Dawn.
Kaelen woke to a hand shaking his shoulder—rough, insistent.
"Up," Arcturus commanded. "Now."
Kaelen groaned and sat up, rubbing his eyes. Outside, the sky was barely lightening, the stars still visible above the cherry blossoms.
"What time is it?"
"Time to train." The Commander was already dressed in training clothes—simple gi pants and a sleeveless top, his muscular arms scarred from countless battles. "You have five minutes. Meet me in the courtyard."
He left without waiting for a response.
Kaelen stumbled out of bed, his body protesting. He'd been exhausted yesterday, and five hours of sleep wasn't nearly enough.
"Welcome to military life," Crust said dryly. "Where comfort goes to die."
"Not helping."
"Wasn't trying to."
Kaelen pulled on training clothes—similar to what Arcturus wore—and hurried outside.
Fenrir was already in the courtyard, sitting obediently beside the Commander. The wolf's tail wagged when he saw Kaelen.
"Master! Commander says we train together! Fenrir excited!"
"At least someone is," Kaelen muttered.
Arcturus stood in the center of the courtyard, arms crossed, expression stern. "You're late."
"You said five minutes. It's been four."
"In combat, four minutes is an eternity. Enemies don't wait for you to be ready." The Commander gestured. "Stand here. Center of the courtyard."
Kaelen obeyed, and Arcturus began circling him slowly, studying.
"Before we begin weapon training, before we discuss tactics, before anything else—we address your foundation." He stopped in front of Kaelen. "Your body is divine. That gives you advantages. Strength. Speed. Healing. But it also makes you lazy."
"I'm not—"
"Yes, you are." Arcturus's voice was hard. "You rely on your divine power to compensate for poor technique. You use Divine Burst instead of proper footwork. Divine Shield instead of dodging. You fight like someone who's never had to truly struggle."
Kaelen's jaw tightened. "I've struggled plenty."
"Against mutated beasts. Against untrained thugs. Against enemies weaker than you." The Commander leaned closer. "What happens when you face someone stronger? Someone faster? Someone who knows how to exploit every weakness you have?"
Kaelen didn't answer.
"You die. And everyone counting on you dies with you." Arcturus straightened. "That's why we start with foundation. Stance. Balance. Movement. Breath control. The fundamentals that every warrior must master before they're worthy of holding a blade."
He demonstrated—dropping into a low stance, perfectly balanced, weight distributed evenly.
"This is the Mountain Stance. Stable. Unmovable. From here, you can attack or defend with equal efficiency. Copy it."
Kaelen tried. He spread his feet, bent his knees, lowered his center of gravity—
"Wrong." Arcturus kicked Kaelen's front foot. "Your weight is too far forward. Again."
Kaelen adjusted.
"Wrong. Back foot is too wide. Again."
Kaelen tried again.
"Wrong. Your shoulders are tense. You're holding your breath. Again."
Again.
And again.
And again.
For three hours, Arcturus made Kaelen hold the Mountain Stance, correcting every microscopic flaw. By the time the sun was fully up, Kaelen's legs were shaking, his entire body drenched in sweat.
"Enough," Arcturus finally said. "Rest. Five minutes."
Kaelen collapsed onto the ground, gasping.
"That was just a stance?" he panted. "We spent three hours on standing?"
"Stance is everything. Without proper foundation, everything else crumbles." The Commander handed him a waterskin. "Drink. Then we continue."
"Continue with what?"
Arcturus smiled—a cold, merciless smile.
"Running."
They ran.
Not on the path Kaelen had climbed yesterday. That would have been too easy.
Instead, Arcturus led him straight up the mountain. Through dense forests, over rocky outcroppings, across streams. And when they reached the top—
"Again. Down and back up."
Kaelen stared at him. "You're joking."
"Do I look like I'm joking?"
He wasn't.
They ran up and down the mountain five times. By the third repetition, Kaelen's divine body was the only thing keeping him conscious. By the fifth, even his supernatural endurance was flagging.
Fenrir ran beside him the entire time, tongue lolling, clearly enjoying the exercise.
