It had been a month since Ash started training, and he'd transformed.
His skills were sharper, movements smoother, rivaling knights who'd trained for years.
In the cold dawn of the training yard, shouts of Clover Knights and the crack of wood on shields filled the air.
Ash led the morning run, boots pounding frozen dirt, outpacing Torren, a cocky veteran who sneered, "Keep up, rookie!"
Ash left him choking on dust, his gray tunic—patched but snug—stretched over broader shoulders, dark trousers tucked into scuffed boots.
He hauled stones heavier than any knight dared, stacking them with a grunt, muscles rippling, while others flinched at the weight.
The knights' sneers had turned to wary glances, their eyes marking him as an outsider, but undeniable.
Ash felt the strength in his bones, but the fire in his chest burned hotter. His goal was a blade, driving every step.
After a council meeting in the stone-walled hall, Princess Elis lingered, her blue gown frayed at the hem, sleeves rolled up, leather belt tight, auburn braid loose.
She leaned slightly on her right leg, hiding a wince.
Captain Blackthorn approached, his dark green cloak with its faded clover swaying, scarred leather bracers dull, katana at his belt.
"How's the leg holding up, Princess?" Blackthorn asked, voice a low growl, checking his ranks.
Elis straightened, a flash of irritation in her eyes before she smoothed it. "It's getting there. The healer says a few more days. Just a strain, not worth fussing over."
He grunted, nodding. "Don't rush it. A bad leg drops you fast. I know it's eating you, watching from the sides."
"It's like the world's moving and I'm stuck behind a window," Elis said, eyes drifting to the yard. Her gaze locked on Ash, sprinting ahead, a blur among the knights.
"Look at him, Blackthorn. He's not just keeping up—he's leading."
Blackthorn followed her look, jaw tight. "He never stops. Night runs, lifting broken weights when everyone's snoring. It's not right. A month's too fast to be this good."
Elis turned, voice sharp. "It's unnatural. He was half-dead when he got here. Now he's outlifting Torren, outrunning Sven. He's outshining your knights. Stop stalling—teach him essence."
Blackthorn's eyes stayed on Ash, stacking a stone like it was nothing. "Not yet."
"Why?" Elis snapped, her royal edge cutting through. "He's proven himself ten times over. What are you waiting for?"
Blackthorn met her gaze, voice low, deliberate. "It's not about proving. He's gotta believe he earned it. I've seen men break chasing power they didn't sweat for. His will's a blade already, Elis—sharp enough to cut him if he thinks he's a god."
Elis stepped closer, voice quieter but firm. "What if he's more than a man? What if that's what we're dealing with?"
Blackthorn went quiet, watching Ash, a storm in the yard.
"That's what keeps me up," he said, voice barely a whisper.
"His soul's wrong—too bright, like it don't belong. Normal men break in a week. I knew from day one he was something else. Sven's punch should've cracked ribs but he spat blood, stood up, kept going. I don't know what happens if we wake that up."
Elis's hand tightened on the window frame, knuckles white. "So you'll keep him hauling stones, hoping he doesn't notice what he is?"
Blackthorn's eyes hardened, a decision locking in. "No. I've held back long enough. My curiosity's stronger than my fear."
He stepped toward the door, hand tightening on his katana's hilt, his boots heavy on the stone. "Today, I'll try something different, let's see where it ends."
Outside, Blackthorn strode to the yard, his cloak snapping in the wind.
The knights' drills slowed, eyes turning. His voice sliced through the noise. "Ash! Drop those stones."
Ash straightened, wiping sweat from his brow, heart kicking up. "Sir?"
"You've wrung every drop outta these exercises," Blackthorn said, arms crossed, face unreadable.
"Time for something real. Follow me."
He led Ash to a dusty sparring circle, knights slowing their drills, eyes curious.
"You've come far, sooner than I expected," Blackthorn said, voice plain but heavy.
"Strength, speed—that's the shell. Now we test what's inside. A simple challenge: get me to draw my blades and use my essence, and you win. Anything goes—fists, rocks, anything. Are you in?"
Ash's heart pounded, but he nodded, jaw tight. I'm stronger now. I can do this. "Yeah, I'm in."
"Fine" Blackthorn said, stepping back.
Ash charged, feinting low, aiming a sharp kick at Blackthorn's side.
