The Hero Mastered One for Every One He Learned
From that day forward, Zick's peace was well and truly over.
His grand plan to fill every gap himself whenever a party member took leave or stepped away had been fine in theory. The reality, however, was a brutal rotation of Spartan training under colleagues who each excelled in their own field—and who took turns grinding him into the dirt.
The first to drive Zick to his absolute limit was Gerard's sword training.
"Your stance has collapsed."
Gerard's dry, expressionless voice cut through the air as he gripped his wooden practice sword.
"Again."
"Hah... hah..."
Zick propped himself up with his own wooden sword like a cane, gasping for breath. Sweat poured down his face in sheets, making it hard even to keep his eyes open.
"Instructor."
"What."
"I'm actually going to die like this."
"You won't die."
Without a shred of mercy, Gerard flicked the tip of his sword under Zick's wooden blade and shoved it back up. The forced lift set the sword trembling wildly in Zick's grip.
"One more time."
"You slave-driving drill sergeant."
"If you still have the breath to talk, you clearly have energy to spare. One hundred vertical cuts, added."
"I didn't say anything!"
That day, Zick had to swing the wooden sword thousands of times. By the end, his arm muscles had gone past screaming—it felt as though his very soul ached.
The moment sword training ended, there was no time to catch his breath. Basic magic training with Ainz was already waiting.
"Now, now, don't tense up so much. Magic, in the end, is simply the process of learning how to breathe with the flow of the world."
The old man gently stroked his white beard, smiling kindly as he settled into a leisurely cross-legged seat on the floor. Faint blue remnants of mana rippled softly around his body—to Zick's eyes, it was nothing short of wondrous.
"Straighten your spine and empty your mind of stray thoughts. Then calmly try to sense the fine mana dissolved in the air around you."
Zick gritted his teeth against the screaming bruises covering his body and reluctantly sat down, closing his eyes. Several minutes passed. Instead of any mysterious energy, only a chilly breeze whistled past.
"I don't feel anything."
"It's always like that at first. Stay seated until the mana decides to speak to you."
"What? You want me to sit here all night until I feel it?"
"Magic is a deep and slow discipline. And mana despises the impatient most of all."
Ainz's tone was almost painfully serene. But after more than an hour, it was Zick's legs that hit their limit first, not the mana. A merciless pins-and-needles pain climbed from his toes as the blood stopped circulating. Zick's face twisted as he frantically massaged his legs.
"Urgh. I think my legs hate me more than the mana does. I can't feel them at all."
"Heh heh. An excellent sign."
"How is that excellent?"
"With no sensation in your legs, you're in the perfect state to focus upward rather than downward. Think positively."
Watching Ainz deliver such ruthless words with that gentle face, Zick shed tears of blood inside. This old man was every bit as much of a demon as Gerard—he just looked more respectable on the surface.
The moment he was finally released from the cross-legged posture, it was Drake's turn: tracking, infiltration, and trap-disarmament training.
Rustle.
"Whoops, caught again. With footsteps that loud, even a wild boar would bolt in fright."
Drake popped out of the underbrush like a ghost and clicked his tongue.
"Why do I keep getting spotted?! I was walking as carefully as I could!"
He stamped his foot in frustration—and felt something ominous catch under his sole. At the same instant, the smoke and tear powder Drake had planted erupted with a noisy bang in every direction. Zick clutched his face and screamed as the acrid fumes hit him.
"Aaaagh! My eyes, my nose, my mouth!"
Through the choking smoke came the sound of applause. Drake was clapping as if genuinely impressed.
"Congratulations, Hero. You failed the infiltration this time, but you found the trap perfectly—with your whole body."
Mentally and physically wrecked, Zick was next greeted by Noah's emergency-treatment lessons.
"Lord Zick."
Noah approached with a sympathetic smile.
"First, let's treat those wounds. May the Lord's mercy be upon you."
Sacred light washed over him, cleansing every bruise and the lingering toxins from the trap. Zick exhaled with the face of a man who had just been saved.
"Thank you so much, Lord Noah. Honestly, you're the only one I can count on."
The gratitude did not last long. Moments later, Noah cheerfully dumped a mountain of white bandages and various herbal medicine bottles into Zick's arms.
"Now, imagine a situation where I'm not here."
"Huh?"
"I can't always be at your side in real combat. Shall we start with hemostasis and basic first aid? Go on—wrap it yourself."
Zick groaned as he clumsily wound the bandages with his own hands.
"Even priests know how to torment people with a smile, I see."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"It wasn't one."
Last came Reno's domain: party management and ledger-keeping.
Reno set a mountain of white paper in front of Zick. Just looking at the dizzying piles of ledgers and receipts—black ink on white paper and nothing more—made his head spin.
"What is all this?"
"This month's expense reports and receipts, plus the projected fixed-cost analysis for next month."
