Chapter 42
Chapter 42
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Translator: crow
Chapter Title: EP.12 – The Knight Wore a Black Peaked Cap (4)
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In his previous life, he had been a soldier.
A career soldier, stuck in place for a solid ten years.
Which also meant he was utterly jaded from all the training.
He'd been through countless drills.
Not just the scorching summer and freezing winter ones, but regimental combat training too.
Forced marches over a thousand li, and everything else.
Ten years in the military meant you'd experienced pretty much every kind of training out there.
...Not that it was anything to brag about.
Every time training wrapped up, you'd feel utterly drained, your health scorched away—what was there to boast about?
It was just tormenting people, plain and simple.
So Lee Han figured there was nothing as irrational as military training.
Not all armies were like that, of course.
There had to be proper training regimens out there, and units with solid systems in place.
'Just not the battalion or division I was in.'
It was all about dragging conscripts around for two years, tormenting them, and handing out illnesses.
That's why Lee Han despised that kind of training.
What good was pointless suffering that left nothing behind?
'The seven-day no-sleep grind was the absolute worst.'
That bastard battalion commander snuck off to the officers' quarters to sleep while they weren't even allowed a wink.
...Anyway, the point was, he absolutely loathed irrational training that only bred sickness.
Something had to remain afterward.
You had to pick up some skill or technique you could actually use later in life.
That was his personal definition of 'training.'
So.
'What I'm about to do isn't torment. It's all for their own good.'
Lee Han had secured a perfectly valid justification for the training he was about to unleash.
And so.
"Everyone, assuming you've all gotten a good morning stretch, let's start with some light calisthenics to work up a sweat."
-?
The man in the black peaked cap lowered his voice and barked the order.
"We'll keep it light, nice and light. Alright then—arms out, jumping jacks, just 100 reps to start."
-!!?
"No response? Make it 500! Got it? 500!!"
-Y-Yes, sir!
"Response too slow this time. And standardize the cadence on 'One-Two!' Spirits lagging. We'll do 1,000 reps."
-O-One-Two!!
"Voice too weak! I'll let it slide this once, but brace yourselves next time. Oh, and count accurately—no final cadence call. Got it!"
-One-Two-Two-Two!!
"Good. 300 reps—execute!"
The light warm-up exercise had begun.
But the trap in this warm-up was...
"...Three hundred...! Huff!?"
'Yeah, I knew it'd happen.'
That immutable law—the final cadence call always slipped out, warming his heart every time.
Lee Han wondered just how far they'd go, grinning inwardly.
That day, what was supposed to be a light jumping jack warm-up dragged on for a full two hours, all thanks to those final cadence slip-ups.
Even after the 'warm-up,' they still had plenty more to learn.
They had to memorize all 14 moves of what the instructor called PT calisthenics, without missing a single one.
At some point, though, the sequence and motions had etched themselves into their minds automatically.
No one was sharp enough to memorize them on the first go, but fortunately, the exercises forced the memorization.
How? Simple.
"Trainee No. 14, fall out."
"O-One-Two!"
"Reverse order, reps 1 through 14, 30 times each. Understood?"
"O-One-Two!!"
They were starting to get called 'trainees' now, these fresh cadets.
Five assistants in red peaked caps monitored them under the instructor's black one, pulling out anyone who messed up.
And those who'd tasted 'fall out' burned the motions into their brains to avoid it happening again, flailing desperately to get them right.
Eventually, every one of the 18 fresh cadets had fallen out at least once, and from then on, mistakes dwindled.
But they weren't perfect yet.
"Th-Thirty..., Ugh!?!"
"Trainee No. 12, fall out. Everyone else, back to Move 1."
-One-Two...!
They glared at the trainee who'd called the final cadence.
To end this hellish calisthenics, they had to nail all 14 moves in sequence, counting reps without the final call—or with it, depending.
The instructor was ruthless.
'Damn it! Just say no final call every time! Why switch it up?!'
'Idiots! How the hell did these blockheads pass the entrance exam?!'
'Shit! Shit—! Shit—!!'
The sweltering heat felt like it was incinerating their bodies.
Rolling in the dirt, sweat and dust caking their heavy, collapsing frames.
Minds fraying at the edges.
In that moment, they were certain hell must be just like this.
...With the instructor and assistants as the demons tormenting sinners.
But even in that situation.
"Trainees, stand at ease, hydrate, and take 40 minutes rest. Execute!"
-O-One-Two-Two-Two!!
They cried out with fervent zeal, like devotees hearing their god's decree, summoning strength from who-knows-where.
Yes, demons they might be, but this instructor was a kind-hearted one.
He had an uncanny knack for granting drought-ending rest right when they were on the brink of delirium or collapse.
"Ughhhh..."
"F-Felt like death."
"...zzz."
"This guy's already out?"
"...Honestly, I could pass out right now too."
