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Chapter 8 - Training

  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.”

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