The Hellish Training
The training grounds were filled with the crisp air of early morning.
Sunlight spilled down from above, stretching long through the pale, drifting mist.
The place had not fully recovered from the destruction of a few days earlier, yet it presented no real obstacle to training.
"The training we begin now will be utterly different from anything you've done before. So wipe every thought of your usual regimen clean from your mind, and focus solely on what lies ahead."
"Understood."
At the center of the grounds, Rionhart seated Arteon on the floor and spoke in a low voice.
"This is the first stage. At present you possess the ordinary lower mana hole that forms near the dantian, as well as the central mana hole near the heart where mages store their power."
Ordinarily only those who had reached the 7-star rank formed a central mana hole; Arteon had achieved it comparatively early. That was thanks to the unusually large reserves of mana he carried even at the 6-star level.
"From now on you must grow accustomed not only to the mana in the central hole, but to drawing power from both holes at once."
"Yes."
When Arteon nodded, Rionhart continued.
"Close your eyes and breathe out slowly."
His voice settled over the grounds, cold and even.
Arteon sat with his eyes shut, feeling the drift of the wind and the warmth of the sun, and began to breathe with deliberate care.
Rionhart spoke again.
"When you inhale, draw the air as deeply as you can through the nose. When you exhale, purse the lips and let it out as narrow and long as possible."
"Huuuuh... hooooo..."
While Arteon concentrated on the breath entering his body, Rionhart's voice returned.
"From this moment, treat the air that enters you as mana. As you inhale, press it firmly down below the heart. As you exhale, spread it through your entire body."
"...?"
Arteon twitched, not immediately grasping the instruction, but Rionhart was unyielding.
"Concentrate. Capturing the sensation comes first."
There was no reply. Arteon simply followed the order, regarding every breath that entered him as mana and moving it exactly as told.
"Huuuuh... hooooo... Huuuuh... hooooo..."
Meaningless cycles of breath repeated. The sensation was anything but easy. Moving ordinary air as though it were mana was no simple feat. Yet Arteon refused to grow impatient; he drew his focus as high as it would go. However incomprehensible the exercise seemed, he trusted that Rionhart's teaching held purpose.
How much time passed? He had done nothing but sit and breathe, yet beads of sweat had begun to gather thickly on his brow.
And then—
"Huuuuuh!"
The air that entered through his nose no longer simply left through his mouth.
"...!"
Exactly as Rionhart had described, he felt a firm pressure settle below the heart. At the same time a slow heat bloomed in his belly and began to drift toward the heart itself.
Arteon's brow furrowed slightly.
"Slowly. Move it slowly. One wrong step and the heart will suffer serious strain."
Rionhart's voice turned urgent.
Six hours had passed since the training began.
Already... he's found the feel of it?
Even gifted students normally required a day or two to grasp this. The duller ones needed a week, sometimes more than a month. Yet here it had taken only six hours.
Arteon, however, felt as though his soul were being pulled from his body. The air inside him was scattering through every limb, intensifying the heat as it went.
But—
"Hooooooo..."
When at last he released that air in a long, deep exhalation, the searing heat faded away.
"Enough."
Rionhart halted the exercise. Adaptation at this stage was sufficient. As proof, when Arteon slowly opened his eyes, sweat poured down his face like rain. He exhaled in ragged gasps.
"Hah...! Hah...! Hah...!"
Most students, upon first awakening to this sensation and its accompanying heat, half lost their minds. Yet—
To endure to the end without a single groan...
Only someone of extraordinary grit could manage that.
Rionhart spoke.
"Breathe fully and rest. We will proceed at once to the next stage, combining both into a single sequence."
"Hah... hah... I'm fine... now."
Arteon forced his breathing under control as he answered. Rionhart regarded him for a long moment. Under ordinary circumstances he would have barked a reprimand against foolish bravado. Instead—
"...Then we will begin the next training."
He had the distinct feeling that this one might actually succeed.
Rionhart disappeared into the mansion and returned with a small metal rod in one hand—one of the objects kept in the hidden chamber of his study.
"This is a mana tool that spreads and disperses mana in a thin film. Under normal circumstances it would be all but useless, yet for this particular training it surpasses any living assistant."
He poured mana into the black rod.
A low hum rose, and a thin veil of silvery mana unfurled from its tip like smoke. Rionhart brought it near Arteon's arm.
"...A strange sensation."
A peculiar wave that made the hairs stand on end. Rionhart nodded at Arteon's words.
"What we do now will temper the muscle fibers of the body so they can endure mana."
"Understood."
"Draw up your mana, convert it slowly into aura, and spread it evenly through every part of yourself."
Arteon closed his eyes again and summoned his mana. In an instant it transformed into aura and flooded his entire frame. Watching this, Rionhart spoke with firm command.
