"Yield?" Kelvin asked, his voice carrying both the question and respect for his opponent's effort. Despite winning, there was no arrogance in his tone—only the acknowledgment of a hard-fought match.

Griminir stared at the spear point for a moment, then his fierce expression broke into a laugh—a booming sound that carried genuine good humor despite his defeat. It echoed across the training ground, full of life and energy. "Yield! Yield, damn it! Gods, Kelvin, when did you get so fast? I swear I had you pinned three different times and you just... weren't there anymore!"

Kelvin withdrew his spear immediately, the threatening gesture transforming into something friendly as he extended his now-free hand to help Griminir up. "When you started getting strong enough that I couldn't afford to trade blows with you anymore. That last overhead strike would have caved in my skull like an eggshell if it had connected solidly. I felt the wind displacement from here." He gestured to his shoulder. "And you actually tore my shirt without touching me—that's how close it was."

"But it didn't connect," Griminir replied philosophically, accepting the offered hand and hauling himself upright with Kelvin's help. Despite his size, Kelvin managed to provide genuine assistance—barely, his face reddening with effort, but he succeeded. "Because you're too damn slippery to hit. Like trying to grab a shadow, or fight smoke. Just when I think I've got you cornered, you've already moved to a position that makes my attack useless."

"Better to be a shadow than a target," Kelvin replied with a slight smile, clearly pleased by the description. "Besides, you nearly got me twice. That backhand counter after I dodged your first overhead strike was absolutely brilliant—if I'd been half a second slower committing to my thrust, you would have taken my head off. And if you'd varied your attack rhythm during the middle sequence instead of maintaining that consistent power tempo, I would have been caught flat-footed trying to predict the next strike."

"Really?" Griminir looked genuinely interested in the feedback, his expression showing none of the ego that might have prevented him from learning. "I thought keeping the rhythm consistent would make each strike flow better into the next one. Generate more power through momentum."

"It does generate more power," Kelvin confirmed. "But it also makes you predictable. Power means nothing if your opponent knows exactly when and where the strike is coming. Urgak's been teaching me that the deadliest warriors aren't necessarily the strongest—they're the ones who can't be predicted. Mixing fast and slow, hard and soft, keeping your opponent guessing."

"Noted," Griminir said seriously, clearly filing the advice away for future training. "Next time, I'll—"

"That was an excellent duel."

Both fighters spun toward the voice with impressive speed, their warrior instincts triggering instant alertness. Hands went instinctively to weapons—Kelvin's fingers tightening on his spear shaft, Griminir reaching for his embedded axe—before they recognized who had spoken and their combat readiness transformed into respectful attention.

Satou was walking toward them, a genuine smile on his face that reached his eyes, looking far more like his normal self than the cold, rage-filled figure who'd woken up thinking about murder. Lyra followed a step behind, her expression pleased but analytical as always, no doubt cataloging everything she'd observed about the fight for future strategic considerations.

"Lord Satou!" Both Kelvin and Griminir immediately moved to show proper respect, beginning to drop to one knee in the formal acknowledgment that subordinates gave their demon lord.

Satou waved them off before they could fully complete the gesture, his smile widening with genuine warmth. "None of that. Not when you're training this early and this well. Formality can wait until we're in an official setting. Right now, you're warriors honing your craft, and I'm just someone who appreciates seeing that dedication."

He approached them, his eyes taking in details—the sweat soaking their training clothes, the dust and dirt on their skin from falling and rolling, the minor bruises already forming, the intensity still visible in their expressions. "That was seriously impressive, both of you. Kelvin, your technical skill has improved dramatically since the last time I watched you train. You're reading your opponent's movements like you've been doing this for years instead of months. And Griminir…

Satou paused, looking the massive hobgoblin up and down with clear approval and not a small amount of amazement. "I barely recognized you. Seriously. If someone had told me this was the same scrawny goblin who used to hide behind his brother during the cave days, I would have called them a liar. When did you become a walking mountain?"

Griminir flushed slightly under the praise, his dark green skin taking on a slightly darker hue. He rubbed the back of his head with one massive hand in a gesture of embarrassment that looked almost comical on his now-imposing frame. "Urgak's training, Lord Satou. All credit goes to him. He... uh... he said if I wanted to truly protect the settlement and the people I care about, I needed to be strong enough to stand at the front lines without breaking. Needed to be someone who could hold ground when everyone else had to retreat. So I got strong. Or tried to, anyway."

"You certainly succeeded," Satou said warmly. He approached and reached up—Griminir had gained several inches of height along with all that muscle—to slap the hobgoblin on the shoulder in a friendly gesture.

The impact would have knocked a normal goblin clear off their feet, but Griminir barely swayed, his new mass and strength making him almost immovable. "With what both of you just displayed—the technical skill, the power, the tactical thinking, the sheer determination—I've already made up my mind. You're both coming with me on the next major operation. That level of improvement and dedication deserves recognition and opportunity."

Kelvin's eyes widened visibly, surprise and excitement warring on his face. "Coming with you? You mean—"

"I mean when we hunt down Merc Assault," Satou said, his voice hardening noticeably at the name, some of that cold edge from earlier returning to his tone. The temperature around them seemed to drop a few degrees just from his shift in demeanor. "When we go after the bastard who tried to kill me, who tortured me using the people I love as weapons. I'll need warriors I can trust at my back. Warriors who've proven they can handle themselves against serious threats and won't fold when things get difficult. That's you two."

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