Alden woke up; his hands had miraculously healed overnight.
"From today onward, you survive, or you die," the master said. His voice was devoid of warmth.
Without a kind word, his master tossed a sword to him—a sword that felt too heavy for a boy of eight. When Alden hesitated to pick it up, his master struck him sharply. Alden fell to his knees, a small cry escaping his lips.
"Pick it up, now!" his master barked.
With shaking hands, Alden gripped the sword's handle. He lifted it as best he could, knowing that weakness would only bring more pain. Yesterday, he had been given a wooden sword fit for him, but today he had been given a real sword—too big for his body.
Alden's hands trembled as he wrapped his fingers around the sword's hilt. It felt like lifting a mountain, but he forced himself to stand. That was his first lesson: hesitation leads to pain.
On the first day of training, his master shackled heavy iron cuffs to his wrists and ankles. They clanked with every movement, making it even harder to take a single step.
"You'll wear these every moment of the day until you're strong enough to forget about their presence."
That night, Alden lay down on the cold and uninviting floor of the forest, his body aching from exhaustion. Throughout the whole night, the forest did not sleep. The howls of beasts and the rustling leaves of prowling creatures surrounded him. But his master did not allow fear.
"Fear is for the weak," he said. "You are to become a Holy Knight. A true warrior does not fear the darkness—he conquers it."
At dawn, the training began.
Alden was made to run through the treacherous undergrowth with logs strapped to his back. Every step felt like his bones would snap, but his master's sharp eyes burned into him. If he faltered, he would be punished.
By the end of the week, Alden collapsed. Blood dripped from his torn feet, his shoulders throbbed, and his small frame was wracked with pain. But his master did not allow rest. He threw Alden into a freezing river, forcing him to swim against the current.
"Pain is your ally," his master said. "Learn to love it."
Sparring was worse than the weight training. His master did not believe in wooden swords.
Alden, barely able to lift his blade, was forced to parry against a steel weapon. Every block sent painful vibrations through his arms, numbing them. His master never held back. A missed parry left a deep cut on Alden's shoulder. Another failure resulted in a bruised rib.
Blood soaked into the dirt beneath them.
"You think pain is your enemy?" his master growled. "Embrace it. Every wound is a lesson. Every scar is proof of your growth."
Alden gritted his teeth and forced himself to his feet. His master smirked.
That was the first day Alden understood what it meant to fight with his life on the line.
This forest was no ordinary place. It was home to monsters—some with fangs longer than Alden's arms, others with venom potent enough to melt stone.
His master forced him to hunt for his food. He was given no weapons. Only his hands.
In the second month, Alden faced his first true challenge—a nightstalker wolf. The beast was faster, stronger, deadlier. His hands bled as he wrestled against its jaws, barely keeping its fangs from tearing into his throat.
His master did not interfere.
With sheer desperation, Alden found a sharp stone and drove it into the wolf's eye. Blood sprayed across his face, warm and sticky. The beast howled, then went still.
Alden collapsed beside its corpse, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths.
He had won.
His master simply nodded.
"Good. Now eat."
Alden stared at him in disbelief.
"You want to live? Then feast on your victory."
His stomach churned, but he obeyed. That night, he tasted the raw flesh of his first kill. His master was right—if he wanted to survive, he had to become something greater than human.
Alden's training did not end with blood and steel. His master wanted to forge him into an unbreakable warrior.
Every meal was laced with poison—small doses that made his body ache, his vision blur, his stomach twist in agony.
"You will not always know when your enemy's blade is tainted," his master explained. "Build your resistance now, or perish later."
Alden vomited for days, his body rejecting the toxins, but over time, he adapted. The doses increased, and yet, he survived. His body became resistant. Stronger.
By the age of twelve, even deadly venom barely fazed him.
One night, as Alden finally drifted into rare, exhausted sleep, his master struck.
A blade pressed against his throat. His eyes snapped open to find his master staring down at him.
"You let your guard down."
Alden barely rolled away in time before the blade slashed his bedding. He reached for his sword—only to find it gone.
"Always be ready to fight," his master said. "The moment you relax is the moment you die."
From then on, Alden never truly slept. Even in his dreams, his fingers itched for his sword.
At fifteen, Alden was no longer a boy. His body had grown. The iron weights that once made movement unbearable were now a second skin.
His master led him to the deepest part of the forest. Before them stood a creature of nightmares—a Titan Serpent. Its scales gleamed like obsidian, its eyes burned with primal hunger.
"This is your final test," his master said. "Slay it, or be devoured."
Alden's grip tightened around his sword.
The serpent struck. He rolled aside, feeling the wind of its fangs barely miss his skull. With a roar, he lunged, his blade slicing through its thick scales. Blood spattered, but the creature was far from finished.
It coiled around him, crushing his ribs. Air fled his lungs, his vision darkened.
But pain was his ally.
With a final surge of strength, Alden drove his sword upward, straight into the beast's skull. A sickening crunch echoed through the clearing. The serpent spasmed… then went still.
Alden collapsed beside it, drenched in blood.
His master stood over him, expression unreadable.
Then, for the first time in seven years, he spoke words of approval.
"You are ready."
Alden, bloodied and broken, allowed himself a small, weary smile.
He had survived.