The Black Horse Knights
The Black Horse Knights, hailed as the finest on the Eastern Continent—hiring them isn't easy, no matter how rich you are. Even count and duke families, not to mention most royal houses, were famous for double-checking the exorbitant cost at least once. But their results were guaranteed. Whether it was conquering underground dungeons that veteran adventurers wouldn't dare touch, sweeping through cursed ruins haunted by ghosts every night, or smashing through the labyrinth of ice walls where time itself was distorted and butchering the monsters there.
The Black Horse Knights more than earned their pay, and the connections with their members were a massive asset in themselves. Even if it was just once, being able to call on the top mercenary group of the Eastern Continent for free? With a direct promise from their leader, Cron, no less? Any noble guest invited to the Carbon Kingdom would welcome it with open arms.
All but one. The musclehead who couldn't care less right now.
"What do you think? This should be enough."
"Eh, whatever—"
I smacked my lips, greedily scanning every corner of the newly discovered physical training ground with hungry eyes.
Right, there was a place like this.
It had appeared briefly in the original novel's simple descriptions. Dedicated training grounds for honing stamina and physique. Not just in the kingdom, but any group that relied on martial prowess had at least one—they were glossed over like that. No detailed depictions, so I hadn't expected much, but seeing it in person? Way better than imagined.
Of course, it wasn't perfect. No full-wall mirrors for checking form mid-workout, no high-end machines for targeted strikes from every angle on every muscle group. Still, it looked pretty damn usable. Hell, maybe it could stimulate my muscles in ways I wasn't used to.
Hold on. Maybe... completely different mechanics from what I'm used to?
Thinking back to my past life, definitely. Ancient Greeks, Chinese, Indians, Persians—they all had progressive overload training with weights. Like the myth from BC times where a guy lifts a calf daily, naturally increasing the load as it grows. Ancients grasped the concept. Even in Iran today, they continue ancient Persian methods, swinging rods over dozens of kilos with gradually added weight to build stamina.
So here...
The unfamiliarity and regrets turned to excitement and curiosity. Thump. My eyes were drawn to the training equipment scattered around with that eager mindset. A glance. Following the confident Cron to one machine, but my side-eyeing didn't stop. Peek, peek, peek, peek, peekpeekpeekpeek—turning my head and eyes to survey the facilities everywhere. Cron must've interpreted it differently.
"Hahaha! Nervous, are ya? With that build, I figured you'd have at least 'Dormant Volcano' level guts!"
"We doing the bet on this machine?"
"Aye!"
Cron's slip-up didn't even register. The majestic training apparatus gleamed. Between its pitch-black, sturdy frame, alloy joints at every connection point shone proudly.
"Can't even compare to plain steel. The kingdom's top blacksmiths forged this to bear maximum weight. The materials alone—bull stone, demon ore, and—"
Blah blah, unbreakable. The movement was obvious at a glance. Like a V-squat: shoulders under the pad, hands on the protruding grips, squat and stand to bear the weight on the pad. But unlike common ones, the grips angled slightly upward, higher too. And most importantly, the weight plate behind the pad was vast, like a truck bed.
"Got it? Height's adjustable too. Pile on iron orbs to your limit, squat and stand—that's it!"
Stack the iron orbs piled on the floor onto this plate. Each looked heavy as hell, dozens of kilos apiece.
"So, whoever loads the most orbs and squats wins?"
"Naturally!"
"This'll be fun."
"Hahaha! Not as easy as it sounds! I'll demo first."
Grinning confidently, Cron grabbed floor orbs and slammed them onto the plate—clang clang.
"These orbs ain't scrap either. The magic stones inside suck in ambient mana to maintain constant weight."
Oh ho.
"So this load's at least ogre-class, conservatively."
Cron filled the vast plate underside with orbs. Grinning like he couldn't wait to brag, he positioned under the machine. Legs slightly bent, shoulders under the pad.
"Just like this."
Then powered his lower body. Legs fully extended—clunk—the safety unlocked.
