Alex stared at Jacob for a few seconds, blinking as if trying to process the unexpected response, then cleared his throat awkwardly and said, "Well… I suppose you're right. Gods probably do feel pain, so your dream of avoiding it completely is, well… kind of impossible."

He paused, then visibly winced, like he had only just realized how his words might have sounded, and quickly added, "Not that I'm saying you should give up or anything. Getting stronger still means fewer people can hurt you, that's something."

Jacob gave a small, almost amused shrug, responding just as quickly to the attempted recovery. "It's fine. I know it's impossible." And he meant it, at least mostly. While there wasn't a known rune or artifact capable of erasing pain from existence, that didn't mean one couldn't be discovered or invented, but his discomfort with pain hadn't yet reached the point where he'd dedicate his entire life to removing it entirely. That kind of obsession would take a kind of madness he didn't possess… not yet, anyway.

Without saying another word, he walked over to the rack of weapons and reached for a sword, not because he needed it, but because it felt like the next thing to do, something natural in the rhythm of the space they were in. The moment his fingers wrapped around the hilt, however, he knew he'd misjudged its weight.

The weapon felt almost absurdly heavy in his hands, and when he tried to swing it to the side with what he thought was a manageable amount of force, the momentum of the blade yanked his upper body forward like he was little more than a puppet dragged by its own string. He stumbled, barely catching himself before crashing face-first into the sand.

'If I use that artifact…' the thought came to him uninvited, referring to the object he'd acquired during the banquet, the one that temporarily enhanced his physical strength. It wouldn't make him powerful, not by any stretch, but it might be enough to help him swing a sword without nearly breaking his spine in the process.

Still, after a moment's hesitation, he decided against it. He was here to train, not to cheat or impress anyone. If he couldn't lift a sword now, then that was something he had to work on not work around.

"You just woke up, right?" Alex called out from where he stood. "Start with some stretches and light warm-ups first. We'll move on to real training after that."

Jacob dropped the sword back onto the rack with a loud clatter and made his way over. "Alright," he replied, trying to hide the slight strain in his voice.

"Just follow what I do," Alex said, already moving into the first position.

At the beginning, it was surprisingly easy, so easy in fact, that Jacob almost felt insulted. He mimicked Alex's movements, limbs flowing gently from pose to pose, and for a while, he began to wonder if the knights of Skydrid really started every day with such slow, gentle motions that barely broke a sweat. Some of them even felt… relaxing. He hadn't expected that.

But slowly, methodically, the routine shifted. What had begun as light stretching became more intense, the movements deeper, the positions longer, the pace quicker. The sweat came next, first a few beads on his forehead, then more, until his skin felt damp all over.

His breathing grew uneven, and his thin, underused muscles began to complain with a dull, constant ache that spread through his arms, his back, his legs. His shirt clung to his skin, soaked and uncomfortable. At several points, he wanted to stop and ask Alex whether this was still just stretching, or if they had already transitioned into full-body conditioning without warning. But he bit back the questions every time they rose, determined to endure the discomfort without giving it voice.

Minutes passed, or maybe hours, he wasn't sure anymore and then, at last, Alex stopped.

Jacob didn't hesitate. The moment the session ended, he collapsed onto the sand like a marionette whose strings had been cut, breathing heavily, one hand pressed against his chest as if to calm his racing heart. His limbs ached, his lungs burned, and his entire body throbbed with the soreness of effort he wasn't accustomed to. As far as he was concerned, they had done more than enough for one day.

But of course, Alex didn't agree. That much was obvious from the look in his eyes.

"All eight Pillars are currently in a meeting," Alex said as he folded his arms, his voice casual but matter-of-fact. "It's expected to last a few weeks. During that time, Grand Scholar Lazarus won't be able to teach you, so you'll be spending every day here, training with me instead. Is that alright with you?"

Jacob nodded faintly, his voice barely above a whisper as he answered, "Yes, alright."

Alex gave him a small grin, then took a few steps forward and extended a hand toward him. "Good. In that case, let's begin the actual workout."

For a moment, Jacob very nearly sat back down again. Actual workout? Then what, exactly, had they just finished? If the stretches and warm-ups alone had drained him this thoroughly, what lay ahead felt almost unimaginable.

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His body already ached from head to toe, his shirt stuck to his back with sweat, and every joint felt as if it had been quietly replaced with lead. But he didn't sit down. He didn't even protest. Because deep down, he knew it wasn't that the warm-ups had been too harsh. It was simply that he himself was too weak. So weak that the first step toward strength already felt like an uphill climb through mud.

Alex watched him as he rose shakily to his feet, and there was no mocking in his expression, only a calm, measured look that gave no indication of praise or pity. He nodded slightly, then pointed to the field. "Good. Now give me ten laps. Around the field. As fast as you can. No breaks."

Jacob didn't speak. He took a few deep breaths, willing some semblance of control back into his trembling limbs, then turned and made his way to the edge of the field. Just as he was bracing himself to begin, the sharp, unmistakable sound of steel striking steel rang out behind him.

