A day in the Shadow Realm felt as long as a year and as fleeting as a moment.
In this brutal demiplane where even the concept of time seemed warped, Kay’s routine solidified into an excruciatingly simple, merciless cycle.
He trained until he nearly died, cooked to stay alive, and collapsed into a sleep as deep as a faint.
“Slow! Don’t try to follow the tip of the spear with your eyes! Read the flow of killing intent with your skin!”
KWA-AANG!!
Scáthach casually swung her crimson spear, Gáe Bolg, which tore through the air and surged straight toward Kay’s face.
It was a strike capable of slicing through a rocky mountain as if it were tofu.
Reacting on instinct, Kay twisted his torso to avoid a fatal blow, but the wake of the spear caught him, shredding a long gash across his flank.
“Aaaagh!”
Spraying a mist of blood, Kay tumbled across the ashen earth for over ten meters, groaning in agony as he clawed at the dirt.
“Your breathing is disrupted. Stand up.”
Scáthach rested her spear on her shoulder, looking down at Kay with eyes as indifferent as if she were observing an insect.
Her training methods were brutally violent.
Mana burst? Rune magic? Such refined techniques were never an option for Kay.
“Your mana is pitiful. It is embarrassing to even call them magic circuits. You possess not a shred of the talent for Mystery that geniuses wield as naturally as breathing.”
Scáthach delivered her cold diagnosis, her eyes piercing through Kay’s very essence.
“I will acknowledge the sixteen years of combat experience you gained rolling around with magical beasts. However, your movements are far too wasteful. You rely solely on raw strength and willpower to force out power—it is the typical struggle of a beast. You cannot survive by the side of the King of Knights with such habits.”
“*Cough*…! So… what do you want me to do…?”
Kay spat out the blood pooling in his mouth and forced his trembling legs to hold his weight.
“If magic is not an option, then you must hone your physical body to the absolute limit. I will remodel you into the most efficient weapon in existence. From your bones and muscles to your neural reflexes, your breathing, and the way you walk—I will overhaul everything.”
From that day on, his life became a thorough reconstruction of his physique and fundamentals.
Scáthach did not give Kay a weapon.
Instead, she forced him to scale cliffs while carrying beast bones weighing hundreds of kilograms. She made him navigate jagged rock fields blindfolded, training him to evade her by sensing nothing but her killing intent.
“Huff… huff…!”
Whenever a movement was wasted, the shaft of her spear would inevitably fly in to break a bone.
Muscles tore, ligaments snapped, and breath-stopping agony became a constant.
It was a hell that would have shattered the mind of any ordinary human within a single day.
Even for her, such a cruel education for a disciple was extreme. Yet, she did it because it was exactly what Kay had asked for.
He wanted to grow strong as quickly as possible to earn Scáthach's recognition and return as a warrior who could truly be of help to the others.
Because he was a man of mediocre talent, his training was several times more grueling than that of previous disciples like Cú Chulainn or Fergus.
Injuries? Such things were trivial as long as he had the near-omnipotent Primordial Runes. As long as he didn't die, even a shattered body could be restored.
If I collapse here… how can I ever look my sisters and Gareth in the eye?
Kay clutched his broken bones and gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stand once more.
That simple, stubborn sense of responsibility was the sole engine driving his fragile, mediocre body forward.
Watching her disciple rise time and again, glaring at her with eyes full of spite, Scáthach felt a small spark of admiration.
…What a tenacious brat. He has no talent, yet his persistence is second to none among the heroes I have known. The most important trait for a hero is mental fortitude. Even Heracles could not govern his rage and became a monster of madness. Setanta, too, failed to correct his volatile spirit, overusing Geass and living like a rogue until he fell to the schemes of that brat Maeve—all at the young age of twenty-seven.
She held Kay’s unwavering spirit in high regard.
Heroes were prone to making fatal mistakes, intoxicated by their own arrogance or brilliance. While many heroes possessed strength, a man with such a straight, honest conviction was rare.
Furthermore, his motivation was simply to protect those precious to him. Very few who sought strength to become heroes did so for such a reason.
Perhaps because he was mediocre, Scáthach found him intriguing, noting a distinct difference between him and other heroes.
Of course, she showed nothing of this on the surface and ruthlessly swung her spear again.
“You seem to have room for idle thoughts. Evade me a hundred more times before you earn the right to eat.”
“You bloodless, heartless witch…!!”
Once the hellish training concluded, Scáthach used the Primordial Runes to mend Kay’s broken body.
The moment he recovered, Kay donned an apron and transformed into a chef.
A violently delicious aroma wafted through the cold air of the Shadow Realm.
It was the only hour of life permitted in this land of death.
“What is it today?”
