### **Chapter 15: Forged in Fire – The Training Breakdown**
#### **Predawn: The Weight of Steel**
The training yard was a slab of frozen earth under the bruised pre-morning sky. Frost crackled under Ethan's boots as he faced Professor Dain, whose scarred arms were already crossed, waiting.
Two sets of armor lay between them.
The first was a sleek, articulated harness—modern academy-issue, designed for mobility. The second was a monstrosity of blackened steel, its pauldrons spiked, the breastplate gouged with old blade marks.
Dain kicked the heavier set toward Ethan. It slid across the dirt with a metallic screech.
"**This**," Dain said, "is *real* armor. Not some polished parade shell. You wear it until it feels like skin. Then you wear it longer."
Ethan bent to lift the chestplate. His fingers numbed instantly against the cold metal. The weight was staggering—easily twice that of standard gear. The interior was lined with coarse padding, stiff with old sweat and blood.
"Strap in," Dain ordered.
---
By the time the sun crested the walls, Ethan's body was a litany of protests.
The armor didn't just *sit* on him—it *punished* him.
- The **cuirass** compressed his ribs, forcing shallow, controlled breaths.
- The **pauldrons** bit into his collarbones with every arm movement.
- The **greaves** turned each step into a deliberate act of will.
Dain circled him like a vulture. "Move."
Ethan took a step. His knee nearly buckled.
"Again."
Another step. Then another. Within minutes, his thighs burned as if doused in acid.
"Faster."
Ethan forced himself into a jog. The armor clanked, joints grinding, straps slicing into his shoulders. His breath came in ragged gasps, each inhale a battle against the constricting breastplate.
Dain didn't let up.
---
After an hour of conditioning, Dain tossed him a blunted longsword.
"Defend."
The professor didn't telegraph his strike. One moment he was still; the next, his practice blade was a blur.
Ethan barely got his guard up in time. The impact reverberated through his bones, nearly wrenching his shoulder from its socket.
"Too slow."
Another swing. Ethan blocked again, but his stance was off—the armor's weight dragged him off-balance. Dain's next strike slipped past his guard, cracking against his ribs.
Pain exploded through his side.
"**Adjust.**" Dain's voice was a whip crack. "Armor isn't a shield—it's a tool. Use it."
Ethan gritted his teeth. He *pushed* into the next attack, letting the armor's momentum carry his block. Metal shrieked as the swords clashed.
This time, he held.
Dain's eyes gleamed. "Better."
---
By midday, Ethan's world had narrowed to three things:
1. **Breath.** Shallow, controlled. The armor wouldn't allow more.
2. **Pain.** A constant companion, gnawing at his joints.
3. **Qi.** The golden energy threading through his muscles, reinforcing them.
Dain forced him through endless drills:
- **Shield formations**, where the armor's weight made every shift a battle.
- **Footwork patterns**, each pivot and lunge a test of endurance.
- **Live sparring**, where Dain's strikes came faster each time.
But Ethan adapted.
He learned to **roll with impacts**, letting the armor absorb blows.
He discovered how to **exploit the weight**, using it to ground his stance.
He even began **channeling Qi into the metal itself**, reinforcing its structure.
**[Knight's Resilience: +12%]**
**[Armor Familiarity: 54%]**
Dain finally called a halt as the sun dipped toward the horizon. Ethan's body was a mass of bruises, his undershirt soaked through with sweat and blood where the straps had rubbed him raw.
After drills, Ethan limped straight to the alchemy lab. His body screamed for rest, but time wasn't a luxury he had. The Veynes wouldn't wait for him to catch up.
He laid out his ingredients:
- **Moonpetal Root** (for Qi absorption)
- **Ember Moss** (to stabilize vessel expansion)
- **A single drop of Spirit Beast blood** (pilfered from the restricted archives)
The System projected warnings across his vision:
**[Volatile Combination Detected]**
**[Success Probability: 42%]**
Ethan ignored it.
He crushed the Moonpetal Root into a silver paste, channeling a thread of Qi into the mortar. The mixture shimmered, absorbing the energy. Next, the Ember Moss—a pinch too much, and his veins would cook from the inside.
His hands didn't shake.
When he added the Spirit Beast blood, the concoction hissed, emitting a faint crimson glow. The air thickened with the scent of iron and burnt sugar.
One deep breath. Then, he drank.
Fire erupted in his gut.
---
Ethan collapsed to his knees, his vision whiting out. His meridians were live wires, his heartbeat a war drum in his skull. The System blared alarms:
**[Vessel Overload!]**
**[Qi Deviation Imminent!]**
He clawed at his chest, gasping. The golden veins beneath his skin flared violently, flickering between gold and an ominous red.
*"Too much—"*
Then—cold. A surge of blue energy (his mage core?) crashed through the chaos, dousing the fire. The two forces clashed, twisted, then finally settled into an uneasy equilibrium.
Ethan vomited blackened bile.
But when he looked up, the System's message was clear:
**[Dual Cultivation Synchronization: 31%]**
**[Breakthrough Achieved: Squire Level 2]**
He laughed hoarsely. *"Worth it."*
---