After seeing off Professor Arcanus and Hector, Oliver returned to the training grounds, his sanctuary of sweat and discipline. Oliver’s routine was a relentless focus on physical mastery. He drilled footwork until his boots scraped grooves into the cobblestones, practiced sword forms until his muscles burned, and pounded a sandbag until his fists felt like iron. The weeks of effort had reshaped him—broad shoulders, a defined chest, and arms corded with muscle. He was taller now, his presence more commanding, a young man on the cusp of greatness.
Days passed in a blur. Oliver had hoped to visit Isabella, but she, too, had been called away by the Lady of the Forest to aid in the campaign against the Silver Circle Cult.
One morning, as Oliver practiced a grueling set of sword forms, Violanda burst into the courtyard, her eyes alight with excitement. “Oliver, drop that blade! We’ve got work to do!”