"Fenrir loves running! Why is Master so slow?"
"Because... I'm... dying..." Kaelen gasped.
"Master not dying. Master being dramatic."
"You're... supposed to be... on my side..."
When they finally stopped, the sun was directly overhead. Six hours of running. Kaelen could barely stand.
"Good," Arcturus said, not even breathing hard. "You didn't give up. That's something." He gestured toward the waterfall. "Wash. Then eat. You have one hour."
"One hour until what?"
"Strength training."
Kaelen wanted to cry.
The first week was hell.
Every day, the same routine:
Dawn: Stance training (2-3 hours)
Morning: Mountain running (5-6 hours)
Midday: Brief rest and meal
Afternoon: Strength training (push-ups, pull-ups, bodyweight exercises until collapse)
Evening: Meditation and breath control
Night: Sleep (barely enough)
No weapons. No tactics. No divine powers allowed.
Just pure, brutal physical conditioning.
Kaelen's body screamed. His muscles tore and rebuilt stronger. His divine regeneration worked overtime, healing him just enough to suffer again the next day.
"Why?" he asked one evening, collapsed in the courtyard, cherry blossoms falling around him. "Why are we doing this? I'm already strong. I have divine power—"
"Divine power without control is a bomb waiting to explode," Arcturus interrupted. "I'm not training you to be powerful. You're already powerful. I'm training you to be precise. Disciplined. Efficient." He crouched beside Kaelen. "A master warrior doesn't need overwhelming strength. He needs the ability to place every ounce of strength exactly where it's needed, exactly when it's needed. That requires foundation."
"How long?" Kaelen asked quietly. "How long until we move on from foundation?"
"When I decide you're ready. Could be months. Could be a year."
It took ten months.
YEAR ONE - MONTHS 1-10: THE BREAKING
The routine never changed. Just increased in intensity.
By month three, Kaelen could hold the Mountain Stance for six hours without shaking.
By month five, he could run up and down the mountain twenty times before exhaustion set in.
By month seven, his body had transformed. The soft baby fat of childhood was gone, replaced by lean muscle. He was still small—only five years old—but his physique was that of a trained athlete.
Fenrir grew too. The wolf was massive now, the size of a small elephant, his silver fur gleaming with health. The Commander trained him separately, teaching him discipline, control, how to fight as a unit rather than wild instinct.
"Commander scary," Fenrir admitted one night. "But Fenrir learning much."
"Me too," Kaelen agreed, lying beside his companion. "Me too."
By month ten, something changed.
Arcturus watched Kaelen complete his morning routine—stance work, mountain runs, strength training—and for the first time, he nodded.
"Good. Your foundation is acceptable."
Kaelen, mid-push-up, nearly collapsed in shock. "Acceptable?"
"Don't get cocky. Acceptable means you won't embarrass yourself. It doesn't mean you're skilled." The Commander walked to the weapon rack he'd materialized at the edge of the courtyard. "But it means you're ready for the next phase."
He pulled out two wooden training swords and tossed one to Kaelen.
"Starting today, you learn to fight."
YEAR ONE - MONTHS 11-12: FIRST BLADE
The wooden sword felt strange in Kaelen's hands.
He'd used his fists, his divine power, even improvised weapons. But never a proper blade.
"Stance," Arcturus commanded.
Kaelen dropped into Mountain Stance, sword held before him.
"Wrong. That's an empty-hand stance. With a sword, your weight shifts. Your center changes. Again."
They spent two weeks just learning how to hold the sword properly.
Then another month learning basic cuts.
Overhead strike.
Horizontal slash.
Diagonal cut.
Thrust.
Four attacks. That was all. Repeated ten thousand times each until Kaelen could perform them in his sleep.
"Why only four?" Kaelen asked one day, his arms burning from repetition.
"Because these four attacks form the foundation of every sword technique ever created. Master the basics, and the advanced techniques will follow naturally. Rush to complexity, and you'll never truly master anything."
By the end of year one, Kaelen could perform all four basic attacks with perfect form.