"Huuuup!"
Bearing the full weight on the plate, he squatted deep. Drip. Drip drip—thick veins bulging on his forehead. Teeth grinding. With world-shattering will, he exploded full-body power from his toes and drove upward.
"Passeyyaaaaah—!"
Roaring thunderously, Cron fully lifted the crushing weight. Clang—the plate dropped back. Drip, drip. Wiping thick sweat beads from his brow.
He'd just nailed a 1RM beyond human belief. Solid performance.
"Hoo, well? Impressed?"
"Got the feel now."
"Heh. Then now—"
"Yeah, but."
One thing. Or honestly... a few minor tweaks.
"Sigh... but what if we adjust the form a bit?"
Right now, Cron was gripped by a feeling he'd never experienced. A question mark hovered over the long scar crossing his face.
"What're you—"
"Chest out more, eyes slightly above front."
"Hmm?"
"Not 'hmm.' Just once more."
This Hans guy. The vibe had shifted. Suddenly burning with zeal, eyes sparkling as he guided.
This overflowing energy, this confident tone.
"Looks like you've got plenty left. Come on up."
Like possessed, Cron remounted. Then magic happened.
"Chest wide open first. Eyes front but up a tad. Arch your back and force goes to your waist."
"Breathing's good, but tighten the core more. Abs, erector spinae—no, just squeeze belly, obliques, muscles flanking the spine. Yeah!"
"Down slower, not so fast. Heavy weight means brace your core pressure too."
"Yes! Hold there! Push hips back, brace with glutes. Not just sit and stand—hip drive, like this."
"Yes! Now push through full soles!"
"Suuup!"
"One, two, threeeeyah!"
"Uraaachaaah!"
......Huh?
Bam!
Cron's eyes widened.
"How's that? Way smoother, right?"
Yeah. The weight he'd barely managed before felt effortless now.
Shock didn't end there. Hans fetched a few more orbs from across the room, casually stacking them.
"Looks like you can handle this much more."
"......?"
"Try it."
Result? Astonishing.
"One, two, threeeeyah!"
"Uraaachaaah!"
Legs trembled more than expected at the end, but he'd just shattered his limit from last kingdom gym session!
And this satisfying pump surging through his body. Like this was the right way—his frame quaking majestically. Heart pounding.
What?!
At the same time, a blocked view burst open.
He'd never been outpowered in raw strength his whole life. Even that damn Fabian admitted it. No exaggeration to say he'd climbed here on brute force alone. And room to improve?
Cron's heart raced. That stagnant plateau he'd hit forever—on the verge of breakthrough. Swordmaster? He could aim beyond those realms. Everything trembling pleasurably.
What's with this guy?
Gazing at smiling Hans. That satisfied nod, his intent, his mindset—curious as hell.
Why...?!
They were competing. Why coach a rival like this?
Cron wondered—until Hans slowly mounted under the machine, still at his max weight.
"Hup."
"??"
...Huh?
"Ah, yeah. This feel. Tastier than expected."
"???"
"Lighter than I thought."
"??????"
"Can I load all the rest?"
"??????????"
Cron tilted his head, eyes full of question marks. What just happened?
Hans lifted Cron's roaring max without batting an eye. Cron's gaze followed every step as he walked across the room.
And witnessed it. Dumping even more orbs than before onto the plate, then casually squatting and standing!
Super-heavy load rising smoothly with a voice incomparably powerful!
"Eeeengchaa—!!!"
Shudder. Legs barely holding, Cron finally realized.
Why share those tips.
No contest!
This Hans never intended to compete!
Why?
"......Hold up. Wanna try on top?"
"Uh, yeah?!"
"Bit light."
"!"
Their strength worlds were too different!
Thud. Legs gave out, Cron collapsed. Shoulders crushed by an unfamiliar emotion.
First defeat in the domain he'd prided his life over. Nothing like his bet with Fabian.
Overwhelming sense of defeat!
This alien feeling kept Cron staring wide-eyed through the dawn before the ball...