Today's morning was no different from yesterday. After breakfast, I once again headed to the Grand Duke's training grounds. The uncertainty from yesterday was gone, replaced by something else — an understanding of what awaited me. And that understanding wasn't comforting.
The Grand Duke stood in the center of the field, just like before. Straight posture, calm gaze, not a hint of fatigue or doubt.
"Run. Faster than yesterday."
I nodded silently and started.
From the very beginning, the pace was higher. After just ten minutes, my breathing was already heavier than it had been after thirty minutes yesterday. My legs grew heavy faster, my chest tightened.
"Seriously…? This is just the beginning…"
I clenched my teeth and kept running.
After thirty minutes:
"Stop."
I halted, breathing heavily, trying to recover. But the rest didn't last long.
"Two hundred push-ups."
I dropped to the ground and began.
The first repetitions were easy. Too easy.
"This isn't that bad…"
"Stop."
The Grand Duke's voice cut through sharply.
"Wrong."
He stepped closer.
"Back straight. Elbows in. Control your movement."
With just a glance, he broke down my entire technique.
I corrected myself.
And that's when the real training began.
Each push-up became several times harder. My arms started shaking after twenty. After fifty, my muscles burned like they were on fire.
"What the hell…"
By the hundredth, my breathing was completely off. My arms barely held my body.
"Maybe… that's enough…"
But I kept going.
One hundred fifty… one eighty…
At two hundred, my arms simply gave out. I forced out the final movement, collapsing down.
"Up. Squats."
I struggled to stand. My legs were already exhausted from running, but there was no choice.
At first, it was easy again. And again — because of bad form.
"Lower. Control. Don't lean forward."
I adjusted.
And again — hell.
My legs started trembling after just a few reps. Every movement required effort. Muscles burning, breathing uneven.
By the end, I couldn't even properly feel my legs. They just moved… on their own.
"Plank."
I dropped into position.
One minute. Two.
By the third minute, my shoulders began shaking.
By the fifth — my whole body screamed to stop.
By the tenth — I wasn't holding anymore, I was just surviving.
"Just fall… just fall…"
But right then:
"Enough."
I collapsed onto the ground, gasping for air.
"Ten minutes rest."
As always — calm, even voice.
I lay there, staring at the sky, just trying to breathe. My whole body trembled. Even my fingers wouldn't listen.
After ten minutes, everything repeated.
Run. Push-ups. Squats. Plank.
The second round was worse. Much worse.
If during the first round I could still think, now I could only move. Breathe. Not collapse too early.
After two hours, I felt completely drained. Like everything had been squeezed out of me.
"Meditate."
I sat down.
Closed my eyes.
At first — nothing.
Then — mana.
This time… deeper. Clearer. It felt like I sank into myself, losing track of time. Everything around me faded, leaving only focus and my core.
Slowly… very slowly… I began forming a ring.
When I came back, at least an hour had passed.
"Not bad."
The Grand Duke's voice was calm.
"At this pace, you'll form your first ring in three months."
"Three months?.." I asked in surprise.
"Yes. You might do it faster. But rushing is dangerous. Don't hurry."
"Yes, father."
Inside, my thoughts were completely different.
"Damn… three months? Was that idiot really that lazy?.."
Though… to be fair, if I didn't know the future, I'd probably slack off too. So… I get it.
"In three hours — sword training. Rest and eat."
After that, I went to wash up. Cold water helped a bit. Then I ate and rested.
And honestly… I was looking forward to the next training.
The Kaldris family sword style… it sounded serious. And learning it from the Grand Duke himself? Perfect.
But reality… was different.
"One thousand vertical swings. Then one thousand horizontal."
I froze for a moment.
"…Seriously?"
This wasn't even a technique. Not a style. Just basic swings. The very foundation.
And then I remembered.
The real Kaldris sword techniques only begin at the first rank of the core — when you can fully coat your weapon with aura.
Until then… just the basics.
"Start."
I picked up the training sword and began.
First swing.
"Too wide."
Second.
"Control."
Third.
"Raise your arm."
Every few movements — correction.
Every mistake — fixed.
After two hundred swings, the corrections became less frequent. Not because I was perfect… but because I started to understand.
My movements became slightly more precise. Cleaner.
But my body… couldn't keep up.
My arms burned. My shoulders were stiff. My grip weakened.
"Why so many…"
But I kept going.
By the thousandth swing, I could barely hold the sword.
The horizontal swings were even worse.
Five hundred on each side. And they were different.
Every two swings — correction.
After two hundred — every four.
I got confused. Lost rhythm. Got irritated.
"What's the difference… it's fine…"
"Wrong."
The Grand Duke's calm voice instantly shut those thoughts down.
And I corrected myself again.
By the end of the training, I couldn't feel my arms at all. They burned, trembled, like they didn't belong to me.
I was already imagining collapsing onto my bed.
"Don't forget to wash."
The strict voice pulled me back.
"Yes… father," I answered tiredly.
Honestly, I was annoyed. Exhausted. But I had no strength — or desire — to argue.
After barely making it back to my room and washing up, I collapsed onto the bed.
My body ached. Every muscle screamed. Even lying still was… uncomfortable.
"If this is just the beginning…"
The moment my head touched the pillow, I passed out.