Weeks Later – Samson's Training Grounds

Artreus stirred awake to the familiar sound of heavy footsteps nearing his bed. He knew what was coming.

As Samson swung a punch toward his head, Artreus reacted instinctively, rolling out of bed just in time. The fist connected with the wooden frame, shattering it into splinters.

Artreus landed lightly on his feet and smirked. "Ha!"

Samson, unfazed, returned the smirk. "Hmph."

Artreus noticed Samson's grin and hesitated. "Huh?"

Before he could process the situation, Samson spun and delivered a powerful kick, catching Artreus midair and sending him crashing through the wall and outside. Dust and debris scattered as Artreus groaned, sprawled amidst the rubble.

Samson stepped into the opening, his arms crossed. "Cheeky brat. Let your guard down again."

Artreus pushed himself up, wincing. "You could've just said good morning…"

The Mountain Run

The morning sky was pale with the rising sun as Artreus, Mikael, and Aidan climbed the familiar path to the mountain peak, heavy rocks strapped to their backs.

Aidan was ahead, his pace steady and swift. He glanced back at Artreus, his eyes narrowing in annoyance. "Tsk… still following, huh?"

Artreus, though tired, pushed harder, matching Mikael's pace. Mikael offered him a grin. "Come on, Art! Don't let him get to you. We've got this."

Artreus nodded, determination etched on his face.

Sparring with Samson

The sparring sessions grew fiercer as weeks turned into months. Each clash between Artreus and Samson tested the young trainee's limits.

Samson attacked relentlessly, his wooden sword moving in blurs. Artreus struggled to block, his arms trembling under the force of each strike. Yet, with each session, his form improved.

During one bout, Samson unleashed a flurry of strikes. Artreus, though battered and sweating, managed to parry most of them, his movements sharper and more precise than before.

Samson finally stopped, lowering his sword as he observed Artreus, who stood tall despite the strain.

"Hmph," Samson muttered, a hint of approval in his voice. "You're starting to look less pathetic."

Artreus smirked through his exhaustion.

Later that day, Artreus and Mikael ventured into the forest, bows in hand. They moved quietly, their eyes scanning the dense underbrush for movement.

A rabbit's ears twitched as it heard something nearby. It froze, scanning its surroundings.

Thwip!

An arrow struck true, and the rabbit fell.

"I got it!" Artreus exclaimed, lowering his bow.

Mikael grinned, stepping forward. "Great shot, Art. It's like this isn't your first time."

Artreus shrugged, his tone nonchalant. "I'm getting used to it. We kill, hunt, and eat to survive."

Mikael picked up the rabbit, adding it to the bundle they had already gathered. "That's five. Looks like we're having rabbit stew for dinner. Let's head back."

The campfire crackled as Samson stirred the flames, making them brighter. A pot hung over the fire, ready for the evening's meal.

In the distance, faint voices carried on the wind. Samson's sharp ears caught the sound, but he didn't react outwardly.

Moments later, Artreus and Mikael returned, carrying their haul of rabbits. "Master, we've brought food," Artreus announced.

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From the other side of the camp, Aidan approached, his arms laden with branches for the fire. He dropped them nearby with little ceremony.

Once the camp was settled, Samson stood, his expression unusually grave. The three disciples gathered around, sensing the weight of his demeanor.

"Boys," Samson began, his voice steady but somber. "The king of Elenora sent me this news. It seems the world we live in still knows no peace."

Artreus and Mikael exchanged glances, their expressions turning serious.

"There are monsters out there," Samson continued. "Beasts that continue to destroy our lands and disrupt the balance of nature. Demons roam freely, scattering chaos wherever they go. And now, new enemies have emerged."

He paused, his gaze falling on Artreus. "Your home, Ozamian… there's nothing left. It's been reduced to ashes—a complete destruction."

Artreus's fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tightening.

"One of the Knights of the Round Table managed to escape the battlefield, but the others… their fate is unclear." Samson's eyes darkened. "The hero of the world, Arthur Reigns, is missing."

The words hit like a thunderclap. Artreus's breath caught, his mind racing.

Mikael placed a hand on Artreus's shoulder, his usual cheer replaced by quiet concern.

Samson's voice carried a sense of resolve as he looked at each of them in turn. "This is the world we face. If you wish to call yourselves warriors, you must be ready for what's to come. The peace we fight for is fragile, and it won't come without sacrifice."

