The next "fight" started almost immediately.
Actually, calling it a fight was far too generous on my part.
It wasn't a match, a spar, or even training anymore.
It was a full-on, brutal, no-holds-barred beating.
Ten new dummies, each nearly my height and twice as bulky, surged forward like a coordinated battalion of wooden tyrants. Unlike the earlier batch that at least felt like semi-random attacks, these bastards came with tactics. They didn't split their attention. No, they chose one target at a time and dogpiled.
And guess who had the honor of going first?
Me.
I barely had time to inhale before they descended upon me like wolves. A fist slammed into my ribs—crack—and another followed up with a gut punch that emptied my lungs of air. My body folded, then another caught me on the chin, and I was airborne again, only to be spiked back down like a broken toy.
Pain exploded across my limbs, my vision shook. Every nerve screamed.
I couldn't even summon the breath to curse.
Mia didn't fare any better. Once they got bored with breaking me apart, they turned to her, and despite her frantic use of magic—healing spells and even a shimmering mana shield—she still got hammered. Literally.
One slammed her into the wall. Another kicked her shield apart like it was a child's toy.
She hit the ground with a squeal, bounced once, and didn't move for a while.
Blood ran down our noses, lips split open, skin grazed and torn. My body felt like one big bruise, bones humming with dull, throbbing agony.
I tried to use my abilities. I really did.
[Flash Speed]? Not happening. Couldn't chant.
[Thousand Slash]? Yeah, no. I couldn't even lift my arm.
[Violent Fist]? My knuckles barely curled.
I couldn't do anything. Not because I lacked power, but because these dummies gave me zero opportunity to breathe, to gather, to act.
Mia had it a little better.
She could heal.
Of course she could heal. Her "system" probably let her cast support magic automatically or some cheat passive like [Emergency Restoration]. At one point, she even summoned a translucent, pinkish dome that tanked a few blows before cracking like glass.
Still, she got pummeled. #Equality.
And no, I wasn't jealous. Absolutely not.
…Okay maybe a little.
The one-sided slaughter lasted for what felt like forever—hours, at least. Maybe even the entire day. Time blurred into an endless stream of pain, impact, grunts, and the occasional dry cough from the dust caking my throat.
By the end, we were nothing more than twitching corpses in training uniforms.
I was sprawled on my back, arms out like I was making a snow angel in blood and dirt. My fingers twitched. My lips moved, but no words came out. Every part of me ached—even parts I didn't know could ache.
Mia lay a few feet away, face-first in the dirt, arms slack, her once-shiny white training coat now more brown than anything else. She hadn't moved in ten minutes. Honestly, I started to wonder if she had died.
Above us, Isolde stood smiling. I heard her giggle.
Not even subtle about it.
A few more minutes passed before she approached, kneeling beside me first. Her fingers pinched my cheeks like she was a loving mother checking on her child. Then she pried my mouth open and shoved a red vial past my lips.
The liquid slid down my throat like molten fire… then something miraculous happened.
Euphoria.
Warmth spread through my limbs, washing away the cold ache in my bones. The dull throb in my ribs vanished. My muscles tightened with strength, energy surged, my mind cleared. It was like being pulled from the edge of death and into a hot spring of vitality.
I felt… good.
Too good.
And that's when the real fear set in.
If she could heal us completely at will—then that meant she could keep this torment going for as long as she liked.
We weren't going to train until we passed out.
We were going to train until we wished we passed out.
I couldn't cry.
I didn't have tears left.
When the potion kicked in, I rose slowly, my joints popping, muscles freshly renewed. I flexed my fingers. My clothes were still in tatters, but my body was back in working order.
Mia, on the other hand, was still on the ground.
If anything, she looked even more dead than before. She twitched once. Then twice.
And then she suddenly sat up, raised her face to the heavens, and screamed,
"I wanna die!!!"
Her voice echoed across the arena like a funeral bell.
Isolde chuckled warmly. "It means my training is fruitful," she said, smiling like a proud teacher.
I stared at her, baffled. Just hours ago she was the elegant, composed matriarch of the house—now she was gleefully watching us suffer like a sadistic gladiator master.
The switch-up was insane.
Then again, Lucian was also cracked in the head. Maybe this was their love language or something.
Mia crawled toward me on all fours, tears pooling at the corner of her eyes.
She reached up, grabbed my sleeve, and whimpered, "Arawn… I don't wanna do it anymore… please…"
Seeing Mia's trembling form, her tear-streaked face twisted in pain and fear, I felt no urge to tease her this time.
