Outside the courtyard, the Patriarch stood with an aura that seemed to swallow the entire outer estate. No sound dared compete with his presence. Even the wind seemed to wait for permission before moving.
Vin and Vex were already present, standing among the children rather than anywhere near the front. Their injuries from the competition weren't visible anymore,but the memory of their humiliation lingered heavily in the air. No one dared look at them for too long.
The Patriarch let his eyes sweep over the children with a cold, assessing stare. It wasn't anger. It wasn't disappointment. It was weight—like he was silently measuring every life standing before him.
"There is no place for weakness in the Avernus family," he said at last, voice sharp enough to carve stone.
Every head straightened.
He turned his focus to the crowd. The children, knights, guardians. Every soul present fell under the pressure of his gaze.
"Only the strong survive," he continued, the words falling like verdicts. "Weakness is chosen—a crack in the structure. Fear disrupts; doubt destroys. The world cares only for strength that works. Stand firm, or shatter. The strong advance. The rest are erased."
Not a single child breathed.
From Jude's shadow, Abaddon's voice slithered out dryly. "I mean… this sounds more like an encouragement speech."
Jude muttered back under his breath, "Yeah… a weird one at that."
But Abaddon's voice shifted—heavier, edged with something that wasn't humor.
"Even with my full strength, fighting against that monster is a battle I can't guarantee I'll survive. That is the level of strength you must one day surpass, kid."
Jude didn't answer. He couldn't. His throat felt tight.
The Patriarch wasn't just strong—he was something else entirely. Something beyond human. Something that looked down on them all as if every child present was nothing but a seed waiting to rot or bloom.
And in the middle of that suffocating silence, the Patriarch's eyes found Jude.
It lasted only a second.
A brief, sharp connection—like a blade grazing skin.
Then the Patriarch broke it, mounting his horse with efficient ease.
Elara, Darisn, and Gale—his eldest and strongest children—stepped behind him without hesitation. They rode with the calm confidence of those born knowing strength was expected of them.
The knights of Avernus followed in perfect formation, armor flashing under the morning sun.
Hooves thundered.
Wind whipped through the courtyard.
The procession exited the gates, and the heavy atmosphere went with them.
The moment they vanished, the world exhaled.
"Drilling starts now!" the Head Guardian roared, his voice exploding across the courtyard and snapping the children back to reality.
Training began instantly.
The outer estate's training grounds sprawled wider than many noble estates. Rows of dummies. Sand pits. Stone markers. Racks of training weapons. High wooden towers for archery. Obstacle courses designed to break bones if one misstepped.
Today, every part of it seemed alive.
Vin and Vex moved first—staggering at first, but then forcing their bodies into motion. Their faces were pale, their eyes hollow, but their legs kept moving, driven by desperation. They attacked their drills like their lives depended on finishing every set.
And maybe they did.
The other children seemed struck by the same madness.
They weren't simply training—they were throwing themselves at their limits with ferocity that bordered on self-destruction.
Training swords clashed so violently sparks flew. Bodies slammed into sand pits. Heavy logs were lifted, thrown, caught, dropped again. Sweat poured like rain.
It didn't look like a group of noble children refining discipline.
It looked like survival.
Jude blinked.
"…It's like they're all drugged or something."
But even he wasn't immune to the pressure of the day. His limbs already felt heavy from the morning's tension, but he forced himself into motion.
The moment he entered the drills, he felt every muscle protest. His arms burned from repetition. His stance slid too easily. His breath turned rough.
Still—he ignored it.
Strike.
Recover.
Repeat.
Push.
Pull.
Endure.
Strike again.
Inside his shadow, Abaddon let out a long exasperated sigh.
"Slow down, kid. You'll wear yourself out before our next lesson."
Jude gritted his teeth and swung again. "Can't… fall behind… now."
"You just became Morthos contractor and you're already suicidal," Abaddon muttered. "Wonderful."
But Jude didn't stop.
