "Level Up Alone" or "Endless Ascension". Complete a task, gain power.
But my system stayed silent. No glowing screen, no chime of rewards. Disappointment sank like a stone in my chest, but I kept running.
The first lap was manageable. I paced myself, trying not to burn out.
By the fifth lap, fatigue crept in, but I pushed through, legs growing heavier. The air tasted of dust kicked up by my steps.
Halfway through the tenth lap, pain clawed at my calves. Sweat drenched my shirt, stinging my eyes.
Time dragged. By the fifteenth lap, my legs trembled, each step a battle on the uneven grass. My throat burned, dry as ash.
I couldn't stop. Wouldn't stop. The future held far worse than this: monsters, trials, the academy's dangers.
If I couldn't handle this pain, I'd never survive what was coming.
Nearly twenty minutes after starting, I neared the final lap. My breathing was ragged, muscles screaming, throat parched as if I'd swallowed sand.
But I kept going. Finishing the last lap, I collapsed, legs giving out beneath me. The grass was cool against my burning skin.
I lay there, vision swimming, on the verge of passing out.
Dren appeared above me, holding a water bottle, his silhouette sharp against the rising sun. I grabbed it, gulping it down in one go.
The water flooded my dried throat, pulling me back from the edge. I felt alive again.
Still panting and sweat-soaked, I managed to stand, steadying my breathing. The scent of earth and sweat clung to me.
Dren spoke, his voice tinged with surprise. "I didn't expect you to finish, young lord. I figured you'd collapse by the fifteenth lap."
His uncertainty gave me a small spark of pride. He continued, "Since you're done, take a fifteen-minute break. Then, do thirty push-ups and twenty pull-ups. Report back when you're finished."
My heart sank. More training? This was brutal, I wanted to protest, but I had no right to refuse.
I stumbled to a corner of the grounds and sank onto the grass. An old oak tree offered its shade, its rough bark scraping my back.
My muscles throbbed. Each breath rasped. My eyes almost closed due to being so tired but the clank of swords and knights' grunts echoed nearby kept me awake.
After a few minutes, I forced myself up for the push-ups. The dirt was hard under my palms, filled with dust.
The first rep burned my shoulders. By the tenth, my arms shook, sweat dripping into my eyes. I gritted my teeth, counting to thirty.
My chest hit the ground, heaving. My tongue stuck out like a dog's.
The pull-up bar was next, I gripped it, the metal cold and slick. My first pull-up strained my arms, muscles screaming already fatigued by the push-ups.
The bar creaked. Sunlight stung my eyes. By the tenth, my biceps quivered. At fifteen, my hands slipped, skin scraping. I pushed through the final five, dropping hard. My arms felt dead.
I staggered to Dren, legs wobbling. The grounds were alive now, multiple knights sparring, blades flashing. My shirt stuck to my skin, soaked.
Dren stood watching, arms crossed. "Done?" he asked, voice gruff.
I nodded, panting.
He squinted at me. "Not bad. Rest twenty minutes. Then you spar Tomas. Wooden blades. Don't go too far like yesterday."
I wanted to retort, saying that it was Tomas who went too far, but I knew well enough saying such things would serve no purpose.
I glanced towards Tomas, his sword cutting the air, sharp and fast. His eyes met mine, cold, prepared.
Yesterday's sparring left bruises still aching. Now, with my body wrecked, facing him was suicide.
I swallowed, fear bitter in my mouth. "Understood."
Dren turned, instructing another knight. I shuffled to the oak, collapsing against it.
My hands shook as I flexed them. Tomas's smirk from yesterday haunted me. This was his chance to crush me.
Twenty minutes vanished. Then Tomas grabbed a wooden blade, its edge scarred. He stretched, determined. My heart pounded.
Dren shouted, calling us to the circle. I grabbed a wooden sword, its weight much lighter than the real sword yesterday, the one that trembled in my hands. Knights paused, watching, their eyes sharp.
Tomas stepped into the circle, blade low. His stare burned, prepared to defeat me.
Dren raised his hand. "Begin!"