"Adequate," Arcturus said on the last day of the year. "Tomorrow, we spar."
Kaelen felt a thrill of excitement.
Finally.
YEAR TWO - MONTHS 1-3: THE HUMBLING
Their first sparring session lasted three seconds.
Kaelen attacked—a perfect overhead strike, exactly as he'd been taught.
Arcturus sidestepped, tapped Kaelen's wrist with his wooden sword, and the weapon went flying.
Then he swept Kaelen's legs and put the tip of his blade against Kaelen's throat.
"Dead. Again."
They reset.
Kaelen tried a feint this time—overhead strike that shifted to horizontal slash—
Arcturus blocked effortlessly and struck Kaelen in the ribs hard enough to knock the wind from his lungs.
"Dead. Again."
Again.
And again.
For three months, Kaelen lost every single sparring match within seconds.
It was humiliating.
"I don't understand!" Kaelen shouted one day, throwing his sword down in frustration. "I'm doing everything right! Perfect form! Perfect technique! But I can't even touch you!"
"That's because you're thinking like a student, not a warrior." Arcturus picked up Kaelen's discarded sword and tossed it back. "You perform the techniques correctly. But you don't understand them. You're following instructions instead of adapting to the fight."
"How do I adapt?"
"By forgetting what I taught you."
Kaelen stared. "What?"
"The techniques I've shown you are templates. Frameworks. But real combat is chaos. Unpredictable. You can't just execute perfect forms and expect to win. You need to feel the fight. Read your opponent. Respond to what they're doing, not what you think they should be doing."
"That doesn't make sense."
"It will. Eventually." Arcturus settled into stance. "Again."
YEAR TWO - MONTHS 4-8: THE AWAKENING
It happened during their three hundred and seventeenth sparring match.
Kaelen attacked—his usual opening, a diagonal slash—
Arcturus moved to block—
And Kaelen felt it.
Not through Divine Sense. Not through Crust's guidance.
Just... felt it.
The way Arcturus's weight shifted. The angle of his blade. The tiny tell in his eyes that indicated where he'd counter.
Without thinking, Kaelen changed his attack mid-swing, shifting to a thrust—
His wooden blade tapped Arcturus's chest.
For one frozen second, they both stood there.
Then Arcturus smiled.
"There it is. The moment you stop thinking and start knowing." He lowered his sword. "Congratulations, boy. You just landed your first hit."
Kaelen's hands were shaking. "I... I felt it. I knew where you'd be."
"That's battle instinct. The warrior's intuition. It can't be taught. Only discovered." Arcturus's expression was almost proud. "You're beginning to understand."
After that, things changed.
Kaelen started landing hits regularly. Not winning—not yet—but forcing Arcturus to actually try.
"Good," the Commander said after one particularly intense match. "You're no longer a student performing techniques. You're becoming a swordsman."
YEAR TWO - MONTHS 9-12: MULTIPLE WEAPONS
"You'll never know what weapon you'll have in a real fight," Arcturus said, leading Kaelen to the expanded weapon rack. "So you need to be proficient in all of them."
Spear.
Staff.
Dagger.
Axe.
Mace.
Polearm.
One by one, Arcturus introduced new weapons. Each had different weight, different reach, different techniques.
Kaelen's brain felt like it would explode.
"How am I supposed to master all of these?"
"You don't master them. You become familiar with them. Comfortable enough to use them effectively if needed." Arcturus demonstrated a spear thrust. "The principles are the same—stance, balance, timing. Only the application changes."
By the end of year two, Kaelen could use every weapon in the rack competently.
Not masterfully. But competently.
"You're progressing faster than I expected," Arcturus admitted one evening. "Your divine body helps. And your previous combat experience, limited as it was, gave you a foundation to build on."
"Does that mean we're ahead of schedule?"
"No. It means we can push harder." The Commander's smile was terrifying. "Starting tomorrow, we add tactical training."
YEAR THREE - MONTHS 1-6: THE MIND OF WAR
"Combat isn't just physical," Arcturus explained, setting up a game board—a strategy game with pieces representing soldiers, cavalry, archers. "A warrior who only knows how to swing a sword is a brute. A warrior who can think three moves ahead is a threat."