The drills blended together—footwork sequences, standing forms, dummy strikes, endurance runs around the perimeter walls. Sweat dripped into Jude's eyes. His arms shook. His breathing turned ragged. His palms stung where the practice sword's grip dug too harshly into his skin.
And yet something inside him kept pushing.
Something that whispered:
The world only respects strength.
Weakness has no place in Avernus.
Stand firm, or shatter.
Jude didn't realize he was repeating the Patriarch's words in his head until he stumbled during a footwork shift and caught himself with a rough breath.
Children around Jude were collapsing, trembling, getting up again. Some cried silently. Some gritted their teeth so hard their jaws shook. Some trained with reckless abandon, refusing to fall behind in a household where falling behind meant being forgotten.
Jude kept going.
Push.
Step.
Strike.
Again.
As the sun climbed higher, the air thickened with heat and dust. The smell of sweat, iron, and trampled sand filled the training ground. Even the guardians monitoring the children watched with a seriousness that spoke volumes about expectations here.
Avernus did not raise children.
Avernus forged weapons.
Jude's wooden sword felt heavier with every swing. His arms trembled violently now. He barely blocked another child's practice strike during pairing drills. His legs were beginning to drag.
Abaddon's voice slithered up again.
"Kid… if your arms fall off, I'm not reattaching them."
Jude forced a breath. "Just… a little more."
"Your 'little more' is how mortals die."
Jude didn't argue. He simply pushed.
Time blurred. Sweat drenched his shirt. His heartbeat pounded inside his ears. Every breath scraped like sandpaper. The training field felt infinite.
But somewhere amid the exhaustion, Jude felt a spark.
A faint one.
But real.
Strength grew in the spaces where fear cracked. Determination filled the gaps where doubt once lived. Even pain sharpened something inside him.
He wasn't strong. Not yet.
But he was moving.
He was climbing.
He was changing.
The final drill ended.
A guardian shouted for the children to gather, but Jude barely heard it. His legs trembled as he forced himself upright, stumbling through the dusty training field. Vin collapsed beside him, coughing but smiling weakly. Vex leaned against a post, drenched in sweat, barely staying awake.
Children around them dropped like stones. Some sprawled on the ground. Some bent over, gasping. A few still stood—but even they looked ready to fall at the slightest breeze.
The Head Guardian finally stepped forward.
"Good," he said, voice loud but not harsh. "You pushed yourselves. Remember what the Patriarch said."
He paused.
"Strength decides who stands tall in this family."
Jude exhaled slowly.
His entire body screamed in agony. His lungs burned. His arms felt disconnected. But he stood.
Barely.
Inside his shadow, Abaddon stretched lazily like a cat waking from sleep.
"Well… that was entertaining."
Then, with unmistakable amusement:
"Get up, kid. We're not done."
Jude nearly collapsed.
"…What?"
"You think being a contractor means rest?" Abaddon snorted. "The real training begins after your body collapses."
Jude's soul left his body for a moment.
Abaddon laughed. "I'm joking. You'll die if we start now. For today… survive."
Jude barely managed a breath. "That… helps."
He lifted his head toward the now-empty gate where the Patriarch had vanished earlier. Only dust remained in the air, drifting slowly in the afternoon sun.
Strength.
He needed strength.
Not for the Patriarch.
Not for the estate.
Not even for the name he carried.
He needed it because this world demanded it. Because danger waited everywhere. Because shadows followed him now. Because Abaddon had shown him a glimpse of what existed beyond human limits.
Because to live…
To choose his own path…
To survive anything coming…
He had to climb higher.
A lot higher.
Jude exhaled, a tired but determined breath.
Tomorrow would be harder.
The day after harder still.
But he wouldn't stop.
Abaddon smirked from within the shade.
"That's it, kid. Break yourself today so you become unbreakable tomorrow."
Jude's eyes closed.
He didn't need praise.
He didn't need reassurance.
He only needed one thing—
Strength.
And he would reach it.
No matter how far he had to climb.