ShadowBound: The Need For Power-Chapter 589: Brutal Training

In the days that followed, the one-month training regimen unfolded with an unyielding consistency that matched every warning Sir Kaelen had given—and then surpassed it. First- and second-year students alike were pulled into a relentless cycle of physical exertion that left no space for comfort, complaint, or hesitation. From the first pale light of dawn until well beyond the hour their bodies screamed for rest, they were driven from one exercise to the next, each task bleeding seamlessly into the following one as though the day itself had no true divisions.

Sir Kaelen’s words proved far from an exaggeration. There were no generous pauses, no moments of mercy where exhaustion was allowed to linger unchecked. Any rest granted was strictly functional—just enough time to breathe, to steady trembling limbs, before being forced back into motion. All the while, the myst restrictions remained firmly in place, an invisible weight pressing down on every student. Stripped of the power they had grown accustomed to relying on, they were left with nothing but muscle, bone, endurance, and will.

By the second day, the academy grounds no longer rang with casual chatter or idle conversation. Instead, they echoed with labored breaths, strained grunts, and the dull, hollow sounds of bodies collapsing to the ground when legs finally gave out. The soreness that had set in after the mountain trial never truly faded; it only deepened, settling into joints and muscles until every movement carried a sharp reminder of overuse.

Legs grew heavier with each step, as though weighted by unseen chains. Arms burned even during the simplest drills, and hands roughened quickly, blisters forming and tearing until bandages became as common as bruises. Yet the instructors showed no inclination to ease the pace. If anything, the true cruelty of the training lay in its constancy. There was no dramatic spike meant to test them once, no singular breaking point followed by relief. Instead, there was only an unbroken stretch of strain that wore them down slowly, relentlessly, day after day.

The greatest challenge of the first week was not merely physical, but mental. The monotony itself became oppressive. Running, lifting, carrying heavy loads, sparring without myst, holding stances until muscles shook violently—each individual task was manageable on its own. But repeated endlessly, without the aid of enhanced stamina or reinforced bodies, they became suffocating. Students who had once depended on myst to push past their limits were forced to confront how much they had neglected their physical foundations beneath their power.

Some faltered early. Faces turned pale, jaws clenched tight with frustration as their bodies refused to respond the way they once had. Others endured through sheer stubbornness, gritting their teeth and pressing forward, quickly learning that pacing and discipline mattered far more than pride. There was no room for reckless overexertion; those who burned themselves out too quickly paid for it dearly in the following sessions.

Despite the hardship, the lines never broke. No one was permitted to stop entirely. Those who stumbled were hauled back to their feet, given only enough time to draw a few steady breaths before being pushed forward again. In that shared suffering, a strange, unspoken unity began to form. Conversations dwindled to brief exchanges, nods of acknowledgment, or silent encouragement passed through weary glances. Complaints, when they surfaced, were swallowed just as quickly, replaced by the steady rhythm of movement that carried them through each grueling day.

By the end of the first week, exhaustion clung to the students like a second skin. Their movements were slower, their expressions dulled, and their bodies ached in places they hadn’t known could ache. Yet none of them had truly stopped. They were battered, worn, and painfully aware of their limitations—but they were still standing. And in that quiet persistence, in the simple act of continuing despite the strain, the first week accomplished exactly what it had been designed to do.

Within that same week, Liam and his friends endured the regimen no differently than anyone else. Just as Sir Kaelen had warned them, they were never allowed to remain together during training. Each was separated, forced into different groups, different drills, different pressures. As the days passed, nearly all of them came to realize just how reliant they had been on one another—and how much they themselves were lacking physically when left to stand alone.

That realization became the fuel that carried them through the week. Each of them pushed past personal limits they hadn’t even known existed, driven not by competition, but by the quiet understanding that weakness could no longer be shared or concealed behind others.

As for Liam, though he gave his all to the academy’s brutal training, he carried other concerns that demanded his attention—one of them being Percy.

After the information Mabel had given him regarding ice affinity users, Liam made a deliberate decision. Every night, without exception, he trained in the underground hall created specifically for him. Even as his body screamed in protest from the day’s relentless drills, he treated the exhaustion, aches, and soreness as little more than background noise. They were sensations he had long since learned to compartmentalize, shutting them out entirely unless his body truly reached its limit—a point he had not yet met.

