Kingsland Arc: Chapter:20 - The Iron Will
The first ray of dawn, cold and merciless, sliced through the small window of Ronin's spartan room. Every muscle in his lean body screamed in protest, a symphony of agony that pulsed from his torn, swollen hands to his bruised, aching limbs. He lay on the simple cot, utterly spent, the lingering scent of disinfectant from the bandages Rose had applied to his knuckles still faint in the air. Yet, as the first bird outside chirped, a stubborn resolve, forged in the pain of the previous day, hardened his jaw. He had not broken.
He forced himself to sit up, his movements stiff, each joint protesting. Dressing in the new, simple training clothes Rose had bought him felt like a monumental task. The rough fabric chafed against his raw skin, but he ignored it, pushing down the whine that threatened to escape his lips.
He arrived in the main hall. The others were already there, a silent acknowledgment of Baelish's unwritten rule. Chou, his sturdy frame upright, but with a subtle weariness in his eyes, gave Ronin a brief, unreadable glance. Rafaela, her kind face still a little pale, offered a small, sympathetic smile as she watched him approach the table. Yue Xin, her slender posture elegant even in the early morning, observed him with her keen, intelligent eyes, a flicker of curiosity in their depths. The breakfast was a quiet affair, only the clinking of cutlery breaking the silence. No one mentioned his exhaustion, or the sounds of his struggle from yesterday.
Suddenly, a shadow fell over the table. Baelish stood in the doorway, his tall, imposing figure silhouetted against the pale light filtering from outside. His black cloak seemed to absorb the dimness around him. His face was devoid of expression, his ancient eyes sweeping over them all before settling on Ronin.
"Training yard," Baelish rumbled, his voice low and unwavering. "Now."
Ronin's fork clattered against his plate. He pushed back from the table, every movement a protest. He nodded, his gaze meeting Baelish's for a fleeting moment before turning away.
The training yard was still cloaked in the cool embrace of dawn. The gnarled tree post, against which Ronin had battered his hands raw, seemed to loom like a silent, mocking sentinel. The pile of rocks, though slightly altered from his efforts yesterday, remained a daunting mountain of unyielding stone.
"Yesterday was merely an introduction," Baelish stated, his voice carrying clearly across the still air. He walked to the center of the yard, his steps deliberate, radiating a contained power. "Today, we begin the true work. Your body is weak, boy. Your spirit, untested. We shall correct both." He pointed a gnarled finger at the pile of rocks. "The routine remains. Move them all. From here to there. And back. Do not stop until I tell you to. Should you collapse, you will simply rise. Should you stop, you will start again. Should you use magic, you will face consequences worse than exhaustion." His voice held a chilling undertone that promised pain beyond mere physical exertion.
Ronin approached the rocks, his teeth gritted. He felt the familiar pull and burn in his muscles as he began to push, scrape, and lift. The pain was immediate, sharp, and unrelenting. He focused on Baelish's words, on the memory of the Jewelion Viper, on Rose's farewell. I won't be weak. I won't.
Hours later, the sun climbed higher, beating down on the training yard. Ronin was a sweat-drenched, grunting mess. His lean body was trembling, his muscles screaming, but the pile of rocks was slowly, painstakingly, moving. He pushed a particularly heavy boulder, his face contorted in a grimace of pure effort, a desperate yell tearing from his throat. It shifted, scraping agonizingly across the earth.
Chou, Rafaela, and Yue Xin were watching from the edge of the yard. Chou, his broad shoulders squared, still carried a subtle stiffness from his injuries, but his eyes were fixed on Ronin with an intense, analytical gaze. A faint line of respect, perhaps even awe, had begun to replace his earlier skepticism. Rafaela, her kind face etched with discomfort, fidgeted nervously, unable to fully watch Ronin's suffering. Yue Xin, her slender form leaning against a tree, simply observed, her keen eyes missing nothing, a silent understanding in her expression.
"Now, Ronin!" Baelish's voice suddenly boomed, breaking Ronin's focus. The old master stood over him, his shadow falling across Ronin's strained face. "It's time for Iron Skin Drills." He pointed to the gnarled tree post. "One thousand strikes. With intent. With focus. Every strike must be a lesson for your fists. Your hands must become shields, capable of deflecting any blow, not just by agility, but by pure, unyielding toughness."
Ronin staggered towards the post, his raw hands already throbbing. He lifted a trembling fist, wrapped in thin bandages that offered little protection, and struck. THWACK! A dull impact. Pain lanced up his arm. He gritted his teeth and struck again. And again. And again. The sound of his fists hitting the wood, a relentless, monotonous rhythm, filled the afternoon. Blood began to seep through the thin bandages, staining the wood crimson.
Baelish watched, unmoving, his dark eyes like chips of obsidian. He walked over and picked up a small, smooth river stone, no bigger than Ronin's thumb. He tossed it lightly in his palm. "Demons do not merely block with their flesh, boy," he rumbled, his voice a low, almost ancient sound, his gaze distant. "They harden it, make it resistant. Their very essence, when pushed to its limits, imbues their form with an unnatural durability. A barrier that feels no pain, only impact." He clenched his fist around the stone, and Ronin distinctly heard a faint CRACK. Baelish opened his hand; the stone was powder. His expression was unreadable. "You will learn that. Or you will break."
Ronin's breath hitched, the image of Baelish's effortless power, the crushed stone, burning into his mind. He redoubled his efforts, each strike now infused with a desperate, furious resolve. The pain was a dull roar now, but he pushed through it, fueled by the thought of his own weakness, the terrifying power he had within him, and the promise Baelish had made to Rose. He wouldn't break.
As the sun began to set, painting the sky in fiery hues, Ronin collapsed beside the post for the second time. His hands were a mangled, bloody mess, the bandages long since shredded. His body shook with exhaustion, his lungs burning. He lay there, staring up at the darkening sky, utterly spent.
Baelish stood over him, his silhouette tall and imposing against the twilight. "Tomorrow," he rumbled, his voice a low, gravelly whisper, "we add Reflex Drills. Before dawn, you will face my barrage." A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched the corner of the old master's lips, a chilling promise of even greater torment to come. "And then, boy, the true forging will begin."
[To Be Continued]