They gulped water, then devoured the sweet jujubes piled by the canteens—tremblingly sweet bliss.
In that instant, they felt this must be what heavenly nectar and fruit tasted like, sprawling in the shady grove under the trees.
Paradise rest.
They made no move, learning viscerally what total rest meant.
"Instructor, how the hell did you come up with training like this?"
Garand, wearing his red peaked cap as an assistant instructor, looked at him with genuine admiration.
He'd endured the infamous, brutal training of the legendary Wild Wolves mercenary band to the point of nausea.
That's why he recognized it—this regimen was strikingly similar to what Wild Wolves hopefuls went through.
No, in some ways, it was even more systematic and stable.
"Squeezing every ounce of strength and flexibility to the limit, then calling rest the moment injury seems likely. Like hammering iron."
Arno's keen insight matched Garand's: this training wasn't mindless abuse.
There might be mental strain and stress, but it never pushed their bodies to breaking.
The fall-outs were the same.
"Like the instructor said, Kunta, we pulled anyone who looked like they might get hurt. Good call?"
That explained the occasional nitpicky fall-outs.
"...Like the instructor ordered, I snuck in those final cadence calls myself. But if we're caught, I might end up a traitor..."
The bizarre frequency of cadence mistakes?
Damian Pollet's handiwork. If exposed, the cadets would lynch him.
Even if caught, though.
"If it comes out, don't say I told you. Say you pulled a prank."
"...I'd get run through."
"So?"
"!!?"
Unlike the temporary assistants, Damian got zero respect.
"Anyway, Instructor. We keeping this up?"
And today's MVP assistant: Irene Windler, who'd magically warded off heat exhaustion and sunstroke.
(The jujubes—noble snacks—were her doing too. As expected from a duke's foster daughter, generous spending.)
"They did well. Roll 'em like this for a week."
"Any goal?"
"Stamina and muscle come second. It's about experience—burning into their bodies what it feels like to wring out every drop of strength."
"...Not sure they'll last."
No matter how well-timed the rests or limits, a week of this...
"Don't worry. Got just the thing."
"The thing?"
"Yeah. Got time—I'll show you."
Lee Han led the assistants away.
Worried about leaving the cadets to bolt?
'Then let 'em run.'
He didn't need anyone who'd bail at the first hardship.
Where was the shortcut to strength?
It was all effort.
If they couldn't even muster the bare minimum, better they scram now—saved him time.
He had zero intention of forcing them.
Just.
'Gotta give solid rewards.'
Whoosh.
"...This?"
"Oh, hot springs?"
The spot Lee Han took the assistants to was a natural hot spring.
A big one.
Training-ground sized, deep enough that even 2-meter Kunta might flail if he slipped.
All that expanse filled with crystal-clear, steaming-hot water.
"Unbelievable..."
Lee Han continued as they marveled.
"Long ago, some slave trader scouting a secret spot for his villa stumbled on a hot spring vein in Vulcan."
"...A lowly slave trader built a villa on the sacred mountain?"
"Eh, he only got the spring done. Got nabbed mid-construction."
"By who...? Ah."
No need to ask.
Why else would he know this place?
"Wanna know what happened to the trader?"
"...No thanks."
His sinister smile suggested it was better unheard.
"But is it okay showing us this? What if someone with bad intentions finds out later...?"
This stunning, grand hot spring.
Nobles would covet it; mishandled, it could be seized—or rumors spread.
But Lee Han just chuckled.
"This place? Even if they know, no one else could find it. Vulcan's not called a sacred peak for nothing—the terrain shifts like a maze every climb. Scholars say the mountain's mystic mana repels or kills intruders. Climb with greed, and it'll erupt again that day."
Mana and mysteries weren't exclusive to humanity.
They dwelled in nature too.
Words of the legendary archmage and sage Merlin.
Vulcan was one such mystic natural wonder.
"B-But we climbed it?"
"I know the way up, and we weren't out to harm the mountain."
"...I see."
The assistants realized it wasn't so simple.
A mystic mountain permitting entry meant the slave trader he'd smashed was a loathsome 'villain' who'd truly offended Vulcan.
And since he'd crushed such evil without hesitation, Vulcan allowed his ascent—and by extension, theirs.
Not speculation—certainty.
Backed by records passed down through clans, merc bands, tribes.
...And per those records, harm the mountain, and they'd be expelled or cursed eventually.
'What a man.'
A great feat: favored by a [Mystic]-bearing mountain.
Yet he didn't even count it as one.
Warriors respecting a man who'd stacked such deeds? Natural as breathing.
"Got sidetracked, but anyway—with this spring, neither they nor you will break down."
"...Special effects?"
"Wound healing, joint repair, boosted natural regen, skin care, health boost? A few more I forget..."
"......"
The assistants thought:
Gotta stay on this guy's good side.
Only way to come back here.
The knight who'd unwittingly earned his disciples' loyalty.