Leonidas felt the weight of his exertion settle in his muscles, but he forced himself to stand tall. He had suffered far worse than this under Miranda’s auspices in Elatra, real or not, and he wasn’t about to buckle after two fights—no matter how intense they may have been.

Ceruviel’s eyes seemed to brighten when he visibly corrected the subtle slouch in his posture, and she nodded once in approval, albeit wordlessly. Simultaneously to this, the energy in the air thickened—humming with power as the constructs solidified from liquid silver outlines into fully fledged body shapes.

Leonidas immediately noted that each figure was distinct. For all that he had presumed some manner of replication or combination of Azrageth and the Reaper; these were not mindless copies of his previous opponents.

Ceruviel clearly had something different in mind.

The first figure bore a massive tower shield and a war hammer nearly as tall as Leonidas. Its armor was thick and heavily plated, with reinforced steel creating bulky planes and jutting islands of indomitability across its surface. It was, in simple terms, a juggernaut of defense and sheer physical force.

She’s made a wall. He realized. This one is an enemy meant to outlast me and overpower me when I flag. It’s a good choice for my skill set.

The admission was begrudging, but it was true.

Filing away the information, he turned to survey the remainder.

The second simulacrum was lithe, almost unnaturally so, and its entire body was draped in tattered cloth that blended easily with the air around it. Two long daggers, serrated at their base and lethally curved, gleamed in its hands. Each of the weapons was wreathed in a faint shimmer of energy, akin to some manner of swordforce. The construct hadn’t moved, but Leonidas could tell just from its appearance that it was fast—deadly fast.

A wall to stop me and a wind to blow me over. He said while glancing between the two. Ceruviel isn’t pulling her punches this time.

When his eyes turned to the third figure, he let out a quiet sigh.

The third of the trio was a robed figure with a featureless mask, reminiscent of a generic cultist from Elatra. It carried no weapons and wore no actual armor, but something about its presence set Leonidas on edge.

Magic, perhaps? He could feel the pressure emanating from it, as if the air itself bent to its will. There was a faint energy to the simulacrum, like an idling engine, as if it were simply awaiting the accelerator to start the combustion. If his assessment was correct, it would be an offensive evoker-type spellcaster.

Tank, Assassin, Mage.

Leonidas exhaled through his nose. “Great. Three entirely different problems.”

Ceruviel smirked from nearby, and started a steady retreat toward the outer edge of the Arena. “And you, Achilles, will practice to handle all of them at once. There will be times you will be both outnumbered and outmatched, and you cannot rely on allies or luck alone to save you. The only hope you will have, the only hope you do have, is raw experience.”

“Do I need to remind you that I just recovered from a mental breakdown?” he shot back to Ceruviel while readying himself for the fight.

“Do I need to remind you that the world doesn’t give a shit?” she retorted glibly. “Prepare yourself.”

Leonidas felt his [Cataclysm Core] revving in his solar plexus.

With abrupt suddenness, the constructs moved.

The rogue flickered out of sight, vanishing from his vision in a blink and—more alarmingly—with no means for him to track using [Psionic Focus]. That lack of ability to discern the hidden assassin’s location threw him, and a moment later, Leonidas found himself on the backfoot.

The mage raised a hand, and immediately, the air crackled with energy as a warping coalescence of power heralded a building spell. He turned toward the spellcaster to intercede, realizing it would have to become his priority—only to belatedly remember the towering wall of a simulacrum.

The juggernaut wasted no time and charged, hammer raised to deliver destruction.

Leonidas had no choice but to move out of the way, and abort his attack on the mage before it could even begin. Even reacting as he did, and pushing his Dexterity and Agility to the maximum; he barely managed to roll aside as the hammer came down. The force of its thunderous impact sent tremors through the earth, and Leonidas swore under his breath.

The sheer power behind the attack was staggering.

If it had landed, it would have shattered bone—or worse.

“You’ve got to be kidd—!”

He didn’t get a moment to recover nor finish his words, for his tireless opponents offered no reprieve.

The mage finished its incantation almost in the same instant, and a bolt of pure force lanced toward him. It warped the air from where it was fired, and seemed to bleed color from the space as its eldritch mass whined through reality in an inversion of light—creating a purple-black bar across his vision.

Leonidas twisted his body, raised his left hand at the last second, and put half of his psi into a [Psikinetic Shield] to forestall the impact of the eldritch blast. A heartbeat later, even while shielded behind his barrier; the impact of the spell rocked him. It translated through the barrier of power, and seemed to rattle his very mind with the potency of its strike.

