The source of the constant clanging we had heard earlier soon became clear. Across the wide floor, several specter wolves in light brown training garb were sparring fiercely, swords flashing as they struck against one another.
Others pummeled massive hanging bags with relentless fists, while a few practiced against wooden posts with jutting branches that twisted and rebounded whenever struck.
It was pure, unbroken training—discipline etched into every movement.
"Your stance is laughable, you fool! And that is not how I told you to hold a sword!"
The harsh, commanding voice rang out from above, belonging to none other than the master of this domain—Hachiman.
He stood atop a high platform reached by a wide stairway, overseeing the training grounds like a general surveying his troops.
"Swing faster! Faster! Do you think the enemy will wait for you to come to your senses on the battlefield?" he barked again, his tone cutting through the air like steel.
