The Survival Trial

"Change the exam?"

Glenn sat forward, lifting his head from the back of his chair.

"Yes."

Rimer bowed low and nodded. For the first time since the battle with the Blood Fiend, a genuine light kindled in his eyes.

"The current graduation exam is either an instructor's recognition or a duel among the trainees, is it not?"

"That's correct."

A trainee could become a swordsman only by completing a course of the instructor's design, or by earning recognition through one-on-one combat with a fellow trainee.

"Then what do you intend to replace it with?"

"Survival."

Rimer answered as if he had been waiting for the question.

"I want to send the trainees out into the world with the name of Zieghart stripped from them."

"Send them outside?"

Interest stirred in Glenn; his torso leaned a fraction closer.

"Yes. The children of the 5th Training Ground have already passed the trial of presence, and they defeated the apprentice knights of the Owen Kingdom in a duel of honor. Either of those feats would have been more than enough to appear on a graduation exam."

"You pulled quite a few strings to make that happen."

"I did. But there were things that went beyond even my expectations. On their second mission, the trainees fought a battle for their lives — and they crossed the mountain of taking a life."

Rimer smiled. Chance had delayed their departure, but because of that delay the children had grown in body and in spirit.

"I don't want the exam to be a mere rite of passage. I want it to be an opportunity that makes them stronger. Even if it means they become swordsmen a little later, I want to give them a foundation ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠they can climb from."

"You're right about that. When a person becomes a swordsman matters far less than how they become one."

Glenn closed his eyes, as if the words had found their mark.

"I'm grateful you understand. These children don't need the old trials. They need new ones."

Rimer raised a long index finger.

"Learning to survive alone — without the family's power, without an instructor's help, without even the illustrious name of Zieghart — will do more for their growth than anything else."

"You've changed."

Glenn's mouth curved, just slightly, as he looked down at Rimer, who knelt yet met his gaze without a trace of shame.

"Pardon?"

"You said you would raise those children, but you never seemed particularly interested in the work. Your preparations were half-hearted at best."

"Ah — well…"

Rimer's eyes flicked away, caught.

"After you met them, you started changing alongside them. You have no idea how different your face looks now from the man you used to be."

"That's… embarrassing…"

"I agree entirely."

Roen, who had been standing beside a pillar with a warm smile, inclined his head.

"Lord Rimer. Your expression has truly brightened."

"Turns out I've got a talent for raising kids, not just ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠swinging a sword."

Rimer scratched at his temple, trying to hide his embarrassment.

"Before long I might even make the next head of house with my own two hands. A kingmaker, as they say."

"Is that Raon?"

"Who knows? It could be Burren. Marta or Runaan could rise to it too."

"Is that so."

Glenn smiled — a rare, unmistakable smile. He was glad, genuinely glad, for the new joy of the man who had once stood closest to him and swung a sword at his side.

"Within a week, write me a report on where you intend to send the children and how you mean to make them grow. Fail, and the matter is dropped."

"Of course."

Rimer grinned with easy confidence and drew a sheaf of documents from his coat.

"I already prepared it."

Raon took the Ten Fortune Pill and climbed Bukmang Mountain — not the Annex, not the dormitory. A wind so cool it was nearly cold met him as he made his way toward the place where the charcoal kiln had once stood.

This is still the most comfortable spot.

It was here that he had first learned the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames and Glacier, and perhaps for that reason, training in this place settled his mind and made the mana easier to feel.

He sat before the empty kiln, of which only the foundation remained, and closed his eyes to the rustle of trees and brush in the wind.

He spread his senses wide and swept the surroundings. As expected, there was no one nearby — not a person, not an animal. Vulcan had chosen the location with uncanny precision.

"Hah…"

Raon spun the Ring of Fire, drew the energy of his body upward, and opened his eyes. The wind and the hour were both perfect for cultivation.

He opened the wooden case Rimer had given him. A fragrance so pure it nearly numbed the sense of smell unfurled into the air.