They played the game for hours every day.
At first, Arcturus crushed Kaelen effortlessly.
But slowly, Kaelen began to understand the patterns. The way certain formations created openings. The importance of positioning. The value of sacrifice.
"This is warfare in miniature," Arcturus said. "Every principle applies to real battles. Terrain. Supply lines. Morale. Numbers. A smart commander can defeat an army twice his size with proper tactics."
"Were you a smart commander?"
"I commanded ten thousand warriors and never lost a battle." Arcturus moved a piece, encircling Kaelen's forces. "Yes. I was smart."
They also studied historical battles—not from this world, but from the old kingdom. Arcturus would describe the scenario, the forces involved, the terrain.
"You're the commander," he'd say. "What do you do?"
Kaelen would propose a strategy.
Arcturus would tear it apart, explaining every flaw.
Then they'd spar—with Arcturus using the tactics from the historical battle.
It was brutal. Humbling. But incredibly effective.
"You're learning to think like a general, not just a soldier," the Commander said. "That's important. Because one day, you might lead armies. And when that day comes, you need to know how to keep them alive."
YEAR THREE - MONTHS 7-12: UNARMED COMBAT
"What happens when you lose your weapon?" Arcturus asked.
"I use Divine Burst?"
"No." The Commander's hand shot out, faster than Kaelen could track, and struck a pressure point in his shoulder.
Kaelen's entire arm went numb.
"Your divine power can be disrupted. Suppressed. Blocked. What then?"
He taught Kaelen hand-to-hand combat.
Grappling. Joint locks. Pressure points. How to break bones. How to kill with bare hands.
It was vicious, painful training.
"This isn't sport fighting," Arcturus said, demonstrating a neck break on a training dummy. "This is survival. When you're unarmed against an armed opponent, there's no room for mercy or hesitation."
Fenrir joined these sessions, learning to fight alongside Kaelen. The wolf was enormous now—larger than an elephant, his silver fur crackling with constant electricity.
Together, they became a formidable team.
"Good," Arcturus said, watching them spar. "You're learning to move as one unit. That's crucial. Your beasts aren't just weapons. They're partners. Treat them as such."
By the end of year three, Kaelen was eight years old.
He was taller now, his body lean and hard with muscle. His face had lost its childish roundness, sharpening into something more mature.
He could fight with any weapon. Could think tactically. Could hold his own against Arcturus in sparring (though he still lost most matches).
One evening, as they watched the sunset from the courtyard, Arcturus spoke.
"You've come far, boy. Three years ago, you were a child with raw power and no discipline. Now you're a warrior in training."
"Only in training?"
"Yes. You're competent. Skilled, even. But not yet a master." The Commander looked at him. "The next few years will be harder. We'll push deeper into advanced techniques. Strategy. Philosophy. And I'll teach you about leadership—how to inspire others, how to make impossible decisions, how to carry the weight of command."
Kaelen looked down at his hands—calloused, scarred from training. "Will I be ready? When the twelve years are up?"
"That depends on you. I can teach you everything I know. But whether you truly master it... that's on you."
They sat in comfortable silence, cherry blossoms falling around them.
"You're changing," Crust observed. "Not just physically. Mentally. You're becoming something different than what you were."
"Is that good?"
"I don't know yet. But it's interesting. For the first time, I'm genuinely curious to see what you'll become."
Kaelen smiled faintly.
"Me too."
[TRAINING PROGRESS: 3 / 12 YEARS COMPLETE]
[Kaelen's Age: 8 Years Old]
[Skills Acquired:]
Foundation Mastery (Stance, Balance, Movement)
Basic Weapon Proficiency (All Common Weapons)
Tactical Thinking (Intermediate)
Unarmed Combat (Advanced Basics)
Battle Instinct (Awakened)
[Fenrir's Progress:]
Size: Elephant-sized
Discipline: Significantly Improved
Combat Coordination: Learning to fight as unit with Kaelen
[Years Remaining: 9]