Sword Brother

The next day was worse.

And the day after that… even worse.

Every morning, Gaël woke up with the feeling that a hammer had shattered him into pieces. His muscles screamed at every movement, his skin was marbled with bruises ranging from deep violet to sickly yellow, and even breathing reminded him of the ever-present pain consuming his body. His hands, covered in burst blisters and raw flesh, trembled so much that he struggled to close his fists.

But he kept going.

Because stopping meant admitting defeat, and that idea had become unbearable.

Before… before the Monarch's attack, Gaël had been nothing more than a drifting boy. He wandered aimlessly, skipped classes, spent his days roaming with Kaëlan, slipping away from responsibilities like escaping a bad dream. His stain had marked him as a condemned man on borrowed time. He knew that one day, sooner or later, it would consume him, dragging him into madness like so many before him. His mother knew it. Kaëlan knew it. He knew it himself. Few understood why he acted so recklessly, why he seemed so determined to bite into life before it devoured him in return. But those who knew did not blame him.

Because, to them, he was already lost.

So why fight, when the ending was already written?

But that carefree attitude had crumbled, shattered under the weight of the screams, the flames, and the blood of Kernéval. Shattered by the Severance that had put an end to the stain.

And now, something was changing within him.

A fire, an instinct he had never known.

It was no longer just about surviving.

It was about returning home as a warrior. A man who would be looked at with respect, not with pity or fear. A strong man.

Like his father had been before him.

And if there was one person determined to put this resolve to the test, it was Hector Dicon.

A veteran student, a ruthless instructor… Hector showed no mercy. His gaze, cold as a blade fresh from the forge, reflected nothing but relentless discipline. He wasn't trying to train them.

He wanted to break them.

Each day, the exercises grew harder, more relentless, designed to crush every last ounce of weakness left in their bodies and minds. Endless runs under pouring rain, relentless sparring matches, push-ups that only ended when their bodies collapsed from exhaustion.

And just when they thought they had reached their limits, Hector demanded even more.

"Faster, faster! Do you think the Umbra will give you time to catch your breath? Do you think death will hand you a handkerchief and say, 'Take a break for a moment'? No, no, no! Move, or go running back to your mothers!"

The ground was soaked, turned into a treacherous, slippery mud beneath their exhausted feet. Every step became a struggle, every fall a cruel reminder that, in Hector's eyes, their endurance was never enough.

The weakest ones collapsed, but Hector didn't spare them a glance.

"Get up!" His voice cracked through the cold air like a whip. "You're allowed to fall… but only if it's to never get back up. So, have you made your choice?"

Trembling hands, scraped raw from repeated falls, clawed at the drenched earth, searching for support, a strength that no longer came from within but from a desperate instinct to survive.

Some fought their way back to their feet, swaying, their breath ragged from the effort.

Others couldn't.

They remained on their knees, panting, their gazes empty, fists clenched against the mud as if holding onto the ground could keep them from giving up.

"This… this is inhuman!" one student gasped, his voice breaking under exhaustion, his body slumped on the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.

Hector slowly turned to him, the shadow of a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Oh?" His tone was almost amused, a cold gleam in his eyes. "Shall we ask an Altered if they think this is fair?"

"But…"

"Silence. Stand up or get out. Here, you move forward, or you leave."

Another student, still on his knees, spat into the mud, his arms trembling.

"Fuck… I can't…"

"You're right. You're nothing but trash."

The student lifted his gaze, and in his eyes, there was no defiance. No rebellion. Only bitter resignation.

But Hector had no pity to offer.

"You don't need to stay here for that. Go find a rope and hang yourself from a tree. At least it'll serve as training for the next ones."

A shiver ran through the group.

Even those who had learned to endure his words like lashes felt a new weight settle on their shoulders.

The student didn't answer. He lowered his head.

Hector clicked his tongue, shaking his head.

"Pathetic. The rest of you, follow me. You still have a run to finish."

The insults, the shouts, the impassive stares from those watching from afar… everything was designed to push them to their breaking point.

And some broke.

They had started as seventeen.

By the end of the fifth day, only six remained.

Those who gave up didn't leave with their heads held high. They wept, they begged to be sent home. Hector, without a single word of comfort, dismissed them with a mere flick of his hand.

Because to him, only those who deserved to continue mattered.

And Gaël… was still standing. Swaying. Trembling. But standing. Kaëlan too.

What surprised Gaël wasn't his physical endurance.

It was that voice inside him.

That relentless whisper, louder than the pain:

'Keep going.'

'One more step.'

'You didn't come here to fail.'

'Not now.'

'Not after all this.'

Kaëlan, beside him, was struggling just as much. But he was still laughing, even through the grimaces of pain.

"By all the gods…" he gasped after another grueling round of dodges, his elbows scraped raw, his legs trembling. "I wasn't ready for the Golden Tree's torture club… but you know what? We're still standing, huh?"

Gaël allowed himself a faint smile.

"Yeah… still standing."

And he straightened up, refusing to give in.

By the eighth day, only four of them remained. Gaël, Kaëlan, Léoric Vane, an athletic guy with ash-blond hair, and Varrek Solen, short, stocky, brown-haired, and solid as a rock.

"Eight days… and I feel like I got trampled by a horde of brutes," Kaëlan panted, arms resting on his knees. "You think they'd just finish us off if we collapsed right here, right now?"

Gaël raised an eyebrow, still breathless.

"No need to finish us. Hector will just watch us die."

A rough chuckle escaped Kaëlan, but he forced himself to sit up, groaning in pain.

What bound the last four together wasn't just tenacity.

It was shared horror.

They had all seen the Monarch.

They had all felt that pure terror, that suffocating weight of the Umbra crushing the very air around them. They knew what it was to be powerless against the inevitable. And not one of them ever wanted to feel that again.

So no matter the pain, no matter the screaming, they clenched their teeth and pushed forward.

Because deep down, they knew the truth: the real test wasn't this training hall.

It was waiting for them elsewhere, lurking in the shadows of the world.

And when it came…

They had no choice but to be ready.

On the tenth day, the infernal training finally ended.

"Ten days… And I'm still alive. It's official, I'm immortal," Kaëlan groaned, sprawled on the ground, wiping sweat from his forehead.