She wasn't like me.
Not like Isolde. Not like Lucian.
She was… normal.
Just a girl—no, my sister—who had grown up sheltered, untouched by bloodshed or cruelty. Someone who looked away from violence, who turned to light when shadows crept in. Someone I made sure trouble never found.
Back in our old world, I'd kept her safe from the sidelines. Silently. Always watching, always ready to intervene if something ever dared threaten her peace.
It wasn't just protection—it was selfishness too.
Using her as a moral compass to justify the sins I committed. Framing myself as a necessary evil, all for her sake. It helped me sleep at night, even when my hands were soaked in blood.
But the truth was…
I was a coward.
Not brave enough to face my own guilt without hiding behind a reason.
Even so, that didn't mean she had to change. Coming here, into this cursed, chaotic world, didn't mean she had to become a warrior. Didn't mean she had to harden herself.
She was my sister.
I was still her younger brother.
And I'd protect her just like I always had—even if it cost me everything.
With that, I turned toward Isolde.
"Miss Isolde," I said, my voice low but firm. "I beg you. Please let her leave this training."
Then I bowed.
Not a slight nod, but a full, respectful bow—forehead nearly touching the ground.
I could feel her gaze on me, sharp and silent.
A few moments passed before she spoke, her tone unreadable. "Oh? Is that so?" Her brows quirked. "Then tell me, how would she defend herself when real danger comes? You should know by now… this world isn't a safe place."
Still bent over, I nodded.
"I know," I replied. "That's why I'll continue the training."
I turned my head slightly, just enough to meet her eyes. "Because her brother is alive. And as long as I'm alive, I'll protect her."
The words surprised even me.
I didn't know I had it in me to sound that sincere.
Mia's breath hitched. I could feel her eyes on me, wide and glistening. The guilt, the conflict, the desperation—it was all there, written across her face like an open book.
She didn't want me to continue alone.
She hated the idea.
But the fear—the overwhelming, gut-wrenching fear she had just felt—clouded that desire.
She bolted forward without thinking, wrapping her arms around my neck from behind in a tight, trembling hug. Her face pressed into my back as she whispered, barely audible, "I'm sorry… I'm scared."
I reached up and placed a hand on her head, slowly caressing her hair.
"I know," I whispered back.
We stood there like that, unmoving, letting the silence stretch. Letting the pain fade. Letting the moment settle into the marrow of our bones.
Even Isolde said nothing.
When Mia finally released me, her eyes were red—not from the bruises or the tears, but from the guilt of leaving me behind. The guilt of abandoning her brother.
The sun was setting now, casting long orange streaks over the worn training grounds. Shadows danced at our feet.
I turned toward Isolde.
"She can go, right?"
Isolde gave me a look—amused, intrigued, and something else I couldn't quite place.
She nodded slowly. "Mia, go on. At least try not to distract your brother."
Mia hesitated. Her gaze lingered on me, then on the dummies standing in eerie silence. She shivered again, her fear palpable. But after a moment, she nodded and began walking away—each step heavier than the last.
She stopped at the edge of the arena, looked back one final time.
Then she disappeared around the corner.
Now alone with Isolde, the atmosphere shifted.
Gone was the faint amusement. Her expression turned cold, calculating.
"So," she began, voice lower now. "Are you sure she's your sister?"
I met her gaze head-on, my smile fading into a frown.
"Do you doubt that?"
"Yes," she said, without even blinking.
Then she elaborated, "She's kind, soft-spoken, sensitive. A simple girl. But you… You're different. Cold. Distant. Possibly heartless. You never wanted her to go through training, yet you brought her anyway. Not so she could learn—but so she'd never ask again."
I tilted my head to the side, a smirk creeping across my face.
"So what?"
Isolde shrugged. "Nothing. Just an observation. You could've picked a hundred different ways to show her the truth—gentler ways. But instead, you let her be beaten until her soul broke."
She paused, her eyes narrowing.
"She's clearly the person you care about most in the world… and yet, you let that happen to her. I can only shudder at what you'd do to someone you actually hate."
She was perceptive. Uncomfortably so.
"Then you're right," I said simply.
Her lips curved upward again, but it wasn't a warm smile.
It was sharp. Evaluative.
"You really are a perfect fit for the Lancaster name," she murmured. "Much more than my own child ever was."
Her voice carried no regret. Only cold amusement.
I wasn't sure if that was a compliment or a warning.
Maybe both.