I threw myself into training, grinding away every day for the next week. I'd spend hours locked in the dojo, pushing my limits until my limbs burned and my breath came in ragged.
It wasn't because I was worried about the Mock War.
Seeing Thalia up close confirmed that she had improved a lot, but… I had slain a god. A literal god.
One that was weakened by the centuries of rotting corruption and slain only with the help of a divine intervention, sure.
But it was a god nonetheless that fell to my blade.
So I was fairly confident that my combat skills were more than enough to handle a teenage girl.
Pftt.
Then what was the actual reason I was subjecting every single muscle fiber in my body to this extreme torture?
I guess it was just therapeutic.
There was far too much on my mind.
The mark of the Mother of Mercy branded on my flesh, which had now shifted to my lower abdomen, was still bothering me.