“What the fuck was—?”

Something cold pressed against his throat.

Leonidas froze. The rogue, whom he had thoroughly failed to account for, had reappeared behind him when he had focused on defending against the mage—and its dagger was poised against the chainmail over his throat. He hadn’t even sensed it after it had exited its stealth ability.

All three simulacrums froze in position and Ceruviel’s voice rang out.

“You are outmatched, Achilles.” she declared without contempt, but with stern intensity. “Three enemies. Three styles. And yet, despite all your experiences, you fight them as though they are separate—as though you possess the power to handle them all quickly enough to justify such arrogance. Once, you very well may have held such might.” the Duchess allowed simply. “That is no longer the case.”

Leonidas gritted his teeth, swallowed back his acidic retort, and breathed to calm his racing mind. The worst part of it was that she was right. He was treating them as isolated threats when, in reality, they were working together.

He inhaled sharply, pushing everything else from his mind.

This was not three fights.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

This was one battle.

He knew better than this.

“Good.” Ceruviel said with a satisfied tone. “Now… try again.”

Leonidas twisted violently the moment Ceruviel spoke, throwing his weight into the rogue to break its hold. As the dagger slid along his chainmail he spun low, using the momentum to slam his elbow into its left flank. The assassin staggered back, but its form flickered—and it retreated; vanishing into shadow before he could capitalize.

The juggernaut was already mid-swing.

Leonidas activated [Chivalric Charge] on instinct upon seeing the looming warhammer, and his muscles screamed in protest as he forced himself forward. The hammer whistled past his back while he ducked away from it, and instinctively coated his blade in [Psikinetic Swordforce].

His feet shifted under him while he readjusted his stance, and Leonidas stepped forward and sideways, dodging a backward swing of the massive simulacrum’s shield, before driving his sword into the construct’s armored gut. The impact sent shockwaves through his arms, but his blade bit deep; scything through metal and causing the construct to stagger.

His senses flared when the mage now to his rear unleashed another spell—an orb of seething arcane energy.

Leonidas reacted on instinct, summoning his [Psikinetic Shield] behind him, and the attack detonated against it not even a second later. A curse left his lips at the concussive force of the explosion, and the impact even around the barrier sent him stumbling and staggering forward, his vision momentarily swimming and ears ringing in his helmet.

It was sheer luck that allowed him to keep ahold of his [Archon’s Psiblade], and pull it from the juggernaut’s mass when he was sent staggering past.

Leonidas had no time to recover.

The rogue was already upon him again almost the instant the concussive force dissipated, its dagger flashing towards his helmet’s visor. Leonidas caught the movement in the corner of his eye and activated [Psionic Focus], his awareness sharpening to a razor’s edge.

He twisted his head at the same time, pivoting on his heel as the dagger screeched across the side of his helmet. With honed instincts and adrenaline raging in his veins, Leonidas' sword lashed out and sliced across the rogue’s thigh. The Simulacrum let out a surprisingly real gasp of surprise, and vanished a moment later.

The juggernaut roared behind him at that moment, and Leonidas’ heightened awareness registered the massive construct lunging with another hammer strike.

This time, he didn’t dodge.

Instead, he braced himself, forcing the energy of his [Cataclysm Core] into his swordforce. A pulse of raw destruction rippled through his weapon and its waning sheath of psionic energy, amplifying it dangerously.

Leonidas sliced upward and through the hammer.

The juggernaut lurched as Leonidas distorted its momentum, sending it staggering forward and to his left. In response to the opening, he surged forward and slammed his knee into its already wounded gut. Before it could recover, he activated [Psikinetic Blade], in his left hand with violent, pulsing energy. Once again he sent the power of his [Cataclysm Core] into the spell, and pivoted off his right foot.

The dagger of enhanced psychic energy punctured the construct’s helmet.

A sound like shattering steel rang through the arena as the juggernaut’s head exploded, and the construct returned to liquid metal.

But the battle was far from over.

Almost in the same second, the rogue materialized behind him with its blade aiming for the gap between his shoulder plates.

Leonidas reacted swiftly thanks to his enhanced spatial awareness, twisting his upper body as he reached back with his left hand, while forming another shimmering [Psikinetic Blade] mid-motion.

Even with his psi reserves all-but-depleted, he slashed the psychic weapon through the rogue’s wrist in a brutal and literal ‘disarming’ strike, before adjusting his footing only long enough to drive the psiblade through its nose and out of its skull.

