The day could not end soon enough.

The afternoon had actually started quite nicely, with a light meal of stewed tomatoes and lentils with an over-easy on top, the whole served over a small handful of white rice. The lukewarm green tea on the side had not been the worst Myrkas had ever drank. The common beverage had done its job of helping the meal go down as well as providing a little pep in his step for the second half of his busy day.

Myrkas' mild euphoria after his intensive meditation and impromptu internal Qi manipulation session did not last long. The boy had barely kept his knees from buckling under his meagre weight on his way to lunch. At least they had not headed back to the running track after. Myrkas was not sure what he might have done otherwise. He probably would have tumbled down and begged for mercy. Probably. Almost certainly.

Instead, the trio had reached a large, flat square of off-white stones, at the edge of the main courtyard. Close to two dozen guards were already waiting in orderly lines under the scorching summer sun. For once, the men stood only in their matching light green robes, with the protective pieces of their uniforms piled on the sides. Some had added tied weights to their wrists and ankles, but not most. The two teenagers from earlier in the baths were arrayed beside the only empty square plate left, in the last row, just off the middle. All indicated this was Myrkas' designated spot.

The boy in question took his place without waiting to be told. He tried to incur as little annoyance as possible. He did not wish to find out what a truly annoyed Master Ranil had in store for him.

The scarred man walked to the raised platform at the front of the crowd. Once he climbed it, Master Ranil divested himself of all his clothing except for his pants and boots. He also put on the biggest, heaviest-looking weights Myrkas had seen so far onto his wrists, ankles, head, and waist.

The boy gulped, throat dry. It appeared he himself did not need extra weights. Myrkas kept his lips tightly sealed, in case it was a small mishap on his Master's part. Not everyone present had them anyway. At least, it did not look like running was on the menu this time.

"Good afternoon children!" started his Martial Master while facing the small crowd. "Rejoice, for my first personal disciples have joined us today. Yue, Rivak, you are next to the kid on purpose. He will suck. Your job is to not get distracted by his incompetence. But also, to pay him enough attention to correct his stance when he gets it so wrong it becomes painful to watch. Remember this lesson the next time you are on patrol. I don't want to have to tell you twice."

The two on either side of Myrkas shifted in place, visibly embarrassed. There was an obvious story there, Myrkas noted. Maybe something to share and commiserate about together. To bond in sympathy over their shared suffering under his Master. The duo did not look that much older than him. They might become friends! His first real friends as Martine did not count. She was more like a pesky little cousin, Myrkas assumed, as he never had cousins before.

"Before we start, Yue go get the lightest set for Myrkas. Yes kid, I saw you thinking you were getting away with it. That smile betrayed you. I see all and hear all, remember."

The taller teen left at once and quickly came back with a set of weights. While undoubtedly smaller than Yue's own, the added weight was quite significant on Myrkas' small and skinny frame. It felt like putting on shackles, as if Myrkas had to physically pay the price for his desire for power. A spiritual sacrifice of his liberty to grow in strength. A counterbalance to the freedom higher levels of cultivation would afford him.

A slight tremor filled Myrkas as he snapped in place the last of the six weights. A frenzied connection, hard to describe in words. A quote was forming in his mind, filled with a profound meaning.

"With great power comes great..."

Before the boy could complete his thought, Master Ranil started to speak again. Interrupted, the strange sensation left Myrkas, leaving only a feeling of great loss behind, like a treasure had been within reach and then swallowed by a merciless wave. It wasn't rational, but it brought him to tears. Which he willed not to fall with his entire drained willpower. Nothing good would come from crying during training, whatever the reason. This truth was etched deep inside him, stored in his dark red core.

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"For the rest of you bastards, it's as usual," continued Master Ranil. "A reminder for the kid's benefit: we go through stances—Katas—with a fifteen-minute break between the hours. You all get one cup of water at break, no exception. I don't yet feel like killing today. So don't make me. Your other cup per break is one of two: the good stuff for the three best in the previous hour or the horse piss. And yes Myrkas, the good stuff is the one you tasted earlier. Don't think you'll get another sip any time soon unless you get Koriss to lower his price.

