When he finally dragged himself over the edge, his arms gave out immediately after. He collapsed onto the ground, chest heaving, lungs pulling in air that felt too thin to satisfy him.

He lay there for a moment, staring at nothing.

Then a shadow fell over him, blocking out the sun.

Kael didn’t bother looking up.

"...I made it," he said, voice flat, more accusation than statement.

The old man stood over him, silent for a moment.

Then he spoke.

"You’re late."

Kael closed his eyes.

"...Of course I am."

"And you brought no food..."

He didn’t even argue this time. He didn’t have the energy. He barely reacted when he was dragged up and struck, his body absorbing the blows with a dull heaviness that felt distant, almost disconnected.

When it was over, he remained on the ground, breathing slowly.

"Again," the old man said.

Kael let out a weak laugh.

"You’re not serious."

The old man did not respond.

Kael lay there for a moment longer, then forced himself up. His limbs protested, his body resisting the idea of moving again, but he stepped toward the cliff anyway.

Not because he agreed.

Because he had already learned that refusing only made things worse.

It took days before he made it within the time limit.

Days of failing by minutes, sometimes seconds. Days of climbing until his hands bled, only to be told he had not been fast enough. Days of repeating the same cycle until the idea of success stopped meaning anything beyond not being punished.

Then, one morning, it happened.

He descended.

He reached the bottom.

He climbed back up.

And when he pulled himself over the edge, his body did not collapse immediately. His breathing was heavy, but controlled. His arms trembled, but they held.

He looked up.

The old man was already there.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then the old man nodded once.

"Two hours."

Kael stared at him, blinking slowly.

"...That’s it?"

No praise. No acknowledgment beyond that.

He scoffed, turning away as he sat down heavily.

"Great. Fantastic. I almost died for nothing."

The old man walked past him as if he had not spoken.

"But you didn’t bring food still... It’s more grains for you tonight."

Kael frowned.

"...God damn it..."

The next phase did not begin with training.

It began with work.

Kael had just finished eating some grain balls when the old man spoke again, as casually as if he were commenting on the weather.

"You said you worked construction."

Kael glanced at him, chewing slowly.

"...Yeah. Why?"

The old man gestured vaguely toward the open space near the cave.

"Fix us a place we can stay in. About that big."

Kael blinked.

"...What?"

"Cut logs. Build something usable."

Kael stared at him for a moment, then let out a short, disbelieving laugh.

"You’re joking."

The old man did not respond.

Kael gestured toward the cliff, irritation rising.

"You want me to go down, cut logs, carry them back up that cliff, and build you a house? That’s insane. Also, with what tools? You don’t expect me to punch trees now?"

A sharp knock landed on his head.

Kael winced, grabbing his skull as he shot the old man a glare.

"Just go down the slope," the old man said. "There are trees there. As for the tools, I grabbed a bunch from Andre earlier."

Kael frowned. ’When the hell did he have the time to go back to the city...’ still there were more pressing matters to ask about.

"The slope?" he repeated. "The trees down the slope are like a five-hour walk."

The old man tilted his head slightly.

"Better get it done then."

Kael stared at him, incredulous.

"...Or what?"

The old man pointed toward the cliff.

"Or do you want to grab the ones down there?"

Kael followed the gesture, looking at the sheer drop.

He said nothing for a moment.

"...You’re insane," he muttered finally.

The old man didn’t deny it.

The work began that same day.

Kael made the walk down the slope, every step weighed down by the iron rings that made even simple movement feel heavier than it should. The path was uneven, forcing him to pay attention to where he stepped, his balance constantly challenged by the weight dragging at his limbs.

By the time he reached the trees, he was already tired.

"Great," he muttered. "Now I get to do manual labor for free. Also, for fuck sake, why do these stupid rings feel like they’ve gone heavier? Damn it, I’m losing muscle! This isn’t the way to gain muscle! Shit!"

He found a suitable tree, grabbed the crude tools the old man had given him, and started cutting.

The first few swings were clumsy.

The weight on his arms disrupted his rhythm, throwing off his timing, making each motion less efficient than it should have been. The blade bit into the wood unevenly, the vibrations traveling up his arms and into his shoulders, making his grip falter.

"This is pointless," he muttered. "This isn’t training, this is just..."

He stopped mid-swing.

The thought lingered.

Just what?

He shook his head and continued. 𝑓𝘳𝘦𝑒𝑤𝑒𝘣𝘯ℴ𝘷𝘦𝓁.𝑐𝑜𝑚

The work was slow. Painfully slow. Every movement required adjustment, every motion demanded more effort than it should have. By the time the tree finally fell, his arms felt like they no longer belonged to him.

And then he had to carry it back.

Kael stared at the log.

Then at the slope.

Then back at the log.

"...I hate this," he said simply.

The tasks did not stop there.

Once he brought the materials back, the old man added more.

"Wash the clothes."

Kael stared at him.

"...You’re serious."

No response.

He grabbed the clothes anyway.

"This is unbelievable," he muttered as he made his way toward the river. "I climb cliffs, I hunt, I build houses, and now I do laundry. What’s next, cooking your meals too?"

He paused.

Then frowned.

"...Wait."

The Fist King only smiled.

’Demon... I swear...’