A day in the [Shadow Realm] felt as long as a year and as fleeting as a moment.
In this brutal demiplane where even the concept of time seemed warped, Kay's routine solidified into an excruciatingly simple, merciless cycle.
He battled himself to exhaustion, cooked to stay alive, then collapsed into a sleep as if knocked out.
"Slow! Don't try to follow the tip of my spear with your eyes! Read the flow of intent across your skin!"
KWA-AANG!!
[Scáthach] casually swung her crimson spear, [Gáe Bolg], slicing through the air as if tearing apart rock, charging straight at Kay's face.
It was a blow that could carve a mountain like tofu.
Reacting on instinct, Kay twisted his torso to avoid a fatal strike, but the spear's momentum grazed his flank, shredding a long gash across his skin.
"Kyaaah!"
Spraying blood over the ashen ground, Kay skidded for more than ten meters, groaning in agony as he clawed at the dirt.
"Your breathing is disrupted. Get up again."
[Scáthach] rested her spear on her shoulder and looked down at Kay with detached, insect-like eyes.
Her training methods were unimaginably violent.
Mystic circuits… rune sorcery? Those refined techniques were never an option for Kay.
"You have the mana of a mouse. It's embarrassing to even call it a magical circuit. You have not a shred of the genius-level talent that others wield as effortlessly as breathing."
[Scáthach] pierced through Kay's body with her gaze and coldly pronounced her diagnosis.
"I'll give you credit for sixteen years of real combat experience, rolling around with beasts. But your movements are full of waste. You rely solely on raw strength and willpower to squeeze out power—nothing more than an animal throwing a tantrum. You can't survive by the side of the King of Knights like that."
"Cough…! So… what am I supposed to do…?"
Kay spat out blood from his mouth and gathered his trembling legs.
"If magic is impossible, then you must hone the body to its absolute limits. I will remold you into the most efficient weapon in the world—bones, muscles, reflexive nerve speed, even your breathing and gait will be overhauled."
From that day on, she began a thorough reconstruction of his body and fundamentals.
[Scáthach] did not give Kay weapons.
Instead, she made him carry beast bones weighing hundreds of kilograms up sheer cliffs and trained him in blunted terrain with his eyes covered, forcing him to sense only her murderous intent to evade her.
"Huff… huff…"
Any wasted movement brought the butt of her spear crashing into his body, crushing bones at will.
Muscles tore, ligaments snapped, and agony that stopped his breath repeated without mercy.
Any ordinary man would collapse within a day and descend into madness in such hell.
Yet no matter how cruel she was, Scáthach obliged his request for this torment.
He wanted to grow stronger as quickly as possible, earn her acknowledgement, and return as a warrior who could help them.
Because he was an unremarkable human, his training was multiplied far beyond what previous disciples like [Cú Chulainn] or [Fergus] had endured.
Wounds? With the near-omnipotent primordial rune, it didn't matter. As long as he didn't die, even if his whole body was shattered, he could recover.
"If I collapse here… how will I face my sisters and Gareth?"
Still, Kay clutched his broken bones, gritted his teeth, and stood up again.
That simple, savage sense of responsibility was the only force keeping his weak flesh upright.
Each time Kay fell, Scáthach watched him rise with venom in her eyes, secretly admiring him.
"…This one's tenacious. No talent, yet his persistence rivals any hero I've ever seen. The most vital trait in a hero is spirit. Even that Hercules failed to master his wrath and turned into a monster. [Setanta], too, couldn't curb his unstable mind, ran rampant with geasa, and fell to [Maeve]'s schemes at the age of twenty-seven."
She held Kay's unwavering spirit in high regard.
Heroes often commit mistakes through arrogance or pride. Plenty have resolute perseverance, but a man with such steadfast conviction—rare. And for such reasons of protecting his loved ones? Even rarer in those craving heroism.
Perhaps because he was unremarkable, Scáthach found something unique and intriguing in him.
Of course, outwardly, she showed no sign of this and once more ruthlessly swung her spear.
"If you have time to think, you're not practicing enough. Evade me a hundred times before I grant you the right to eat."
