Kingsland Arc: Chapter:22 - Blade and Blood
The fourth dawn brought no relief. Ronin woke to the familiar symphony of aches, a dull, pervasive throb in every muscle and joint of his lean body. His hands, though still bandaged, felt like numb, swollen clubs, refusing to fully clench. His back protested with every movement, and a deep exhaustion clung to his very bones. Yet, the memory of Baelish's relentless barrage, the whisper of the demon blood stirring, and the chilling promise of new drills, spurred him from his cot. He had not broken yesterday. He would not break today.
He dragged himself upright, his movements stiff and deliberate. Dressing in his simple training tunic was agony, each brush of fabric against his bruised skin a fresh torment. He moved with a grim determination, his young face set in a perpetual grimace of pain.
In the dining hall, the others were already seated. Chou, his sturdy frame upright, but with a subtle weariness in his eyes, gave Ronin a brief, assessing glance, a flicker of grudging respect in his gaze. Rafaela, her kind face still a little pale but recovering, offered a small, sympathetic smile as she watched him approach the table, her hands clenching slightly in unconscious pity. Yue Xin, her slender posture elegant even in the early morning, observed him with her keen, intelligent eyes, a flicker of curiosity and something unreadable in their depths. The breakfast was a quiet affair, only the clinking of cutlery breaking the silence, the air thick with unspoken observations.
Then, 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, making him appear even more formidable. 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, like distant thunder. "Now."
Ronin's stomach churned, but he merely nodded, his gaze unwavering as he pushed away from the table.
The training yard was stark in the pre-dawn gloom, illuminated by the cold light of enchanted lanterns. The gnarled tree post stood like a silent testament to his pain. The piles of rocks seemed to mock him, but a deeper defiance hardened his core.
"Your body is a weapon, boy, but it must learn to wield other weapons," 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 Combat Application Drills. Your twin blades are extensions of your will. They must become as sharp, as swift, as unyielding as your sharpened body." He pointed to a series of new, thicker wooden dummies scattered across the yard, some armed with blunt training weapons. "Your morning ritual remains. The rocks, then the Iron Skin Drills. No cessation. But after that, you will face these."
Ronin nodded, his jaw tight. He understood. This was the next step.
Hours later, after the agonizing familiar pain of moving rocks and battering the post, Ronin stood before the first dummy, his hands swollen and bruised, his body screaming for rest.
He drew Sei and Kuro from his new scabbard, the weight of the blades feeling heavy in his battered hands.
"You will move with precision," Baelish commanded, his voice sharp. "Every strike has purpose. Every parry, intent. No wasted movement. No hesitation."
Ronin lunged, a grunt of effort escaping him. He tried to mimic the fluid movements Rose had taught him, but his exhausted muscles rebelled. His swings were slow, his parries clumsy. He repeatedly struck the padded dummies, focusing on weak points, aiming for vital areas that would shatter bone or sever tendons on a living opponent. He worked tirelessly, sweat mixing with the lingering blood on his hands.
Baelish watched, unmoving, a dark, silent observer. When Ronin's movements began to falter, Baelish would bark a sharp command, or demonstrate a swift, almost impossibly precise strike with a training blade, his movements fluid and terrifyingly efficient despite his apparent age. "Like this, boy!" he'd rumble, a blur of motion, his blade whistling through the air to cleanly dissect a dummy's arm. "Not with brute force, but with controlled power!" His ancient eyes held a chilling intensity as he watched Ronin's struggle. "The demons of old did not waste strength. Every movement was for a purpose."
Ronin pushed through the pain, fueled by Baelish's relentless scrutiny and the memory of the Jewelion Viper's impenetrable scales. He focused on refining his posture, the angle of his blades, the subtle shift of his weight. He began to learn not just to strike, but to flow with the blades, to let them lead his movements. He practiced parrying unseen blows, dodging phantom attacks, his reflexes, honed by Baelish's barrage, slowly improving.
As the sun began to set, painting the sky in fiery hues, Ronin was a trembling, exhausted wreck. His twin blades clattered to the ground as his hands finally gave out. He collapsed, gasping for breath, his lean body shaking uncontrollably. The dummies, though dented and scarred, still stood, but a subtle shift had occurred within Ronin. He felt the echo of newfound control, a faint hum of raw power that he hadn't accessed before.
Baelish stood over him, his silhouette tall and imposing against the twilight.
"Tomorrow," he rumbled, his voice a low, gravelly whisper, a hint of something unreadable in his tone, "we add Focused Mana Suppression. You will learn to wield your raw power without magic. To tap into the true essence of the demon blood without letting it consume you." A chilling promise, hanging in the quiet night. "The forging continues, boy. And soon, the fires will burn hotter."
[To Be Continued]