So, each evening after dinner in the cafeteria, Liam left the group behind and allowed Mabel to escort him to the underground training hall. There, beneath the city, he faced holographic projections of assassin knights wielding ice affinity, each construct designed to mimic the precision, speed, and lethality he could expect from Percy.

Though his opponents were nothing more than magical projections, they gave him no mercy. Ice blades formed in mid-motion, shattered into freezing shrapnel, reformed without pause. Residual frost crept across his limbs whenever he miscalculated, forcing him to react instantly or risk being slowed, trapped, or overwhelmed. More than once, he was driven to his knees, lungs burning, muscles trembling violently as he forced himself back up to continue.

Beyond preparing for the inevitable duel, Liam used these nightly sessions to understand his Unified Flow—the fighting style he had begun to really uncover through relentless observation and self-analysis. Each failure was studied.

He made use of everything he had observed before and applied them in his training to see just how much of the Unified Flow he successfully understood. Little by little, night after night, he honed himself not just against Percy, but against his own limitations.

And while the academy slept above, Liam continued to move, to adapt, and to endure, quietly shaping himself into something far more dangerous than he had been before.

***

Seated on the cold stone floor, Liam remained motionless for several long moments, his right arm draped loosely over a bent knee while his left arm braced his weight against the ground. His head was tilted back, eyes half-lidded, as he drew in deep, controlled breaths—slow inhales followed by deliberate exhales meant to keep his body from completely giving out. Exhaustion clung to him unmistakably, etched into the tightness of his jaw, the faint tremor in his limbs, and the way his chest rose and fell with measured effort rather than ease.

As he sat there, recovering in silence, Mabel approached and came to a stop just in front of him. She looked down at him for a moment longer than necessary, her gaze lingering as though she were assessing more than what was visible on the surface. Then she lowered herself slightly and placed her hand out before her, fingers spreading gently through the air. As she did, her arm extended toward him, and soft streams of water-aspected myst began to form, curling and flowing around Liam’s body with controlled precision.

The water moved carefully, almost reverently, sliding over shallow cuts, bruises, and deeper wounds alike. Where it passed, the sting of pain dulled, flesh knitting itself back together as the myst worked its way beneath the surface. The process was slow and methodical, addressing injuries one by one rather than rushing through them. Liam remained still throughout, allowing the healing to take place without interruption, his breathing gradually easing as the strain began to lift.

When the last of the wounds had closed and the faint glow of myst finally dissipated, Liam leaned his head forward again. He took in a calm, steady breath—one that felt fuller than the ones before—then lifted his gaze to Mabel.

"Thanks," he said evenly, his voice quiet but sincere. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞

"There’s no need to thank me," Mabel replied as she straightened back up to her full height. "I’m just doing my job."

Liam hummed softly in response, neither agreeing nor disagreeing outright, before pushing himself to his feet. The motion was slower than usual, his muscles protesting as he rose. Mabel’s eyes stayed on him the entire time, sharp and observant, and it didn’t take long for her to notice what he was trying to conceal. Even with the visible wounds healed, there was a stiffness to his movements, a subtle imbalance that suggested far more damage beneath the surface—especially internal strain that myst alone couldn’t immediately erase.

"You know," she said calmly, breaking the silence, "the fact that you’re restricted from using myst while putting yourself through this kind of continuous training is going to catch up to you. Soon enough, you’ll break down." Her gaze narrowed slightly. "You barely sleep as it is. That alone is enough to ruin someone, even without everything else you’re doing to yourself. You need proper rest—far more than what you’re getting now."

Liam shifted his eyes toward her, holding her gaze for a brief moment before answering. "Yeah," he admitted quietly, "you’re right." Then, after a pause, he added, "But I’m only taking advantage of the fact that Percy hasn’t shown up to claim his duel yet."

He turned his attention away again as he continued, his tone steady and dismissive. "As for the academy training, it’s not a big deal. So stop worrying about it. It’s starting to get a little uncomfortable."

Mabel studied him in silence, clearly unimpressed by his attempt to brush it off. After a moment, she let out a slow sigh. "Alright," she said at last, her voice calm but edged with resignation. "Forget I even said anything." She shifted her stance slightly before adding, "Since you’re done here, we should get going."

"Yeah," Liam replied simply.

At that, Mabel raised her hand and opened a portal beside them, its surface shimmering softly as it stabilized. Without another word, the two of them stepped through, the underground training hall disappearing behind them as the portal closed and returned them to the quiet confines of Liam’s dorm within the academy.