Fifty percent, is it.

The Ten Fortune Pill was called a fifty-percent elixir. Where most elixirs allowed a martial artist to absorb perhaps thirty percent of the energy they contained, the Ten Fortune Pill yielded roughly half of the mana within it.

That superior absorption, paired with energy of exceptional purity, made it one of the finest elixirs a growing warrior could take.

And what good is that, when the contents aren't even a speck of dust?

Wrath snorted at the elixir.

The quantity is small, of course.

Nothing in this world was perfect. Compared to other elixirs, the Ten Fortune Pill held relatively little mana.

The one Rimer had given him, however, had been compounded with two stalks of Ten-Earth Herb, offsetting that very weakness. It carried energy on par with a respectable mid-grade elixir; absorbed properly, it would yield considerable growth.

"Well then…"

Raon pinched the elixir between his fingers. Warmth — the opposite of the mountain's cold wind — touched his skin as he placed the Ten Fortune Pill on his tongue.

The moment it met his tongue, the elixir melted like water and slid down his throat. A warm, pure energy gathered above his navel, as if a piece of nature's own mana had been torn free and set inside him.

He circulated the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames and spun the Ten Fortune Pill's energy as it began to boil.

A low, rolling hum filled his meridians. True to an elixir that favored no single attribute, the Ten Fortune Pill's energy ran smoothly through his mana circuits.

As the elixir's power surged like a tide, the frost lingering in his circuits thawed, and the murky residue of recent battles was driven out of his body.

The density is high.

Even with two stalks of Ten-Earth Herb, the quantity of mana was modest. But the mana itself was as pure as nature, warm and gentle — the perfect elixir for a body that unsteadily shared a core between the fire of the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames and the cold of Glacier.

Raon drew fire and frost up in turn, stacking the Ten Fortune Pill's pure energy into his core. The power gathered the way sand gathers into a castle, grain by grain — yet the concentration of his mana was more refined than after any elixir he had ever taken.

He sank into a deeper cultivation, savoring the thrill of energy as clear as dew gathering into a sage's lake, running through his circuits without a speck of impurity.

A thin birdcall announced the night of Bukmang Mountain, and Raon opened his eyes.

They flared with a golden radiance, like the fire in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a brazier.

I took all of it.

Absorbing even forty percent of an elixir was generally called a windfall. He had just stacked more than sixty percent of the Ten Fortune Pill into his core. That was not a windfall. It was a miracle.

"Hah…"

Raon closed his eyes, examined the state of the Ring of Fire, the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames, and Glacier, and opened them again. Messages unfurled in a cascade.

As his physical stats rose, a pleasant tremor started in his fingertips and ran all the way to his shoulders.

Before he could savor the joy, a second wave of messages appeared.

Refined aura flowed through a widened core and broadened mana circuits. Because a new ring had formed, everything seemed half again as large as before.

"Hooo…"

Raon let out a breath of excitement and stood. He clenched a fist and drew up the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames.

Incredible.

His body's responses, and the aura's, were far faster than before. He was certain that even if he still could not defeat the Blood Fiend, he would no longer be toyed with the way he had been.

What is the meaning of this!

Wrath, who had kept quiet throughout the cultivation for fear of having his power siphoned, burst from the bracelet.

The grade of the soul rose again! What in the blazes are you cultivating, you brat? What is this Ring of Fire?

"Who knows?"

What kind of life did you live before This King arrived!

Wrath shook his head violently.

How can this be…

The grade of the soul could be raised only by those who defeated the strong, overcame crisis, or accomplished some great feat. Training could raise it as well — but that required a span of years that could not simply be called time.

For a child like this to raise his grade through cultivation alone was a thing that could not happen even in the Demon Realm.

"You think I'd tell you?"

Raon flicked his hand as if shooing an insect.

Wrath ground his teeth.