"You witch without an ounce of mercy…!!"
When the hellish training ended, Scáthach healed Kay's battered body with the primordial rune.
And as soon as he recovered, Kay donned his apron and transformed into the camp's chef.
The violent aroma of something delicious cut through the cold air of the demiplane.
It was the only sliver of life granted in this land of death.
"What's today's menu?"
Scáthach sat at the table in civilian clothes, crossing her legs elegantly. Her red eyes tracked Kay's every movement at the fingertips of his cooking.
"It's stewed wild boar ribs with poisonous mushroom fried rice. I've tempered the mushroom's toxin with heat, turning it into spice, so eat without fear."
"Hmph. Do you think poison phases me? If you want to threaten me with toxins, bring me something that kills gods beyond the beasts I slay. Like Hydra or Bahamut poison."
"Why not eat pufferfish raw? No need to remove toxins, so it'd be convenient."
Kay set down a steaming stone pot and a plate.
He had stewed the boar until the flesh fell apart along the grain, marinating it deeply in his special soy sauce and spicy seasoning.
Scáthach pinched a piece with her finger and popped it into her mouth.
munch munch
Her brow narrowed and her eyes slowly closed.
"…Exquisite. A perfection far beyond those crude evasive maneuvers."
"Is that praise or an insult? When we're talking food, speak only of food. I might choke."
Kay replied brusquely, picking up his own bone and taking a hearty bite.
The ingredients of the demiplane were tough and foul, but in Kay's hands they became a supremely flavorful feast rivaling any royal cuisine.
At times, Scáthach even conjured mundane ingredients with her rune sorcery.
"This spice… it tingles the tongue yet compels you for more. The seasoning has fully penetrated the marrow. How did you manage that?"
"Cooking has fundamentals. You read the muscle grain, determine the exact moment heat makes it tender, and understand how spices mingle with juices. Smashing it with fire alone doesn't yield fine cuisine."
Kay answered with a shrug.
Suddenly, Scáthach's eyes flashed.
"Yes. That's it, Kay."
"What do you mean?"
"Just as you read meat grain and adjust the fire's intensity in cooking, combat is the same. Without magic, you must read your enemy's muscle movements, bone structure, and force vectors. Don't clash power with power—let their strength flow past you like slicing meat along its grain."
Kay stared at Scáthach dazedly, bone in hand.
Using the analogy of cooking—his greatest strength—to explain martial principles hit home like nothing else.
"…You deserve the title 'Teacher,' ma'am."
"Hmph. Finally recognizing my greatness? Even for a master, grasping that is difficult. Yet perhaps after surviving countless near-death battles, one might reach that level."
Scáthach lifted her chin arrogantly and summoned a cup of mead with rune sorcery, drinking it in one gulp.
Though their relationship began with her unilateral violence and abduction, every night sharing meals forged a strange bond between them.
To Scáthach, Kay was an intriguing toy breaking her centuries of boredom and the best personal chef. To Kay, Scáthach was a complex figure, but his sole savior who truly made him strong.
Months passed.
Kay's body had transformed beyond recognition.
The masses of bulky muscle had compressed into lean, hard strength like steel, and countless scars were etched into his skin like medals.
Most of all, his gaze and posture had changed.
Standing still, there was no wasted movement or opening to be found.
Taat!
The wastelands of the demiplane were silent.
Kay pushed off the ground and moved—not by throwing dust into the air and blasting himself with brute force as before, but sliding like a shadow toward Scáthach.
"Hmm."
Scáthach flicked her hand, and Kay's eyes lit up as he dodged and threw a punch.
thak!
His fist veered slightly off course, glanced by Scáthach's light touch, and her follow-up open-hand strike found its way in. Kay failed to evade the flurry and managed only to block.
'He's certainly entered the gate. Yet he has a way to go. His physique still can't match [Fergus]. His technique lacks the precision of young [Setanta].'
After such grueling training, Kay had only now reached the starting line of geniuses.
Still, compared to his talent, he had risen swiftly. Bridging lack of talent with effort is easier said than done—an immense gap like that between a human and a demigod.
