"Now you can leave. The guards will take you to your room. Wait there till night," said the Grand Master.
Mork looked back at him, but couldn't bring himself to say anything. The weight of his presence alone was enough to frighten him. Mork ground his teeth. His jaw tightened. His fists clenched.
But he left—without a word.
A guard escorted him silently, but Mork's mind was still reeling with the Grand Master's final words:
> "I will make your life hell."
"Just who does he think he is?" Mork muttered. "How can he say something like that... to a prince?"
"This is your room, Lord Mork," the guard announced.
Snapping out of his thoughts, Mork noticed they were now standing before a plain wooden door. He nodded and stepped inside.
The room was simple. A bed, a closet, and a couple of lamps — that was all.
"You can rest till night, Lord Mork," said the guard.
"A guard will escort you to the training grounds for your trial."
With that, he bowed and left.
Mork stood still for a moment, silently surveying the room. Then he walked over to the bed and collapsed onto it, burying his face in the pillow. He lay there motionless for a while... until he drifted off to sleep.
---
A knock on the door stirred him awake.
"Come in," Mork said groggily.
The door opened. A guard stepped in, holding a folded outfit in his hands.
"Your trial is about to begin," he said.
Mork stood up. "I'm ready."
"Before we leave, please wear this," the guard said, offering the clothes. "You won't be allowed to take the trial in your royal dress."
Mork took the clothes and nodded.
"I'll wait outside," the guard added before stepping out.
Mork looked at the clothes. A rough brown shirt and loose pants — the same kind worn by the boys he saw earlier in the arena. He changed into them, took a deep breath, and stepped outside.
"We're ready to go," he said.
The guard looked at Mork, as if wanting to say something, but no words came out. After a moment, he composed himself.
"This way, my lord. I'll take you to the training grounds."
---
On the way, Mork turned to the guard.
"What kind of trial is this?"
The guard, walking slightly ahead, replied, "It's designed to test your strength, patience, skill, endurance, and intellect. You'll go through a series of challenges. Based on your performance, you'll be given points."
"Points? What are those for?" Mork asked.
"There is a ranking system within the Citadel. All luxuries depend on your rank. The trainees with the highest rank are given the most luxurious rooms… and many other privileges," the guard explained.
"So, what rank do I have now?" asked Mork.
"You don't have a rank yet," the guard replied. "But the room you're staying in is meant for a C-grade trainee. You'll need to at least earn enough points to qualify for a C-rank. Otherwise…"
"Otherwise what?" Mork asked sharply.
"Otherwise, you'll be moved to another place… depending on your rank," the guard said quietly.
They stopped in front of a large metal gate.
"The training grounds are beyond this gate."
The guard stepped aside. As the doors creaked open, Mork took a deep breath and stepped through.
---
The arena stretched out before him — the same one where he had seen the earlier duel. In the center, two figures stood waiting. As Mork walked closer, he recognized them: a dark elf girl, roughly his age, and the ogre instructor from before.
"You two will fight a duel," said the instructor. He gestured to a wooden stand filled with weapons. "Pick whatever suits you best."
The dark elf girl stepped forward and confidently selected a pair of daggers.
Mork hesitated. His eyes scanned the weapons. After a long pause, he reached for a classic iron sword. But as he lifted it, the tip immediately dropped to the ground. Even with his ogre strength, the weight was too much for a five-year-old.
He tried lifting it again, jaw clenched, arms shaking — but couldn't hold it upright for more than a few seconds.
The instructor gave a signal, and guards swiftly removed the weapon stand.
"Face each other," the instructor commanded.
The elf girl took her place in the center. Mork dragged the heavy sword behind him as he stepped forward.
Once he stood before her, he tried once more to lift the sword with all his might.
"There are no rules," said the instructor coldly. "You will fight until I declare a winner. You will not stop… no matter what."
With that, he turned and stepped to the side.
Mork and the dark elf girl now stood face to face.
He was nervous — visibly so. But the girl showed no emotion. As soon as the instructor shouted, "Fight!", her lips curled into a wide grin.
Mork's stomach turned. That grin... it wasn't just confidence — it was bloodlust.
She charged like lightning. Mork froze, gripping his heavy sword awkwardly.
She leapt into the air — and Mork swallowed hard.