This will only make devouring him harder…

Raon had already blocked Wrath's wrath and possession through formidable willpower, some unidentifiable cultivation art, and a resistance to the water attribute. If the grade of that brat's soul had risen, subduing him would be nearly as difficult as it had been before Wrath's rage had been accepted at all.

Khh — don't get arrogant! No matter what effort you make, no matter what you obtain, your body and soul will belong to This King in the end!

"Talk without crying."

Who cried! This King is the—

"Right. Lord of Wrath. I know. I get it."

Kkgghhh!

Raon snorted and brushed the dust from his clothes. He straightened his appearance and was about to return to the Annex when he noticed the box that had fallen to the ground.

He picked up the elixir case and pushed his hair back.

"Honestly…"

Someone was throwing a fit trying to devour him. Someone else was frantic with the desire to help. Which of them to look toward, and how to move — that much, at least, was already decided.

"At this rate, the day you swallow me whole may never come at all."

Raon ignored Wrath's grinding teeth and descended Bukmang Mountain.

The next day.

Burren walked toward the training ground with his chest full of pride. Yesterday's cultivation had gone exceptionally well; he had absorbed more than half of the Ten Fortune Pill's energy.

With his core packed tight, he felt as if he had become a different person overnight.

If it's now…

Beating Raon would still be hard, but he might put up a proper fight. The thought drew a smile onto his face.

"Ahem."

Burren waited with his back straight and his chin high, wanting to see the look of admiration on Raon's face.

The training-ground door creaked open. He turned — and it was not the Raon he had been waiting for. It was Marta.

She absorbed a fair amount too.

A presence like stone — hard, and sharp — radiated from her. She, too, seemed to have taken in a considerable quantity of energy.

"The hell are you staring at first thing in the morning."

"……"

Burren turned his head. He had no desire to grind a good mood into the mud.

Her temper's filthy, but her skill is the real thing.

The energy coming off Marta was different from yesterday. Not as much as his own, but she had clearly absorbed a great deal.

The door creaked again. Two sets of footsteps that sounded like one. Raon and Runaan, without a doubt.

"Now then…"

Burren turned with a smile full of confidence — and the expression shattered like glass.

What… what is that…

The energy circling Raon flowed as naturally as water. It had the smoothness one saw only in true masters. Burren swallowed a dry throat.

The quantity of aura, the body, the balance that bound them together — all of it was different from yesterday.

If Burren had changed by five, that monster had come back changed by ten.

That freak…

Burren clenched his teeth. He had meant to wring a look of admiration out of the brat, and instead he was the one struck dumb. It was so absurd he couldn't find a word.

"Ugh…"

He scowled and glared, but Raon only tilted his head, as if wondering why he was being stared at. Burren acknowledged the effort. He acknowledged the talent. Watching that calm face still made his blood boil.

Even so, I won't give up.

No matter how fast Raon grew, no matter how strong he became, Burren had no intention of stopping the chase. Running to the end against an opponent however powerful — that was the Zieghart swordsman he had pictured for himself.

"Alright!"

Rimer's voice rang out from the front. Burren had been so absorbed he hadn't even noticed the man arrive.

"You've all changed."

From the platform, Rimer surveyed the trainees and grinned. The look on his face was one of satisfaction at how far they had come.

"I think we can start without any reservations now."

"Start?"

"Start what, exactly…"

"Because this life of ours has to come to an end."

He lowered a finger and pointed at the training ground.

"What?"

"An end?"

"W-what do you mean by that…"

The trainees' eyes trembled at the sudden word.

"You've got a graduation exam to take. However much you like me, you can't stay trainees forever."

"Huh?"

"Ah!"

"The graduation exam!"

At the word exam, their faces brightened again. The thought of becoming true swordsmen at last turned every gaze as eager as a sunflower facing the sun.

"Don't get happy too soon."

Rimer clicked his tongue and wagged a finger, a mischievous smile curling across his mouth as he looked them over.

"The exam you'll be taking is nothing like any graduation exam that's come before."