The night air was cool against Lucius' skin, but his body burned with exhaustion. His limbs ached, his breath came in ragged gasps, and every muscle screamed in protest.
But he refused to stop.
This time, however, he wasn't alone.
Adrian stood a few steps away, spinning his wooden sword lazily in one hand. His smirk held amusement—but his eyes held something else.
Expectation.
"Go on then," Adrian said, tilting his head. "Show me what you've learned."
Lucius tightened his grip on the sword. His body protested, his mind screamed that he had nothing left to give.
But this was the moment he had been waiting for.
With gritted teeth, he charged forward.
Adrian never once openly taught Lucius.
Instead, he tested him.
Every night, Lucius would swing his sword, practice his footwork, push himself to his absolute limits—and Adrian would watch.
And when Lucius was on the brink of collapse, Adrian would suddenly attack.
No warnings. No explanations.
A swing too fast for Lucius to block. A strike that sent him stumbling. A movement that forced him to react, adapt—or fail.
Lucius didn't understand at first.
"Why aren't you teaching me properly?" he had asked once, panting, frustrated.
Adrian had only chuckled. "I'm already teaching you, idiot. You just don't realize it yet."
If Adrian's training was silent guidance, then Darius' training was merciless discipline.
Day after day, Lucius endured the brutal drills under the watchful eye of the commander.
"Your grip is weak," Darius would snap. "Again."
"You're wasting movement."
"Your stance is garbage."
"Swing properly, or don't bother swinging at all."
Lucius obeyed. He learned. He improved.
But at night, he truly tested himself.
With Adrian watching.
One night, after a particularly grueling session, Lucius collapsed onto the dirt, chest heaving. His magic flickered weakly as he healed his trembling muscles.
Adrian stood over him, arms crossed.
"You still rely too much on magic," he remarked.
Lucius frowned. "If I don't use it, my body won't last."
"That's the problem," Adrian said. "You're using magic to heal—but you're not using it to fight."
Lucius blinked. "What?"
Adrian just smirked and turned away.
"Figure it out."
Lucius stared after him, frustration burning in his chest.
But later that night, as he practiced, something clicked.
He had been using his magic like a crutch. But what if he used it differently?
Not just to heal—but to reinforce.
To strengthen.
The realization sent a thrill through his exhausted body.
And from the shadows, Adrian smirked.
Because this was the real lesson.
One that Lucius had to figure out on his own.