Chapter 137: Training Camp

"She is not to be treated as a delicate noblewoman. She is a soldier of the North. I expect you to push her physical limits, drill her in the basic katas until her muscle memory is flawless. Teach her to channel her mana, and break her bad habits before they solidify."

Kaelus looked directly into Captain Pyros’s flaming amber eyes. "Do not coddle her, Captain. The enemies of the Empire will not show her mercy because she is small. The Crucible must forge her."

Captain Pyros slammed a massive fist over his heart. "Understood, Your Grace! The fires of Valen forge only the strongest steel! We will mold her into a warrior worthy of the Vanguard!"

"See that you do," Kaelus nodded grimly.

He had to attend a joint-council meeting with Leonidas regarding the subterranean mapping of the Ashen Forest, a matter of urgent, world-ending necessity. He could not oversee the training himself.

Kaelus knelt down, placing a hand on Seraphina’s small shoulder. "Listen to your instructors, Seraphina. It will be difficult and exhausting. But you must learn to control the dark. I will return at midday to inspect your progress."

"Yes, Papa," Seraphina nodded solemnly, her dark eyes wide and serious.

With a final, lingering look of fatherly reluctance, Kaelus von Nacht turned on his heel, his dark cape sweeping behind him, and marched out of the Crucible, the heavy iron doors slamming shut behind him.

The Archduke of the North had officially left his daughter in the hands of the most brutal, unforgiving, battle-hardened military instructors in the Southern Empire.

***

The heavy iron doors CLANGED shut.

The echoes bounced off the volcanic walls of the arena, fading into the oppressive, suffocating heat of the magma channels.

For exactly thirty seconds, the atmosphere in the Crucible was deadly silent.

Captain Pyros, the terrifying, scarred drill instructor who had made grown men weep until they vomited from exhaustion, stood perfectly still. Sir Lucas, the master assassin of the Bastion, remained at parade rest.

Sir Boris and Sir Gallahan did not move a muscle.

They stared at the heavy iron doors, waiting.

Listening.

Ensuring that the Archduke’s footsteps had completely, entirely faded down the obsidian corridor.

When the absolute certainty of Kaelus’s departure was confirmed, a monumental, reality-shattering shift occurred within the arena.

The terrifying, blood-soaked, hardened military facade of the four veteran warriors evaporated instantly. It did not just fade; it violently, comically disintegrated, replaced by an aura of such profound, overwhelming, sickeningly sweet adoration that the ambient temperature of the room actually felt less oppressive.

Captain Pyros, the man who chewed hot coals, slowly turned his massive, scarred head to look down at Seraphina.

His fierce, amber eyes melted into pools of absolute, liquid mush. His gruff, booming voice, the voice he used to scream commands over the roar of artillery fire, pitched up three entire octaves into a horrifyingly gentle, cooing falsetto.

"Oh by the blazing sun," Captain Pyros breathed, bringing his massive hands up to clutch his own scarred cheeks. "Look at her little boots. Look at her tiny little ponytail. She looks like a very aggressive little pebble."

"I know, right?" Sir Gallahan sighed dreamily, crossing his arms and leaning against his sword. "The tailor outdid himself. The gray linen really brings out the menacing glint in her eyes."

Sir Lucas, the man who routinely slit throats in the dark, stepped forward, producing a delicate, lace-trimmed silk handkerchief from his pocket and gently dabbing a microscopic bead of sweat from Seraphina’s forehead. "The ambient heat in here is entirely unacceptable. Boris, fetch the portable ice-crystals. We cannot have the Sovereign perspiring. It ruins the aesthetic."

Seraphina stood in the center of the ash-covered arena, her small hands resting on her hips. Her adult brain, the cynical survivor who had mentally prepared herself to endure a grueling, montage-worthy training sequence of running, lifting rocks, and punching wooden posts, completely short-circuited.

’What is happening?’ Seraphina thought, staring at the four massive, deadly warriors who were currently fussing over her like a gaggle of overbearing grandmothers. ’Papa Duke specifically ordered them not to coddle me. He gave a whole dramatic speech about forging steel in the fires of discipline. Why is the drill sergeant looking at me like I’m a kitten in a teacup?’

"Alright, gentlemen!" Captain Pyros announced, clapping his massive hands together. The sound echoed through the Crucible, but it lacked all military authority. "His Grace ordered physical conditioning! And we must obey the Archduke! Physical fitness is paramount for a growing Sovereign!"

"Indeed!" Sir Boris rumbled, returning with a basket of glowing blue ice-crystals, setting them in a circle around Seraphina to create a localized, highly refreshing air-conditioning field. "We must build her stamina!"

Captain Pyros nodded gravely. "The standard Crucible warm-up is ten laps around the outer perimeter of the arena floor."

Seraphina looked at the outer perimeter. The Crucible was massive. One lap was easily the length of three football fields. Ten laps in the sweltering volcanic heat would absolutely, categorically destroy her tiny, six-year-old cardiovascular system. She swallowed hard, preparing herself for the agony.

"However," Captain Pyros continued, pulling a piece of white chalk from his pocket. He knelt down in the ash directly in front of Seraphina. "The Archduke failed to specify the radius of the laps."

With absolute, terrifyingly sincere focus, the massive Fire Mage drew a small, perfect circle in the ash. The circle was roughly ten feet in diameter.

He stood up, brushing the ash from his knees, and gestured grandly to the tiny, pathetic chalk circle.

"Lady Seraphina," Captain Pyros commanded, his voice trembling with suppressed affection. "You shall run two laps around this designated tactical perimeter. Pacing is key. Do not overexert yourself."

Seraphina stared at the chalk circle.

She looked at Captain Pyros. She looked at Sir Lucas, who was nodding sagely as if this were a brilliant, highly advanced training methodology.

’Are they serious?’ Seraphina’s inner monologue laughed hysterically. ’This isn’t a regular training camp!’