The pain didn't come all at once.
It settled in slowly, as if my body were negotiating with me over how much more it could yield before simply breaking. I woke before the sun rose, the simple ceiling of the lodging still wrapped in half-light, and stayed still for a few seconds, assessing every part of my body.
My arms responded. My legs too. But something was wrong inside, a constant pressure, as if the energy still hadn't found balance after the previous day's training.
Elara noticed as soon as I sat up.
"You're not recovered," she said, without raising her voice.
"I'm functional," I replied.
She closed her notebook slowly. "That's not the same thing."
Liriel stood near the window, silently watching outside. When she heard our conversation, she turned her face slowly. Her expression wasn't anger. It was restrained concern.
"You don't need to do this today," she said.
Vespera, leaning against the wall, crossed her arms. "Actually, he does. If he stops now, the method becomes just suffering without return."
I sighed. Both of them were right, and that made everything worse.
The elven instructor arrived shortly after, accompanied by the same uncomfortable silence as always. He didn't ask how I was. He only observed.
"The body responds differently today," he said after studying me for a few seconds. "That's expected."
"Expected doesn't mean acceptable," Liriel replied immediately.
"It means progress," he shot back.
The training began with fine adjustments. Less initial intensity, more sustained time. The method demanded something counterintuitive. Not advancing with everything, but keeping the body in a constant state of controlled tension, as if always on the verge of moving.
At first, it worked better than I expected.
The movements came out cleaner. Spatial perception was clearer. I could anticipate small variations in terrain, in the wind, even in distant sounds.
"Now advance," the instructor said.
I executed the displacement. It was fast. Precise. I stopped exactly where I had been instructed.
For a moment, I felt something close to pride.
Then the body demanded payment.
The internal pressure returned with greater force, as if something were being compressed beyond its limit. My breathing failed. The ground seemed to tilt. I dropped to my knees, bracing one hand so I wouldn't collapse completely.
"Takumi," Elara called, already moving toward me.
"Don't interrupt," the elf said. "If he breaks the flow now, the damage will be greater."
Liriel ignored him. She was at my side in seconds. "This has already gone beyond reasonable."
"I still have control," I said with difficulty.
It was true, but only technically.
Vespera watched in silence, her expression far too serious for someone used to smiling in the face of danger. "You're forcing beyond what the body can assimilate."
"That's the point of the method," the instructor replied. "Force adaptation."
"Or accelerate collapse," Liriel countered.
The training continued, but with longer intervals. Each attempt was heavier than the last. Not just physically, but mentally. Maintaining focus while the body screamed to stop demanded an almost cruel concentration.
When the instructor finally ended it, I could barely stay standing.
The walk back was slow. Elara practically supported me along some stretches. Liriel walked too close, as if ready to catch me at any moment. Vespera followed behind, alert to the surroundings, but clearly unsettled.
"You realize you're breaking yourself in layers," Vespera said after a while.
"I know."
"Then why?" she pressed.
I thought before answering. "Because retreating now means accepting that the next encounter with the General ends the same as the last."
Liriel clenched her fists. "And if you don't make it there alive?"
"Then I failed trying to move forward," I replied.
Back in the lodging, Elara began the recovery process. It wasn't full healing. It was containment. Adjusting what could be adjusted, preventing the damage from accumulating too quickly.
"This method doesn't create stable strength," she said as she worked. "It creates spikes."
"I need those spikes."
"But they'll demand payment later."
"I know."
Silence spread through the room. Liriel sat nearby, her eyes fixed on me. She said nothing for a long time.
"You're not disposable," she finally said.
"I know I'm not."
"Then stop acting like you are."
I didn't answer. I had no honest response that wouldn't sound empty.
Later, when night had fully taken over the sky, I tried to rest. My body didn't cooperate. I slept for a few minutes, woke with internal pain, adjusted my breathing, tried again.
Between those broken cycles, I thought about what was happening.
I wasn't getting stronger in the traditional way.
I was becoming more aware.
I knew exactly where to push. Where to hold. Where to accept pain as cost. It was unstable. Dangerous. But real.
It was one step beyond what I had been before.