Time passed for a few more minutes in the training grounds—filled with constant nagging, sharp insults, and the occasional controlled beating. Each strike, each rebuke, was calculated. Lucian moved through them like a storm in human form, not even breaking a sweat.
By now, every soldier lay sprawled on the ground, bodies aching and covered in light bruises, most panting for breath like drowning men. Their uniforms were rumpled, their magic drained, and their pride nowhere to be found.
Lucian stood amidst the carnage, arms crossed, expression carved from ice and iron.
"Is that really what all of you have to show me…?"
His voice rang clear—disappointed, unyielding.
