Prince of The Abyss

Quiet one more, no one talked inside this place, which was weird, it was as if the people inside this place didn’t know how to have any fun.

But he should hace expectes.

Plus, he recently saw some of them joining the arena. Just how on earth did they get so fast here?

Quiet.

No laughter. No casual arguments. No careless chatter echoes between walls. It was as if the walls were inches wide, but you would be surprised that they are thinned then you would think.

It was strange. A place filled with warriors, yet it felt closer to a monastery than a barracks. Even when people moved, they did so with purpose. When wood struck wood, it was controlled. When steel met steel, it was measured.

As if noise itself were unnecessary.

He should have expected it.

Discipline like this did not grow in loud soil.

Though it was surprising to see, since most people inside this place didn’t have trainers, or had never really trained this much in their lives. Really, it was all the effect of their faction, and maybe because of the fact they were clones, so they didn’t have to worry about being fatigued.

And speaking of clones... he still had to wait for tonight to be able to steal that guy from his tube.

And yet what unsettled him more was how quickly some of them had appeared in the training ground after he had seen them in their first fighting. He didn’t know if it was because they had a faction that knew how to get them fast matches, but there had been no delay. No visible preparation. One moment, they were having their first fights. Next, they were in the training ground, getting ready for their sixth.

Just how fast did this place move its pieces?

The training ground itself was vast.

It was not one single room, but a layered expanse carved into the island’s interior, ceiling high enough that sound did not bounce back harshly, yet low enough to feel enclosed. The stone overhead bore scars from years of use, thin fractures running like veins across its surface.

The floor was divided into sections.

One area held rows of wooden dummies, each different in build. Some broad and heavy, meant to resist blunt force. Others were reinforced with metal cores to withstand repeated thrusts. The wood around their torsos had darkened over time, stained from sweat, oil, and small amounts of blood that had seeped in and never fully washed out.

Yet at the same time, he wasn’t a big fan of them, not because they were not good at training him, no, it was very good, he could practice with it quite nicely.

...

’This blade is just too damn strong.’

It was unlikely that the ruby blade had broken just before this, since Voidpiercer had already pierced through the wood of the dummies many times. Meaning that most people inside this place didn’t even have a Seeker-class blade, and that he was going to have to use a wooden blade to train...

Further in, there were sparring circles marked faintly into the ground. No raised platforms. Just worn rings where countless feet had turned, pivoted, slipped, and recovered. The stone there was smoother than the rest, polished not by design, but by repetition.

He hadn’t tried fighting in one, but he did want to try one day. Plus, after his plan with the clone later tonight, he was going to have enough time, since after it, he was going to let things settle in, a time when he was going to truly master this style.

He didn’t want to waste anymore time.

It wasn’t something that could wait.

He needed to get stronger.

Now.

And this was the first step in doing so.

It was the only way to have a chance of getting them back.

...

Against one wall stood racks of practice weapons.

Blunted swords of varying lengths. Spears with dulled tips. Weighted staves. Wooden shields with leather straps worn thin from gripping hands. Everything is organized with almost obsessive care. Nothing misplaced.

He was very familiar with this wall, after all, he had been here to get a sword many times, and of course, he had been quite tempted to get and toy with another weapon too. After all, there were some that weren’t impossible to wield, and while using one with a rapier, it is pretty unheared on, his whole style goes against what is normally known about the blade.

And a shield is not the only thing; many swords have caught his eye, and really, he wanted to master wielding Voidpiercer, but he won’t use the blade forever... one day, he was going to get a better blade, of the Bearer or the Harbinger rank, and he wouldn’t use the rapier, which wouldn’t help him.

Even with many abilities.

...

Though getting the original would be something that has and still is on his mind.

...

There were also suspended targets hanging from chains bolted into the ceiling. Sand-filled sacks shaped roughly like torsos, some already torn and resewn multiple times. When struck, they swung back heavily, forcing the one who attacked to either reposition or be knocked off balance.

This one was probably his favourite, even if he couldn’t use Voidpiercer yet again.

’Metal cores and still nothing, makes me wonder just what the heck was Frozen Crown... kinda forgot about how mysterious it really is. A Godspawn book, something pretty... unheard of, and one that takes part in the past...’

In another section, iron frames held weighted chains and resistance mechanisms. Not decorative. Not comfortable. Built to strain muscles and test endurance. The floor beneath those devices bore indentations where feet had dug in during exertion.

He didn’t really use this one as much. When it came to endurance, he was already good at doing so; he could endure pain, and he had proved that by enduring the pain from his marks whenever he stood in the dark for too long. Which after so much time, he had gotten used to it, and needed quite a lot of time for the pain to start.

But that was because he fough throuhg it and he endured every second of the pain.

Though there was something quite interesting about the arena, everyone was alone, training alone; he didn’t know the reason why, though.

One repeated the same thrust over and over into a narrow slit cut into a reinforced board, aiming for precision rather than force. Another practiced footwork without a weapon at all, stepping in patterns only he seemed to understand. A pair sparred quietly, their movements efficient, no wasted motion, no dramatic flourishes.

No one looked at Aether.

No one commented.

Even breathing seemed controlled.

Torches set into the walls cast steady light, but there were also thin openings carved high along the ceiling where natural light filtered down in narrow beams. Dust drifted slowly through those shafts, catching in the glow before disappearing again.

It was not a place of excitement.

It was a place of refinement.

No cheering crowds. No roaring applause. No spectacle.

Just repetition.

Failure.

Adjustment.

Again.

The air carried the faint scent of sweat and treated leather. Underneath it, the subtle sharpness of oiled metal.

Everything here felt intentional.

Every scar on the floor, every splinter in a dummy’s frame, every nick in a practice blade spoke of hours layered upon hours. Of people grinding themselves down and rebuilding, over and over.

The arena was where people displayed strength.

This was where they built it.

Really, this place was everything you needed, you could train your precision, how powerfull yous thrust or swing was, your endurance, and many other stuff, you could even try and learn another weapon.

This place had it all.

So it made sense why everyone wanted to reach five wins and get access to it.

Because this place can make the difference between making it to the name rank and being able to leave, or dying and forever being a Branded.

The only thing he had to say to the training ground was that the equipment was not that durable, after all, he had destroyed two dummies so far with Voidpiercer, but at the same time, these dummies have trained hundreads maybe even thousands of people before him, they have taken a lot more hits than he could even imagine.

So he had to understand this wasn’t a private training ground for the equipment to be new.

But enough of training, his arms were already ready to fall from his body, night was coming, he had to find a good stop to hide, and then make his way again to the Crimson Ledger, and find where that bastard was resting, and retrieve him without being caught.

...

It disgusted him... the fact that while some risk their life, just like the boy he had killed had, for their family... There are some that sit safe and quietly inside a tub, living through another body.

’Truly sickening...’