Artreus's gaze hardened, the firelight reflecting in his determined eyes.

A Vow of Vengeance

The campfire crackled softly, its flickering flames casting long, dancing shadows across the ground. The air was thick with tension, the weight of Samson's announcement settling heavily on the group. Artreus sat closest to the fire, his eyes fixed on the flames, but his thoughts were far away.

His fists trembled, his voice breaking the oppressive silence. "The Demon King? Abaddon. Is he still alive? There's no way that monster's still alive!"

Samson looked at him, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to Artreus's fiery outburst. "There's no confirmation. We don't know where the Demon King is—or if he's even alive." His tone grew darker, colder. "But what I do know is this: we must prepare for what's coming. There's no hero left to protect this world. Even the gods…" He trailed off, his voice tinged with bitterness. "Even the gods have abandoned us to burn."

Artreus's teeth clenched as his mind raced with memories he could never forget. The screams of his people, the crackling of flames consuming his home, and the unyielding, cold eyes of Abaddon as he struck down his mother.

"My people… my friends…" His voice cracked, his head lowering. "They all died because of that monster. Abaddon killed my mother in front of me!"

He looked up suddenly, his blue eyes blazing with raw determination. The firelight reflected the deep-seated hatred and purpose burning within him. "I will have my revenge. I must get stronger." His voice rose, carrying the weight of his resolve. "If there's no one else who can step up—not even the gods—then I will kill that monster. Even if it costs me my life."

The words hung in the air, heavy and unshakable. Mikael glanced at Artreus with quiet respect, his usual grin absent. Aidan remained silent, his sharp eyes watching Artreus carefully, his thoughts unreadable.

Samson, unmoved by Artreus's declaration, stared at him for a long moment. Then, with a slight nod, he spoke, his voice steady and resolute.

"Tomorrow, we travel. Pack your things. It's going to be a long journey ahead."

Artreus's fiery gaze met Samson's, and he gave a determined nod.

Samson continued, his tone growing harsher. "You'll face every monster this world has to offer. Beasts and demons that no one else has dared to challenge. I don't care if you die out there." His sharp eyes scanned the group, making sure his words sank in. "This is the world we live in—a world of prey and predators. The only question is, who will rise to the top? This is the path you've chosen: to be strong and survive."

He stepped back into the firelight, casting a long shadow over the disciples. "You want strength, Artreus? Then prove it. Prove that you can endure, that you can rise above the filth of this world. No one will hand you power. You must claw your way to it, one fight at a time."

Artreus stood, his battered frame illuminated by the fire. Though his body was tired and bruised, his voice was unwavering.

"I'll prove it. I'll fight. And I'll win."

The Next Morning

The first light of dawn painted the sky in soft hues of orange and gold, spilling across the campsite as the group prepared to embark on their journey. Each disciple packed their belongings methodically, their minds still echoing with Samson's stern words from the night before.

Samson approached Artreus, his heavy footsteps crunching the dew-covered grass. In his hand, he held a sheathed sword, its simple black scabbard gleaming faintly in the morning light.

"Artreus," Samson began, his voice calm but firm. "This sword was forged by a blacksmith from my homeland, Zorah. It's made from a material stronger than steel—a blade meant to endure."

He held the sword out to Artreus, who hesitated for a moment before taking it.

"Thank you, Master," Artreus said quietly, his fingers curling around the hilt.

Samson studied him for a moment, his sharp eyes softening ever so slightly. "Don't die," he said simply, before turning away to lead the group.

Setting Out

The group gathered at the edge of the training grounds, where the wilderness stretched endlessly before them. Samson's towering figure moved with purpose, his presence commanding and unyielding.

Mikael, always quick to break the tension, sidled up beside Artreus and nudged him lightly. "Well, this is going to be fun, huh?" he said, grinning.

Artreus shot him a small, fleeting smile. "Yeah… fun."

Despite the banter, his mind was elsewhere, preoccupied with thoughts of what lay ahead—and the sword in his hand. It felt heavier than its weight suggested, as if carrying the burden of his Master's expectations along with it.

Ahead of them, Aidan walked in silence, his movements precise and deliberate. He glanced back briefly, his expression unreadable before returning his focus to the path ahead.