"Let me explain the rules a bit," Elowen stated, her voice calm yet carrying an unspoken authority. "During this course, no abilities or Astra are meant to be used. Only your pure physical speed, movement, reflexes, and maneuvering will suffice," she explained meticulously. With that, she leaped gently off the ground, her feet landing gracefully on one of the beams implanted into the earth below. "As this is your first time, allow me to at least demonstrate," she added in a tone that brooked no argument, finality imbued in each word.

Without another word or hesitation, she shifted her weight and took a step, her movements sharp, precise, and efficient. In an almost imperceptible blur, one that Finch and William struggled to track, she moved with effortless grace, traversing the span of the training equipment as though it were a mere extension of her own body.

"Simple... right?" Elowen asked, her form already blurring back into the position she had occupied before her leap onto the first beam pole.

Finch and William's lips twitched involuntarily at the sheer audacity of her claim. 'Simple? How could this woman say it was simple?' they both thought, their minds racing with disbelief. Yet, despite the absurdity of the demonstration, they resolved to at least attempt the challenge. With a deep inhale and a shared, silent understanding, the two of them climbed their first beams, awaiting Instructor Elowen's signal.

"The level you will be practicing on is the lowest," Elowen began, her tone devoid of leniency, "so do your utmost to clear it." Before either William or Finch could respond, she intoned, "Start."

At her command, both Finch and William surged forward, their bodies moving in a blur of velocity. Yet their speed proved almost entirely ineffective. The training equipment, a sophisticated construct designed specifically for her students, matched their movements flawlessly.

This was a class directly under Elowen's supervision, one she herself had trained within, and she was faster than both William and Finch combined. There was simply no conceivable way for them to forcefully clear the movement and balance training session relying solely on raw speed.

As Finch took three hurried steps, the whistling of air drew his attention immediately. Instinctively, he moved, his body twisting and shifting as his legs aimed for the nearest beam pole, narrowly dodging the first arrow that streaked toward him. Yet, he quickly realized that more were coming from every conceivable angle, as if the very air itself had turned against him.

Frustration tugged at him, and he clicked his tongue. In a real battle, he reasoned, he wouldn't bother with such evasions; he would have simply blocked the attacks, relying on the earth beneath his feet for stability. Here, however, the situation was different. Precision was mandatory, timing, balance, and reflexes demanded equal attention. He had to gauge each beam, each arrow, and each shift in momentum simultaneously, maintaining a precarious equilibrium.

He struggled to keep pace, his movements faltering under the mental and physical strain. And then it came: the sharp bite of wood against flesh as an arrow grazed his shoulder. The sting was mild, nothing more than a fleeting annoyance, yet its presence was a stark reminder of the challenge's intensity. Though the wooden arrows were harmless in terms of actual damage, the training's purpose lay in pressure, timing, and endurance, not in physical harm.

By the time Finch reached the far end of the equipment, he had been struck by dozens of arrows. His expression soured into a frown, his initial determination dissipating like air escaping a balloon. He couldn't help but wonder how the children he had seen training at the Physical Conditioning grounds had ever survived such rigorous training, especially after exhaustive practice.

'Perhaps this is why everyone in the Wargrave family is formidable in some form or another,' Finch mused, letting out a heavy sigh. 'They are pushed to their absolute limits from the moment they are recruited.' His gaze shifted toward William, who moved like a phantom, his form flickering between poles as he fought to maintain his footing and composure.

William's movements were almost precise, his eyes darting rapidly in their sockets as they tracked every beam and arrow that threatened to knock him off balance. He had entered a state of intense focus, a mental clarity born of necessity. Yet, despite his concentration, he felt the oppressive weight of the challenge pressing down on him.

Like Finch, he had been struck by a few arrows, but he reminded himself that the goal was not perfection, it was survival, progress, and adaptation. Reach the other side, reset, and refine the next attempt. Reduce the number of arrows that could land on him in the subsequent round.

Reflecting on his experiences during the Monster Tide a day prior, William realized that no monster, no chaotic situation had ever placed him in a position where he felt so acutely that his life was on the line. And yet here, a mere piece of training equipment and a controlled torrent of arrows forced him to confront a challenge that tested every ounce of his physical and mental dexterity.

Sweat began to bead along his forehead and trickle down his back, not from physical exertion, for his supernatural conditioning made such small movements almost effortless, but from the mental strain and the endless pressure of the task at hand.

Minutes passed, each one stretching with agonizing slowness, until William finally crossed to the other side. He had barely avoided a fall, yet he remained composed, his breathing steady and rhythmic as ever. Despite his poise, he was now slightly drenched in sweat, a testament to the mental intensity of the trial.

"Sigh... that was... unexpected," he admitted, wiping a hand across his forehead to clear the dampness.

"Tsk, you got hit by fewer arrows than me, so at least enjoy the victory," Finch remarked with a slight click of his tongue, rising to his feet. His body bore the marks of the assault, arrows had grazed nearly every part, but he remained determined, moving toward William with a mix of relief and lingering frustration.

Instructor Elowen approached them with the same composed demeanor she had exhibited from the start. Her voice was calm yet carried an undeniable authority as she asked as though she has taken them as trainees, "So, how was it?"

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