Lucan's muscles burned with every pull of the rope, the weight tied to his back digging into his shoulders like a second skin. Each step felt like dragging a boulder uphill, and the ground beneath him seemed to resist his every move. Gideon had crafted a training regime that wasn't just brutal—it was designed to break those who dared to think they could survive it.
Lucan's breath was heavy, sweat pouring down his brow as he finished yet another round of dragging boulders across the camp. He straightened, catching his breath, feeling the ache in every part of his body. He had lost count of how many times he'd been pushed to the ground, only to crawl back up, a fire burning in his gut that wouldn't let him stop.
The rest of the soldiers watched from a distance, murmuring amongst themselves. They knew better than to mock someone handpicked by Gideon for special training, but Lucan could feel their eyes on him—some curious, others doubtful.
After hours of relentless torture, he finally managed to catch Gideon's eye as the captain stood by, arms crossed, overseeing his progress.
"Captain," Lucan huffed, his voice hoarse, "when do we spar? I want to see how strong you really are."
Gideon's response was immediate. He threw his head back, letting out a deep, hearty laugh that echoed through the camp. "Spar? You think you're ready to spar me, boy?" His eyes twinkled with amusement, as if the very thought was absurd.
Lucan wiped the sweat from his face, standing straighter despite the exhaustion clinging to him. "I thought that was the point of this," he muttered under his breath, though loud enough for Gideon to hear.
Gideon walked over to him, standing close enough for Lucan to feel the weight of his presence. "You want to spar, eh? You can barely stand after pulling those weights. And you think you could last a minute with me in a fight?" He grinned, but there was a dangerous edge to it.
Lucan felt the challenge in the air, his heart pounding with excitement despite the fatigue. He didn't flinch. "Yes, I do."
Gideon's grin faded, and he stepped back, still sizing up Lucan. "Not yet, boy. You're too eager to swing a sword when you haven't even mastered your own body."
Lucan clenched his fists, fighting the frustration that bubbled up inside. He wanted to prove himself, to show that he could go toe-to-toe with the captain, the man who had conquered countless battlefields.
"Trust me," Gideon added, his tone more serious now. "If I fought you now, you'd be dead before you even drew your sword."
Lucan bit his lip, holding back a retort. Deep down, he knew the captain was right. But that didn't stop the burning desire to push harder, to be strong enough to one day stand as an equal.
Gideon clapped him on the shoulder, almost knocking him off balance. "For now, focus on surviving this training. Strength comes when you've mastered pain." Then, with a smirk, he added, "We'll spar when you're ready… if you're still standing by then."
Lucan watched as Gideon turned and walked away, his back as imposing as ever. He let out a long breath, staring at the ground before him. The path to strength was longer than he imagined, but his resolve was unshaken. One day, he'd stand face to face with Gideon in the sparring ring—and he'd win.
***
Two weeks had passed, and the relentless grind of training had molded Lucan in more ways than one. His body, once lean, had grown strong, muscles rippling under his skin with every movement. Each day was a cycle: train under Gideon's punishing regime, hunt monsters for the camp, and feast. It had become routine—an exhausting, brutal routine—but one that Lucan embraced with unyielding determination.
Every morning, Lucan would rise before dawn, his breath visible in the cold air, and begin his exercises—pulling weighted sleds, climbing ropes with nothing but his hands, sprinting until his legs felt like they'd collapse. After training, he would slip away to the outskirts of the camp, hunting whatever beasts lurked in the surrounding woods, providing food for the entire camp by evening.
At first, the other soldiers watched him with a mix of amusement and disbelief. No one else was willing to endure what Lucan did voluntarily. But day after day, as they saw his body change, saw the strength in his movements and the unwavering fire in his eyes, something shifted. His spirit became contagious.
One by one, the soldiers began to join him. First, it was just a handful—curious, inspired by Lucan's resilience. They began dragging weights beside him, running through the camp at dawn, trying to keep pace. Soon, more followed. Then, entire groups. Lyra and Rylan, ever loyal, had been there from the start, pushing through the pain alongside him. Now, the whole camp moved as one—young, weary soldiers, once hollow-eyed and hopeless, now banded together, sweat glistening on their skin as they strained and grunted through the intense exercises.
Lucan, his face set with grim determination, hardly noticed how much it had grown. He just pushed harder, a silent leader by example.
In the distance, standing at the edge of his tent, Gideon watched it all unfold. His arms were crossed, his expression unreadable as he observed the sea of soldiers following Lucan's lead. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
"This is getting interesting," Gideon muttered to himself, his eyes narrowing with a mix of amusement and admiration. The boy had managed to do something he hadn't thought possible—light a fire in the dead hearts of the Lost Legion.
As the soldiers strained and shouted through their morning drills, the once hopeless camp now buzzed with life, all thanks to Lucan's unbreakable spirit.
Gideon's sharp voice cut through the clamor of training, rising above the grunts and shouts of the soldiers.
"Lucan! Step forward."
Lucan halted mid-lift, muscles burning, sweat dripping down his face. His heart skipped a beat as he set the heavy weight aside. The other soldiers turned, watching in silence as Gideon waved him over, motioning for one of the knights to take over the training.
This was it.
Lucan wiped his brow, his pulse quickening as he followed Gideon. His thoughts raced—finally, after weeks of grueling drills and relentless strength training, he was going to see the captain's true power. His mind flashed back to the day he had asked Gideon to spar, and the captain had merely laughed at him, as if the idea was absurd.
But now, it was time.
The air felt heavier as they walked away from the camp, the distant sound of clashing swords and shouts fading behind them. Gideon led him to a secluded clearing, surrounded by towering trees that blocked out the sun, casting the area in shadow. Lucan could feel the tension mounting with each step, the weight of what was about to happen pressing down on him.
His breath hitched as they came to a stop. Gideon turned to face him, the captain's smirk barely visible under his grizzled beard.
"Ready to see what real strength looks like, boy?" Gideon's voice was low, carrying the weight of a challenge.
Lucan nodded, fists clenched at his sides. His heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline surging through his veins. He had trained for this moment, pushed himself to the brink every day, and now, he would finally face the man whose strength was legendary among the soldiers.
The captain stepped back, cracking his neck with a casual motion, his eyes glinting with something dangerous.
Lucan could feel it in the air—something big was coming.
"Show me what you've got," Gideon growled, his stance shifting as he prepared for what was to come.
Lucan took a deep breath, his muscles tensing as he readied himself. This was no ordinary sparring match. This was a test of everything he had learned—and everything he had yet to understand.
The clearing fell into a still, suffocating silence.
And then, in the next heartbeat, it began.