Forbidden Love

Training

The next morning came far too quickly. Dawn hadn't even broken when a thunderous knock rattled my door.

"Up," came Ottarl's deep voice. Just that one word, but it sent me scrambling out of bed like I'd been shocked.

I threw on my gear with trembling hands, my mind racing. Training with Ottarl. The strongest adventurer in Orario. Level 7. What was Lady Freya thinking? Was this really training, or was it punishment?

When I opened my door, Ottarl's massive frame filled the entire doorway. His expressionless face looked down at me, and I felt about as significant as a speck of dust.

"Follow."

We walked in silence through the still-dark streets of Orario. The city was quiet, peaceful – a stark contrast to the nervous energy coursing through my body. We passed the usual training grounds, and my anxiety spiked.

"Um, where are we—"

"Silence."

Right. Quiet. I could do quiet.

We ended up at the base of Babel Tower, but instead of entering the dungeon, Ottarl led me to a secluded training area I'd never seen before. The space was vast, with various terrain types artificially created – rocks, sand, even a small water feature.

"Your magic," Ottarl said suddenly, making me jump. "Show me."

"R-right now?"

His stare was answering enough.

"Firebolt!" I called out, aiming at a nearby rock. The spell burst forth, stronger than yesterday, striking the boulder with a satisfying crack.

Ottarl's expression didn't change. "Again."

I cast the spell repeatedly, each time trying to hit different targets Ottarl pointed at. My aim was... well, terrible. Half my shots went wide, and those that did hit barely left a mark.

"Enough," he finally said. "Your magic is like a child's tantrum. All power, no control."

I winced at the assessment, but he wasn't done.

"Your stats show potential. Your skill..." He paused, and for the first time, I saw something like interest cross his face. "Your skill is unique. But potential means nothing without proper foundation."

What happened next was the most intense training session of my life. Ottarl drilled me in basic footwork, proper stance, breathing techniques – things I should have learned weeks ago. Every time I made a mistake, he'd tap the spot with his finger. It didn't look like much, but each 'tap' felt like being hit with a hammer.

"Magic isn't just shouting words," he explained while I gasped for breath. "It's an extension of yourself. Your mind. Your will." He pointed at a distant target. "Again. This time, don't just throw power. Guide it."

"Firebolt!"

The spell shot out, still wild but... different. More focused.

"Better," Ottarl grunted. "Now do it a hundred more times."

By midday, I was drenched in sweat, my magic mind nearly empty, and every muscle screaming. But I'd hit more targets than I'd missed, and my Firebolts were becoming more controlled.

"Enough for now," Ottarl announced. "Eat. Rest. We continue at sunset."

As he turned to leave, I gathered my courage. "Ottarl-san?"

He paused.

"Why... why are you training me personally? Surely there are others who could..."

"Lady Freya's orders," he said simply. Then, after a moment: "And your growth rate is... interesting."