Blackthorn shifted an inch, and Ash's foot hit air. A backhanded strike caught Ash's ribs—thwack—knocking his breath out. He stumbled, pain blooming, gasping.
"Street brawler moves," Blackthorn said, calm, almost bored. "That ain't enough, kid."
Ash circled. "Gotta do better, huh?" he muttered, grabbing a splintered practice staff. He swung hard, wood whistling. Blackthorn stepped inside, deflected it with his bracer, snapping it like a twig, and shoved Ash by the throat, sending him sprawling.
"Better," Blackthorn said, tossing the broken wood aside.
Ash's blood burned. He staggered up, faking a limp, shoulders slumped, breaths ragged.
The knights leaned in, whispering. "Come on, Ash," one muttered.
Ash stumbled forward, then lunged, throwing a full-force punch at Blackthorn's jaw, shouting, "Take this!" Blackthorn caught his fist, twisted, and slammed him face-first into the dirt, a boot pinning his back.
"You thought that'd work?" Blackthorn said, mocking. "You're still weak."
Ash coughed, dirt in his mouth, body screaming. Blackthorn stepped back. "Change of plans" he Said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "I'm going to kill you, and your only option is to stop me by getting me to use my essence."
Elis, at the window, froze, hand at her mouth. "What the hell, Blackthorn?" she whispered, voice shaking.
Blackthorn attacked, a storm of pain. His fists were iron, hitting Ash's ribs, chest, face.
Blood sprayed, Ash's tunic tore, and he hit the ground, gasping, vision blurring.
The knights shifted, uneasy, their murmurs gone.
Blackthorn didn't stop, his bracers glinting as he struck, each blow brutal, calculated. Ash curled up, shielding his head, pain swallowing him. I can't fail. But his strength was gone, his body broken.
Blackthorn raised a fist, face a mask, ready for a final blow.
Ash, barely conscious, grin, and acted on instinct. His hand clawed the ground, grabbing dirt and sand.
"Eat this!" he rasped, flinging it into Blackthorn's eyes.
"Gah!" Blackthorn roared, stumbling back, wiping his face, blinded.
The knights gasped, stunned by the desperate move.
Ash lay there, chest heaving, watching Blackthorn falter.
He'd hit him. He waited for the white light, the essence from the boar, to surge. Nothing came. His body was too broken, mind too foggy.
Darkness closed in, the yard fading as he passed out.
Knights rushed him to the infirmary, boots pounding, faces blurred above him.
Elis ran down, her gown catching on the stairs, reaching the yard as Ash was carried away, blood staining his torn tunic.
In the infirmary corridor, Elis faced Blackthorn, arms crossed, voice sharp.
"You went too far, Blackthorn! You broke him. I thought he was more, but he's just stubborn, tough, but human. You nearly killed him to prove what, exactly?"
Blackthorn stared at the infirmary door, eyes steady. "Don't count him out, Princess," he said, voice low, calm.
"This wasn't about sparking his power. It was about a message. That sand in my eyes? That was him clawing for life, not just victory. That's where power starts."
Elis's eyes narrowed, frustration flaring. "A message? You nearly killed him for some cryptic lesson?"
Blackthorn's lips twitched, a grim smirk.
"He'll figure it out. That's the spark I needed to see." He turned, boots echoing down the stone hall, leaving Elis staring, confused.
In the infirmary, Ash lay on a cot, bandaged, face bruised, the sharp sting of herbs burning his nose.
The room smelled of blood, stone walls cold, the cot creaking as he shifted, pain spiking.
His tunic was gone, replaced by a rough linen shirt, trousers patched. He gripped the cot's edge, knuckles white, pain a pulse through his body.
His mind churned. He hadn't reached essence, a flicker of Noah and Kelvin's cheers urging him on. Their absence hit like a fresh wound, raw and deep.
Elis stood by the door, her gown catching the candlelight.
She adjusted his blanket, her touch light, eyes soft with worry and hope. "You're still fighting, Ash," she whispered, lingering a moment before leaving, steps fading on the stone.
Ash stared at the ceiling, pain throbbing, but his fist clenched despite it. I'm not done.
The fire in his chest flickered, alive. His will grew stronger. He was going to wield his Essence and achieve his goal, at all cost.