Hellish Training

After returning to my room, I collapsed onto the floor, my body brimming with exhaustion. Luckily, my maid Rose was following closely behind, ready to come to my aid.

"Prepare an ice bath," I ordered, hoping it would help deal with some of this pain.

"Certainly, Young Master," Rose responded promptly.

After ten minutes of waiting, Rose helped me walk to the tub and assisted in removing my clothes before sinking into the tub slowly embracing the cold that enveloped my fatigued body.

As I settled into the icy water, my mind wandered back to the course of my day. The relentless training regimen set by Gareth had pushed me to my limits and beyond. Perhaps I had overestimated my abilities.

"Even so, I can't let that deter me" I muttered.

The following days blurred together in a relentless training montage. Each morning, I would wake up before dawn, my body still aching from the previous day's exertions and I would meet Garreth in the training area, ready to endure the torture he had prepared for me.

Day after day, I was subjected to intense physical challenges. I ran countless laps, carrying whatever items seemed heavy to Garreth, from swords to spears to giant hammers, he was merciless.

I would skip hours on end, the repetitive jumping almost made me willingly jump from my bedroom window to escape the torture but I wouldn't give in, even when every muscle in my body screamed for respite I couldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me surrender, my pride would not allow it.

The constant insults he threw like rocks, calling me weak and spoiled, worthless beyond repair, only served as a test of my will and I refused to yield, I refused to go back to that weak and pathetic human that got hit by a damn truck and by the fifth day, I had grown accustomed to the demanding training routine.

The exhaustion that had overwhelmed me before was no longer overpowering. I had learned to push through the pain and after each grueling session, I meditate to regain my focus and strengthen my body and my magic.

It became a ritual, a way to center myself amidst the physical and mental challenges.

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Finally, the next week arrived, and I went to training expecting to endure another day of running and skipping. However, Garreth surprised me.

"You have exceeded my expectations," he stated with a hint of disappointment. "And as such, we can finally start training for real now."

He began explaining the importance of proper footwork, balance, and agility in swordsmanship. We delved into discussions about the significance of precise movements and how they could give me an advantage in combat.

Then, Garreth introduced a series of footwork drills, demanding my full dedication and focus. I was instructed to practice every movement, every minute of every hour, every day for the next week. It was a relentless repetition, a relentless pursuit of mastery.

Without hesitation, I embraced the challenge. I stayed in the training room for the entire week, even when my maid or my mother came to check on me. I practiced tirelessly, honing my footwork, and a week later, Garreth paid a visit to the training room.

As he entered, I peeped the expression lingering on his gruff face, he was clearly taken aback by the sight before him. I was there, practicing, showing no signs of rest or retreat.

"Don't tell me this kid never left the room," Garreth muttered to himself. He approached me, causing the stench caused by my week-long exertion to slap him in the face. He cursed under his breath, as he seemed more mad at himself for coming so close,

"Kid! I swear if you don't get the hell out of here and go take a shower right now!!!"

"Yes Master" I quickly replied.

I hurriedly made my way back to my room and summoned Rose to draw a bath and soaked for an hour making sure the stench that clung to me disappeared.

As I soaked, I reflected on the progress I had made, and looking back, I couldn't help but think that despite its physical toll on me, I couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment.

After my much-needed break, I returned to training to find out that Garreth had devised a new phase in my training regimen, one that involved sparring and combat drills.

I stood face to face with a man I had never seen before, he stood tall and imposing. His chiseled features were framed by a close-cropped salt-and-pepper beard that added an air of wisdom and maturity to his countenance. His piercing blue eyes held a sharp intensity coupled with the deep lines etched across his forehead, he was experienced and his muscular frame was evident even beneath the sturdy armor he wore.

"Good Morning, Your Grace, I must say it is impressive for someone so young to take up the challenge of swordsmanship," he remarked, his voice laced with a mix of skepticism and curiosity.

I straightened my posture, meeting his gaze with unwavering determination. "I wish to hone my skills and become a formidable swordsman, Sir, also, would you be kind enough to inform me of your name."

A flicker of surprise flashed across Sir Roderick's eyes, momentarily breaking his stoic demeanor. "Ah, my apologies, Your Grace, my name is Roderick Bettenhaur, I am honored to be sparring with you your grace,"-he lamented before finishing "You may choose your weapon so we can begin."

I scanned the array of weapons laid out before me, each one gleaming with deadly potential. My eyes settled on a slender, well-balanced short wooden sword. Its intricate hilt and slender blade were suitable for my short, slender stature.

Sir Roderick, armed with a wooden longsword, nodded approvingly as he watched my weapon choice. He raised his sword, adopting a defensive stance, while I mirrored his movements and so we were ready to begin.

"Fight!" ordered Garreth, as impatience crept up on him.

Sir Roderick charged at me with unmatched ferocity, his sword slicing through the air with deadly precision, he struck down aiming at the center of my head but I managed to swiftly spin to his left and counter-attacked, aiming a strike at the back of his trailing left leg, but he sensed it and manifested his aura, focusing on the point of impact, rendering my attack useless.

I went on the attack due to the disadvantage I had in stature, aiming my strikes at his thighs, lunging ferociously at his hips, and launching aggressive aura, backed horizontal slashes at his stomach but despite my best efforts, I found myself struggling.

He defended everything I threw at him and instead put me on the defensive, I couldn't keep up with his relentless attacks. His years of experience and honed skills were evident in every move he made.

I moved with quick reflexes, attempting to dodge his strikes, but Sir Roderick seemed to anticipate my every move. His blade met mine with force, pushing me back and disrupting my rhythm. The clash of swords resonated through the training grounds, a constant reminder of my struggle.

Try as I might, I could not find an opening in Sir Roderick's defenses. His guard was impenetrable, his movements calculated and precise and my attacks were parried effortlessly, leaving me frustrated and desperate for a breakthrough.

Fatigue began to set in, weighing down my limbs and clouding my judgment. Every swing of my sword felt sluggish, lacking the finesse and speed necessary to overcome Sir Roderick's formidable skill. My frustration grew, and doubt started to creep into my mind.

Despite my best efforts, Sir Roderick's skill and experience proved too much for me to handle. He maneuvered around me with ease, exploiting every weakness in my defense. Each blow he landed felt like a crushing defeat, draining my strength and resolve.

"Enough!" Shouted Garreth, seemingly tired of watching my pathetic struggle.

I sheathed my sword, accepting the defeat with humility. Sir Roderick extended a hand towards me, offering a gesture of respect which I accepted graciously.

"You are a warrior with excellent potential, Your Grace," Sir Roderick remarked, his voice carrying a hint of admiration.

"Thank you, Sir Roderick," I replied, a sense of gratitude warming my voice. Despite the defeat.

Roderick then left, leaving me and Garreth in the room, I stood nervously awaiting whatever fresh torture he had devised and I wasn't disappointed.

"Get a real sword off the rack over there"

I walked over to the weapons section of the room and picked up a Claymore sword, a long sword around 55 inches long, almost eclipsing my current stature, and walked back to Garreth awaiting my instructions.

"Swing it ten thousand times,"

"What the actual f***"

"Start and don't think about leaving until you finish"

"Why the hell did I pick up this damn sword," I muttered in frustration.