"You've grown well, but still far from the realm of geniuses, Kay."
"I know that, too!!!"
"In Greece, many naturally strong demigods lived. They toyed with heroes like you, the mediocre ones, lived arrogantly, and died young. Do you know why?"
"Because they lost to hard-working geniuses! Or one of the hateful gods struck them down!"
"Exactly. Take Amykos, son of Poseidon. He forced adventurers into pankration matches and killed them with raw strength. Yet he fell to one blow from [Pollux], the divine pankration athlete and member of the [Argonauts]. Know the lesson?"
"Effort matters!"
"Right. Talent is the most important foundation, but without effort, even innate brilliance is meaningless. You, Kay, may never surpass those laborious geniuses, but winning and losing are separate matters."
Kay narrowly sidestepped Scáthach's slicing hand, wind from the blow grazing his cheek and drawing blood.
"Geniuses inevitably become arrogant in their heroism. For a warrior of my caliber—like that golden one from Uruk—arrogance is warranted, but those below will be poisoned by pride. Those unworthy gain nothing from vanity. [Setanta] trusted his own skill too much and met a tragic end. Have you heard of [Conla]? My disciple."
"Kuh! Cú Chulainn's child?!"
"Yes. He rejected me, refused to ask me to kill him, left callously, then overpowered my sister [Aífe] and violated her. He even demanded she bear his child and send him to me as a hero. This was Celtic law: might made right. But his arrogance brought tragedy."
[Aífe] bore Conla to take vengeance. She sent him as my disciple. I trained [Conla] into a strong hero, but [Aífe] laid geasa on him:
"Never turn away, never refuse a challenge, never reveal your name."
Because of that curse, [Conla] could not reveal his identity to his father, [Cú Chulainn]. Unaware of their bond, he fought him in battle and killed him. When he finally revealed himself as his son, [Cú Chulainn] plunged into despair and madness.
These are the stories of heroes' lives—how they trust in their own might and pay for it.
"If you exploit that arrogance, even a mediocre like you could defeat [Setanta]."
KWAANG!!!
Kay crashed into the ground under Scáthach's kick.
"That's enough for today. Prepare dinner."
"Cough… damn it."
Kay clicked his tongue, thinking he still came up short, but Scáthach noted his progress. He shattered talent barriers with effort.
Of course, it would still take years to earn her true acknowledgement. Heroes like [Cú Chulainn] or [Fergus] also trained for years.
"Three to five years should suffice."
"What?"
"That's how long you'll stay here."
"Fuck. You can't even let me celebrate Gareth's first birthday? Should've done it long ago."
"Even I can open the way into the demiplane, but I cannot make you leave. I myself cannot escape."
"Tch…"
Though maddening to Kay, if he left the demiplane, he could never return. Therefore, Scáthach resolved not to release him until he became a warrior worthy of her acknowledgement.
Still, she promised him one reward.
"Endless training will sap your will. I promise you a prize."
"What prize?"
"If you defeat me… No, that's impossible. Even [Setanta] couldn't hit me in my prime. But if you land a valid strike, I will grant you a reward."
"What reward?"
"Heh heh. That's a secret, but it's extraordinary. It's something coveted by [Ulster] and the countless warriors of the Celts, craved even by [Fergus]. Even the Celtic gods yearned for it and never attained it."
"What is it? Some magic sword? Maybe the greatest blade Gram, lost with [Sigurd]?"
"Perhaps. But that's a diversion left for amusement. Rest assured, I won't change the prize. I keep my promises."
"Then what is it? The [Dagda's Cauldron]? Now that would pique my interest."
Kay wondered if the reward was the mythical pot pouring endless food and ingredients.
But it was not that.
The prize was the right to embrace Scáthach.
Not merely a hug but the privilege of intimacy with her.
It had been the condition for those who tried to defeat her in the past—never attained, not even by the lustful [Fergus]. I tailored it to my level and yours as a valid strike.
But whether a mediocre like him could even land that strike remained to be seen.
Would he ever grow strong enough? Scáthach left that question shrouded in the future, deliberately blocking any glimpse of prophecy.