The sound of collective human, elven, and half-orc suffering echoed through the newly roofed walls of the First Iron Temple.
It was a beautiful structure, blending the gothic, dark-stone aesthetic of the Academy with the brutal, functional minimalism of a hardcore gym. The high ceiling was supported by massive, enchanted ironwood beams. And right now, under that magnificent new roof, the Silver Coast crew was paying their dues.
"Come on! Ass to grass!" Bombom barked, pacing between the makeshift wooden squat racks. He was dressed in his signature dark aesthetic—black combat boots, ripped black skinny jeans, and a sleeveless mesh top that showed off his delicate, pale arms. He held a wooden clipboard like a weapon. "I said a hundred sets to celebrate the roof, and I meant a hundred sets! Taguro, watch your knee tracking! Lyrielle, keep your chest up, breathe into your diaphragm!"
