The first warrior of the Ivory Dragon

O3. Guardians of the Palace.

As your vision blurred and every inch of your body screamed in agony, you endured the relentless onslaught of kicks and punches from the two supposed mentors. Far from gentle, their training bordered on brutality, leaving you battered and broken after just an hour.

Though they hadn't crossed the line into lethal force, their merciless attacks made it clear that they weren't holding back. You lacked any prior fighting experience, and your ineptitude only seemed to fuel their frustration as they watched you writhe in pain on the unforgiving ground.

Shaman strode forward, their hat obscuring any discernible expression, casting a shadow of disdain as they loomed over you.

"You're weak, utterly pathetic," they sneered, venom dripping from each word, while the eye on their staff narrowed menacingly in your direction. "This is a futile endeavor." Lancer nodded in silent accord, their discontent mirroring that of their companion.

Their words, though painfully accurate, cut through you like a knife. Gasping for air, you attempted to rise, only to have your legs betray you, sending you crashing to the unforgiving ground once more, further fueling their exasperation.

It had been mere hours since you had awoken, yet they showed no mercy, denying you even a moment's respite or the chance to change into more suitable attire. Without any warning, they just thrusted you into the heart of their training grounds, launching relentless assaulting without affording you the slightest opportunity to defend yourself.

Lancer and Shaman exchanged bemused glances, their irritation mingling with genuine puzzlement. Both accustomed to swift comprehension and adeptness in their own training, they couldn't fathom why you were faltering so profoundly.

Lancer's gaze shifted to Shaman, a furrow forming on their brow.

"It is perplexing, this fragility," they mused aloud, their voice tinged with uncertainty. "Could it be that our approach is too lenient?"

Shaman's eye narrowed with a scoff. "lenient? Far from it," they retorted, dripping with sarcasm. "It is time for a new approach."

"N-no, please..." You stumbled over your words, your voice cracking under the weight of exhaustion, tears welling up in your eyes. "I-I need a break..." Your plea dissolved into sobs, the strain evident in your voice betraying hours of relentless training without respite, food, or water.

Lancer shook their head in disbelief, their voice tinged with a sense of incredulity.

"We cannot afford to lag behind in your training," they muttered, their gaze piercing into your soul with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. "Get up."

Your heart sank like a stone as you searched their eyes for a glimmer of pity or even a hint of sympathy, but all you found was a cold, unyielding gaze staring back at you. It was as if they were devoid of any empathy, their expression devoid of emotion.

Their words echoed in your mind, a chilling reminder of their unwavering resolve. They hadn't been exaggerating when they vowed to push you to the brink, to train you until you either rose to the challenge or succumbed to the relentless onslaught of their demands.

Shaman's arms crossed with an air of authority as they advanced.

"Get up, cookie. Time is a precious commodity, and mine is not to squander on those who cannot stand on their own," their voice sliced through the air, cold and unyielding. "We do not select the ones our master brings home, but it falls upon us to determine their worth."

Before you could react, they seized your arm and hauled you upright, their grip unrelenting as they propelled you back into the merciless whirlwind of training. With each step, the weight of their expectations bore down on you, pressing you deeper into the suffocating despair of your predicament.