The Valkary's training began at dawn.
This wasn't like their previous training. This was war preparation. There were no warm-ups. No easing into it. From the moment they entered their respective training grounds, they were expected to either adapt or break.
Each of them had been assigned to a mentor—not just any warrior, but legends in their own right.
And by the time it was over, none of them would be the same.
---
The training hall of Squad Three was nothing like the structured barracks of the Royal Capital.
It was raw, built entirely from stone and reinforced steel, with massive pillars that bore the scars of battles past. The air smelled of sweat, blood, and discipline.
Fenrick stood before his new mentor.
Commander Osric Volg—the greatest martial artist in Astria.
He was massive, built like a warship, his coat draped over his shoulders like a general surveying his army. His wild gray hair and scarred face carried years of battle, yet his smirk was full of untamed energy.
"Fenrick, huh?" Osric grinned. "You any good at getting your ass kicked?"
Fenrick smirked back. "Wouldn't know. Never happened before."
Osric burst into laughter.
"I like you!" His fist clenched, his muscles flexing with raw, monstrous strength. "Let's see if that changes."
And then—he vanished.
Before Fenrick could react—a fist slammed into his gut.
BOOM.
The force sent shockwaves through the hall, cracking the stone beneath Fenrick's feet. His body nearly doubled over, pain flaring through his ribs.
Osric grinned. "Lesson one: Don't assume you're the strongest."
Fenrick wiped the blood from his lips. His golden eyes burned.
"Lesson two…" he cracked his knuckles.
"Don't hit me and expect me not to hit back."
Osric's grin widened. "That's what I like to hear!"
The battle began.
---
Modred's training was different.
He had been assigned to The Premiere himself.
And The Premiere… was insane.
"This is training?" Arthur groaned, standing next to Modred.
They were carrying boulders. Up a mountain. In the rain.
The Premiere sat comfortably on a tree branch, sipping tea.
"Of course! Strength isn't just about swords and mana, you know," The Premiere grinned. "It's about endurance, discipline, and the ability to carry really big rocks!"
Arthur looked half-dead. Modred, as always, remained emotionless.
The Premiere took another sip. "Alright, next part!"
Arthur nearly collapsed. "There's more?"
Modred remained silent.
The Premiere grinned. "Catch a wild beast bare-handed and bring it back!"
Arthur blinked. "…Excuse me?"
"Have fun!"
Arthur stared at Modred.
Modred turned and walked away.
Arthur groaned, dragging himself after him. "I swear to god, if we die out here—"
---
Squad Four's training grounds were nothing but a scorched wasteland—the result of endless magical battles.
Waiting for him was Commander Sera Velgrith.
She was beautiful, but terrifying.
Tall and statuesque, her ice-blue eyes were colder than winter itself. She had long, blue hair, but the way she carried herself was anything but delicate. Her presence alone was suffocating—a walking storm of power and dominance.
She smiled. It was the kind of smile that promised nothing but pain.
"Xeraniel, was it?"
Xeraniel smirked. "You gonna go easy on me?"
Sera stepped forward, her mana flaring.
The ground beneath them froze over instantly.
Xeraniel's smirk faltered.
Sera tilted her head. "Run."
Xeraniel blinked. "...What?"
She raised her hand.
A wall of ice erupted behind him.
Sera's smile widened. "Run, or die."
The sky turned white.
And then—the blizzard began.
---
The next day, Modred and Arthur walked through the streets of the Royal Capital.
Their destination?
An orphanage.
Arthur, as usual, walked with a natural warmth, his presence bringing light to the children before they even saw him.
"Arthur's back!"
A swarm of kids rushed forward, tackling Arthur with excitement.
He laughed, kneeling down. "You guys have been behaving, right?"
The children nodded furiously.
Modred stood at a distance, watching silently.
Arthur turned to him, smiling.
"I swore a long time ago," he said, "that I would always protect the weak."
Modred said nothing.
Arthur's smile softened. "Guess that's why I keep coming back here."
For the first time in a while…
Modred didn't know what to say.
---
As Arthur played with the children, Modred wandered.
And that's when he saw her.
A girl.
Small. Fragile. Sitting alone on the edge of the orphanage's courtyard.
Her green hair was unkempt, falling over her dull blue eyes.
She didn't move.
Didn't speak.
She just… existed.
Modred approached, stopping a few steps away.
"You're alone," he said.
The girl glanced at him, her body stiff.
"...I like being alone," she muttered.
Modred tilted his head. "No one likes being alone. They just get used to it."
The girl tensed.
Silence.
Then—she whispered.
"I don't need anyone."
Modred knelt beside her. "Neither did I. Until I did."
The girl's hands tightened into fists.
Modred reached out, gently placing a hand on her head.
For the first time, her expression shifted.
And then—the tears came.
Silent at first. Then uncontrollable.
She buried her face into her hands, sobbing into the empty space between them.
Modred said nothing.
He simply let her cry.
---
Later, Modred and Arthur sat across from the orphanage's caretaker.
"You want to know about her?" the old woman said grimly.
Arthur nodded.
The caretaker sighed.
"She's a demigod."
Arthur's eyes widened.
Modred remained silent.
The old woman continued. "Her mother was an elf. But her father… her father was something greater. A god that did not want his child to exist."
Arthur's fists clenched. "What happened?"
The caretaker's voice shook.
"Her entire town was erased. Every man, woman, and child—slaughtered. Burned from history. To keep her existence a secret."
Silence.
Arthur gritted his teeth, anger burning in his usually gentle gaze.
But Modred…
Modred simply stood.
Arthur looked up. "Modred…?"
Modred turned.
And without hesitation—he walked out.
---
Modred stood before The Premiere.
"I want the girl."
The Premiere smirked. "Feeling sentimental?"
Modred's face remained empty.
"You misunderstand."
He exhaled, tilting his head slightly.
"I do not feel pity. I do not feel guilt."
He turned away.
"But I recognize power."
The Premiere studied him.
Then—he grinned.
"Fine. She's yours."
And thus—
The girl's fate was sealed.