Stark’s
body, skeletal and malnourished, was far from ready. Krul’s meals,
hearty and surprisingly well-prepared, soon restored some strength
and fattened his frail frame.
Once
Stark was fully healed, the physical conditioning began. Despite
being a mage, Krul had a firm grasp of close-quarters combat—an
skill for any high-class mage to survive against warriors and
swordsmen in dire situations.
Stark’s
training focused on building raw physical strength: endless running,
body-weight exercises, and enduring harsh conditions.
“Why
am I running in the dark?” Stark asked during the first day.
“To
train your senses,” Krul replied flatly.
“What
if I get injured?”
“Injured?”
Krul raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk on his lips. “I’ll heal
you. Before, your body was too broken for swift recovery, but now..." He shrugged. “You’ll be fine. Prepare yourself, child.”
With
that, Stark was thrust into the maze-like cave network, told only to
run as fast as he could. The darkness was absolute, the twisting
paths unforgiving. He slammed into rock walls, stumbled over loose
rocks, and fell hard against the cold, rocky ground.
By
the end of the first day, Stark crawled back to the starting point,
his nose broken, his body battered and bleeding. He collapsed at
Krul’s
feet, barely conscious.
Krul
crouched, looking him over with a deadpan expression. “Hm...
why are you this injured?”
Stark
tried to answer, but his words were drowned by the blood loss.
Without
waiting for a reply, Krul extended his palm. A golden light enveloped
Stark, outlining every cut, bruise, and fracture. Slowly, the
injuries mended, his nose snapping back into place as if the damage
had never been done.
Stark
gasped in shock, but Krul simply stood, arms crossed.
“Now,
get up and start your body-weight exercises,” he ordered.
More days pass. Stark
trips and falls every now and then. Though the numbers of falls and
injuries had been significantly reduced from his first few days
running. The falls reduced due to his mind getting used to the route.
He
was subjected to body-weight exercises until his arms and legs
trembled like jelly, leaving him huffing on the ground.
“Is
this your limit?” Krul’s voice was devoid of sympathy as he
glanced down at his collapsed figure.
Stark
couldn’t
form a single word. He gasped for breath, his chest heaving as sweat
pooled beneath.
“Take
eight hours to rest,” Krul said after a moment’s thought. “Then
we’ll repeat the same regimen.”
Eight
hours?
Stark groaned inwardly, too exhausted to voice his thoughts. What
have I gotten myself into?
Time
passed, and Stark gradually began to adapt to the exercises. His once
frail and skeletal frame started to harden, muscles forming where
there had been none. The healing spells Krul used on him after every
session played a significant role. Each spell not only repaired torn
muscles but also stimulated their growth, accelerating Stark’s
progress far beyond what ordinary training could achieve.
Despite
the advantage, the exercises didn’t
become easier. As Stark hit each milestone, Krul increased the
intensity without hesitation. The boy pushed himself to his limits
and beyond, desperate to match the devil’s crazy standards.
While
he eventually mastered the body-weight exercises, the endless running
through the dark cave network was still a challenge. Each turn was a
trial of his focus.
Stark
still tripped and fell, bruising himself. But the number of falls
steadily decreased. His feet grew lighter as his body memorized the
route and his mind adjusted to the darkness.
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One
night, after a particularly long run, he collapsed at the starting
point, drenched in sweat.
Krul
stood nearby, arms crossed. “No
injuries?” he remarked.
“Let’s
up the difficulty,” Krul said, a sly smile spreading.
“Huh?”
Stark blinked, unsure of what was coming.
Krul
cast
Kraft
as his hand, glowing a deep brown. The ground beneath them trembled
violently; dust fell from the ceiling. Stark shielded his eyes from the dust as the
cave rumbled, the echoes bouncing through the network of passages.
When
the shaking finally subsided, Stark glanced back toward the entrance.
It looked narrower, almost as if the rock had closed in.
“The
paths are much smaller now,” Krul declared, a hint of pride in his
voice. “I sealed some of the older routes and created new ones.
That’s your next challenge.”
Stark
stared at him wide-eyed as he spoke with enthusiasm. This
man is insane.
“Rest
up,” Krul added casually, as though he hadn’t just turned the
cave into a labyrinth. “I’m going hunting.”
As
Krul disappeared into the desert, Stark slumped against the wall, his
mind racing. His body, though stronger, ached from the training. His
hair was growing back, and the mirror of his reflection in the drinking water pools showed a taller, more defined figure. The meals had done
wonders for him, too.
