"I'm so tired…"
Arthur let out a long, deep sigh as he let himself fall onto the bed, the mattress creaking softly under the weight of a body pushed to its absolute limit. His muscles still throbbed, tense, as if every fiber were protesting against the abuse of that endless day.
Training from dawn until nightfall would have been enough to make anyone collapse. But as if that weren't enough, he had also had to face Cú Chulainn.
That guy doesn't hold back… not even a little.
Even knowing that Cú Chulainn had deliberately restrained himself, Arthur could still feel the crushing difference between them. Every blow he had taken echoed in his mind. Scáthach had been there, of course. His physical injuries had been treated with runes.
But pain isn't only of the flesh.
Physical wounds can be healed with runic magic, but psychological trauma… that follows its own rules. Even after the body is restored, there is always a lingering, invisible pain that insists on reminding you just how small you still are before certain monsters.
"And I was even looked down on by Nessa…"
The thought came with a cruel memory: the sharp, suspicious look Nessa had given him earlier. Arthur couldn't help but bury his face into the pillow, pressing it hard, as if he could hide from the world.
"How embarrassing…"
She had noticed. Of course she had. His thoughts had been far too bold, far too reckless. Thinking about Scáthach that way…
"Ahhh…!"
A muffled groan escaped as he tossed and turned on the bed, clutching the pillow as if it were an emotional shield. In the clumsy movement, his body rolled a little farther than it should have.
BAM!
A dull thud echoed through the room.
"That really hurts…"
Arthur brought his hands to his head and instinctively curled up, almost into a ball. Pain throbbed in his forehead, spreading in unpleasant waves.
"Why didn't my premonition activate just now…?" he muttered, more thoughtful than annoyed, covering his forehead with one hand.
According to Morgan le Fay, his premonition ability should warn him of any dangerous situation within the next four seconds. An instinctive alert. A sudden sensation. A glimpse of the future.
But when his head collided with the pillar in the room… nothing happened.
No vision. No warning.
"So, for premonition… this doesn't count as dangerous?"
Arthur stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, lost in thought.
"What if I try again…?"
He slowly turned his face toward the pillar beside the bed. He touched the swelling on his forehead and grimaced.
Honestly, unless someone was completely insane, no one would go around smashing their head into a pillar for no reason.
But Arthur wasn't exactly normal.
Curiosity burned inside him, almost as irritating as the pain. He needed to understand his power. He needed to know how premonition worked—its limits, its flaws, and its criteria.
"Just one more time…"
Thump!
Arthur hit his head against the pillar again.
"Still nothing…" he murmured, gently rubbing his forehead. "Did the power of prophecy fail?"
His gaze fixed on the pillar once more.
"How about… trying one more time?"
Either way, he could ask Nessa for help later. A little pain now didn't seem like too high a price to pay for answers.
"Try again!"
At the exact moment Arthur lunged forward, the magic within his body began to circulate silently, like a river awakening in the dark. He focused, waiting, wishing for the premonition to finally manifest.
Thump.
'…Strange…'
'Why didn't it hurt?'
Arthur felt as if his head had struck something surprisingly soft. There was no hard impact. No pain. Instead, a faint aroma enveloped his senses—subtle, but unmistakable.
He lifted his face, confused.
"Arthur…" The voice was calm, deep, and carried authority. "Even if you can't defeat Cú Chulainn, there's no need to hurt yourself like this."
Arthur froze.
His face was pressed against something warm… and it definitely wasn't a pillar.
"M-Master?!" He pulled back quickly, his face burning with embarrassment. "What brought you here?! I'm sorry! I didn't realize you had come in!"
Scáthach looked down at him, her gaze as serene and impassive as ever, as if the scene before her were not strange at all.
She gently shook her head.
"I am the one who entered without permission. There is no need to apologize."
Arthur swallowed hard, still trying to compose himself.
"Here." Scáthach placed the magical cauldron in front of him. "There are twenty-six runes in total. I engraved twelve on the surface. It isn't ideal… but it will be enough for you to use."
Arthur held the cauldron carefully, feeling the magic gently pulsing beneath his fingers. He didn't say "thank you."
Not because he was ungrateful—quite the opposite.
Some debts don't need words. They are kept in the heart, to be repaid in the future, when the opportunity arises.
Scáthach had taught him martial arts, magic, discipline. She had taken him in and shaped him. That was a debt that could never truly be repaid.
"Rest," Scáthach continued. "Cú Chulainn will face his final trial tomorrow. Accompany him. It will help you prepare mentally."
She paused briefly.
"If you are confident, you may participate in the trial as well. If you pass… you will be able to graduate without issue."
Arthur was completely stunned.
Graduate…?
That meant finishing his training there.
It meant… leaving.
If I graduate… doesn't that mean I won't learn anything else here? That I'll have to leave…?
The weight of that possibility fell upon him with unexpected force, far heavier than any blow Cú Chulainn could deliver.
