Magna flinched with every terrible blow Brand took from an instructor that seemed to be trying to kill him. Every attempt to guard himself failed miserably and was rewarded with pain. Every attacked Brand through missed by what seemed like miles earning a chuckle from the striker before he drew more blood from his exhausted body.

For Magna, it was like watching her own training from the outside. She, like every other striker, suffered such treatment. They’d be forced to fight enemies realms above their own strength and expected to never give in. If they did, Makarov made sure they’d regret it, but such harsh training was abandoned years ago. Now everyone had a choice.

Brand’s legs finally failed him showering Magna with guilt-riddled relief. Now he could rest and get back to his academic studies. At least that’s what she thought until Cull pulled Brand's head back by his hair to shout in his face.

“You want this to end!” Cull punched Brand in the side forcing out a muffled cry. “All you have to do is ask!” He threw him against a wall with an open door a few feet from the crater made with his body. “Walk through that door and this ends. The pain ends, the isolation, the hunger, all of it. It will only cost you your magic.”

Brand shot to his feet as soon as he heard his magic was on the line surprising Rollo and the several striker presents. Magna wasn't surprised though. Brand was more of a striker than she was even after being forced to undergo this trial. And unlike most, he’d spent years with his power making its potential loss weigh on him all the more.

Against everything Magna thought she knew of Brand, he headed for the open door holding onto its handle for support as he reached it. He stood there for a long moment on trembling knees growing ever weaker with each labored breath.

When Cull grew tired of waiting he cracked his knuckles and spoke as if with the booming authority of a god. “Make your choice now or what comes next-”

Cull’s ranting was put to an abrupt end as Brand ripped the door from the wall and threw it at the striker. Never truly being off guard, Cull pivoted out of the way only for Brand’s fist to collide with his raised forearm. The blow shook the room, not only through the audible wave of force the impact created but by the surprise of the spectating striker. What sent shivers down Magna’s spine was the flash of mana as Cull’s roots to the world strained to keep him grounded ultimately failing by a few inches.

“I thought Brand was only rank four,” Magna thought with astonishment.

Cull was an apex eighth-ranked cultivator and a B-ranked mage. He’d reach the summit of mortal strength and could grow no stronger. A simple punch from someone as weak as Brand should have been like a gentle breeze.

“There’s your answer,” Brand said holding his right hand with his left in pain. His attack obviously did more damage to him than Cull but he’d passed the test. “Hey, where are you going?” Brand asked when Cull simply turned his back and walked away.

Before Brand could take a step, another striker, one who’s named Magna didn't know, moved with such speed it was as if she appears from thin air delivering several punishing blows. Her assault ended with a kick that sent Brand limply to the ground without consciousness.

Magna stood seething with rage. “Why did you attack him!”

“He let his guard,” Cull said as if the answer was obvious. “We never let our guard.”

Magna scoffed. “Brand’s only been training for a few months so he shouldn't be held to those standards yet. And you should have ended the test an hour ago. In fact, you shouldn't be testing him at all! Why is an apex cultivator even here!”

Cull took a seat and held out a hand showing Magna his knuckles. They were covered in blood that oozed from small cuts sprinkled across its surface. “I was called in because that kid is too damned tough. Seriously, Magna, it was like punching steel with spikes along the surface. Whatever spells he’s using makes fighting him for any length of time a hassle.” A shudder suddenly raced through the man causing his fox tail to stiffen. “I could also feel his mana boring into me, stealing bits of my magic with every touch. He probably used it to heal, prolonging the test.”

Magna still wasn't convinced. “So why don't you just silence him?”

“He can’t be silenced. Not by someone without the focus. His mana slips through any attempt like a wet fish.”

“You still didn't have to be so hard on him.”

“That’s on him. If he wasn't so determined to finish with Shadow Boy and that crazy fey I wouldn't be rushing his training.” Cull looked over to Brand as a healing potion was poured over him. “And to think with all that potential he wants to major in life craft. He’s a defender through and through with magic defenses like I've never seen before.”

“We need more life magi,” Magna said, happily remembering Brand’s surprising choice of profession.

“We could also use less of you,” Cull said as a matter of fact. He continued before Magna could find the words to defend herself. “We don’t let parents train their children and you mother Brand more than any of your others. While he should have been focusing on me his attention often drifted to you.” Cull’s eye grew suspicious as he observed Magna. “Is he your kid, your real kid?”

“No,” Magna said wistfully. “A striker brought him to Saint Hilda’s as a babe like everyone else. He’s just had a harder time than most. He needed more looking after.”

“Well he doesn't need looking after now,” Cull said. “We may not have had a choice, but he does and wants to be a striker. If it makes you feel better he won't be put through anything we didn't in our time.”

Magna almost shook as she thought of what Makarov considered training when he first started grooming orphans to be strikers. “No, that doesn't make me feel better.”

********

Eric raged against bonds he couldn't feel or understand. As soon as that woman willed it, he simply could not raise from his chair. It was not that he was tied to it or anchored by some spell. His body simply refused to move from the relaxed position he was in when he thought himself safe, untouchable, everything he truly wasn't when Vellia’s dealers of death came to his family with a proposition.

Eric’s father of course refused. He was a proud king that didn't care that the peerage for some odd reason wished to become vassals to Vellia. He would be the wall protecting South Bastian from tyranny even if those around him begged to be conquered. Now that wall was crumbling as the king held a knife to his own throat.

The queen already lay dead in a pool of her own blood. She died at the hands of her husband who’s body, like Eric’s at the moment, was not his own. They were as puppets to a hooded human woman. She’d been the one to ask for their surrender and the one that somehow broke into the most heavily guarded room in the city when she was refused.

“Stop screaming,” the woman said. Eric instantly shut his mouth and lost the use of his voice. “Look this way little prince, I need you to see this and remember it well.”

Eric’s head swiveled giving him a good view of his father and the woman. She placed a finger to her neck sliding it across as if it were a blade. As she did the king followed, cutting deep into his neck without a hint of protest. His eyes were wide and filled with tears but he remained quiet until he started drowning in his own blood.

Eric wanted nothing more than to look away as his father convulsed with his instincts and the women's commands warring in his mind. In the end, death was the only winner. The late king fell onto his son soaking his face in the warm blood gushing from his neck. Eric remained still, forced to smell, taste, and feel every moment without any way to respond.

After some time, how long Eric did not know, the cooling body was lifted off him and thrown into a corner like garbage. “Here's the deal princeling,” the woman said. “Your parents didn't have to die, but they made the wrong choice.”

“I won't,” Eric said surprised he could speak. Then he realized he could move and was about to stand but froze under the gaze of the nightmare in front of him.

“That’s good to hear,” the woman said. “You just saved the rest of your family.” Eric suddenly broke into a cold sweat as the woman continued making the warm liquid around his crotch all the more noticeable. “Give no trouble when the vellian delegation arrives or I’ll visit again. And be sure to pledge fealty to your new regent Tanya Bryer when the time comes.” With that, she vanished in thin air leaving Eric alone.

He stood, peeled off his blood-drenched clothes, found the only spot in the room were no blood could be seen, folded into a fetal position, and cried until found by servants the next day.