The sound of Naya boots walking on the floor was enough to silence every guard in the dungeon.
She stopped at the edges of the training ground, arms folded, her crimson gaze sweeping the ranks of demons.
"Report," she said.
Captain Verin stepped forward, helmet under his arm. "No intrusions overnight. Patrols completed. Morale—"
"Low," she interrupted. "Good. Fear of me is good."
The captain swallowed. "Yes, General."
Naya descended the steps, each one making the demons look away.
She wore no armor today, just the sleeveless black uniform that left the tattoos on her arms bare.
The soldiers exchanged uneasy glances; they knew that when their commander trained without magic, things were about to become unpleasant and very brutal.
"You guard the heart of this realm," she said, voice echoing. "You stand between our King's dominion and the filth above. And yet yesterday I caught three of you asleep."
No one moved or speaked.
Naya's expression didn't change. "So we correct that."
She drew the white-and-purple katana from her hip.
"Form a circle," she ordered. "All of you. Blades ready."
A ring of demons surrounded her. The floor glowed faintly beneath their feet, reacting to the surge of tension.
Verin hesitated. "General, with respect, that's—"
"Instruction," she said. "Begin."
The first strike came from her left a spear aimed at her shoulder.
She sidestepped, pivoted, and slammed her elbow into the attacker's chest. The impact launched him backward into two others.
"Too slow."
Another lunged. She twisted, catching his wrist, and used his own momentum to flip him over her shoulder.
The ground cracked beneath his weight. Without looking, she kicked the next square in the stomach. The sound of his pain echoed.
She moved through them like a storm—precise, unhurried, merciless. Every block flowed into a counter, every motion stripped of wasted effort. Her strikes were efficient and hurted like hell.
Within minutes, the circle had collapsed into chaos. Armor clanged, weapons scattered. She hadn't even used her flame magic.
"Get up," she commanded as the last few hesitated. "The enemy won't wait while you whine."
One desperate demon charged, swinging a massive axe. Naya ducked under the blow and punched him once in the chest. The weapon flew from his hands; he dropped to his knees, gasping.
She finally sheathed her sword. "This is what happens when you are too lazy. You rely too much on me and your magic . Remove it, and you're soft."
Silence. Dozens of soldiers knelt, chests heaving.
Naya folded her arms. "You will train until you no longer only rely on magic . Power means nothing without control."
Her gaze found Verin again. "Triple patrols for the next cycle. Rotate the wounded out once they can stand. Anyone who can't by sunset—dismissed permanently."
Verin bowed his head. "Understood."
She turned on her heel and walked away, boots echoing down the corridor.
—-
The elevator runes carried her upstairs , humming softly as they responded to her aura.
Her reflection in the black-glass walls stared back: expression calm, eyes sharp, a faint line of dried blood at her gloved knuckles. She wiped it off with a cloth, satisfied.
By the time she reached her floor, the silence felt earned.
"Acceptable performance," she murmured to herself. "If they keep that up, the next human raid won't even reach the second floor."
She wasn't given to pride, but she allowed herself a thin smile. The soldiers would talk for weeks about today's lesson. Fear was the best teacher for over a century now.
She set her sword back on its stand and removed her gloves. The faint sting in her hands pleased her—it reminded her she was still unbeatable and cruel.
Crossing the chamber, she poured a cup of cold water from the crystal decanter and drank. Her mind ticked through schedules, resource lists, patrol adjustments.
Everything was in order.
Perfectly, predictably in order.
She walked to the balcony that overlooked the lower levels. From here, the view stretched far into a demon village.
The stillness calmed her. She had lived more than a century in these depths, seen countless wars, crushed countless heroes. Humans came and went like sparks in the wind.
So why did she keep the masked girl out of her mind today.
Her fingers brushed the railing, metal warm beneath her touch.
She'd convinced herself the masked girl wouldn't return after last time. The blast she'd unleashed should have scared off even the most delusional adventurer.
Good. Fewer distractions. The King wanted focus, and focus she would give.
She turned away, dismissing the thought, and crossed to her desk. Reports and so much work waited for her .
—-
An hour passed, then another. Naya looked up from the paperwork, frowning.
A faint vibration rippled through the walls. Not an attack—too soft.
Not an earthquake either. It felt almost like footsteps, distant but deliberate, echoing up the central corridor of her floor.
She listened. The steps grew louder.
Every guard stationed on the lower gates had standing orders to alert her of any breach.
No messenger had arrived.
That could only mean one thing: whoever was coming had already handled them.
Naya straightened slowly. Her hand went to her sword but did not draw it yet.
Her expression remained composed, though her pulse quickened with anticipation.
The great doors at the end of the chamber shuddered, then began to open.
Heat poured in, mingled with the scent of dust and smoke.
And through the widening gap stepped a figure she recognized instantly: small, cloaked, silver hair gleaming faintly even under the dungeon's red light.
A silver mask hid half the face, but she didn't need to see it to know.
The masked girl had returned.
For the first time that day, Naya's composure slipped.
She exhaled once, and drew her katana in a single graceful motion. The blade caught the firelight, glowing white at the edges.
"So," she murmured, "you came back after all."