Deep down, Arthur didn't want to leave the Land of Shadows.
Even though the daily training with Scáthach was brutal, exhausting, and often bordering on unbearable, he had already fully adapted to that way of life. Fatigue was as much a part of his routine as the misty dawns and the cold scent of damp earth. Every morning began the same way: exercises until his body screamed for mercy, techniques repeated until his muscles lost all sensation, magic practiced until his mind burned.
And yet, at the end of the day, there was peace.
Arthur would sit with Nessa and tell her stories. Some came from old books, others from fragmented memories of a past life. Fairy tales, legends, and strange stories, like those attributed to the Brothers Grimm—filled with dark forests, cruel kings, and endings that were not always happy. Nessa listened attentively, sometimes complaining, sometimes laughing, but always waiting for the next story.
That simple routine had become… comfortable.
Arthur had no great ambitions, no grand dreams of conquest. He didn't want to rule kingdoms or be revered as a hero. His desire was straightforward and honest: to become stronger and protect those around him. Nothing more, nothing less.
And if he were forced to leave this place now…
To be honest, he wasn't mentally prepared for it.
As if she had sensed his thoughts before he had even fully organized them, Scáthach smiled softly. It was a rare smile, almost imperceptible, but genuine. She reached out and lightly ruffled Arthur's hair—a simple gesture, yet filled with affection.
"Don't worry," she said calmly. "I won't send you away. Even after you graduate, you'll still be able to stay here."
Arthur blinked in surprise.
"After all…" Scáthach continued, turning her face slightly toward the front door. "That girl seems a bit impatient."
Arthur didn't understand the meaning of those words.
In a few months, he would turn sixteen. According to the rules of that world, that age marked official adulthood—and, consequently, the time when he would marry Nessa.
The marriage had not been imposed. Quite the opposite.
It was Nessa who, years ago, had spoken of it for the first time, with the naturalness of someone stating the obvious. At the time, Scáthach had believed it to be nothing more than a childish joke—one of those promises made without weight, without real understanding of the future. So she hadn't taken it seriously and had simply agreed without much thought. Arthur, of course, had known nothing of this agreement.
But recently… Nessa had brought it up again.
And this time, there was no playfulness in her eyes.
Without a doubt, her daughter was serious.
"W-What…?" Arthur finally seemed to react, blinking a few times before asking, genuinely confused.
"It's nothing," Scáthach replied, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Let's continue yesterday's story."
"Uh…" Arthur nodded, still not fully understanding, but he didn't press the issue. He casually set the magical cauldron aside, sat beside her, and resumed the narrative he had been telling on previous nights.
During his years in the Land of Shadows, Arthur had gradually recovered the memories of his past life. However, they had little practical use in that world.
Even so, he enjoyed telling the stories he had read or watched in his previous life.
He spoke of battles fought by absurdly powerful individuals—beings who seemed more like myths than people.
"That man was incredibly strong…" Arthur said, gesturing enthusiastically. "He possessed chains capable of restraining even gods. And he also had a weapon—a sword capable of destroying the entire world. Its name was EA, the Sword of Rupture…"
Scáthach watched Arthur as he spoke, noticing the light in his eyes, the concentration in his expression, the seriousness with which he described those nearly impossible stories.
Five years ago, he had been nothing more than an ordinary child—without memories, without direction. Many nights, he had come to her in silence, seeking comfort, afraid to sleep alone. He could only fall asleep when resting his head on her lap, feeling safe.
'…When did he grow up so much?'
Scáthach's eyes grew slightly misty as she stroked Arthur's hair, the gesture almost automatic.
'Perhaps it's better to postpone the marriage for now…'
Although sixteen was considered adulthood in that world, the mind was not yet fully mature—much less the heart. For something like that, time was necessary. At least until twenty.
"Master?" Arthur's voice pulled her back to reality. "Are you daydreaming?"
"No," Scáthach replied calmly. "I was just thinking about a few things. Go on."
Arthur hesitated for a moment before speaking again, this time in a quieter tone.
"Master… you know you don't need to come here every night to keep me company anymore. I'm not a child."
Although he liked her presence, there was a slight discomfort in still being treated as someone fragile.
"It is a master's duty to look after the mental health of their disciple," Scáthach replied, her voice calm yet firm. "There is no need to say anything more."
Her tone allowed no argument.
"All right…" Arthur conceded, sighing softly.
He knew it. When Scáthach made a decision, there was no changing it. Even if he tried to convince her to leave, he wouldn't succeed.
Besides…
Deep down, Arthur didn't want her to stop coming every night.
The very idea made his chest tighten, as if something essential were being taken from him. Without realizing it, he had already grown completely accustomed to that life—to the Land of Shadows, the days of exhausting training… and the silent presence of his master by his side every night.
Without that, something would surely be missing.
(End of Chapter)