It felt exactly like being forcibly enrolled in a university business department and thrown straight into major courses. He was pretty sure he hadn't studied this hard even in his previous life.
"Reno. I'm a hero, not an accountant, right?"
"If the leader doesn't understand the books, the party gets scammed or starves. Without money, hero or not, you sleep on the street."
The point was so realistic and accurate that Zick couldn't even argue.
Swordsmanship, magic, scouting, first aid, and ledger management. Only after that merciless daily schedule ended—well into the early hours—could Zick finally drag himself back to his room. Every joint in his body felt as if it had been disassembled and then roughly slapped back together. Without even washing, he collapsed onto the bed like a corpse and stared blankly at the ceiling.
"Can heroes in this world file a complaint with the labor board?"
It was a joke muttered through crushing fatigue, but no one in the room answered. Zick blacked out into sleep right where he lay.
Days passed, and those days gathered into weeks that vanished in the blink of an eye. Swordsmanship, magic, scouting, first aid, and ledger management—outside of missions and sleep, it was nothing but continuous training.
Then one morning, as Zick dragged his exhausted body into the training grounds as usual, Gerard spoke.
"Zick."
"Yeah? Sword training first again today?"
"Today is free training."
"Huh? Free training?"
Zick's eyes went round. He had never dreamed that the sweet word "free" would ever leave the mouth of that demonic drill instructor.
"That's right. We're holding a meeting among ourselves about the upcoming training schedule. You will practice independently according to the manual we left for you."
Gerard's eyes flashed sharply as he added,
"I'll check personally once the meeting is over, so don't even think about slacking off or cutting class."
At Gerard's explanation, I narrowed my eyes and looked around at the party members in turn.
"This feels suspicious. You guys aren't just sneaking off to eat something good without me, right?"
"You're a suspicious one."
Drake beside me snorted and gave my shoulder a light shove.
"Come on, Hero. No time—grab a sword already."
Still full of doubt, I picked up a wooden practice sword. The party members casually filed out of the training grounds. Their destination was a small room nearby that they had rented specifically for the meeting. Once the door was firmly locked, they gathered around the table and began their secret conference.
"Time for the midterm evaluation."
At Gerard's heavy voice, Drake chuckled and dragged a chair over. A single sheet of paper lay alone on the table. The title written at the top was exactly the phrase Drake had tossed out earlier as a joke.
All-Rounder Hero Production Plan
Reno adjusted his glasses and sighed.
"Did you really have to name it that?"
"A plan is half its name, Porter-nim."
"This is more than half—it's the entire problem."
"That's the charm of it."
Beside them, Noah let out a small laugh, and Ainz chuckled as he took his seat. Gerard pressed his temple and swallowed a light sigh.
"Enough jokes. Let's start by sharing how far each of us has gotten. I'll go first."
Gerard crossed his arms, frowning seriously.
"In swordsmanship, he has essentially no talent compared to other heroes. That said, I've drilled the basic attack and defense stances into his body thoroughly. No genius, but his grit is respectable. At this point he can at least hold a sword and pull his own weight."
"My turn next."
Drake spun a quill between his fingers as he took over.
"Same here—basic trap disarmament, infiltration, and footwork are more or less down. He's at the level where he can muddle through in real combat by instinct. He complains the whole time, but his knack for learning with his body isn't bad."
"Heh heh. Magic is much the same."
Ainz gently stroked his white beard.
"His elemental affinity is poor, so flashy high-tier magic is out of the question. But he can handle basic mana barriers and everyday utility magic at the level of a low-ranking mage. Teaching him has been worthwhile."
"Authority use and emergency treatment are at about the same level."
Noah nodded calmly with a smile.
"Emergency treatment in particular—he already had some basic knowledge, which surprised me a little."
Reno, who had been listening, widened his eyes in disbelief.
"Hold on. I thought only my ledger lessons were like that, but the other fields are already that far along too?"
Gerard raised an eyebrow.
"What do you mean?"
"He's already past the basics of bookkeeping as well. He can cross-check receipts against supply lists and catch irregular expenses. And you're saying swordsmanship, magic, scouting techniques, and first aid have all reached that level?"
Reno let out a hollow breath of astonishment.
"You all said he had no talent, yet he's absorbing the fundamentals of every field like a sponge."
Gerard propped his chin, equally puzzled.
"We all agreed at the start that Zick had little talent for a hero, didn't we? So how is he absorbing every one of these completely different fields so well?"
Drake snorted and waved a hand.
"Hey, when did I ever say he was overflowing with talent? What the Hero's doing right now is stuff even the little goblin kids back home can manage. It's strictly apprentice- or trainee-level ability. Not some incredible genius."
"Drake is right. In our order, new priests learn exactly that much as standard."
"That's the problem."
Gerard's heavy single sentence made the air in the room settle. When the others looked at him questioningly, he murmured low,
"I was certain there would be at least one field he simply couldn't learn. Something that didn't suit his personality, or where he had no talent, or where his body couldn't keep up—something he'd have to give up on."
