The wyvern's snout had taken everything.
Aurelion stood in the hunter district's training yard, Gatekeeper in his hand, running through forms. The blade was lighter than his old sword—too light. The shard's warmth pulsed with each movement, but his arms ached after an hour.
It took everything, he thought. Every scrap of strength, every drop of mana.
And I still almost failed.
He stopped. Lowered the blade. His breathing was steady, but his shoulders burned. The scar from Zarveth's spear throbbed.
I need to be stronger. Not just mana—flesh.
The training yard was empty at this hour.
Most hunters were either sleeping or patrolling the walls. But Aurelion had been here since dawn, pushing himself through exercises that had nothing to do with mana and everything to do with muscle.
Push-ups. Pull-ups. Sprints. Lifts.
He had neglected his body. He had relied on his power, his technique, his past-life knowledge. But the wyvern had shown him the truth: when the blade broke, when the mana ran dry, all that remained was flesh.
And his flesh was weak.
He started again.
Ami found him at midday.
"You've been out here for six hours."
"I've been training."
"You've been punishing yourself."
He dropped from a pull-up bar, landing lightly on the packed earth. Sweat soaked his shirt. His hands were raw.
"The wyvern took everything I had," he said. "It took too much out of me to kill that thing. I could barely lift my sword."
"But you did."
"Barely."
She stepped closer. "You're not a machine, Aurelion. You're not supposed to be invincible."
"I need to be close."
"Why?"
He looked at the walls. At the turrets being installed along the parapets—new ones, larger than before, their mana cannons gleaming in the sun. Workers swarmed over the battlements, welding, testing, calibrating.
"Because the Demon King declared war. And his army is coming."
The turrets were impressive.
Government engineers had been working on them around the clock since the Demon King's broadcast. The old turrets had been designed for skirmishes, for holding back demon patrols, for buying time. The new ones were built for war.
Their barrels were longer, their cores brighter, their targeting systems linked to satellites and drones. They could track a target at ten miles. They could fire mana bolts in rapid succession. They could sustain a barrage for hours.
"They're expecting the Demon King's army," Corrin said, joining them at the window.
"They're expecting a siege," Ami said.
"That's what the walls are for."
Aurelion watched a technician climb a ladder to adjust one of the cannons. "The demons have been pulling back from Earth. All those abandoned territories—they weren't retreating. They were being recalled."
"Recalled for what?" Ami asked.
"For the war he promised."
Corrin was quiet for a moment. "Do you think these turrets can stop them?"
"No. But they might slow them down."
"That's not reassuring."
"It's not supposed to be."
The demon army's movements had been confusing for weeks.
First the pullback—entire garrisons vanishing overnight, leaving behind weapons, supplies, even food on tables. Then the silence. No attacks. No raids. No patrols.
The government had called it a collapse. A victory. The beginning of the end.
Aurelion had known better.
He had seen the pattern before—in his old life, when he had consolidated his forces for a final push. The Demon King wasn't retreating. He was preparing.
And now, with his declaration of war echoing across every channel, the preparation made sense.
The army was coming. Not to conquer—to destroy.
That afternoon, Aurelion returned to the training yard.
He had a new routine now—not just strength, but endurance. He ran laps around the district until his legs screamed. He lifted crates until his arms gave out. He sparred with anyone willing to face him.
Kael joined him for an hour. They fought with wooden swords, moving through forms that were more dance than combat.
"You're faster than last week," Kael said.
"I'm not faster. I'm less slow."
Kael looked at him quizzically. "isn't that literally the same thing?"
"Nope, definitely not"
The sun set. The city lights flickered on. The turrets on the walls glowed with soft blue light, their mana cores humming. Searchlights swept the horizon, scanning for movement that hadn't come yet.
Aurelion sat on a bench, catching his breath. Ami brought him water.
"You're going to hurt yourself," she said.
"I'm going to get stronger."
"There's a difference?"
He took the water. Drank. "The wyvern almost killed me. Not because it was stronger—because I was slower. Because my body couldn't keep up with my will."
"And now?"
"Now I'm making my body catch up."
She sat beside him. "The general wants to see you tomorrow. He has questions about the Demon King's army. About where they'll strike."
"I don't have answers."
"He wants your instincts."
Aurelion looked at the walls. At the turrets. At the city glowing beyond.
"Tell him I'll be there."
That night, he stood on the balcony of his room.
The city stretched below him—a sea of light and life. The turrets rotated slowly, scanning the horizon. Somewhere out there, the Demon King's army was gathering. Somewhere beyond the darkness, something else waited—something he hadn't told anyone about.
I'm not ready, he thought. But I will be.
He went inside.
Gatekeeper leaned against the wall, its shard pulsing softly. He touched the hilt.
"Next time," he said, "I won't break."