Are you ready?

The crisp morning air carried the distant echoes of sparring swords and shouting students, but Victor Crow wasn't among the bustling crowd. Instead, he stood alone in the shadow of the academy's private training grounds, his fingers trembling against the grip of a wooden dagger. Across from him loomed Ms. Riven, her sharp eyes narrowing as she sized him up.

"Your form is still sloppy," she said curtly, tapping the ground with the end of a staff. "Again."

Victor gritted his teeth and lunged, the dagger in his hand darting toward her side. Ms. Riven swatted the attack aside with ease, her staff flicking forward and smacking the back of his hand hard enough to make him drop the weapon.

"Too slow. You have speed, but your movements lack intent." She stepped back, her stance casual but her presence oppressive. "You're not thinking like a fighter who does everything in his power to win, Victor. You're thinking like someone who's afraid to lose."

Victor's chest heaved as he retrieved the dagger and straightened. His muscles burned, his shirt clinging to his sweat-soaked frame. It had only been an hour into their session, but it felt like days. Ms. Riven's drills were relentless, each one designed to exploit his weaknesses and push him past his limits.

"You don't have time to hesitate," she said, her tone sharper than her strikes. "In two weeks, you'll be stepping into the Forsaken World. Monsters there won't give you second chances."

Victor nodded, gripping the dagger tighter. "I'll get it. Let's go again."

A flicker of approval crossed her face, but she didn't let it soften her demeanor. "We'll see."

The training over the next few days was grueling, a whirlwind of intense drills that left Victor questioning how he even managed to stand by the end of each session. Ms. Riven didn't just test his limits—she shattered them. Sparring matches pitted him against opponents who outmatched him in skill and experience.

"Keep moving!" she barked as Victor stumbled to block a strike from a spear-wielding student. His arms felt like lead, and every blow he received sent shockwaves through his already aching muscles.

When he managed to parry an attack and counter with an awkward strike of his own, Ms. Riven was immediately there to critique him. "Sloppy. If you're going to attack, commit to it. Half-hearted strikes won't save your life out there."

The physical training was brutal, but it was only part of the regimen. Ms. Riven drilled him in weapon adaptability, constantly changing the tools he was forced to use. One day, she thrust a broadsword into his hands, its weight nearly tipping him over. The next, she handed him a pair of throwing knives and made him hit moving targets while sprinting up and down the training field.

"Learn to adapt," she said as Victor missed another throw. "You won't always have the weapon you prefer. The Forsaken World doesn't care about your comfort."

Every muscle in Victor's body screamed by the end of each session, but there was no time to dwell on the pain. Ms. Riven added endurance training to the mix, pushing him to run obstacle courses that forced him to crawl under nets, climb walls, and leap over barriers while carrying heavy weights. His legs burned, his lungs felt like they would burst, but he pushed through.

The results were undeniable. By the end of the first week, Victor's strength and endurance had skyrocketed. He could feel it in the way his strikes carried more force, how his body endured blows that would have left him crumpled before. Yet, even as he improved, he couldn't ignore the imbalance. His reflexes weren't keeping up.

Ms. Riven noticed it, too. On the eighth day of training, after an intense sparring session, she called for a halt. Victor was panting, his shirt clinging to his sweat-soaked skin, his muscles trembling from the effort. She watched him with an intense gaze, her eyes narrowing slightly.

"Something's off," she said, her tone thoughtful.

Victor frowned, wiping the sweat from his brow. "What do you mean?"

"You're growing too quickly," she said bluntly. "Strength and vitality are skyrocketing. You've gone from barely holding a weapon to nearly overpowering some of my best students in a week. But your reflexes…" She gestured with her staff, pointing at him. "They're lagging. You're strong enough to break through defenses, but your timing is still off. That imbalance could kill you."

Victor tightened his grip on the dagger, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "I'm trying. I'm pushing myself harder every day."

"That's not what I'm worried about," she replied. Her tone was calm, but there was an edge of concern in her voice.

"Then what?" he asked, his frustration slipping into his words.

Ms. Riven stepped closer, her voice lowering. "Your power—it's unnatural. It's as if your body is being forced to adapt faster than it should. I've seen this before."

Victor's stomach twisted. "What do you mean by that?"

Her gaze bore into him. "Whatever is driving your growth, it's dangerous. If the wrong people find out how quickly you've improved, they'll start asking questions you don't want to answer."

Victor hesitated. "Why would they care?"

Ms. Riven's expression darkened, and for the first time, Victor saw a glimpse of something in her eyes—a shadow of a past she didn't often reveal. "Because I've seen what happens when someone like you draws too much attention. There are factions out there—groups that won't care about the risks as long as they can exploit your potential. I've seen promising young fighters torn apart because they didn't know when to expose their power."

Her words hung heavy in the air. Victor swallowed hard, the implications settling over him. "So you're saying I should hide it?"

"For now," she said firmly. "If you keep this pace up, you'll rival Adrian Darrow in another week. But if you show that during a public sparring match, it won't just be your classmates who notice."

Victor clenched his fists, his mind racing. "What about you? Why are you helping me if it's so dangerous?"

Her lips twitched into a faint smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Because I've been where you are and I see potential in you. I know what it's like to have power you don't fully understand—and to have others try to take it from you."

The last words were unheard by Victor as he headed home,"I hope what happened to me doesn't happen to you and maybe you'll be able to take that step to next level."

The following days passed in a haze of sweat and bruises. Ms. Riven intensified his training, pushing him to refine his movements and improve his reflexes. Sparring matches became faster and more unpredictable, forcing Victor to rely on instinct rather than brute force. She used unpredictable scenarios, like ambushes or surprise attacks, to sharpen his reactions.

On the final day of the second week, she set up a sparring match against Liana Grey, one of the academy's top students. Liana's skill was undeniable, her movements precise and calculated. The match was intense, each clash of their wooden weapons echoing across the training grounds. Sweat dripped down Victor's face, but he held his ground. He was no longer the same fighter who had been overwhelmed by Adrian two weeks ago. He moved faster, struck harder, and endured longer. When Liana finally yielded, the murmurs of those watching confirmed what Victor already felt—he had improved.

Ms. Riven approached him as the students dispersed. "Remember what I told you," she said quietly. "Don't show your full strength yet. If anyone asks, you're still struggling to catch up."

Victor hesitated. "Why? If I'm strong enough to beat Adrian, why shouldn't I prove it?"

Her gaze hardened. "Because power without control is chaos. And because the moment you reveal what you're capable of, you'll paint a target on your back. The Forsaken World doesn't care how much better than Adrian you are. It cares how well you can protect yourself from dangers, besides the native creatures aren't your only treat in the other world."

Victor nodded slowly, the weight of her words settling in. He left the training grounds with a renewed sense of determination. He had pushed himself to the brink over the past two weeks, and the results were undeniable. But now, he understood that strength alone wouldn't be enough. In the Forsaken World, he would need to be more than strong—he would need to be smart.

"In times of battle its not always your enemy who beats you, rather its your allies betrayal or inability to respond to various situations."