He crossed his arms and slowly looked around at everyone.
"But he's learning all of it. Shallow, yes—but terrifyingly broad."
"That's because he is a 'Hero.'"
Every gaze turned to Ainz at once. The old man set down his teacup and continued quietly.
"These days heroes are common. Hundreds of them exist, each gifted in a specific field—swordsmanship, magic, spirits, holy power, and so on. But they only excel in the domains related to the gods who chose them."
The old man's quiet voice resonated heavily through the room.
"Originally, however, a Hero was the crystallization of possibility and potential. In the age when there was only one Hero on the continent, that Hero possessed unmatched talent in every field—swordsmanship, magic, spirit arts, even holy power. Learn one thing and know ten; learn ten and grasp a hundred. That was the caliber of their gift."
Ainz's deepened gaze turned toward empty space.
"Of course, young Zick is not on the level of those Heroes of old. He simply learns one thing and quietly masters that one thing. But he has a vessel that can accept any field without rejection. In a way, young Zick may be the one in this era who most closely resembles the Heroes of that time. Heh heh."
The others finally let out soft sounds of admiration.
"So Lord Zick wasn't chosen as a Hero for nothing after all."
Reno nodded. Drake chuckled.
"It's like someone foresaw the exact situation our party is in and sent us a custom-made Hero. An all-rounder for plugging holes."
The party members laughed lightly at that, but Ainz alone sank into deep thought.
Could the nameless god who chose Zick truly have foreseen all of this and arranged it? Did that god know holes would open in our party and send down the one vessel capable of filling every seat?
After a brief silence, Ainz eventually snorted and shook his head.
What does it matter if it's true or not?
What mattered now was not the intentions of a god whose very records no longer remained. It was the young man currently grinding himself to pieces on the training grounds—the leader who willingly learned every grueling field without complaint, solely for his comrades, solely for their party. That single fact was enough.
"Heh heh."
Ainz brushed away his deep musings with a kindly smile. Gerard lightly rapped the table and stood.
"Discussion's over. Time for the final vote. Has Zick grown enough to temporarily cover each of our vacant roles?"
The words had barely left his mouth when Drake shot a hand up at a cocky angle.
"It's borderline, but we can at least pin an apprentice badge on him. Pass!"
"I agree as well. More than enough to pass."
"Heh heh. I cast a passing vote too."
"For once, everyone is of one mind. Pass."
Drake, Reno, Ainz, and Noah—unanimous pass. Only Gerard remained. Every gaze in the room naturally gathered on him. Gerard was silent for a while. He lightly tapped the table with a finger, then finally exhaled a short breath.
"Pass."
Only then did Noah smile in relief. Drake shrugged as if he had been waiting for it.
"Heh. The one who worked him the hardest is the one who took the longest to decide."
"It wasn't a matter to judge lightly."
As he spoke, Gerard reached into his coat and drew out a folded commission form, spreading it on the table. The red seal of the Hero Management Bureau stamped on the aged paper caught the eye first. At the top of the form, the mission rank and region name were written in black ink. Gerard pressed a fingertip against that seal.
"This is the final exam."
Noah's eyes flew wide as he checked the commission.
"You're not seriously planning to send Lord Zick on this alone, are you? It's far too early to throw him into real combat!"
Reno, who had examined the form beside him, frowned and sided with Noah.
"Lord Noah is right. You just said he's barely taken his first steps, and now you want to hand him a commission like this? It's still dangerous."
"Yes. It is dangerous."
Gerard admitted it readily, yet his eyes remained utterly resolute.
"But if he cannot clear even a commission of this level alone, then the entire plan for him to cover our absences must be scrapped and returned to a blank page."
"He's not wrong."
Drake propped his chin and smirked.
"In our Green Skin Union we have a saying: raise a goblin pup in the jungle. Keep it coddled in your arms forever and it'll grow up a coward for life."
"Heh heh. Drake's words are rough, but they have a point."
Ainz stroked his white beard as he glanced over the document.
"It won't be easy for young Zick as he is now, but it's by no means impossible. Worth trusting him with once."
With those two taking a firm stance, Noah and Reno exchanged looks of resignation. At last, with heavy sighs, both bowed their heads.
"Understood. I just hope he comes back without any serious injuries."
"Then we'll take it as decided and draw up the detailed plan."
And so the party members' secret meeting to forge a stronger Hero came to an end.
At that same moment, Zick—still alone on the training grounds, swinging his wooden sword and rolling through drills—suddenly felt his ears itch fiercely.
"Ow, why are my ears so itchy?"
He set the wooden sword on the ground and dug at his ear with a finger. Glancing toward the meeting room beyond the training-ground door, he grumbled,
"Don't tell me those party bastards are sitting around talking trash about me while their leader is out here working himself to death? Nah... no way."