The construct spasmed with a quiet gurgle before dissolving into light.

Only the mage remained.

Leonidas turned and felt his swordforce vanish when his psi ran dry, and affixed a baleful glare on the spellcaster under his helmet. The mage lifted its hands in response, seemingly undeterred by its comrades’ fates, and started conjuring something vast. The air, he noted distantly, trembled with power at the force of the casting.

Ceruviel’s voice rang out amid it all, sharp and cutting. “You still lean on your power like a crutch, Achilles. Have you learned nothing?”

Leonidas glanced toward her and grunted.

With a subtle loosening of his muscles, he let the corrosively violent energy of his [Cataclysm Core] dissipate.

The training had been about technique, not force. It was never a question that he could defeat the trio with his skills. What Ceruviel had been offering him was a chance to hone his raw combat ability—to fail, and through failure, find understanding. Control. She had been talking about it from the moment he entered the Arena. Hell, she had talked about it before they’d even left the mansion proper.

“Damn it.” he muttered.

The realization caused him to sigh in frustration.

He had, in essence, cheated himself.

The mage, meanwhile, unleashed its final attack while he was brooding—a massive wave of crackling energy, an eruption of destructive force meant to erase him from the battlefield.

Leonidas didn’t flinch, and instead fell into his instincts.

He surged forward, fuelled by a mix of self-recriminating anger and raw determination. The attack roared toward him and Leonidas churned his [Cataclysm Core], though this time, he did so not to enhance a Skill: but to empower his swordsmanship.

“Third Sword Art,” he stated in a voice that rang with committed purpose, “Parting the Waterfall!”

Cataclysm Mana suffused his blade at the same moment as the [Archon’s Psiblade] impacted the spellforce sent by the Mage.

Like a hot knife through butter, he sundered the weave holding it together.

Before the mage could react, Leonidas stepped forward and leaned into his agility; surging toward the spellcaster with intent. Then, following through in the same motion, he stepped inside the mage’s guard and drove his blade through its chest.

The final construct shattered.

Silence filled the arena, save for the sound of Leonidas’ heavy breathing. His body ached in protest, his muscles sore from the effort. Sweat dripped from his brow, mingling with blood.

The Duchess descended from her platform, her expression unreadable.

“You fought well,” she said neutrally. “But you are still weak. Understanding the lesson too late does not mean you failed its absorption, but you still cheated yourself of its benefits.”

“I know.” Leonidas said wearily, while dismissing his sword. “I realized it after you spoke. I should have known that it was never about whether I could win, it was about learning to survive at disadvantage. I lost sight of that despite the earlier reminder.”

She studied him for a moment longer, and then nodded once. “Rest, Achilles. We will continue after a break.”

Leonidas groaned and lowered himself onto the stone floor, too exhausted to care how undignified it looked. His lungs burned, his limbs ached, and every inch of him felt like it had been wrung dry. His training had been relentless before, but this—this was different. The expectation was higher. The margin for error was gone.

Ceruviel was already walking away. “Practice your meditation,” she said without looking back. “You have an hour.”

“You didn’t even show me how!”

“Trial and error, Achilles.” the Duchess called back mercilessly. “I will simply beat any incorrect habits out of you later. Remember: one hour!”

Leonidas sighed at her words, and fell back against the stones to steady his breathing.

The guards along the perimeter remained silent for a long moment. Then, after Ceruviel was fully out of earshot, one of them spoke. “{An hour? The Dusk-Lord must be feeling generous.}”

Another, older elf—one who had clearly served the Duchess for decades—crossed his arms. “{She’s never taken a student before, and he’s not even one of us. This isn’t training. It’s a test.}”

A third, watching Leonidas struggle to sit up, exhaled through his nose and spoke with an amused rumble. “{He’s still breathing. That counts for something.}”

Leonidas sighed in annoyance from where he lay. “{You all talk too much.}”

The first guard smirked. “{And you complain too much.}”

The older elf inclined his head slightly, and spoke in a more direct and pointed tone. “{You are the Dusk-Lord’s chosen heir, Terran. That carries expectations. None of us will pretend otherwise.}”

Leonidas didn’t bother responding. He just let himself breathe, staring up at the sky as heat bore down on him.

One hour wasn’t much, but it was enough.

His eyes squeezed shut momentarily, and then he forced himself to a sitting position.

Ceruviel had given him a chance to learn on his own, to show his initiative.

He would take it.