The sun had not yet crested the jagged cliffs of the Forgotten Dragon Kingdom, but the winds were already stirring the dust that covered the training grounds like a faded battlefield. The sound of stomping feet—bare feet—pounded the earth in an endless rhythm.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Velgrynd stirred. Her eyelids twitched at the muffled noise beyond her chamber walls. The once-proud dragoness, Empress of Flames, now found herself in a modest stone room, not the golden halls of her realm. The walls here bore cracks, and the floor felt cold. It was humble, almost insulting. And yet, she hadn't left.
Not after what she saw in Yujiro Hanma.
She rose from bed slowly, her body still aching from her fight with him days ago. That man wasn't a monster—he was something more terrifying.
She walked to the open balcony and looked down at the wide stretch of the training fields.
Hundreds of soldiers were already moving.
Sweat drenched their bodies, steam rising off their skin in the morning chill. All barefoot. All focused. No weapons, no armor, no enchantments. Just grit and muscle. And at the edge of it all, standing like a crimson statue with arms crossed, was Yujiro.
He turned his head slightly.
Their eyes met.
"You want to be a part of this?" he said, loud enough to reach her from across the courtyard. "No magic. No energy. No healing. This is about your body—and your will."
Velgrynd clenched her fists.
"I'll do it."
Trial One: The 20-Mile Run
She joined the group, barefoot, standing between warriors with scars older than her last war. The trail they followed cut through the scorched wildlands beyond the kingdom's borders. Sharp rocks, broken wood, and dry cracked earth waited to eat away at her feet.
At first, it was easy. She surged ahead, proud and confident. She was a dragon. This was child's play.
By mile three, her feet began to sting.
By mile five, they bled.
By mile eight, the pain was unbearable—but she refused to fall behind. She pushed harder.
Breathing ragged, body shaking, she watched a young soldier—barely over five feet tall—jog past her with a calm rhythm.
"How?" she whispered, shocked.
The boy glanced at her, smiled, and said, "We run this route every morning. Pain becomes normal."
She gritted her teeth.
Trial Two: Martial Arts Drills
No break. No water. Just a shout from Yujiro.
"Forms!"
Everyone dropped into stances.
Velgrynd followed, even though her legs quivered.
A soldier next to her—a beastwoman with broken tusks—leaned over. "You're shaking."
"I'm not." Velgrynd hissed, breathless.
"You will."
Then came the strikes.
Punch. Elbow. Knee. Repeat. Again. Again.
Her arms burned. Her shoulders screamed. Every breath dragged like fire through her throat. Her fists turned red, then purple, then peeled.
"Focus your breath!" shouted Yujiro. "Don't let your pain control your body."
She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. This wasn't combat. It was survival.
Trial Three: Rock Punching
The line of boulders stood tall, ancient and cracked from years of fists. Soldiers lined up. Each would strike until they bled.
Velgrynd stepped forward. She stared at her chosen rock—larger than the rest. She didn't hesitate.
She punched.
Crack.
She pulled back. Her knuckles split open. Her skin peeled back.
She punched again.
Crack.
Blood splattered across the stone.
She screamed—internally. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing her falter.
Middray, passing by, called out, "Don't punch like you're still a god. You're just a person now. Use technique."
She didn't answer. But she adjusted her stance.
Punched again.
Again.
Trial Four: The Carry
Giant stones. Taller than men. Soldiers paired with a boulder and ordered to carry it across the field, from the hilltop to the riverbank. No breaks.
Velgrynd's was heavier than the others. Her pride wouldn't allow anything less.
She dug her hands under it, veins bulging in her arms.
She lifted—and the weight crushed her chest. Her knees buckled.
She screamed.
But didn't stop.
Each step left a bloody footprint. The crowd watched, silent, as the Flame Dragon crawled like a wounded animal.
The citizens—those who had feared her—now whispered.
"She's not giving up."
"She's bleeding."
"She's still walking."
When the sun touched the mountains, the horn blew. Training ended.
Velgrynd dropped the rock and fell to her knees.
She couldn't move.
Her body trembled. Her muscles locked. Her vision blurred.
Milim approached, walking beside Middray.
"Aunt Velgrynd…" Milim whispered.
