The rain was falling heavily outside, running down the glass walls that surrounded one of the Crimmont Palace’s adjoining structures. These walls, transparent and imposing, offered everyone inside a panoramic view of the outside, where the gray sky and heavy clouds dominated the horizon.
The building itself is a modern structure, with reinforced glass walls that went from floor to ceiling, supported by a structure of a material that looked like polished granite. This was clearly not the case, as there was something about this material that gave it a robust appearance.
A clear sign was the fact that the ceiling, made of beams of this same material with lengths of 20 meters, spaced every 5 meters in a span of 40 meters. Supported by these beams, the material that covered the entire structure had the appearance of polished marble, which is clearly not the case either for obvious reasons.
The high ceiling, over 16 feet high, used exposed beams to support spotlights, illuminating the training areas. The entire structure was elevated several feet above the ground, built on top of a basement that housed training equipment and storage areas.
The rain pattered gently against the glass, creating a soft, steady sound that mingled with the echo of blows and heavy breathing. Despite the cold and gloomy weather outside, inside the atmosphere was warm and tense, full of energy and concentration.
The interior space was divided into several specific areas for different types of training. In the center, a large area lined with soft tatami mats, surrounded by thick mats to cushion falls.
To the left, a boxing ring stood on a raised platform, its ropes taut and firm. To the right, a fighting octagon, with metal railings and non-slip floors, was the focal point for the most intense training sessions.
There was also a section with punching bags of different weights and sizes, as well as an area with wooden and plastic dummies, and an area with some equipment with spikes and other more dangerous equipment.
In the back, a weight training area with dumbbells, bars and resistance machines shared space with the area where there were protective equipment for fighting and various other training equipment.
The glass walls not only offered a panoramic view of the outside, but also allowed natural light to enter, even on a rainy day like this one. The artificial lighting, however, was strong and directed, with spotlights that highlighted the training areas.
On the edge of the tatami area, sitting on the floor, were Aglaya, Anya, Hendrina, Sonia, and next to them, Nala stood with her arms crossed. They were all wearing practical and functional fighting attire: tight shorts and light blouses that allowed freedom of movement.
The girls had slightly nervous and confused expressions, as if they didn't know what to feel as they watched the scene unfolding on the mat. But Nala had a completely different expression, she had a small smile on her face.
“Ahhh, come on, Mahara! Take it easy!” Edgar gasped, his shaky voice mixing with a hoarse sigh. His knees were shaking, and his hands, held low, betrayed more fear than skill.
Mahara stretched her neck, the bones cracking under her white skin. Her lips curved in a smile that didn't reach her cold eyes. “I'm taking it easy… Oh, I wish I could go harder, Young Lord.” The last words came out like sweet poison, as she rolled her shoulders, preparing herself.
Edgar swallowed hard, taking another step back. “I already apologized!” His voice sounded high-pitched, almost a squeak, as he tried to move away from her, his feet dragging on the sweat-damp mat. The foam pads on his legs and arms felt like they weighed tons with each step. His face was red as coals, sweat dripping down his neck, and his eyes fixed on Mahara with palpable fear.
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“And I’ve already accepted…” Mahara tilted her head, feigning consideration, but the snapping of her fingers betrayed her intentions.
“Then why—?”
There was no time to finish. Mahara closed the distance in two fluid steps, the smell of training oil and metal penetrating Edgar’s nostrils before the kick connected with his ribs. The impact echoed with a dry thud, and the air escaped the boy’s lungs in a hoarse groan: “Urggh—!”
Edgar was thrown to the side with force, his back hitting the mat with a dull thud that made the spectators flinch. Sonia covered her mouth with her hands; Anya turned her face away while the others only groaned inwardly. Nala, however, still had the smile on her face and her arms crossed under her chest.
“Get up, Young Lord. We have only just begun.” Mahara slammed her fists together, as if preparing to start the fight.
Edgar writhed on the floor, his fingers digging into the rough edges of the mat. “I don’t want to… That’s enough! NALA, GET ME OUT OF HERE!” The scream tore through the gym, mixing with the pinging of rain on the glass.
Nala raised an eyebrow, a barely contained smile lighting her angular face. “The deal was for 15 minutes of standing, kid. It hasn’t even been 3.” Her voice was soft, almost maternal, but her eyes shone with cruel amusement.
“Three minutes?? What nonsense is that? I must have been here for at least 20!” Edgar scrambled to his knees, his training shirt clinging to his chest.
“27 to be exact.” Nala checked one of the several large clocks that hung from the ceiling. “But the deal was for 15 minutes of standing. You were lying on the floor most of the time. At this rate, you’ll be in there all day.”
“Hehehe…” Hearing this, Mahara gave a low laugh. “Come on, Young Lord, get up. I have all day, but I don’t think it’s good to put it off so long. I promise I’ll take it easy.” Her eyes narrowed, and her tone was as sweet as poisoned honey.
Edgar staggered to his feet, his legs shaking. “Humph! You said that with the last three kicks!” He spat the words, his face contorted in a grimace that tried to be anger but failed to hide panic. “And none of them were weaker…”
Mahara didn’t answer. She just advanced again, her steps silent as those of a predator. Edgar swallowed his fear and raised his fists, knowing that, here, time was measured in punches, not minutes.
He tried to retreat, his feet dragging on the damp mat, but Mahara was already on him. A straight punch hit his chin, knocking his head back violently. Before he could fall, she grabbed his shirt, pulling him close only to deliver a brutal knee to his abdomen.
“Urgh!” Edgar doubled over, the impact knocking the air from his lungs in a choked groan. He stumbled backwards, staggering, his arms instinctively protecting his torso, but it didn’t help…
In one fluid motion, a spinning kick hit the same ribs as before with cruel precision. The dull crack echoed in the room, as Edgar was thrown to the floor like a rag doll.
“Hughh…” Edgar gasped, spitting a mixture of blood and saliva onto the mat, which was already stained with sweat.
Trembling, he tried to get up, his arms weakening as his hands slipped on the damp surface. Each attempt felt like a monumental effort, pain radiating from his ribs with each breath.
“I can do this all day, Young Lord.” Mahara took a step forward, her calm voice contrasting with the violence of her movements.
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A few hours later, in a structure near the gym, Edgar was lying on a simple bed, with a functional but uncomfortable appearance, similar to those used in hospital wards. The environment around him was austere and organized, as if each item had a specific purpose.
Dark wooden shelves and cabinets lined the walls, filled with labeled glass bottles containing liquids of various colors and dried herbs. A strong smell of antiseptic and medicinal plants permeated the air.
On a nearby table, metal trays with gauze, tweezers and other utensils shone under the soft light of oil lanterns hanging on the walls. There were no machines or technological equipment, just the essentials to treat wounds the old-fashioned way.
Inessa was standing by the window, her arms crossed elegantly as she watched the steady rain that ran down the glass in thin rivulets. The dim natural light, mixed with the rhythmic sound of the water outside, created an almost melancholic atmosphere.
“You could have avoided this… But no, you chose to leave the comfort and safety of your home to run to the desert, just to look at the scenery and make a senseless mess,” Inessa said, her tone calm and controlled, without even looking at Edgar.
“I don’t want to hear this now, Inessa. Nhggg,” Edgar snapped indignantly, but a groan of pain escaped him when he tried to move. The movement made his ribs protest, and he fell back against the pillow, breathing heavily.
“I warned you, but here we are… Are you satisfied?” Inessa finally looked away from him, her eyes serene but filled with silent judgment.
Edgar looked away, unable to look at her.