The next morning, Kalem found himself wandering through the streets of Gehenna once more.
He hadn't expected much sleep, but the constant noise of the fortress-city had ensured it. The clanging of metal, the distant howls from the abyss, the muffled conversations of warriors who had long since abandoned the need for sleep—it was a city that never rested, because war never did.
Kalem shifted his shoulders, rolling out the stiffness from his impromptu bedding. Sleeping in his cart alongside Onyx in a stable wasn't unusual for him, but the added presence of hardened veterans had made it an experience.
Every time one of them found out he was a new arrival, they had something to say.
"Don't get too comfortable, boy."
"You'll be dead in a week if you don't know how to keep your head down."
"Hope you're good with that forge of yours. You'll need a new weapon after your first one breaks."
It wasn't hostility, just the usual grim amusement of those who had seen too many fresh warriors walk through these gates, only to leave in pieces—or not at all.
Kalem exhaled as he walked. "Seems like my lack of decades of battle experience lowers my evaluation," he muttered, watching a group of soldiers drill in formation. "Not that I can blame them. They've probably seen plenty like me die."
The training grounds stretched ahead, a vast, open space filled with warriors engaging in sparring matches, strength tests, and magic drills. Some wielded weapons larger than a grown man, their bodies reinforced by years of battle and abyssal-infused resilience. Others danced like phantoms, moving with supernatural speed and precision.
What caught his attention most was the discipline.
Despite the raw brutality of Gehenna, its soldiers were not reckless brawlers. Every motion was refined, honed through experience and necessity.
Kalem leaned against the railing, observing the different combat styles.
A group of battle mages was practicing elemental reinforcement—wreathing their weapons in flame, ice, or raw energy, then clashing to test the strength of their enchantments. Some dueled with abyssal hunters, warriors clad in reinforced gear designed to endure the monstrous horrors lurking beneath Gehenna.
Then there were the younger fighters.
Unlike most armies, Gehenna didn't send the young and untested into battle first. The old warriors, those who had fought for years, were the ones leading every charge. They didn't just train the next generation—they shielded them, ensuring they survived long enough to learn.
"Going out before the young."
It was an ironclad rule here, not out of sentiment, but pragmatism. They couldn't afford to waste potential warriors. The abyss would claim them eventually, but only after they had been tempered properly.
Kalem adjusted the twin short swords strapped to his back and made his way toward the sparring ring.
A group of warriors stood around, watching different duels. Some were resting, others were judging the newcomers.
Kalem approached one of the instructors—a broad-shouldered man with an old scar running down his jaw. His armor bore no insignia, but the sheer weight of his presence made it clear he was a veteran.
"Excuse me," Kalem said, adjusting his grip on his swords. "Are outsiders allowed to spar here?"
The man glanced at him, then at the weapons on his back. His expression remained neutral.
"As long as you have ability, it's fine," he replied. "But don't waste our time. If you disappoint, you'll be sent back to whatever hole you crawled out of."
Kalem nodded. "Understood."
With that, he stepped into the ring.
His opponent was already waiting—a tall, wiry man with dark markings along his arms, signifying some kind of magical reinforcement. He wielded a curved saber, the edge gleaming under the torchlight.
"New blood?" the man asked, tilting his head.
"Something like that," Kalem replied, drawing his short swords.
The warrior grinned. "Good. Let's see if you survive the first minute."
Then he moved.
Kalem barely had time to react before his opponent was upon him, striking with brutal efficiency. The saber cut through the air in a precise arc, forcing Kalem to deflect with both blades. Sparks flew as metal clashed against metal.
Kalem countered with a quick thrust, but his opponent sidestepped with ease, flicking his blade to redirect the momentum. He was fast—far faster than most duelists Kalem had faced before.
He's testing me.
The first exchange had been to gauge his skill. Now the real fight would begin.
Kalem exhaled and adjusted his stance. If speed was his opponent's strength, then he needed to shift his approach.
Instead of trying to match his opponent's movements, he focused on control. He feinted with his left blade, forcing a reaction, then pivoted with his right, slashing low. The warrior barely blocked in time, his grin widening.
"Not bad."
Kalem didn't reply. Talking was pointless mid-fight.
The battle continued, each strike growing fiercer. Kalem's dual blades gave him versatility, allowing him to pressure his opponent without overcommitting. His foe, however, was a veteran in this style, weaving between attacks with sharp precision.
A sudden shift in footwork caught Kalem off guard—his opponent disappeared for a fraction of a second, reappearing at his blind spot.
Kalem twisted just in time, raising his swords to block. The force of the impact sent a jolt through his arms, but he held his ground.
The watching warriors murmured in interest.
"He's keeping up."
"Most newcomers get knocked down in the first few seconds."
"Still too soon to judge."
Kalem ignored them. He could feel his opponent adjusting—pushing harder now, testing his endurance. The strikes became heavier, faster. The saber danced through the air, cutting dangerously close.
Kalem knew he couldn't match this pace forever.
Then I'll end it now.
He feinted another left slash, but this time, instead of attacking with the right, he dropped low, sweeping his leg out in a sudden kick.
His opponent hadn't expected it.
The warrior stumbled, balance momentarily lost. Kalem seized the opening, pressing his blade against the man's throat before he could recover.
Silence.
Then a short chuckle.
"Well," the man said, stepping back. "That's a first."
Kalem lowered his swords, exhaling. His arms burned from the exertion, but he kept his expression calm.
The veteran instructor, who had been watching, nodded in approval.
"You'll survive," he said. "For now."
Kalem didn't let the words get to his head. This was just one fight. The true test would come in two days, when he was thrown into the field.
Still, as he sheathed his weapons and stepped out of the ring, he could feel the eyes on him. The whispers.
He wasn't just another nameless recruit anymore.
For better or worse, they had taken notice.