The western forest training ground was nothing like the manicured combat arenas of the White Lion fortress. Dense foliage surrounded a rough clearing, the ground uneven and unpredictable. Ancient trees towered overhead, their canopy filtering the morning light into dappled patterns that shifted with the wind. This natural unpredictability was exactly what Klaus needed.
For three days, Team 55 had pushed themselves to their absolute limits. They trained in darkness, in rain, in exhaustion—adapting to conditions that would break lesser fighters. Klaus's regimen had been merciless, designed to strip away their dependence on familiar patterns and force improvisation.
"Again," Klaus commanded, standing at the center of the clearing as dawn broke on their final day of preparation.
