The sun began to dip below the curved edges of Callex's palace walls, painting the skies in gold and pale blue.
The temple knights—once confident and arrogant at the beginning of training—were now slumped on the ground like sacks of flour left out too long.
Not one of them could stand straight without their legs shaking beneath them.
Malrik had gone particularly hard on them.
Every mistake was corrected with brutal precision.
Every ounce of laziness punished. After the earlier stunt they pulled with Nova, Malrik hadn't held back—not with his words, not with his drills, and certainly not with the weight of expectations.
There had been no water breaks, no leniency. Only orders, and the demand to follow them until they collapsed or improved.
Some threw up. Others trembled and whimpered under their breaths. But none dared complain.
Nova watched it all unfold from the side of the courtyard, arms crossed and back resting against the wall. He didn't feel bad. They'd deserved it.
