Training Hall Two was silent except for the distant hum of mana-infused lights and the occasional faint crackle from rune targets drifting in the air. The floor was polished stone, marked with faint scratches from years of training.
Aren stood in the center, bow ready.
Kane faced him with his arms folded, expression calm but observant.
"Before you improve," Kane said, "I need to understand the limits of your current strength."
Aren nodded. "What do I do?"
"First," Kane said, "stamina test."
He pointed to a row of six metal mannequins—each one thicker, heavier, and sturdier than the last.
"Shoot each one with your normal arrows. No void bending. Just raw power."
Aren raised his bow.
He inhaled—
released—
The arrow struck the first mannequin cleanly, leaving a deep dent.
"Good," Kane said. "Next."
Aren moved to the second.
He drew again—
released—
The second arrow dented the steel, but less deeply.
By the fourth mannequin, Aren's breaths grew heavier. His muscles ached, especially near the ribs where the burn had not fully healed.
He still fired.
The arrow struck the fourth mannequin, but only left a shallow mark.
Kane stepped forward and touched the dent.
"Your basic power is acceptable," he said. "But barely. You rely too much on void-assisted shots. Without that, you're weaker than you think."
Aren didn't argue.
He already knew.
Kane motioned to the last two mannequins.
"You're not ready for these. Not yet."
Aren nodded silently.
Kane continued:
"Now—mobility."
He tapped a rune on the wall.
The room shifted.
Seven floating crystal spheres appeared, orbiting Aren in unpredictable paths—some fast, some slow.
"Don't shoot them," Kane said. "Avoid them."
Aren blinked. "Avoid?"
Kane nodded. "You over-focus. You aim too much. In real combat, you need instincts."
The spheres shot forward—
fast.
Aren ducked under the first, rolled past the second, and bent backward as a third whizzed past his face.
Kane's voice echoed calmly.
"Breathe. Don't panic. Adjust."
A sphere flew toward Aren's ribs. He twisted sideways, feeling the air shift inches from his bandages.
Another came from above—he stepped left.
Two from the sides—he crouched.
Aren's breaths grew sharper, sweat forming along his neck. His muscles ached from the previous battle, but he forced his body to adapt.
Kane watched silently.
After two minutes, the spheres vanished.
Aren exhaled heavily.
Kane spoke:
"Better than I expected."
Aren wiped sweat from his brow. "Thank you."
"But not enough." Kane added quickly. "Let's continue."
He tapped another rune.
This time, wooden projectiles shot out from the walls—thin, fast disks meant for reflex training.
Aren pulled his bow instinctively—
but Kane raised a hand.
"No bow. Catch them."
Aren blinked once.
Then the disks fired.
Aren reacted purely on instinct—snatching one out of the air, sidestepping the next, letting another skim past his shoulder.
He caught three more in rapid succession.
By the time the tenth disk launched, Aren's fingers stung and his lungs burned.
He caught it clumsily.
Kane nodded.
"That's enough."
Aren dropped the disks, chest rising and falling rapidly. He wasn't exhausted, but the effort showed.
Kane approached, hands behind his back.
"Right now," he said, "your speed is ahead of most level six archers. Your accuracy is exceptional. Your adaptability is good."
He paused.
"But your stamina and physical strength are underdeveloped."
Aren expected that.
Kane continued, "A Void Archer relies heavily on bending and manipulating force. If your body can't keep up with the recoil, you'll injure yourself. Yesterday was proof."
Aren nodded slowly. He still remembered the sharp pain that lanced through his arm during the demon fight when he over-bent a shot.
"So," Kane said, "we focus on foundation."
He pointed at a reinforced iron bow sitting on a rack.
"Start with this."
Aren lifted it—and immediately felt the difference.
It was heavy.
Much heavier than his own.
His arm tightened with effort just to pull the string a few centimeters.
Kane watched him quietly.
"That is the standard bow used by third-year students," he said. "You won't use void energy with it. This is purely to strengthen your draw and stabilizers."
Aren inhaled, focusing.
He drew.
The bowstring creaked loudly.
He held it—
shaking—
then slowly let go.
Kane nodded once.
"Fifty repetitions."
Aren blinked. "…Fifty?"
Kane turned away casually.
"If you want to stay alive in future demon encounters, fifty is the bare minimum."
Aren took a slow breath.
"Understood."
He began drawing the iron bow repeatedly.
The first ten reps were easy.
The next ten strained his arms.
After thirty, sweat dripped from his jaw.
By forty, his ribs ached sharply.
But he didn't stop.
On repetition fifty, his arms shook violently—but he held the string for a full second before releasing.
Kane finally turned around.
"Good."
Aren exhaled, shoulders burning.
Kane walked closer. "From now on, you'll do this every day, after all other training. It'll take one month before the weight feels natural."
Aren nodded, controlling his breath.
Kane continued:
"Now we move to void control."
Aren straightened immediately.
Kane gestured at his bow. "Use your own. Light shots."
Aren switched to his bow and breathed deeply.
Kane placed four rune targets in the air.
"Curve the arrow slightly—no more than thirty degrees. No heavy bending."
Aren aimed.
He released.
The arrow curved gently and struck the first target.
"Good. Next."
Another shot—
light curve—
hit.
"Too much bending wastes stamina," Kane said. "Your ability is strong, but raw. You must learn precision."
Aren nodded.
He fired again.
This time, the curve tightened too early.
The arrow clipped the target's edge.
Kane shook his head.
"Control the curve. Don't let it control you."
Aren inhaled, focusing harder.
Fourth shot—
perfect curve—
direct hit.
"Better."
Kane moved closer.
"Aren, understand this clearly."
He tapped his chest lightly.
"Strength isn't in the bending. Strength is in when to bend."
Aren absorbed the words silently.
Kane continued training him through eight more sets—
wide curves, narrow curves, delayed curves, sudden curves.
After a full hour, Aren's arms trembled from exertion.
Kane finally lifted a hand.
"That's enough for today."
Aren lowered his bow slowly.
Kane studied him.
"Tomorrow, you'll return."
His voice held a finality that allowed no argument.
"Morning. Before classes."
Aren nodded. "I'll be here."
Kane's tone softened the slightest bit.
"You learn fast. Faster than I expected."
Aren didn't respond.
"But don't get comfortable," Kane added. "This level of training is only the beginning."
Aren breathed out.
"I didn't expect it to be easy."
Kane gave a faint nod.
"Good."
He turned and started walking toward the exit.
Aren followed quietly, muscles aching but mind sharper than ever.
Before leaving, Kane glanced back once.
"Aren."
Aren stopped.
Kane's eyes held the rare hint of approval.
"For your first day of real training—well done."
Aren's chest tightened just slightly—not pride, but determination strengthening like steel.
Kane left the hall.
Aren remained for a moment, looking at the scattered training spheres, the iron bow, the rune targets.
His muscles throbbed, his ribs burned, and sweat soaked his shirt.
But all he felt was focus.
Tomorrow would be harder.
He welcomed it.