Arvin handed Eamon one of his medicinal herbs and gave him a handful of fruits to eat. Eamon chewed on them slowly, the bitter taste of the herb mixing with the sweetness of the berries. His limbs stopped aching. Warmth filled his body.
"I feel better," Eamon said.
"Told you, didn't I?" Arvin grinned. "That herb is magic."
After some rest, the training began again. The sun was already high, casting a golden light over the grassy field. Arvin summoned more puppets. As he stated, this time, they were of actual Torkes level, and it showed.
Eamon struggled. These ones were faster. They hit harder. He dodged and parried, sometimes rolling across the ground to avoid a strike. He used fire spells when he had to, but tried to rely more on his body. Sweat rolled down his face. His breaths came short.
"Don't give up!" Arvin shouted. "This is nothing compared to what's coming."
By mid-afternoon, Eamon had taken down over a hundred. By the time the sun began to dip, the number crossed three hundred. His clothes were torn. His face was bruised. But he stood tall.
Arvin clapped. "Enough for today!"
Eamon dropped to his knees, panting hard. He looked up at Arvin and smiled weakly.
"You're insane," Eamon said.
"And you're getting stronger," Arvin replied.
That night, they sat near the fire, both silent at first. The forest was calm. Owls hooted in the distance.
Arvin stirred the stew in the pot. He looked at Eamon with pride.
"I am really amazed at your magic skills, Eamon. Your grandfather has taught you well."
Eamon smiled softly. He stared into the fire.
"Yeah. Grandpa always used to spar with me. We used to practice all the time. Every morning, he woke me up before sunrise. Sometimes I hated it. But now... I miss it."
Arvin nodded. "Yeah, I miss that old bastard too"
Eamon didn't say anything more. The fire crackled. Then they both went to their rooms.
The next morning came early. Mist hung low between the trees.
Eamon stretched and rolled his shoulders.
"You're getting stronger," Arvin said, walking up. "But we need to go further."
"I'm ready," Eamon replied.
Arvin looked serious.
"Last night, you told me about the night you got cursed," Arvin said. "You said the Torkes came in hoards. Hundreds, right?"
Eamon nodded. "Yeah, they just poured in. Like shadows crawling from the earth."
"Then you know what that means," Arvin said.
Eamon frowned. "What?"
"They won't come at you ten or twenty at a time. That's not how Torkes work. They're dumb. They don't have plans. They attack in groups. They smell magic. They follow it blindly. They just want blood."
"So, you're saying they'll come at me all at once?" Eamon asked.
"Exactly," Arvin said. "They're the weakest creatures of the Dark Realm, but also the most irritating. Like ants with fangs. That's how you'll face them in the real fight."
Eamon scratched his head. "So, what's the plan?"
Arvin smirked. "Today's training is simple. I'll send puppets after you. Not in waves. Not in turns. All of them. They'll chase you like real Torkes. Their only command will be to kill you."
"Sounds fun," Eamon said, raising an eyebrow.
"You can use both your sword and your magic," Arvin continued. "But there's a twist. No lunch, no rest. You'll survive the entire day in the forest. Eat fruits, catch animals, whatever you can find. I won't help you. I won't even show up until evening."
Eamon blinked. "So I'm alone?"
"Completely," Arvin said. "And I'll mark you with a tracking spell. My puppets will find you no matter where you hide."
Arvin stepped forward and tapped Eamon's chest with a glowing finger. A faint golden rune lit up, then vanished.
"You're tagged," Arvin said.
He then turned and waved his hand. A faint shimmer spread in the air around the forest.
"Also added a boundary. You can't leave the woods. Try to run and it'll throw you back in."
Arvin handed him a long sword with a dull grey color.
"This one's real. Metal. Not wood. But it's heavier than it looks. Enchanted to weigh more than normal. Just like a real weapon."
Eamon gripped it and immediately felt the strain.
"Great," he muttered. "Now I have to survive and get a workout."
Arvin chuckled. "Go. The puppets will start moving in a few minutes."
Eamon jogged into the forest, leaves crunching beneath his boots. The air smelled of pine and moss. Birds chirped high above. He passed twisted roots, thorny bushes, and wild mushrooms.
He moved deeper, far from the camp. After a while, he reached a massive tree with thick branches spreading like a dome. He took a moment to catch his breath, placing the heavy sword against the bark.
A breeze passed by. Then he felt it. The ground trembled. Twigs snapped behind him.
"So, they're here," Eamon whispered.
The puppets charged through the forest like a flood. Dozens of them, eyes glowing, arms outstretched.
Eamon grabbed his sword and swung hard. The blade felt like a boulder, but it cut through one puppet's chest. Another came at him and he ducked, rolling under its swipe.
"I can't use magic yet," he muttered. "I need to save energy for later."
He stepped to the side, slashed low, kicked one puppet in the knee. It fell with a thud. Another leapt at him from a branch. He raised the sword and blocked just in time, though the force pushed him back.
"One, two, three… can't keep count," he said, panting.
More came.
He sliced through a pair and backed against a tree.
"They don't stop," he gasped. "This super-heavy sword is going to kill me before they do."
He charged, smashing into the group. The enchanted sword slowed him down, but he adjusted. He used momentum. Spun. Sidestepped.
Eventually, he broke through and ran. The puppets chased him, but he gained some distance.
The sun climbed high.
Eamon spotted a low branch with fruits. He leapt up, grabbed a handful while running.
He bit into one and kept moving.
"That'll do," he said with his mouth full.
He spotted a tall tree with strong branches. Without stopping, he jumped and climbed up, branch by branch.
At the top, he found a wide perch and sat down.
Below, the puppets were confused. They circled the base but didn't climb.
Eamon exhaled, wiping his forehead.
"Finally," he whispered. He took out more fruits and chewed slowly.
"Maybe I can wait here for a while."
The wind blew gently. Birds flew past. For the first time all day, Eamon felt calm. He leaned back against the bark, resting. Then he heard it.
A creak. A scratch. He froze. Another sound. Like fingers on wood. He peeked over the branch. A puppet was climbing. Then another. And another.
"No," he groaned in exhaustion.
More of them were scaling the trunk, arms and legs crawling like insects.
"You've got to be kidding me." Eamon stood up, sword in hand, heart racing.
"Looks like lunch break's over for me now."