"As always, I won't force the horse piss down your throat. If you want to stick to water be my guest. Anything else is a waste of my time. Yes Myrkas, even you. I won't force a mule to drink. And yes Snow, you get water and horse piss too, a full cup of each. I won't show favouritism yet. Gotta wait at least a nonat so those wretched beings glimpsed a fraction of your talent first."

The rabbit huffed at Master Ranil's last comment. She had clearly expected some senior disciple's privileges. She quickly climbed to Myrkas' shoulder, quite intent on participating in the exercise in her own way.

"One last thing, anyone who faints gets punished. Myrkas, that means I get to keep Snow hostage every time you fall. If you faint more than once, I get your other rabbit too. You have been warned."

A few guards turned around to glance at the small intruder in their midst. Some snickered, happy the attention of their second Lieutenant was taken away from them momentarily. Myrkas kept a stoic face. He knew some mockery would be thrown his way. It was in the nature of groups to band against their weakest link. Especially in groups made of insecure and weak-willed individuals. Some posturing to make themselves feel better when faced with their inadequacy.

That's what Myrkas told himself. He would let those snickers roll off his back. He'd show tell all! Survive this gruelling training and grow stronger than even his Master. Be harder, better, faster, stronger than the lot of them. He had lived through worst. Died through worst. And he was still there.

The boy tried not to think too much about his "deaths." He was not sure what it meant, or how or why he had survived and gained memories and a self from a past life. Better to focus on the present. He could always revisit the question when he understood the world—worlds?—better.

Myrkas copied his Master and comrades' movements. They were working through slow stances, heavy on precise foot placement and controlled weight changes. From time to time, the men exploded with a raised arm or leg and a shout, breaking the monotony. The emphasis was on defence, focused on dodges, parries, and deflection. A slow dance that made Myrkas' muscles tremble under the strain.

The boy was sweating bullets under the harsh sun. He nearly fell a few times. The movements were unfamiliar to him. Despite the low cadence, it remained a challenge to keep up with the stances. Moving in such slow motion, with added weights to burden him, ended up being much harder than expected. While this routine looked like it would only help in dodging a venerable grandma tortoise, each motion required precision, strength, and endurance. None of which Myrkas possessed in abundance. He was panting, muscles shaking, doing his utmost to barely keep up with the group. Every single move was torture in its slowness, his young limbs begging to rush through the exercises and be done with it.

This time, Snow's presence wasn't as welcomed. She kept to her perch on his head, in a precarious equilibrium. Her weight, though small, added nonetheless. The boy did not know what exactly she was doing there, but he dared not disturb her. Nothing good would come from bothering Master Ranil's obvious favourite disciple.

Myrkas had an equally hard time maintaining his meditative mantra. It was arguably easier than in the morning. However, the fact he had to learn all the stances and their sequence was the biggest hurdle in his attempt to achieve the mystical state of physical meditation. Though not being hit by frequent not-peanuts helped a lot. The occasional one thrown by his two immediate neighbours did not count. Those were almost gentle, meant not to be dodged but to correct his form. The boy was actually grateful for their attention as they had helped to prevent more than one fall.

The promised break could not arrive soon enough.

A sip of water sounded divine under the heat. A pause in the shade to recover some. And a recovery elixir. The taste could not be that bad. Myrkas knew most of all ingredients his uncle used. He processed them. There was no actual urine used anywhere. No reason for a concoction to taste of it. The boy was convinced his Master exaggerated to scare him a little. To mess with his disciple and see Myrkas' reaction. What's more, Master Ranil would never let Snow ingest anything truly noxious.

The break arrived, finally. Myrkas was convinced he had lost half his total water weight in sweat. His clothes were not even that wet, the sun ensuring his water evaporated quickly once it exited his skin. The boy was deeply thankful for his darker complexion. He did not want to add sunburns to his growing list of pain and discomfort. He refused to even think about potential skin cancer. They had magic, they should magic the risk away.