Vaden returned to his room, his mind still reeling from the chaotic events of the day. After swallowing hard, he took a moment to appreciate the meal in front of him. The food was far superior to the stale bread they usually served; this was a welcome change, especially since he knew he would need plenty of energy for the challenges that lay ahead.
Despite the comfort of a decent meal, a nagging unease churned in his stomach. He was overwhelmed by the anticipation of the trials awaiting him. He glanced around the shared quarters, and an icy feeling washed over him as he noticed the empty bunk where Blake usually slept. The realization hit him hard—Blake hadn't survived the first round. But even that bitter thought was quickly drowned by the chatter of the others, who seemed unnaturally excited about their fate.
As Vaden watched his fellow trainees mingle, a sense of dread settled in. **They're like puppets**, he thought, observing the fervor in their eyes—a loyalty to House Draktharr that felt eerily similar to blind devotion. He sighed heavily, feeling the weight of his own solitude in contrast to the camaraderie around him. **Tomorrow will be a turning point**, he told himself, unwavering in his resolve. **Good things come in disguises.** Yet, the thought felt hollow as he pondered what lay ahead.
Eventually, weariness tugged at him, drawing him into a restless slumber. But sleep offered no reprieve. He found himself trapped in a dark room, strapped tightly to a cold, unyielding chair. A mad dark mage hovered over him, his features twisted into a cruel smile that sent shivers down Vaden's spine. The mage's eyes burned with an unsettling glow, and his voice echoed sinisterly in the silence as he muttered chaotic incantations. **Vaden felt the shackles tightening, constricting his very essence.**
Desperation surged through him as he fought against the restraints, panic clawing at his chest. The shadows danced around him, whispers of dark magic wrapping around his thoughts. Just as the mage leaned in closer, ready to enact some unspeakable fate upon him, Vaden jolted awake, drenched in sweat and gasping for breath. The remnants of fear clung to him like a shadow, and he struggled to shake off the nightmare as he washed his face, trying to ground himself in reality.
Checking the time, he realized he was lucky to have woken up thirty minutes early. Otherwise, the consequences could have been dire. Throwing on his clothes, he hurried to join his fellow trainees, each step feeling heavier with the weight of uncertainty.
At breakfast, the air buzzed with a mix of nerves and anticipation. Vaden observed the group around him, their faces flushed with excitement, while he felt isolated in his apprehension. He couldn't afford to concern himself with anyone else's fate; his focus was sharpened solely on his own survival.
After the meal, they set off toward the dark forest, the trees looming ominously as they marched in formation. Vaden's heart raced. He was determined not to let fear cloud his judgment. Soon, a commanding voice broke through the chatter.
A man stepped forward, his firm gaze scanning the assemblage. He appeared to be in his early forties, dressed in a striking mix of black and white that matched the ominous aura surrounding him. Vaden's breath hitched as the instructor's hand rested purposefully on the hilt of his sword.
"My name is Kevin," he announced, his eyes glinting with a mix of authority and menace. **His gaze was sharp, and the corners of his mouth barely quirked as he assessed the group.** "I will be your instructor. Understand this: I won't coddle any of you. If you're weak, you'll die. Your first training exercise is simple: run."
The crowd murmured with a mix of disbelief and dread as Kevin pointed dramatically toward the edge of the cliff. "You will be teleported to the top, where giant boulders await. Once the boulders are released, you will run for your lives. If you die, you're done." His tone was cold and unwavering, his expression set like stone.
Vaden felt his heart race again, a wall of panic rising within him. He had to survive this. He couldn't think about the others, not now. As the world around him spun in a blur of nervous energy, he prepared himself for the worst.
Before he knew it, the ground beneath him rippled, and in an instant, he was standing at the cliff's edge. The air was tense, and he could distinctly see the looming boulders above, dark shadowsabove him**, shifting slightly as if waiting for the signal to unleash their destructive power.
"Run!" Vaden shouted, his voice rising above the apprehension that hung thick in the air. Panic surged through him as he felt both fear and adrenaline flooding his veins. **There was no time to waste.**
As if on cue, the boulders began to roll down the slope, their colossal forms moving with deadly intent. Vaden's instincts kicked in, and he sprinted forward, the ground trembling beneath him. With each pounding step, he forced himself to block out the thoughts of his fellow trainees. **This was about survival.**
The boulders thundered behind him, their size and weight creating a cacophony that reminded him of the nightmare he had just escaped. **What was it now?** Vaden couldn't afford distractions. He dashed across the uneven terrain, the chill of the air biting at his skin as he maneuvered between the twisted roots and gnarled trees that littered the forest floor.
