The next morning, Mork was all hyped up, and Snagrot seemed more interested in his training than ever. For the next couple of days, they focused on exercises to improve Mork's agility and stamina — high kicks, climbing obstacles without using his hands, and enhancing his body movement.
Mork was improving fast; his balance was better than before. He could now land kicks high enough to hit a grown ogre straight in the face.
Next came endurance training. For this, Snagrot took him into the woods, where a fast-running stream ended in a waterfall.
"Jump into the stream, son," said Snagrot. "Your task is to resist the flow and stick to your position."
"What happens if I fail?" Mork asked.
"Then you'll be carried by the current and fall through the waterfall," Snagrot replied with a smirk. "Any problem with that?"
Mork grinned. "No, Master."
He removed his shirt and jumped into the stream. At first, he tried his best to hold his ground, but within seconds, the current swept him away, and he fell over the waterfall.
Mork reached the shore of the lake, breathing heavily. But he wasn't done yet. He stood up and ran back to the stream.
When he arrived, Snagrot was standing there, arms crossed.
"So, do we start again?" asked Snagrot.
Mork nodded and jumped in again — and again he was swept away. Over and over, the result was the same.
The next time Mork reached Snagrot, he rested his hand on a nearby tree for support, exhausted but determined.
"You see this rock?" Snagrot said, pointing toward the stream.
Mork followed his gaze and saw a large rock in the middle of the stream, steady despite the rushing water around it.
"What do you think? Why isn't it carried away by the current?" asked Snagrot.
Mork thought for a moment and answered, "Because it's fixed to the surface underneath."
"That's the point," Snagrot said. "Its base is so strong that its body can resist the flow. Focus on your base — your feet. Stick them to the ground beneath the water. Don't waste your strength on your upper body. Use it to anchor yourself."
Mork jumped into the stream once more, this time focusing on his base. He pressed his feet into the riverbed and held fast. For the first time, he resisted the flow.
"I did it!" he shouted.
But the moment he lost focus, the current swept him away again. Snagrot smiled and shook his head.
After several more attempts, Mork finally managed to hold his position without being carried away.
When they were done, Snagrot led him to the waterfall. "Now," he said, "stand beneath it."
Mork swallowed hard but obeyed. He stepped under the waterfall, trying his best to endure the crushing pressure. The force pounded against his shoulders and back — painful, almost unbearable.
Just as he was about to give up, the harsh words of the Grand Master echoed in his mind:
> "You call yourself the son of the great King Draganov? You're nothing but a disgrace to his legacy. Do me a favor — and end yourself."
Mork's jaw tightened. His fists clenched.
"I won't give up!" he shouted hoarsely.
He stood there, bearing the pain, refusing to yield. He lasted for hours until his body finally gave out and he collapsed.
Snagrot pulled him out of the water and whispered, "Well done, son. You did a great job."
Mork was still unconscious.
---
When Mork woke, he was lying in Snagrot's cabin.
"You're awake," Snagrot said as he poured stew from a pot into a bowl.
Mork sat up on the bed. Snagrot handed him the bowl, and as Mork began to eat, the old goblin watched him with kind eyes.
"You did well today, son," said Snagrot. "I wasn't expecting such courage from you."
"Thank you, Master," Mork replied. "It means a lot coming from you."
As he continued eating, Mork noticed a scar over Snagrot's left eye — a mark from some old battle.
"Can I ask you something, Master?" he said.
Snagrot nodded.
"Before coming to the Citadel… were you a warrior?"
Snagrot looked out the window. "You could say that," he replied. "I was the guardian of my village. Goblins live in colonies — each one has its own guardian, or champion. A champion is the strongest goblin in the group. Their job is to protect the village when enemies attack."
"Did you get that scar while protecting your village?" Mork asked.
Snagrot's eyes widened. His mind drifted to the past — the burning forest, the screams, the sight of a female goblin falling from a cliff. His heart pounded; his breath grew short.
"Master…?" Mork said softly.
Snagrot blinked and snapped out of it. He stood up, opened the door, and said quietly, "That's enough for today. Get back to your training. We'll continue this talk another time."
Mork placed the empty bowl on the table and stepped outside. Snagrot shut the door behind him.