Kuro's mind buzzed with a mix of confusion and anger as he was led out of the dungeon. His body still felt weak, but the thought of being given a second chance burned inside him like a fire he couldn't extinguish. This is my chance. He repeated it in his mind. His resolve hardened, and the chains of despair that had gripped him in the darkness slowly began to loosen.
The man in black robes had made it clear: this was his opportunity. If he proved himself useful, the kingdom would see his worth. But there was a catch. His skill, the one that had finally awakened within him, was still sealed. The Necromancer skill remained dormant, its potential untapped. He was still the same failed hero to everyone, but now, he had power—and he wouldn't let them see how weak he really was. Not yet.
The training grounds were different from what Kuro had expected. They weren't lavish or grandiose, but utilitarian—designed to sharpen the skills of the heroes the kingdom had summoned.
As Kuro stood in front of the training area, he could see Hiroshi and the others already beginning their exercises, their faces set with determination, their skills tested against various mock enemies. Kuro felt out of place, like a shadow amidst their bright potential.
The instructor, a burly man with scars etched into his arms, turned toward Kuro. "You're the one who was tossed out, huh?" His voice was low, harsh. "Well, no one's waiting for you to succeed. But here's the deal—you train. Fail to impress, and they'll throw you back in that hole."
Kuro didn't reply. He didn't need to. His fists clenched, and he stepped forward, ready to face whatever the training threw at him.
But this wasn't just about physical training. This was about proving to himself—and to them—that he could rise from nothing.
He grabbed the training sword, its weight unfamiliar in his hands. His body was still sore from the days of neglect in the dungeon, and his muscles screamed for rest, but he ignored them. As the instructor barked orders, Kuro threw himself into the exercises.
The first few rounds of sparring were humiliating. His opponents easily knocked him off balance, their skills honed and practiced. He couldn't even land a proper strike. His body wasn't used to this, and his mind kept racing with frustration.
"What's wrong with you, kid?" the instructor growled as Kuro stumbled again. "You're getting tossed around like a ragdoll."
But Kuro didn't stop. He couldn't afford to stop. His blood boiled as he picked himself up and faced his next opponent, Hiroshi.
Hiroshi raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Aren't you the one who was kicked out of the appraisal? Guess I'll take it easy on you."
But Kuro didn't take it easy. He launched forward, putting all his strength into the attack, but Hiroshi dodged with ease, landing a blow to Kuro's side. The pain was sharp, but it didn't break him.
Kuro stood, gasping for breath, sweat streaming down his face. I have to push through this. I have to be better.
"Not bad," Hiroshi commented. "But still too slow. You're nothing special, just another failure."
The words stung, but Kuro kept his expression neutral. He knew what this was—a test. A test that he couldn't afford to fail.
"Your body is weak," the instructor barked, observing the duel. "You need to strengthen it. Train harder. You're not here to show mercy to the other heroes. You're here to become something more."
Kuro nodded, the weight of the instructor's words sinking in. He would train harder. He would push his body beyond its limits. He had no other choice.
For the next few weeks, Kuro threw himself into the grueling routine of training. While others rested, he continued. When his body screamed in pain, he gritted his teeth and kept going. Each sparring match with Hiroshi was another opportunity to learn—his footwork, his timing, his weaknesses. Every fall, every loss, was fuel for his determination.
Slowly, something began to change.
Kuro's reactions sharpened. His swings, while still lacking the refined technique of his classmates, carried more force. His stamina increased, and he learned to endure pain without faltering.
Then, something unexpected happened.
One evening, after hours of relentless sparring, Kuro sat alone by the training ground's edge, exhausted but satisfied. He was still behind the others, but he could feel it—progress. The weight of his failures hadn't vanished, but they didn't feel so crushing anymore.
That's when he noticed her.
Airi stood a short distance away, watching him. Unlike the others, she didn't carry the usual scorn in her gaze. Instead, there was something else—curiosity.
"You're different from before," she said finally, stepping closer.
Kuro blinked, taken aback. Airi had never spoken to him directly since the appraisal. She had always stayed with the others, particularly Hiroshi.
"You actually have some spirit now," she continued, folding her arms. "Before, you just accepted what happened to you. Now you fight."
Kuro looked down at his hands, rough and calloused from the training sword. "I don't have a choice," he muttered. "If I don't fight, I'll never survive."
Airi smirked slightly. "That's good. But don't think just getting stronger will be enough. You'll need more than brute force."
Kuro met her gaze, something shifting inside him. She wasn't mocking him. It wasn't pity, either. It was… something else.
"I know," he said.
Airi studied him for a moment longer before nodding. "Then keep going. I'll be watching."
With that, she turned and walked away, leaving Kuro with a newfound sense of purpose.
His training wasn't just about survival anymore. It was about proving something—to himself, to the world, and maybe even to Airi.
As the stars blinked above the training grounds, Kuro tightened his grip on his sword. He wasn't done yet. Not even close.
And soon, very soon, he would awaken his true power.
The silence of the training hall echoed with the sound of weapons clashing and the murmur of the other heroes pushing forward, their resolve clear. Kuro's own resolve would follow in time.