This time, Icarius didn't blink. Her approach seemed slow, deliberate, yet in the next heartbeat, she was already upon him, her sword cutting for his side again.
Icarius swung up his blade to meet hers. Steel clashed. The impact rattled through his arms, his wrists screaming, but he held his ground. Then, something, an echo of knowledge not his own, flashed through his mind. His body moved before he thought, shifting the angle of his blade just slightly. Their swords slid against each other, Bellona's edge skimming downward.
She stumbled half a step, then recovered instantly. Her wrists turned, reversing the pressure as she drove him downward. Their blades locked. Icarius dropped to one knee, muscles burning, barely holding her off. It was like a mountain pressing down on him, making him sink further.
"Breathe," Bellona said, her voice low and steady. "Make your heartbeat like the drums of war. Draw from the War Flame. Let it flow through your muscles, your whole body."
Her sword pressed harder, forcing him lower, until he was almost sitting.
Icarius's breaths came fast and ragged. Then, warmth bloomed in his chest. The weak flame within his heart stirred, thin threads, like snakes of fire coursed through his veins, coiling around his muscles. Strength surged through him, faint but real. His trembling stopped. He began to push back.
"Good," Bellona said, her eyes glinting with approval. The boy had potential.
From the edge of the arena, Arthur nodded once, silent but intrigued. The young kid was talented. He managed to move his flame quite fast.
"Ahhh!" Icarius shouted, his heart pounding as another flash of instinct, an image, a memory not his own, appeared in his mind. Without hesitation, he obeyed it. Knees pressed to the ground, he managed to twist his body, rotating sharply while his shield swung low toward Bellona's legs.
But before it could connect, her knee shot up like lightning, slamming into his chin. His vision almost blackened. His head snapped back, and he collapsed onto the dirt, barely conscious. The flame within him dulled the worst of the pain, toughening his body, but he could still feel the crack in his jaw.
After a moment, he lay there gasping, staring up at the night sky. Every breath burned.
"At the first stage, while you're still a Hoplite, Ares's War Flame can enhance every aspect of your body," Bellona said, her voice calm but firm. "Strength, stamina, bones, even the mind itself."
She paused, watching him struggle to breathe. "But there's a cost. When the Flame recedes, it leaves exhaustion in its wake. To fight longer, you must train your body to endure it, and learn how to control, master, the Flame itself."
Icarius nodded weakly, absorbing her words.
Ever since his awakening, his senses had sharpened. He could feel the fire inside him, a faint, flickering presence, fragile yet alive. He understood now that it could be called forth, shaped… if only he knew how. At the moment, it was like a door within his heart, which he didn't have the key and had to be broken, opening to release those serpents. He had no control over it whatsoever. He didn't know how to open those doors.
"How do I control it?" he asked, struggling to sit up, breath ragged, pain attacking his chin, but he still managed to talk.
"There is no single way," Bellona replied, sword still hanging loosely at her side. "Each warrior's flame is their own. Every body is different. The only way is to experiment, learn what stirs it, what sustains it."
Hearing that, Icarius nodded and forced himself to his feet, swaying slightly. Around them, most of the warriors had already climbed back up the mountain to rest, but a few still lingered in the other arenas, sparring or drilling under torchlight. The night carried their sounds clearly, the clash of steel, the bark of orders, the rhythm of combat that seemed to echo through the entire valley.
"What's your way?" Icarius asked, turning his gaze back to Bellona.
She sighed. "Captain," she corrected flatly.
He blinked. "What?"
"Captain Bellona," she repeated, her tone firm but patient. "Since Enyalios has placed you under my command, you'll address me properly from now on."
Icarius froze, realizing his mistake. He'd never served in an army before, though he'd tried once. The pay had been good, and after his parents' deaths, he needed the coin. He was skilled with a bow, even decent with a knife. But the moment they learned he was Giorgio's brother, the recruiters turned him away.
"I—apologies, Captain," he said quickly, straightening. His eyes flicked toward Arthur, who stood beyond the arena's edge, watching him in silence. The man's expression was calm and a smile on his lips.
Then, without hesitation, Icarius mimicked what he remembered from the soldiers of Silva Village. He pressed a hand to his chest and bowed. The gesture was awkward and clumsy, more imitation than formality, but the heightened control over his body lent it a strange precision, almost grace.
"Good. You may rise," Bellona said with a short nod.
A smile never crossed her face. The lines on her forehead spoke of years spent frowning rather than laughing, though Icarius thought he saw faint traces of old laugh lines on her cheeks, the marks of a woman who might have once smiled often.
"I found my way through the sword," she said, her tone softening slightly. "One day, while I was practicing, it just… happened. I felt the War Flame move with me, flowing through every strike. The more I wielded it, the more I could control it."
Icarius nodded and gave his blade a few experimental swings. It cut the air cleanly, but he felt nothing different, no warmth, no power. He frowned and glanced toward Arthur, who was still standing outside the arena.
"There's no need to bow to me," Arthur said, dismissing the gesture with a wave of his hand. Unlike Bellona, there was always a trace of amusement lingering on his lips. "For me, it happened in battle, my first real battle. When I struck down an enemy, I felt the War Flame was under my control."
Icarius froze, lowering his sword.
"Kill…" he whispered.
He had never killed another person. He had fought before, countless times, but always stopped short of taking a life. Even when he could have ended those who wronged him, something always held him back. The thought of a family waiting for them, a child, a parent. Even in the forest, when hunting, he could never shoot a rabbit or an eagle with its offspring beside it. His heart refused.
Arthur watched him silently, then shook his head. "If you truly want to survive, and find a way back to your world, you'll need to let go of that mercy. Here, if you don't kill, you'll be killed."
The words struck Icarius like a hammer. Kill or be killed. The law of the jungle.
He barely had time to process it when a sudden kick slammed into his chest. The breath was driven out of him as he hit the ground hard, coughing.
"Never drop your guard," Bellona said sharply. "An enemy won't wait for you. They'll strike the moment you hesitate or lose your attention." She stepped back, sword at her side.
Groaning, Icarius forced himself upright again, clutching his ribs. They felt cracked, maybe broken, but he steadied himself nonetheless.
"On your feet," Bellona barked. "We've got a long night ahead. Don't worry, our Lady can heal you, even drag you back from death itself, if the timing's right."
And so the night passed like a comet's trail, bright, brutal, and unrelenting. Again and again, Icarius was thrown to the ground, cut, and kicked, his body breaking. By dawn, he had fallen more than two hundred times.