The next day continued much like the last. Azrael rose, meditated and then went out for training. Mors would meet him on the training field and the torture began. Each move required utmost concentration and each repeated sequence brought ever growing waves of agony. By midday it felt like his body was being torn apart.

He could feel it though, how his body was slowly being forged into something more, something stronger.

“A strong blade needs to be forged of the strongest steel, in order to never break. If you rush past the tempering it will break from the smallest touch. If you rush past the hammering it will never strike true. It takes time and persistence to forge a blade. If you try to rush it, a wrong move can cause a flaw in the metal.”

And Mors’ stick beat down on him, each blow like a striking hammer, forging him into something new. Unceasingly and unerringly the stick would land on a point of his body, correcting him. The moves became clearer, sharper and more precise. Each blow fixed mistakes and minimised excess movement.

When he his muscles trembled and his stamina was spent and he could go no more they took a break, only to start again later. He would collapse, then rise again, fall and rise once more.

The entire day took on a cycle. And like the moon follows the sun and day follows night again, the days passed in a blur.

The days of pain were followed by nights of dreamless sleep as Azrael stepped through the pattern, hundreds, if not thousands of times. The stick rained blows on him just as many times. His only consolation was that as the days passed the stick merely became a passing acquaintance, infrequently meeting an incorrect move here or there. Eventually these too stopped as Azrael moved through the sequence flawlessly.

It was far from the natural grace that Mors exhibited and not even half the speed he had witnessed, but it was a beginning. Azrael could hear the tune and dance to its steps.

Azrael threw himself into the pain with zeal, not because he enjoyed it, but because it made him feel alive – alive again.

When he’d been younger he’d thrown himself into his schoolwork, pushing the limits of his capabilities and when he’d started playing full-dive games he’d pushed the limits of what was possible. But after his parents’ death he’d pulled himself into himself. He’d hidden himself away from the world. Because it hurt.

He’d forgotten the joy of pushing himself, of growing for growth’s sake, of knowing himself.

It was for this very same sake that he didn’t slack off during his break times. With his body weary beyond belief, he pushed his mind to its limits too.

Resting against the wooden walls of Mor’s hut, Azrael ran through hundreds of combat scenarios, ones he’d been in before and ones that he never hoped to ever be in. In each one he tried to apply different combinations of skills, applying different skills to the same scenarios over and over again. If a sword was forged through persistence, then its blade was sharpened by experience. Though Mors had so far prohibited combat during their training Azrael pushed his skills to a theoretical limit.

It was day 10? 15? He’d lost count of which day it was when Mors met him on the training field and informed him to take a few days off. Azrael looked at him in disbelief.

“Pardon?” He asked.

Mors regarded him coolly, perhaps even a bit fondly.

“I said take a few days off”

“What happened to forging a sword, striking when it’s hot and all that?”

“Even a smith must know when to strike and when to let the blade lay in the coals for a while”

Azrael snorted.

“You’ve probably never even held a hammer in your hand, let alone made a sword.”

“I indeed have not.”

“SEE!”

“The point still stands. You are strong, but even the best sword can be ruined if you strike too often or temper it too much.”

“Didn’t we just…ARGH!!! Fine. I’ll take a break!”

Azrael stormed off back to his little outhouse. How could someone sound so smug and sagely at the same time, even when they were just spouting absolute garbage? He’d just admitted to never having wielded a hammer in his life! What did he know of forging swords?

Still, he was secretly grateful for the few days break. He’d noticed a few days ago that, even with the game’s increased healing, his body was waking up more and more sore every morning. His avatar was reaching its physical limits.

Reaching the outhouse, he entered and lay down on his bed, despite it still being early morning.

“Sera” he said with a smile, “Take me out.”

A breath later and he was with Sera, his in-game assistant sitting behind an oriental table. The sofas, books and general chaos had been replaced with a small bonsai garden. Azrael found himself and Sera sitting in a red pavilion.

Sera raised a cup of tea into the air, a fake white beard tied to her face.

“Life is like a cup of tea” she started profoundly “The longer it seeps…”

Azrael held up his hand, stopping her.

“Please, stop. I think I have enough of wise old men for a while.”

With a fake pout Sera lowered her tea and took off the fake beard.

“I’m sowwy, Onii-chan.”

Azrael pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I’m serious, stop”

The entire scene faded away, leaving Sera in a maid costume.

“As you wish, Master.”

“…”

“…”

“Sera”

“Yes?”

“…”

“…”

“You can tell what I’m thinking, right?”

“Yes.”

“So, please…”

“No”

Azrael dropped his head into his hands and couldn’t help but let a sigh escape from his lips. He peeked out from between his fingers. Sera was staring at him with a smug smile. He decided to ignore it.

“Could you make me a training area here?” he asked.

“I could.”

“Will you?”

“No.”

Azrael just looked at her wearily. It was endearing the first time, but it got old pretty quick.

“Sera.”

“I think it would be good for you to spend some time in the real world. When was the last time you left the game for more than a few hours?”

Azrael thought back. Other than changing out the various life support pouches for his capsule and going for his jog he didn’t have anything else that needed his attention in the real world. He didn’t need to cook, he didn’t need to eat, he didn’t need to go shopping. Everything that needed to be done could be sorted in a little over an hour real time. This meant that the last time he’d spent a longer period of time in the real world was… back when he’d climbed the mountain? Maybe? Even that was nearly three moths ago. Almost a year if you went by time spent in game.

“Fine” Azrael conceded, “I’ll take a day off.”

Maybe he would watch a movie? Cook again? How did other people spend their days?

Letting the world go black for a second, he logged off.

Behind him, still in a maid costume Sera bowed, a mischievous grin on her face.

“Goodbye, Master.”