Jack didn't wait for my response. He simply turned and walked out of the library, his heavy footsteps echoing through the corridor. The expectation was clear: follow or be left behind.
I grabbed the Flash God Technique manual from the table, tucked it under my arm, and hurried after him.
We moved through the manor in silence, descending to the ground floor and exiting through a side door that led to the eastern grounds. I'd seen this area in Kaine's memories but never paid it much attention. Now, walking toward it with Jack's imposing figure ahead of me, I found myself actually observing the space.
The Einsworth family training grounds were expansive, covering several acres of carefully maintained land. The main area was a massive courtyard paved with smooth stone that had been worn down over generations of use. Deep grooves and scars marked the surface, evidence of countless techniques practiced and perfected over decades. Weapon racks lined the perimeter, holding practice swords, spears, axes, and various other implements of violence. Training dummies made of reinforced wood bound with steel bands stood at intervals, many of them bearing cuts so deep they'd been cleaved nearly in half.
Beyond the main courtyard were several specialized areas. An archery range with targets at distances stretching to three hundred yards. An obstacle course that looked designed to break anyone foolish enough to attempt it, with walls to scale, pits to leap, and weighted logs suspended at various heights. An open field for mounted combat training, complete with practice lances and quintains. And at the far end, separated by a low stone wall, what appeared to be a proper dueling arena with raised seating for observers and a hardened combat floor designed to withstand high-level techniques.
A few guards were scattered around the grounds, running through their own training routines. The moment Jack appeared, they froze mid-motion, immediately standing at attention. Their faces showed clear recognition and what looked like healthy fear. Jack waved them off with a casual gesture, and they quickly cleared out, practically fleeing the area.
'They're terrified of him. These are trained knights, and they're running away.'
Jack walked to the center of the main courtyard and turned to face me. I stopped about fifteen feet away, suddenly very aware of how outmatched I was. The pressure emanating from him was constant and oppressive, like standing too close to a bonfire.
"Warm-ups first," Jack said, his tone making it clear this wasn't optional. "One hundred push-ups. One hundred sit-ups. One hundred squats. Five laps around the entire training ground. This is what every guard in this estate does before their morning shift. If you can't manage it, you're not fit to call yourself an Einsworth."
He crossed his arms and waited.
I set the manual down on a nearby bench and dropped into push-up position.
The first twenty were easy. My enhanced strength made the exercise almost trivial. By thirty, I was still feeling good. At fifty, I started to notice the burn in my chest and shoulders. By seventy, sweat was dripping from my face onto the stone below. The last thirty were a grind, each repetition requiring conscious effort and willpower.
But I finished.
Sit-ups were worse. My core wasn't as developed as my arms and chest, and by rep sixty, I was gasping for air. My abdominal muscles felt like they were being torn apart. I pushed through anyway, refusing to stop, refusing to show weakness in front of this man who was evaluating everything I did.
Squats were manageable until rep eighty, when my legs started shaking. The last twenty felt like trying to lift the world itself.
Finally, the laps. I'd thought running would be easier after the static exercises, but I was catastrophically wrong. The training grounds were enormous, each lap easily a quarter mile. My legs were already exhausted, my lungs burning. The first lap was uncomfortable. The second was painful. By the third, I was seriously questioning whether I'd make it. The fourth lap felt like an eternity, each step a battle against muscles that screamed for mercy.
The fifth lap was pure willpower. Nothing but stubborn refusal to quit carried me across the finish line. I staggered to a stop and bent over, hands on my knees, sucking in air like a drowning man breaking the surface.
Jack had watched the entire thing with his arms crossed, his expression completely unchanged. If he was impressed or disappointed, I couldn't tell.
"Seventeen minutes and thirty-two seconds," he said flatly. "The average guard completes it in twelve minutes. You have work to do."
I tried to respond but could only wheeze.
"Stand up straight," Jack commanded. "Bent posture restricts airflow."
I forced myself upright, ignoring every instinct that wanted me to collapse.
"Better. Your endurance is pathetic, but that's expected given your history. We'll fix that." He gestured for me to approach. "Now. Your goal for the next month."
I walked over on shaking legs, stopping a few feet in front of him.
"You will master the first three arts of the Flash God Technique," Jack said, his voice carrying absolute authority. "Not just learn them. Not just demonstrate proficiency. Master them. To the point where you can execute them instinctively, without conscious thought, under any conditions."
He paused, letting that sink in.