Krul’s
cooking was leagues better than the rancid gruel Stark had been fed
at the slave camp. The devil’s stews and roasted meats were hearty
and flavorful, made from animals Stark had never seen before. One
such creature had a wheat-colored shell, peculiar drooping ears, and a
rugged, short tail. Its meat was dark red, almost crimson, but
surprisingly tender when cooked.
After
several more days of training, Stark was beginning to adapt to the
labyrinth. His senses sharpened with each run, allowing him to
partially anticipate the obstacles ahead. Still, he stumbled and
scraped himself often, but his progress was visible.
Krul
intentionally made the network much longer and with more turns to
throw him off track but he managed to adapt
With
only a few minor injuries, Stark finally reached the endpoint,
collapsing with his hands on his knees.
He
gasped for air. “I...
did it...”
Krul
watched him with a raised eyebrow, snapping his fingers. A soft
golden glow enveloped Stark, mending his cuts and bruises almost
instantly.
“Hm...
You’re doing well,” Krul praised. "Almost no injuries today."
Stark’s
eyes brightened at the praise. It was rare for Krul to offer any
acknowledgment of his efforts.
Krul
studied him for a moment, silently reassessing his earlier judgment.
He had expected the boy to quit after the first day, but Stark’s
persistence had proven him wrong.
I
was wrong…
perhaps this child has more potential than I thought.
“Child,
do you know how to read and write?” Krul asked suddenly.
Stark
hesitated. “No…”
“But
you speak Kastari fluently,” Krul noted.
“I
learned it by listening to others at the camp,” Stark admitted.
“I
see,” Krul mused. “In that case, I’m adding a learning session
between your training routines. You need to learn how to read and
write Kastari at the very least.”
Thus,
Stark took his first steps toward learning. Krul began by teaching
him the alphabet of Kastari, blending lessons with stories of the
language’s
origins.
“So,
Child, Kastari was formed as a simplified subset of Biyin,” Krul
explained.
“What’s
Biyin?” Stark asked curiously.
“Biyin
is an ancient language spoken by the people of the Great Sands during
the Mythical Era,” Krul said. “It is my native tongue. I speak
Kastari now only to communicate with you.”
“So
why did Biyin get replaced?”
“Complexity,
Child. Biyin is intricate, heavily contextual, and difficult to master. Kastari,
as a simplified subset, became more accessible to the majority. Over
time, Biyin was pushed out and nearly forgotten.”
Krul
handed Stark a book. “Practice
your writing in this. Write anything you wish; the goal is to improve
your comprehension and fluency.”
Stark
nodded, taking the book carefully.
During
one of their lessons, Stark’s
eyes were drawn to Krul’s hands as the devil gestured at a page. On
his palms were etched characters—similar to Kastari but distinctly
different—biyin perhaps. Each palm bore a unique character.
Stark
hesitated, unsure of how to voice his question. His gaze lingered on
Krul’s
palms, the markings etched into the skin.
Krul
noticed and raised an eyebrow. “Are
you curious, Child?”
"Um...
sort of,” Stark mumbled, shifting nervously. “What are those
markings?”
With
a slight smirk, Krul turned his palms upward, displaying them more
clearly. “These
are glyphs.”
“Glyphs?”
“They’re
characters in Biyin used to invoke spells,” Krul explained.
“Normally, you carve glyphs in the air like this.”
He
traced his fingers through the air, leaving trails of a character, which then materialized
into a glowing magic circle. With a glow, conjuring a small violet
flame that flickered above his palm.
Stark’s
eyes widened, captivated. “So, is it different for each spell?”
“In
a way,” Krul nodded.
“Then
why do you only have one in each palm?”
Krul
chuckled. “At
my level, there’s little need to rely on multiple glyphs. These two
cover most situations—around 90%, I’d say.” His face grew smug.
“For the rest, I use instant casting.”
“Instant
casting?” Stark’s brow furrowed.
Krul
stepped back and demonstrated, carving two glyphs into the air. The
first conjured another violet flame via a glowing magic circle, while
the second flame appeared instantly in his other hand, bypassing the
circle entirely.
Stark’s
jaw dropped. “Whoa… That’s incredible.”
Krul’s
grin widened. “Now you understand the difference.”
“So,
how do yo—”
“Enough
distractions, Child.” Krul cut him off with a light smack to the
head. “Get back to studying.”