Velgrynd looked up slowly, sweat clinging to her forehead like dew.
"Is this… what mortals feel?" she asked, voice cracking.
Middray nodded, kneeling beside her. "This is what we feel. Every. Single. Day. And now you do too."
Yujiro walked over.
He looked down, unimpressed. "You survived."
Velgrynd didn't speak.
Yujiro raised an eyebrow.
"Will you be back tomorrow?"
She answered through gritted teeth.
"I'll crawl here if I have to."
Yujiro smirked.
"Good."
The morning haze drifted across the Forgotten Dragon Kingdom as soldiers once again lined the training fields. Their feet were calloused, their eyes sharp. They had done this for years—rain, snow, blood, and broken bones. This wasn't a routine for them. It was life.
And today, Velgrynd returned.
She limped to the starting line, her feet wrapped in linen soaked through with blood from the previous day. Her arms still trembled. Her body screamed no. But her pride roared go.
She stood beside them—not as a goddess, not as a dragon, but as a warrior in training.
Trial One: The Return Run
The horn sounded.
They ran.
Velgrynd's first step was agony. Her muscles hadn't healed. Her body felt like shattered glass. Every contact with the rocky trail was a reminder—this is real. This is mortal.
She wanted to fly. She wanted to teleport. To heal. To cheat. But she didn't.
Around mile six, she tripped. Her knees hit the ground, skin tearing open.
A soldier stopped. A young woman with short white hair and burn marks down her arm.
"Get up," she said, offering no hand.
"I know what it's like. But you don't get stronger lying down."
Velgrynd clenched her jaw, pushed up, and ran.
By the time she finished the 20 miles, she collapsed into the dirt. But she finished.
Trial Two: The Art of Struggle
Martial drills began again.
Today, they sparred.
Velgrynd stood opposite a soldier in his mid-40s—scarred, lean, eyes dead from countless battles.
They bowed.
Then he attacked.
Velgrynd blocked too slowly.
Crack.
A fist to her ribs sent her stumbling. The soldier didn't wait. Another strike to the neck. A leg sweep. She hit the ground hard.
Pain exploded in her back. Her instincts screamed—transform. Burn him. Unleash Flame God.
She gritted her teeth. Ignored it.
She stood up.
"You're slow. You're proud. Pride doesn't stop fists," he said bluntly.
She didn't argue. She adjusted her stance.
Again.
She lost the next bout.
And the next.
But she kept rising.
Milim, from the sidelines, whispered to Middray, "She's changing."
Middray nodded slowly. "She's starting to understand."
Trial Three: Raw Endurance
Next, they lined up for the Mountain Drag—pulling sleds loaded with stone uphill while doing pushups every ten meters. Only will kept you going.
Velgrynd's hands blistered instantly. Her palms ripped open. Blood soaked the ropes.
Every push-up brought a flash of white across her vision. Her nose bled. She threw up halfway up the mountain—and wiped her mouth, spitting onto the stone.
"You're bleeding," a beastman said beside her.
She glanced over, red staining her teeth. "I noticed."
"Still going?"
"Still breathing."
They both grunted and moved again.
As dusk fell, Velgrynd sat beside a fire with Milim, Middray, and some of the soldiers. Her body trembled. Her voice barely worked. Her hands were wrapped in thick bandages, blood seeping through.
Still, she smiled—just slightly.
A soldier passed her a bowl of rice and dried meat. No one treated her like royalty anymore.
She liked it.
Milim leaned over.
"Why are you doing this?"
Velgrynd stared into the fire.
"Because... if I don't break myself, I'll never rebuild stronger. I thought power was enough. But I've never endured like this. Not as a dragon. Not as a goddess. This... this is real."
Yujiro approached, as silent as the night.
He sat across from her, arms folded, eyes calm but commanding.
"You're not strong yet."
She looked up at him.
"I know."
"But you're learning."
He stood.
"Tomorrow, we start the Hell Walk. No water. No food. No breaks. Just your mind against the elements."
A few soldiers groaned quietly. Others straightened.
Velgrynd took a deep breath.
"I'll be there."
Yujiro smirked. "Good. That's the difference between monsters and warriors. One is born strong. The other becomes it."