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Keter’s style of training was simple. He repeated only one routine endlessly: fight, then rest. However, he added variation every time. Sometimes he would only fire arrows, other times he would suddenly demonstrate swordsmanship. At times, he would split the trainees in half and make them fight five versus five.
Five days passed like that, and…
Drip.
At last, the trainees succeeded in making Keter bleed. Once blood was drawn, Keter drove them even more brutally, offering pieces of advice as he pressed them harder.
“There’s no strong person who goes all out against the weak. But once you wound them, they won’t consider you weak anymore.”
“In moments like this, you have to respond based on the situation. If you have allies who can defeat a stronger opponent, retreat and avoid dying pointlessly. If you don’t, then someone needs to act as bait and create an opening.”
Keter emphasized that to beat the strong, one could not be afraid of sacrifice.
“Don’t whine about losing an arm, let alone a finger. An arm? Just keep a servant by your side, or slap on a prosthetic. It won’t interfere with daily life.”
And so, on the morning after the promised week had passed, the trainees were left with all emotions burned away, nothing remaining but ferocity. Their sense of time had naturally vanished as well. Unaware that a full week had gone by, they instinctively formed ranks to fight Keter again.
Keter extended his hand. “Stop. Training is over.”
Whoosh! Twang!
But the trainees didn’t believe him. Keter had a record of lying about pausing...
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