The second day began harsher than the first.
Ragna's body remembered everything.
Every step onto the training ground sent a dull ache through his legs. His shoulders felt heavy, as though invisible weights had been strapped to his bones. Even lifting the practice sword required effort.
Sir Aldren noticed immediately.
"Begin," he said simply.
" Seems like I'll have to reconsider this training ... Being a mage doesn't require this much stress ... This is hell!"
Ragna ran.
By the fourth lap, his breathing was uneven. By the seventh, his vision blurred at the edges. He pushed through anyway, teeth clenched, feet striking stone with stubborn rhythm.
I can do this.
But when he stopped, his knees buckled.
He caught himself before he fell—barely.
Aldren's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.
"Compared to your average ten year old ... Ragna is already outstanding, the difference in mental fortitude is remarkable." Aldren muttered in audibly.
The push-ups followed.
Ten.
Fifteen.
Twenty.
At twenty-three, Ragna's arms gave out. He hit the ground hard, chest slamming against stone.
Silence.
With face buried in the dirt " how can this be so hard. It's only thirty pushups but my body can handle it, how am I going to do fifty if it ever gets increased" Ragna wallowed in his frustration.
Ragna lay there, breathing raggedly, fingers twitching. He tried to push himself up again—but his arms refused to respond.
They simply… would not move, rather, the trembling intensified.
"I said thirty," Aldren said calmly.
"I—" Ragna gritted his teeth and tried again.
Nothing, he was just too exhausted to even move.
For the first time since training began, panic flickered across his face.
"My body isn't listening," he muttered.
Aldren crouched beside him. "Because you've reached its limit, your body isn't cooperating. Do you know why?" He asked " it because you're weak."
Ragna slammed a fist weakly against the ground. "Then the training isn't right," he snapped, frustration bleeding into his voice. "If I'm going to become stronger, I need a guide that actually suits me!"
The words escaped before he could stop them.
The yard went still.
Aldren studied him—not with anger, but interest.
"Stand," he ordered.
Ragna struggled, trembling as he forced himself upright. His legs shook uncontrollably.
"Swing," Aldren said, placing the sword back in his hands.
Ragna lifted it—and nearly dropped it.
His arms burned. His grip slipped. His stance collapsed.
He stared at his hands in disbelief.
"I… I can't."
Aldren nodded slowly. "Now you see it."
Ragna looked up. "See what?"
"You don't lack talent," Aldren said. "You lack stamina. Your magic compensates for your weakness—but when it is removed, your body reveals the truth. Talent is great, but it can never replace hardwork."
The words stung more than the fall.
"I thought…" Ragna whispered. "I thought if I pushed harder—"
"Pushing harder without a foundation only breaks you faster," Aldren said. "From this point onward, sword technique is suspended."
Ragna's head snapped up. "What? ... But that's why am putting up with this..."
"We'll focus solely on physical conditioning," Aldren continued. "Endurance. Recovery. Breath control. Pain tolerance, you lack all this. You need a proper foundation if you're going to hold a sword."
Ragna clenched his fists. "…Understood."
Before Aldren could say more, footsteps echoed across the yard.
Lady Sabrina had arrived.
Her gaze moved from Aldren to Ragna, lingering on the boy's shaking legs and pale face. Her lips pressed into a thin line.
"This is enough for now," she said.
Ragna bowed weakly. "Mother—"
She raised a hand. "After your physical training," she continued, turning to Aldren, "Ragna will train his magic with me personally."
Aldren inclined his head. "As you wish, Your Grace."
Sabrina's eyes returned to Ragna, softer now. "Your body must grow, yes—but your magic is part of who you are. I will not allow it to stagnate."
Ragna nodded. "Thank you, Mother."
Another voice entered the yard.
"And he will also join the knight trainees, there are kids of his age already mastering the way of the sowrd."
Lord Chalvin stood at the edge of the grounds, arms folded, expression unreadable.
Ragna stiffened.
"Knight what ..."
"Knight training?" Sabrina asked, turning to him.
"Yes," Chalvin replied evenly. "Not to elevate him. To temper him."
He looked directly at Ragna.
"If he insists on walking the path of steel, then he will learn what it truly means to stand among knights. Formation drills. Discipline. Obedience."
Ragna swallowed.
Aldren glanced between them, then nodded slowly. "That will reinforce endurance and mental cohesion. I believe this is an opportunity for young master Ragna to learn basic swordmanship, not just from instructors just as my self, but also from, others of his age grade."
Sabrina studied Chalvin for a long moment.
Then she nodded. "Very well."
"I don't know what Chalvin is planning, but is Aldren agrees to his proposal, then there's nothing I can do"
Ragna's heart pounded—not with fear, but something heavier.
Expectation.
Pressure.
Exhaustion.
Aldren stepped forward. "Your training plan is revised," he said. "Morning: physical conditioning. Midday: knight drills. Evening: magic control under Her Grace."
Ragna straightened, pain screaming through every muscle.
"Yes, sir."
Aldren met his gaze. "This path will be harder."
Ragna nodded. "I know, if it means I'll be better that I am today, then am willing to thread this path."
"And it will break weaker men," Aldren continued.
Ragna's eyes did not waver. "Then I'll stand back up."
A faint smile touched Aldren's lips.
Lady Sabrina watched her son—because that was what he had become to her—and felt both pride and fear tighten her chest.
Steel was shaping him.
Fire was answering him.
And soon, even his body would learn what his heart already knew:
This path had no turning back.
As she turns to take a glance, she could see Ragna standing upright with a smile, despite his legs trembling. She just chuckles, then walks away.