Scáthach sat at the table in casual clothes, legs crossed elegantly. Though she acted indifferent, her red eyes obsessively tracked Kay’s every movement.
“Stewed wild boar ribs and poisonous mushroom fried rice. I’ve used heat to convert the toxins into a spicy flavor, so you can eat without worry.”
“Hmph. Do you truly believe poison would work on me? If you wish to threaten me with toxins, you must bring something that can kill gods, not just phantasmal beasts. Something like the venom of the Hydra or Bashmu.”
“Why don’t you just eat pufferfish raw? It’d be easier since you wouldn’t have to remove the poison.”
Kay set down a steaming stone pot and a plate with a thud.
The wild boar had been simmered until it fell apart along the grain, deeply infused with Kay’s special soy sauce and spicy seasoning.
Scáthach picked up a piece of meat and popped it into her mouth.
Munch, munch.
Suddenly, her brow furrowed and her eyes closed softly.
“…Excellent. A taste so perfect it makes your clumsy evasive maneuvers look pathetic by comparison.”
“Is that a compliment or an insult? Just talk about the food while we're eating, or I'll get indigestion.”
Kay replied brusquely, grabbing a bone for himself and taking a large bite.
The ingredients of the demiplane were tough and foul-smelling, but through Kay’s hands, they were transformed into gourmet dishes with a depth of flavor that surpassed any royal cuisine.
Occasionally, Scáthach even used her Primordial Runes to conjure ordinary ingredients for him.
“This spiciness… it stings the tongue, yet it’s addictive. The seasoning has penetrated all the way into the marrow. How did you do this?”
“Cooking is all about fundamentals. You read the grain of the meat, determine the exact timing to apply heat to make it tender, and understand how spices blend with the juices. You don't get a delicious meal just by blindly cranking up the heat.”
Kay answered while chewing.
At that moment, Scáthach’s eyes gleamed.
“Yes. Exactly that, Kay.”
“What?”
“Just as you read the grain of the meat and control the heat when cooking, combat is the same. Since you lack mana, you must read the movement of the enemy's muscles, the structure of their bones, and the grain of where their power is concentrated. Do not clash with their strength using your own; instead, let it flow past you, as if you were slicing meat along the grain.”
Kay stared blankly at Scáthach, bone still in hand.
To have the principles of martial arts explained through cooking—the field he was most confident in—was a metaphor that clicked perfectly.
“…I guess you actually deserve to be called a teacher.”
“Hmph. You finally recognize my greatness? Of course, grasping this is difficult even for an expert. But if you cross the line of death enough times, you might eventually reach that realm.”
Scáthach lifted her chin arrogantly and conjured a glass of mead from the air using rune magic, drinking it down.
Their relationship had begun with unilateral violence and abduction, but by sitting across from each other every night to share a meal, a strange bond had begun to bloom.
To Scáthach, Kay was an intriguing toy that broke centuries of boredom and the ultimate personal chef. To Kay, Scáthach was a complex woman, but the only savior who was truly making him strong.
Months passed.
Kay’s body had changed beyond recognition.
His once bulky, oversized muscles had been compressed into lean, hard steel, and his skin was etched with countless scars that looked like medals of honor.
More than anything, his gaze and posture had shifted.
Even when standing still, there was no wasted movement or opening to be found.
Taat!
In the wilderness of the demiplane, Kay launched himself forward. He no longer kicked off the ground with brute force, sending clouds of dust flying.
Without a sound, he glided forward, slipping into Scáthach’s space.
“Ho.”
Scáthach flicked her hand. Kay’s eyes flashed as he dodged the strike and threw a punch of his own.
Thak!
However, a light touch from Scáthach diverted his trajectory, causing the punch to miss. She immediately followed up with a flurry of hand-to-hand strikes. Kay couldn't evade the onslaught and was forced to block them with his guard.
He has certainly stepped through the entrance. But he is still far off. His physique cannot compare to Fergus, and his technical precision is lacking compared to the young Setanta.
Despite the grueling training, Kay had only just reached the starting line where the geniuses began.
Still, considering his lack of talent, he had arrived remarkably quickly. His effort had indeed borne fruit. Filling the gap of talent with hard work is easier said than done—it is as daunting as the gap between a human and a demigod.
“You have grown considerably. But you are still far from the realm of geniuses, Kay.”
“I know that!!!”
“In Greece, there were many demigods who were born strong. They toyed with mediocre heroes like you, living in arrogance as if they were the pinnacle of existence, and most died young. Do you know why?”
“Because they lost to geniuses who actually worked hard! Or because the shitty gods threw lightning at them!”
“Correct. Take Amykos, son of Poseidon. He forced countless adventurers into pankration matches, killing them with his innate strength. Yet, he was slain in a single blow by Pollux, the god of pankration and a member of the Argonauts. Do you know the lesson of this story?”
