Scathach and Artoria sat cross-legged on the ninth floor of the pagoda, deep in meditation. Despite their stillness, powerful changes were rippling through their bodies—transformations neither of them had expected.
Scathach's face remained impassive, but deep within her, something shifted. The immortality she had earned through the slaughter of gods, cursed beings, and unholy creatures had never come without a cost. Her body and soul bore the weight of countless curses, a torment that few could even fathom.
Food had long since lost its taste, reduced to ashes on her tongue. Nightmares, crafted from the vengeance of the slain, haunted her sleep, forcing her to relive battles soaked in blood. Even the simple sensation of warmth had been stolen from her, leaving her forever trapped in an existence that felt as cold and lifeless as a grave.
She had endured it all without breaking—until time itself began to erode her. Like stone worn down by the relentless drip of water, she had eventually crumbled. In the future, her loneliness would consume her, leaving her stranded in the Land of Shadows, unable to even take her own life. That fate had once seemed inevitable.
But now… something was changing.
She exhaled slowly, eyes flickering open to see Artoria seated across from her, experiencing her own transformation.
Unlike Scathach, Artoria's immortality had not been earned through battle—it had been forced upon her. The moment she pulled Caliburn from the stone, she had been bound by its curse. Forever unaging, forever locked in a body that never matured. A child forced to bear the weight of a kingdom.
Until now.
A faint flush colored Artoria's cheeks as she clenched her fists, her breathing unsteady. Her body was changing—growing. The years that had been stolen from her were finally catching up. She could feel it in the subtle aches of stretching muscles, the slight dizziness of a body forced into rapid development. Her frame lengthened, her limbs grew more refined, and even the armor she had always worn felt tighter than before. She looked down at herself, noting the unfamiliar weight on her chest, her once-flat torso beginning to take on the curves of womanhood.
Scathach smirked, observing her with an amused glint in her eyes. "It seems your time as a little king is finally over."
Artoria's face burned red as she shot her a glare. "I—I did not ask for this!"
"You did not have to," Scathach replied, stretching her arms as she stood. "Growth comes to all warriors who push past their limits. Consider this your reward for choosing to follow Ryan."
Artoria huffed, clearly not convinced, but before she could retort, they heard footsteps approaching.
Medea entered, arms crossed, her usual calculating gaze scanning the room before settling on Ryan, who had followed behind her. Unlike Artoria and Scathach, she had not suffered under a curse of immortality—but her own burden had been just as cruel.
She had been used, manipulated by the gods, her will bent to serve the whims of others. Aphrodite had twisted her mind, forcing her into devotion for Jason and the Argonauts, only to discard her like a broken tool. She had been robbed of her agency, compelled to betray her own people, her own family.
But Ryan had given her something she had never dreamed of: freedom.
A simple blessing—mental immunity. No god, no mortal, no force in existence could ever control her again. Her mind belonged to her and her alone.
And for that, she had made sure to express her gratitude in a way that left Ryan momentarily stunned.
Even now, the memory of her lips pressing against his lingered, a heated, silent promise of her appreciation.
Scathach chuckled, sensing the shift in the air. "I see you've been receiving quite the rewards yourself, Ryan."
Ryan, still recovering from the unexpected display of affection earlier, coughed into his fist. "I just thought she deserved something for everything she's been through."
Medea smirked, clearly pleased with his reaction. "And for once, a man who actually delivers on his promises. Perhaps I should keep a closer eye on you, Ryan."
Artoria, still flustered from her own transformation, rolled her eyes. "Enough of this. What's next?"
Ryan stood before his group, arms crossed as he surveyed them. It had only been a week, but he was eager to hear how everyone was progressing.
"We continue training. How is everyone coming along?" he asked.
Scathach exhaled, stretching her shoulders before answering. "Far beyond my expectations. Your artifacts make teaching almost effortless. The hollows are blank slates, absorbing combat techniques at an extreme rate, and the rest of you..." She glanced at Ryan and the girls, a rare look of satisfaction crossing her face. "I expected more trouble correcting your habits, but you all adapt so quickly that I only need to point out a mistake once before it's corrected. You're eliminating bad habits at a pace that would normally take months, if not years."
Ryan smirked. "I'll take that as a compliment."
Scathach's gaze sharpened. "Do not let it go to your head. I am merely stating facts."
Despite her strict tone, it was clear even she was impressed. Teaching had never been so smooth before. Typically, training a warrior required breaking deeply ingrained combat preferences, something that took time and patience. But with this group, she barely needed to repeat herself. Their ability to adapt was nothing short of monstrous.
More than that, even her own skills—once stagnant after years of mastery—were evolving. It was exhilarating.
Artoria, standing nearby, nodded in agreement. "I have no complaints. They would all make exemplary knights. Their discipline and eagerness to learn are refreshing." A small smile tugged at her lips. Over the past week, she had bonded with many of the group members, and despite her initial reservations, she found herself enjoying the camaraderie.
Meanwhile, Medea had taken on students of her own. With Hermione, Fleur, Luna, Yue, and Rachel under her wing, she had formed something of a magical elite class. Each of them was a prodigy in their own right, eager to learn from a legendary witch.
"Their talent is exceptional," Medea admitted, adjusting the sleeves of her robe. "They grasp new concepts with remarkable speed, especially Hermione and Yue. It's rare to find students who can challenge a teacher's pace, but I find myself constantly needing to refine my lessons to keep up with them."
Ryan chuckled. "Sounds like you're enjoying yourself."
Medea smirked. "Perhaps. If nothing else, it's a far better use of my talents than wasting away under the whims of gods."
Ryan glanced around at his growing team—each of them powerful in their own way, each of them pushing past their limits.
"Good," he said. "Then let's keep this momentum going. We're just getting started."