Reincarnated As A Dragon With A Godly Inheritance

For the first half of the day, Thalso had them sit and practice the Flow, drawing mana in, strengthening their cores. It was grueling in its stillness. Then, without warning, he stood.

"Up. Drop your weapons."

The command surprised them, but they obeyed, though not without hesitation. Kaedros in particular narrowed his eyes.

"You'll be using these from now on."

A dark portal tore the air open beside Thalso. From its swirling depths, three weapons floated out, mirrored in length and shape to their previous ones, but stamped with intricate white patterns etched into the surface like glowing tattoos.

Taria's spear, Rauk's greatsword, and Kaedros's short sword, all hovered, menacingly still.

"Why are we switching?" Rauk asked.

Thalso gave no answer, only motioned for them to take the weapons.

They reached up, each grabbing their respective weapon with one hand.

That was a mistake.

The second they touched the hilts, whatever force had been suspending the weapons vanished. The weight hit them like a meteor.

Clang!

Each weapon slammed into the ground hard enough to shake the metal floor. If they hadn't pulled their hands back quickly, bones would've shattered.

"What in the abyss is this weight?!" Taria growled, glaring at the spear, which had embedded itself in the floor, shaft-first like some cruel totem of betrayal.

"Your weapons," Thalso said flatly.

Kaedros frowned and reached down, gripping the hilt of his new sword with one hand. He strained, muscles pulling tight. It lifted barely two inches before dropping again, ringing loudly.

"I suggest you use two hands," Thalso added with a ghost of amusement.

With grunts and strained breaths, they finally lifted the weapons together. They turned to face Thalso, arms already trembling under the weight.

He shook his head and walked to each of them in turn, correcting their stances, adjusting their grip, shifting their balance, until he was satisfied.

"Begin on the dummies."

"Is this a joke?" Rauk muttered.

It wasn't.

The moment they started training, reality hit hard. Their weapons felt like they weighed a mountain. Lifting them was an effort. Swinging them was torture. Every slash and thrust sent painful vibrations through their hands, and the force of impact threw their weight back against them like they were fighting the dummies and themselves.

The dummies didn't yield. At all. Every strike bounced back, raw and unfiltered feedback into their bones.

And the weapons were sharp. Too sharp. One misstep and they'd be slicing into themselves, not the target.

Within what felt like five minutes, they were drenched in sweat and gasping for breath. Muscles ached. Arms burned.

"What kind of training is this?" Taria huffed. Still, she was the only one landing more than one strike. She had managed three thrusts for every one from Rauk or Kaedros.

"Strength. Speed. Endurance. Arcane resistance. Essence control," Thalso replied simply.

"I... don't know how any of this helps with speed, or essence, or anything. It's going to kill me first!" Taria protested, staggering from another failed thrust.

The dummies reflected her blow and threw her back two steps. Her palms were already red with strain.

"Even with the strength I gained recently... it barely helps," Rauk grunted, swinging his greatsword with both hands. "I'm used to fighting one-handed, but not with this!"

"We don't have a choice," Kaedros said through clenched teeth. He stepped forward again, swinging.

They pushed through for nearly an hour before all three collapsed to the floor, panting, soaked in sweat.

Thalso grunted. "At least you knew to set the weapons down this time."

None of them replied. They were still trying to remember how to breathe.

"Let me tell you something," Thalso said. "Physical training like this, it's not just for warriors. It's for any Ascendants. It strengthens your channels. Makes them sharper. Brighter. Faster. Essence will flow more efficiently. And soon, you'll need that."

Taria sat up, wiping sweat from her brow. "Don't we all have channels if we have a core?"

"Yes," Thalso said. "But not all are equal. Yours are better developed. Compared to Rauk or Kael... your channels are the brightest. You're a warrior. You need them more."

He looked at her, tone flat. "Mages have channels too, but theirs are underdeveloped. They don't rely on raw physical essence like warriors do."

Then he hesitated. "It's been a while since I've seen channels as strong as yours."

He didn't say what he was really thinking—I've never seen channels like hers before.

Taria smiled faintly at the praise until Thalso clapped his hands.

"Back on your feet. Training isn't over."

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They trained like that for the rest of the week, bringing their time in the Castle to a full three weeks.

Kaedros and the others were keeping count, even if they suspected the flow of time in this world didn't match Earth's. Still, habit or maybe the comfort of numbers kept them grounded.

They had no idea what was happening beyond the castle walls, and truth be told, the outside world was starting to feel distant. Faded. Unreal.

Rauk was the most anxious. He wanted news of his father, of the kingdom, of anything familiar but he buried that need deep and trained with the others like nothing was wrong. Even so, a quiet conflict churned inside him.

Staying in the castle meant gaining power. That much was obvious. But the pace felt... slow.

Still, the training yielded results.

By the end of the week, they could last hours swinging their impossibly heavy weapons. Even Rauk, who had cursed the blade on the first day, could now lift and wield it for extended stretches.

Taria, though... she could keep going for three hours after Rauk and Kaedros had dropped from exhaustion.

Three days into that same week, Thalso had confiscated their old weapons completely. Now they were forced to use the heavy, rune-inscribed ones even at night and especially when they were sent to fight shadows in the dark. With their bodies still aching, the sleep loss piled on like punishment.

That made sparring the lake monster in the morning garden miserable.

But the water they earned afterward? Worth it.

After that came Chef's upgraded golems, yet somehow, they still won. They always fought, always bled, always earned.

And then back to the training room.

They'd sit for Flow practice, then rise to hack away at metal dummies until their arms went numb.

Small changes began to show.

Kaedros's black hair now brushed his neck, slightly curled from sweat and battle. His body had sharpened, lean muscle pressed firm against his frame, and his eyes had become ice-bright, cutting through the gloom like blades.

Rauk had let his hair grow longer too now shoulder-length like Taria's and he tied it back with a rope she gave him. She teased him about it constantly, but he didn't seem to mind.

At the start of the fourth week in the Throne of Ruinlight, they finally broke.

Or rather, they questioned.

Rauk leaned on the hilt of his sword, chest heaving slightly. "What's the point of this training? Honestly, it feels like we're doing manual labor!"