“Effort is important!”
“Yes. Talent is undoubtedly the most critical factor. However, without effort, innate talent is meaningless. Kay, you may never surpass the hardworking geniuses in your entire life. But winning and losing are separate matters.”
Kay narrowly dodged a slicing strike from Scáthach’s hand. The wind pressure from the blow left a thin cut on his cheek.
“Ultimately, geniuses tend to become arrogant in their status as heroes. For a hero of my level—or that golden brat from Uruk—such arrogance is justified. But for those below that level, pride becomes a poison. Those who are unqualified but arrogant end up like that. Setanta, too, trusted his skills too much and acted recklessly, which led to his tragedy. Do you know the story of Conla? My disciple.”
“Kuh, you mean Cú Chulainn’s kid?!”
“Yes. That man abandoned me, refused my request to kill him, and left callously—yet he overpowered my sister, Aífe, and violated her. He then showed his irresponsibility by telling her to raise any child as a warrior and send them to me. In the Celtic lands, where the strong were the law, such things happened. But that arrogance led to his tragedy.”
Cú Chulainn had overpowered Scáthach's sister, Aífe, violated her, and left her pregnant.
Seeking revenge, Aífe gave birth to Conla and sent him to be trained by Scáthach. While Scáthach raised Conla to be a powerful hero, Aífe placed a Geass upon him.
Never turn your back. Never refuse a challenge. Never reveal your name.
Due to this curse, Conla could not reveal his identity even when he met his father, Cú Chulainn. Unaware that he was fighting his own son, Cú Chulainn fought Conla as a fellow warrior and killed him. Meanwhile, Conla, recognizing his father, had withheld his spear even when he had the chance to kill Cú Chulainn.
Only at the moment of death did he reveal his identity. It is said that Cú Chulainn fell into a state of absolute despair and madness.
It was a tragedy born from the arrogance of the strong and a self-centered way of living. Perhaps he believed that because he was great, everyone would simply follow his will.
Scáthach truly wanted to ask Cú Chulainn what he had been thinking back then.
To reject her affection, refuse her request for death, and end up violating his own kin only to kill his own son—what a conclusion.
The lives and legends of heroes were always like this.
“They believe in their own strength and become arrogant. If you target that lapse in concentration, even a mediocre fellow like you might be able to defeat Setanta.”
KWAANG!!!
“Gah!”
Kay went rolling across the ground after taking a kick from Scáthach.
“That is all for today. Prepare the meal.”
“*Cough*… damn it.”
Kay clicked his tongue, wondering if he had failed to reach her again today, but Scáthach watched his growth closely. He was breaking through the limits of talent with sheer effort.
Of course, it would take several years before he reached a level she truly recognized. Even heroes like Cú Chulainn and Fergus had trained for years.
“Three to five years should be enough.”
“What?”
“The time you will spend here.”
“Dammit. I won't even be able to make it to Gareth's first birthday? I should have done it ages ago.”
“Even I cannot easily let someone leave this demiplane. I can open the gate to drag someone in, but I cannot let them out. After all, I cannot leave this place myself.”
“Tch…”
While it was frustrating for Kay, if he left the demiplane now, he could never return. Therefore, Scáthach intended to keep him until he became a warrior she could acknowledge.
Still, she decided to promise him one reward.
“Your motivation will drop if you only train. I shall promise you a reward.”
“What kind of reward?”
“If you defeat me… no, that is impossible. Even Setanta would have no chance against me now. Very well, if you can land a single effective strike on me, I will give you a reward.”
“So what is the reward?”
“Hehe, that is a secret. But it is something extraordinary. Something the warriors of Ulster and the Celts craved, something even Fergus desired. Even the gods of the Celts wanted it but could never obtain it.”
“What is it? Some demonic sword? Is it the strongest blade, Gram, that vanished with Sigurd?”
“Perhaps. I'll leave that as a surprise for later. Rest assured, I will not change the terms. I am a warrior who keeps her word.”
“Just what could it be? Dagda's Cauldron? Now that would actually be interesting.”
Kay wondered if it was one of the four great treasures of Celtic mythology—the cauldron that produced an infinite supply of food and ingredients.
Of course, it was not.
The reward was the right to embrace Scáthach.
Not a simple hug, but the privilege of sexual intimacy with her.
In Cú Chulainn's time, the condition had been to defeat her—a feat that even the lust-driven Fergus had given up on. She had simply adjusted the condition to a "valid strike" to suit Kay's level and her own current strength.
However, whether a mediocre man could even land a single strike was another matter entirely.
Scáthach deliberately blocked her own future sight, leaving the answer as a source of future amusement.
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