20# Like a True Disciple

The morning light filtered gently through the thin curtains, brushing against Clint's face.

He woke slowly. His eyes still felt heavy, but the searing pain that used to greet him every morning was gone. For the first time in weeks, his body wasn't screaming in agony. It still hurt… but it was bearable.

Then he heard it.

— "You sleep too much, boy…" the voice came, laced with sarcasm. "Trying to play dead to skip training?"

Clint turned his head slowly. Darius was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, his gaze as sharp as ever.

Clint didn't answer. He just gave a faint smirk.

That was enough.

Darius raised an eyebrow, mildly surprised.

— "Hmph… at least you've got energy to act cocky." He pushed off the wall and walked into the corridor. "We'll talk about what happened on that mountain later."

Clint watched him disappear down the hall. The silence that followed somehow felt lighter.

Moments later, the soft creak of wheels broke the quiet.

A young maid entered, pushing a small cart covered in steaming plates. The scent of roasted meat, fresh bread, and sweet fruit hit Clint like a punch to the gut. His stomach growled loudly in response.

— "The Duke ordered a strong meal for you. You need to recover, sir,"l she said kindly, arranging the plates beside his bed.

Clint didn't respond. He had no strength for small talk.

Without hesitation, he grabbed the bread and tore into it, devouring it like a starving wolf. He barely chewed, as if wasting time would offend his hunger.

The meat vanished in huge bites, juices dripping from his chin. The smell, the taste... it felt sacred.

The maid simply watched. She'd seen warriors eat after battle, but never like this. It wasn't just hunger. It was survival.

After the meal, she helped him out of bed. Walking was still painful — every muscle protested. But Clint didn't show it. His eyes were locked forward, unwavering.

She led him to the bath. While the tub filled with warm water, Clint caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

His hair was wild, his face thinner. But his eyes...

They weren't the same.

There was no more fear. No more frantic, hunted look. Now, something else lingered behind them.

Something dangerous.

The bath was quiet. The warm water soothed his muscles, but no comfort could wash away what he had endured. Still, for a moment, he let his eyes close. A moment of peace — well-earned.

Hours later, as the sun began to fall, Clint dressed in clean clothes for the first time since the training began. Nothing fancy — just reinforced cotton pants, a dark shirt, and sturdy boots.

But to him, they felt like royal robes.

In the corridor, Darius waited.

The two locked eyes. Something had shifted. A silent acknowledgment passed between them.

— "We leave at dawn," Darius said plainly.

"There's still much to do."

Clint nodded without hesitation.

— "Understood, Master."

Darius paused, looking at him a second longer. Searching.

Maybe for confirmation.

Maybe pride.

Or maybe… just certainty that this boy he found weeks ago was truly the same one standing before him now.

Without another word, Darius turned and walked down the hallway. Clint watched him disappear into the shadows, his heart steady.

That night, under the silver glow of the moon, Clint lay on clean sheets that smelled faintly of lavender.

But sleep didn't come quickly.

His mind echoed with Darius's words.

"We need to talk about what happened on that mountain."

He needed answers, too. That power… that color… it wasn't normal.

But there would be time.

Tomorrow, training resumed.

And this time… he was ready.