The training grounds of Valenrith were older than the kingdom itself.
Stone tiles cracked by centuries of impact stretched across a wide courtyard enclosed by high walls. Weapon racks lined the edges—rows of steel dulled by use, not ceremony. There were no banners here. No prayers carved into the stone.
Only scars.
The twelve heroes stood in a loose line, their uniforms already exchanged for plain training clothes. Leather, cloth, nothing enchanted.
"This is where belief ends," said Commander Arvik, a man whose left arm had been replaced by an iron prosthetic. "And habit begins."
He gestured toward the racks.
"Choose your weapons."
At first, no one moved.
Weapons weren't like elements or magic. They didn't awaken on their own. They demanded intent.
"Don't overthink it," Arvik said. "The weapon you choose today will shape how you fight tomorrow. And how you die."
That did it.
Haruto approached the rack slowly.
His hand hovered over spears, then axes—before settling on a longsword. Balanced. Unremarkable. Reliable.
He lifted it, testing the weight.
"This feels… familiar," he muttered.
Arvik watched him closely. "Swords demand decision-making. You'll never have reach advantage. Never overwhelming force. You'll survive by judgment."
Haruto nodded.
That felt uncomfortably accurate.
Kenta didn't hesitate.
He seized a two-handed greatsword, lifting it with a grin.
"Big enough," he said. "If I hit something, it won't get back up."
Arvik didn't smile. "If you miss, you won't get a second swing."
Kenta's grin faded slightly.
Riku selected a spear, long and narrow.
"Distance," he explained quietly. "I don't want things near me."
Arvik nodded. "Good instinct. Spears keep monsters honest."
Souta surprised everyone.
He ignored swords entirely and lifted a steel mace, its head heavy and brutal.
"Armor doesn't care about sharpness," he said. "Force goes through."
Arvik's eyes sharpened. "Smart."
Yui hesitated longest.
Eventually, she took a short bow, its string worn smooth by use.
"I don't think I can kill up close," she admitted.
"No shame in distance," Arvik said. "Just remember—archers are priority targets."
Yui swallowed.
Mio chose no blade at all.
Instead, she pulled on reinforced combat gauntlets, flexing her fingers.
"I want to feel the fight," she said softly.
Arvik studied her. "Then you'll feel pain more than most."
She nodded. "I know."
Takumi took two daggers, spinning one casually.
"Speed over strength," he said.
Arvik frowned. "Daggers are assassination tools. If you hesitate, you die."
Takumi's smile thinned. "Then I won't hesitate."
Akira selected a lance, long and heavy, designed for formation fighting.
"This isn't for solo combat," Arvik said.
"I don't plan to fight alone," Akira replied.
That earned him a nod.
Naoki chose a shield first, then paired it with a short spear.
"I'll protect the others," he said simply.
Arvik placed a hand on the shield. "Then you'll carry more deaths than most."
Naoki didn't respond.
Hana surprised them all.
She picked up a segmented whip-blade, its steel links flexible yet lethal.
Arvik's expression hardened. "That weapon punishes mistakes."
"I punish myself anyway," Hana replied.
No one laughed.
Shun lifted a single-bladed war axe, testing its edge.
"Axes end fights," he said calmly.
Arvik studied him longer than the rest. "They also end restraint."
Emi chose a reinforced staff, simple and unadorned.
"For control," she said. "Not killing."
Arvik nodded. "You'll be underestimated. Use that."
Weapons chosen, they were lined up again.
"Today," Arvik said, "you will not spar."
Groans of relief rippled through the group.
"You will fall."
He gestured to the stone.
"You'll learn how to hit the ground without breaking bones. Because you will be thrown. Repeatedly."
Some smiles vanished.
"Heroes don't die because they lack power," Arvik continued.
"They die because they don't know how to fall."
As the first of them was sent sprawling onto the stone, bruises forming immediately, Haruto realized something unsettling:
This world wasn't training them to win.
It was training them to last.