Vaden barreled through the dense foliage of the forest, branches whipping against his skin and roots snagging at his feet. Each stride felt electrifying as if every ounce of his life's energy was propelling him forward. He didn't think about anything but the escape—the boulders thundering behind him had transformed into mere echoes, swallowed by the pounding of his heart.
He reached the forest's edge, bursting forth into the clearing just as a massive boulder came crashing down behind him, narrowly missing him by mere inches. Vaden stumbled to the ground, breathless and gasping, the adrenaline still coursing through him like wildfire. He had made it.
"Surprisingly, you all survived," Kevin boomed, his voice slicing through the haze of exhaustion. Vaden lifted his head to see the instructor standing with arms crossed, a flicker of something—perhaps approval?—passing over his stern face. "Good. Now you understand that in any situation, you must never let your guard down."
The weight of Kevin's words settled heavily in the air. A chill ran down Vaden's spine. **Anything could happen.** He felt the strain of that reality settle somewhere deep inside him, a reminder of how close he had come to failure.
"You need to understand," Kevin continued, pacing before them like a predator sizing up its prey. "Everything we teach you, everything we order you to do—putting your life on the line is not just a saying; it's a fact. Survival isn't guaranteed. You'll have to fight for it at every turn."
Vaden pushed himself up, absorbing the instructor's words. This wasn't just a training ground; it was a battlefield—a place where mistakes could lead to dire consequences. The thrill of speed and newfound strength wasn't just an advantage; it was a responsibility.
"Now, your warm-up party is over," Kevin declared, his tone shifting into something more imposing. "Training starts now. First, let's work on the way you wield your sword."
He gestured to a nearby rack filled with weapons and turned to the trainees, gesturing for them to gather around. "Wielding a sword isn't just about raw strength; it's about balance, technique, and control. Let me explain the fundamentals."
Vaden listened intently as Kevin began to demonstrate, holding a sword in his hand.
"First, your grip. Hold the sword firmly but not so tightly that it causes you to tense up. You need to be able to maneuver it quickly, so let the sword rest comfortably in your palm." He adjusted his stance, showing them the proper way to hold it. "Your dominant hand should be near the hilt, while your other hand grips lower down the blade, ready to provide support. This allows for better control and power."
Vaden mimicked Kevin's hold, adjusting his hands accordingly, feeling the weight of the sword against his body.
"Next, stance. Position your feet shoulder-width apart, with your lead foot slightly forward. This gives you stability and makes it easier to move in any direction." Kevin shifted his weight, demonstrating fluid movements. "Bend your knees slightly; this will lower your center of gravity, helping you maintain balance during combat."
Vaden bent his knees and shifted his weight, replicating the stance as best as he could.
"Now, let's talk about movement. Whether you're attacking or defending, always keep your body agile. Use your legs to spring forward or backward. This is how you dodge an attack or slip in for a strike," Kevin emphasized, moving gracefully through an array of offensive and defensive maneuvers.
"Lastly, every strike should come from your core," he instructed. "Engage your whole body—rotate your hips, pivot your feet. The power of your swing should resonate through your entire body, not just your arms." He swung the sword with precision, the blade slicing through the air with lethal grace.
Vaden felt a thrill of anticipation swell in him, the mechanics of swordsmanship igniting a spark of determination. Suddenly, he could envision himself moving like Kevin—fluid, powerful, in control.
"Impressive, right?" Kevin said, surveying the enraptured faces of the trainees. "But it doesn't end there. Fighting isn't just technical; it requires mental focus. Observe your opponent, anticipate their moves. You must think three steps ahead to survive."
Then, with a sharp wave of his hand, Kevin summoned something that made Vaden's stomach drop. Undead skeletons appeared as if called forth from the very soil itself, clawing their way into existence. They stood before each trainee, empty eye sockets glaring like menacing voids, ready for combat.
"One for each of you," Kevin stated matter-of-factly. "The undead will help you refine your skills. Trust me; you won't be bored."