He turned and saw Alex and Arthur, already engaged in another sparring match, their weapons blurring in the air as they traded blows with a precision and speed that felt almost theatrical if not for the clear sincerity in every swing.

What struck Jacob wasn't admiration or envy, but confusion. The looks on their faces were not grim or strained or even focused, they were smiling. Both of them. Grinning as though it were a game they couldn't get enough of.

To Jacob, it was an alien expression to wear in the middle of something so violent, and no matter how he looked at it, he couldn't understand it. He knew people sparred for training, sure, but this wasn't just training for them. It was enjoyment. They liked it. Why? What could possibly be enjoyable about fighting?

He turned away from the mystery and began his run.

It was a slow pace at first, more of a labored jog than anything elegant, and the ground felt uneven beneath his feet. The sun was hot, though not unbearably so, and the sweat that had already dampened his clothes now began to run freely.

The rhythmic clang of sparring behind him faded into the background like a persistent drumbeat, and all that remained in his awareness was the sound of his own breathing and the thud of his feet against packed earth.

The run was boring. Monotonous. Exhausting.

There were moments, far too many, when his legs burned so fiercely that he was sure they would seize up, moments when his chest felt tight and his heart slammed against his ribs with a violence that made him afraid something might break. And in those moments, the temptation to stop clawed at him. To collapse, to lie down, to whisper just once that he'd had enough.

But he didn't.

Instead, he laughed. Breathless, bitter laughter that startled even him. "Ha… haha… this is so hard," he gasped between strides. "Too hard…"

There was no joy in this. No sense of passion or fulfillment, no spark of inner fire driving him on like the stories told in books. He didn't feel brave or determined or special. He felt tired. Deeply, thoroughly tired. And he wanted to quit. Truly, desperately wanted to quit.

But he couldn't.

Not because of some vow to never give up, not because he had sworn an oath to grow stronger no matter the cost. No, it was simpler and heavier than that. If he gave up now, he would lose Alex's respect, perhaps for good. His father would be disappointed. His siblings too. And beyond all that, he would disappoint himself, the part of him that had dared to step out here at all.

So even though his body was screaming, and his mind begged for rest, he kept going. He ran because he had to, because he had made this choice and the weight of it now dragged behind him like chains, silent and unseen, but unbreakable. Every drop of effort squeezed from him wasn't about becoming a hero or standing on top of the world.

It was about not falling behind.

About not being left behind.

And so, after what felt like an eternity measured not in minutes but in the quiet agonies of each labored breath and every burning step, Jacob finally completed the tenth lap.

The moment his foot crossed the invisible line he had set for himself, his legs gave out beneath him without warning, and he collapsed to the ground. His chest heaved violently, each gasp clawing at his throat as his vision blurred and cleared and blurred again, his mind hanging somewhere on the edge of consciousness, unsure whether to return or slip away altogether.

To judge him harshly for this state would be unfair without understanding the scale of the task he had just undertaken. The training field, far from some modest track, was vast, easily the size of a full football pitch, perhaps even more.

Yes, his pace had been slow, the time he had taken long enough to draw concern rather than admiration from an outside observer, but the truth remained: Jacob had completed the laps. And for someone like him, someone who had until recently avoided strain, evaded effort, and sidestepped hardship, that in itself was no small feat.

"Do you want to stop for today?" came Alex's voice from behind him, the words soft and measured, yet tinged with that faint undercurrent of challenge that always seemed to ride beneath his otherwise calm demeanor.

The sound of it sent an involuntary shiver down Jacob's spine, as though his muscles remembered, even before his mind fully registered, the punishment they had just endured. And he hadn't even taken the bath yet, the knight's glory-infused soak meant to accelerate muscle recovery and enhance the effects of the training. He could stop now. He had earned that much, hadn't he?

But instead, he forced himself upright, limbs trembling and lungs still crying out for air, and between the gasps he managed to speak, voice cracked but determined. "What… what next?"

He could have left it there. No one would have faulted him. Even Alex would have agreed, grudgingly perhaps, but still honestly that Jacob had done enough for one day.

But that was exactly why he needed to continue. Because doing just enough had defined his past for too long, and if there was any hope of changing that, of growing beyond the version of himself who coasted on excuses and silence, then this was the moment to begin paying back the debt.

Alex stepped closer, his expression unreadable for a second before it softened slightly, and when he spoke again it was in a tone gentler than before, the kind of warmth that didn't coddle but acknowledged. "Are you sure? You look like you'll collapse at any moment."

It was true, he did. And part of him wanted nothing more than to lie back down and let the world turn without him for a while. But instead, he held Alex's gaze and gave a small, unsteady smile, the corners of his mouth twitching upward despite the fatigue etched into every muscle. "Yes… I'm sure. Let's keep going. Let's keep training."

Alex gave a single nod in response, no words needed, and without delay they resumed.

They trained until the sun had started its slow descent, casting long shadows across the field and bathing the grass in amber light.

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