The training began before I even understood that it was the beginning.
It was still dark when we were taken to the elven field. Uneven ground, scattered stones, exposed roots placed deliberately. Nothing there seemed designed to make movement easier. Quite the opposite.
"Today is not group training," the guild master said. "Today is an evaluation."
Elara tightened her fingers slightly. Vespera tilted her head, analyzing the space. Liriel crossed her arms, clearly uncomfortable.
"An evaluation of who?" Liriel asked.
"Primarily his," the elf replied, looking directly at me.
I exhaled slowly and stepped forward.
"You will observe," he continued. "Learn from the mistakes."
I didn't like that.
Two elves positioned themselves in front of me. No announcement. No countdown. One of them advanced.
I dodged by instinct and tried to counterattack. The strike didn't connect. The second elf appeared in my blind spot and knocked me down with ease.
I fell on my back, the air leaving my lungs.
"Again," the master said.
I got up too fast and advanced, trying to impose a rhythm. It was a mistake. The first elf simply dodged and struck me in the torso. I rolled across the ground.
"Takumi," Elara called, worried.
"Continue," the master ordered.
The third attempt was worse. I anticipated incorrectly, forced a movement, and lost my balance. I was thrown to the ground once more.
"You are slow," the elf said. "Not in your body. In your decisions."
I clenched my teeth and stood up.
"He's facing two at the same time," Liriel said. "That's not fair."
"A general does not fight alone," came the reply.
The training continued. Alternating attacks. Unpredictable angles. Every mistake I made was exploited. Every attempt to compensate with strength turned into another fall.
After a while, my legs began to fail. Sweat ran into my eyes. My breathing grew heavy.
"You carry the group on your back," the master said. "That makes you predictable."
"He's holding back," Vespera commented. "He always does that."
"I'm not," I replied, more irritated than I intended.
"You are," she shot back. "You always try to solve everything on your own."
The elf interrupted. "Exactly."
He changed the exercise. Ordered me to cross the field carrying weight while attacks came at random. I failed several times. Fell. Got up. Fell again.
At one point, I pushed my shoulder too hard. A sharp pain shot through my arm.
"Stop," Elara said, stepping forward.
"No," I replied. "Not yet."
"You're going to hurt yourself," she insisted.
"That's the point," the master said coldly.
I continued. Every movement felt wrong. Every decision came too late. My body obeyed, but my mind didn't keep up.
"You don't trust your own timing," the elf said. "You hesitate too much."
"Because if I make a mistake, they suffer," I replied.
"And that's why you make more mistakes," he shot back.
In the final exercise, I had to react to simultaneous attacks. My body simply couldn't keep up. I was knocked down hard and stayed there, staring at the sky between the trees.
The silence was heavy.
"That's enough," Elara said firmly.
The master nodded. "For today."
Liriel approached first. "That was humiliating."
"It was necessary," I replied, still not getting up.
Vespera held out her hand. "You're not weak. But you're trying to be indestructible."
I took her hand and stood up with difficulty.
"I thought I was ready," I said. "I thought I could face it again."
"You can endure," Elara said. "You always have. But that's not what they're trying to teach."
"I know," I replied. "They're trying to teach me not to need to endure so much."
On the way back, no one spoke much. The weight wasn't only physical. Something inside me had cracked.
That night, while my body ached in a deep, constant way, I finally understood.
I didn't need to be the one who never falls.
I needed to be the one who falls less.
The pride that brought me this far would not be the same one that carried me forward.
And accepting that hurt more than any blow.