Chapter 64
Chapter 64
Huh?" "Get it together, man. How long you gonna stand there?" "......" "You're not cut out for this. Find something else." "...
Th-thank you." "Your thanks are late as hell." "...
Yeah." The worker nodded slowly at his savior's advice. He seemed to agree it wasn't for him.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ "Rohan! Thanks, man—if not for you, I'd be hauling a corpse."
"Corpse? You wouldn't even rate that."
"Quit with the bad omens?"
"If you're grateful, just give me a bigger bonus."
Worker Rohan grumbled curtly and threw himself back into the task at hand. Even after such a massive rockfall, no one dwelled on it—work just resumed. The sight was eerie in a way, but the laborers took it in stride. It was just an unforeseen accident, after all. In a world without unions or worker rights, who would fret over a little mishap? Honestly, these incidents were everyday occurrences. And believe it or not, some were even glad—the fallen rocks meant the job would wrap up faster.
"Got it. I'll talk to the boss and hook you up. The screw-up doesn't get paid anyway, so it'll all go to you."
"Now that's a proper thank-you." Kang! Kwajik! "...
Damn, you're pretty good. Worked quarries elsewhere before?" The foreman, who had been eyeing worker Rohan, gasped in admiration at his skill. It was anything but ordinary. "Just picked it up here and there." "Ha! A veteran, eh? And a damn fine one!" Quarrying properly started with shaping rocks to load onto wagons. Too heavy, and they couldn't move them. The only tool for shaping was a pickaxe—no frills. Thus, it demanded seasoned strength and technique. In a deadly quarry, skilled vets were gold. 'Not your average guy—look at those consistent strikes.'Kwajik! Kwajijik! Each pickaxe swing neatly dressed the rock. It wasn't brute force; it took finesse and know-how. Impressive! 'Gotta scout him, even if it costs extra!' Talent shortages plagued every industry. The foreman's eyes gleamed. ...
Gonna die of pathos. Why do all these uncles like me so damn much? Worker Rohan—no, the knight briefly renamed and posing as a quarryman—couldn't hide his discomfort. Glancing back at the intense gaze made him wistful. Some thug gets that look from a beauty noble lady, and all I get is... 'Pathetic, damn it.' Revulsion rose, but he focused silently on quarrying. Wearing a thick mask against dust, he swung relentlessly. "Huuuk! Huuuk!" Breathing was tough. The custom mask blocked 99.9% of dust and fines, but as the alchemist merchant warned, it made inhaling a chore. Moving vigorously burned stamina faster than usual. Yet he was thrilled with the wretched thing. It pushed him right to the edge. Kaang! Kaaang!!'Damn, this one's tough!' Targeting an extra-hard rock made his hands throb. The foreman might think it looked easy, but it wasn't. Swinging a pickaxe drained you more with each hit, especially on tough stone—the shock reverberated through your body. Thus, shattering over five times the average amount quickly hit his limit. Pain flared in his wrists and forearms. A warning injury could strike anytime. Normally trivial, but now it exhausted him, mind fogging. Even great recovery had limits. 'Eighteen hours a day really is torture.' For eight straight days, he'd trained at this relentless pace. Two hours running upon waking. Three hours cliff-climbing with logs. Five hours technique drills. Snacking seven-plus meals with catnaps in between. The rest? All quarry time. No real breaks—he was scraping bottom on mental and physical reserves. Body's innate regen held for a day or two, but eight days in? Inevitable collapse. "......" Kaaang! Kang!! Yet he didn't stop. He struck harder, fiercer, shattering repeatedly! Muscles tensed! He thought he knew muscle control, but pushing further sparked new sensations body-wide. Power flow, movement, focus, embodiment. Repetition deepened embodiment. Probably unique to him. Only he, with his constitution and years of this, could manage. And then...! 'I see it.' My bottom. Worker Rohan—or knight Lee Han—focused. This moment, glimpsing his floor, was the turning point. Growth or regression hung in balance. Hwaaaak!'It's here!' He sensed instinctively. The thing he'd awaited—what warriors called lifelong luck even once... No-self state. Or trance. Forced by driving himself to extremes. Lee Han forgot self, body, motion—purely swung the pickaxe. Even he didn't know the outcome. Where this forced trance would lead. But he trusted himself. The efforts, pushing limits for his goal over years. Kuwoong!Kaang!Kwajik! Repeating motions. No—motions forgotten, eyes unfocused, purely observing body. A tiny change stirred inside Lee Han. Uuuung-! A subtle flow shift. And it— Seogeok!! —yielded the best result. "...
Ah." His dilated pupils refocused; Lee Han nearly buckled. "Hey, Rohan. Ease up—you'll drop dead pushing like that." "...
How long was I at it?" "Huh? Not even a minute." "A minute..." "Y-you're not okay, right? Wanna head back now?" "......" The foreman fretted over his prized asset getting hurt; Lee Han eyed his achievement. ...
Worth the shot, I guess. The rock he'd hammered. Insanely tough before—could only shatter it. Now... "Huh? Why's this rock face like that?" "Rohan, how'd you do this?" "...
Just happened." The pickaxe hadn't shattered—it cleaved clean like splitting logs into neat chunks. Confirming, Lee Han shrugged. "Guess it just turned out that way."