"Reduce the force. Use only the absolute minimum of aura you are capable of producing."
"...Yes."
Arteon concentrated, throttling the output down. Controlling aura reduced to its extreme limit was no easy task even for him.
And yet—
...Remarkable.
Even Rionhart was impressed. Compared to those who had truly mastered the finest degrees of aura control, Arteon still fell short, of course. But—
At that age, to possess such volume of mana and such refined control...
Considering how young Arteon was, the level was almost unimaginable. Rionhart felt a twinge of self-reproach that he had failed to recognize the boy's exceptional talent the first time they met.
"When you are ready, nod."
Arteon nodded.
"It will hurt a little. Do not let the aura scatter. Maintain it and endure."
"..."
At the promise of pain, Arteon instinctively clenched his teeth. Rionhart brought the rod against the body already coated in aura. The moment the mana flowing through the rod merged with Arteon's aura—
Crack!
A sound like leaping current, and an indescribable agony drove deep into Arteon's flesh.
"...!"
His body jerked hard. He barely swallowed the scream that nearly tore free, then looked at Rionhart. Even without words, a stream of fierce curses was plain in his eyes, tangled with shock and a storm of other emotions.
Rionhart explained.
"I have forced aura into the muscle fibers of your body. If you are to withstand ever greater aura in the future, the interior of the fibers themselves—not merely the outer shell—must grow accustomed to it."
At the continued explanation Arteon swallowed hard without meaning to. Then the training would continue until this pain vanished or became familiar...
Rionhart nodded.
"Yes. Until then, we keep going."
With those words he slowly brought the rod close once more.
"If you truly cannot endure it, say so."
Crackle-crackle-crackle!
"...!"
Training that bordered on torture followed. The aura he had released was faint, yet each time it was driven into the muscle fibers he felt as though dozens of needles were piercing him through. No—more like someone was tearing him open from the inside.
Every time, Arteon gritted his teeth. He could not stop for pain of this magnitude.
Because the pain of the past was far greater.
The loss of comrades, the countless battles fought while straddling the line between life and death—compared to those, this training was—
Far too gentle.
Safety was guaranteed, and he could stop whenever the danger grew too real.
Thus Arteon endured until the sun began to set, never once crying out as his muscle fibers were torn and rebuilt. And then—
"...That is enough for today."
By the time the sun had fully sunk, the area around Arteon's mouth was a mask of blood. Blood had run from the gums and lips he had bitten so hard, and the nails of his clenched fists had dug into his palms until they too bled. Swaying as he rose, Arteon bowed with careful formality.
"Thank... you."
"..."
A monstrously stubborn one. Rionhart carefully hid the expression of sheer disbelief that threatened to surface as he looked at him.
Among all those he had taught, only about five had ever undergone the training that forced aura into the muscle fibers. Not one of them had lasted this long—no, not even half as long.
In sheer grit alone... he could well be called the strongest in the Empire.
Of course, how long that endurance would hold was anyone's guess.
"Starting tomorrow you will wear a bit. And go inside and have those palms treated."
"...Yes."
A disciple who made one look forward to the next day.
So the hellish training ended, and the following day dawned.
A full week had already passed since the bastard began his training.
Every morning he left for the training grounds; every evening he returned at sunset, staggering like a half-dead corpse. Kairon had watched the same spectacle day after day.
What in the world could they be doing that left him looking like that? Curiosity had taken root, and Kairon wanted to undergo the same brutal training himself. Yet, just as his master had ordered, he was forbidden anything beyond basic drills. And so he could only stare longingly at his distant sword while grinding through stamina work day after day.
Run. Drop. Hold. Hold longer still.
The more he did, the sharper grew the craving to grip a blade once more. And—
That feeling from back then...
He wanted to taste again the sensation he had known while fighting Ziorkan.
Then, this morning, the physician of the mansion had finally given him leave to resume proper training.
"I believe you may pick up a sword again soon. Starting tomorrow should be fine; I'll inform the instructor myself."
At those words Kairon's heart hammered once, hard. At last he could take up the sword again. He could leave these endless basic drills behind and return to real training. His chest felt ready to burst with the swell of it.
And the next day—
"Kairon. Bring your sword and come out."
The moment he heard the call, Kairon forced down the corners of his mouth that threatened to twitch upward and answered at full volume.
"Yes, Master!"
He took up his sword and stepped outside. His heartbeat raced faster than the feet striking the ground. His muscles still ached, but that no longer mattered. He could swing a blade again at last.
As he made his way toward the training grounds—
"...?"
In the very center of the grounds, beneath the sunlight and casting a cool shadow, Arteon stood with spear in hand.
And the air around him... was a little different from usual.