Another month passed.
It was autumn already, rain and clouds often closed the sky from the sunlight, but it was still quite warm.
Azazel had to spend some of his earnings for new clothes.
Azazel's hands were calloused. His mind sharper than it had ever been.
He'd memorized dozens of summoning circles. Could recite exorcism chants in three languages. Identified creatures by footprint, by scent, by the shape of the wound left behind.
He also familiarized himself with other books that he found in his Grandpa's secret place.
The cellar beneath the Brimstone Barrel had become his second home—if not his first. It stank of sweat, steel, and leather. He trained there, fought shadows there, and sometimes fell asleep against a pile of warded tomes, that he brought through the catacombs, from his old house to the bar.
Honestly, he still does sneak into the unchanged two-story house where he and grandfather used to live the whole life.
One evening, after a grueling round of drills, Basil called him to the back room.
"It's time," the old man said, pouring tea that smelled like burnt cinnamon.
"Time for what?" Azazel asked, already feeling a bad taste in his mouth.
"Your first test."
Azazel raised a brow. "I thought everything I've been doing was a test."
"That was study. Sweat. This is something more. Before we even consider letting you face a demon, you need to prove yourself. Not just knowledge—but instinct. Combat sense. Nerves."
Azazel leaned back in the creaky chair, wary.
"What kind of test?"
Basil sipped the tea slowly.
"You'll fight my disciple."
Azazel blinked.
"Wait. Your what?"
"My disciple."
"You never said you had a disciple!"
Basil gave a crooked grin. "You never asked."
Azazel groaned, rubbing his temples. "You're impossible."
"I'm careful. You weren't ready to meet him before. Now you are."
He stood, grabbing a thick iron key from under the desk.
"Come when you are ready. Underground ring beneath the Greek quarter. We keep it hush-hush. A safe zone to test blood without losing it. I hope you followed all the instructions Johann left you."
Azazel stood as well, tense.
"Who is it?"
"You'll see."
"And what if I lose?"
Basil turned, his silhouette framed in flickering candlelight.
"Then you're not ready to face what's coming."
He paused.
"…and you'll spar until you are."