CHAPTER 49: DISCIPLE CULTIVATION SYSTEM CH49 TWELVE HOURS OF PAIN PT1.

"Here!"

Grabbing two wooden batons from the weapons shelf, Art passed them to Val, who received them without hesitation.

"We’re going to fight."

His gaze remained fixed on Valaria as he picked up a wooden sword and pointed it at her.

"I’ll attack, and you defend," he instructed.

Val had sparred with her Master many times before. Compared to him, Art could be considered lacking—and yet, she didn’t refuse. She had asked for his help, so she wouldn’t question him now.

The batons were unfamiliar weapons for her, but they somewhat resembled a spear, except they relied more on blunt force than piercing power. Placing them on the ground for a moment, she tied her hair into a ponytail, then further into a tight bun, before picking the batons back up.

"Are you ready?" Art inquired.

"Yes," she nodded.

The atmosphere grew tense.

"Let’s begin, then."

Art’s voice was blunt, his cold sapphire eyes threatening to pry her open. Despite declaring the start of the duel, he didn’t move—merely placing his left hand behind his back while his sword remained pointed at her.

"Aren’t you going to use your other hand?"

She found his actions distasteful but kept her composure, especially now that a variety of students had stopped training to stare at their exchange.

"Oh..."

Art scratched his chin lightly and smiled.

"I don’t need that. My words might come off as arrogant, but frankly speaking, Val, you’re far too weak to pose a challenge."

His expression remained casual as he locked eyes with her. Val bit her lip at his words, her grip tightening around the batons. A suffocating pressure crushed down on her, reminding her of her Master—the gaze, no, the indifference of those at the top.

It made her blood boil. Her teeth clenched.

The students, especially the upperclassmen, found the scene amusing. A few had heard rumors about the new teacher who had a habit of looking down on his students in combat. Some even whispered that a poor first-year had been traumatized by him. Now, they wondered if Valaria would be next.

But Valaria was on the verge of a meltdown. Everything about Art screamed that he was looking down on her—his indifferent words, his relaxed posture, the sheer casualness of his stance. It all told her he wasn’t taking this seriously.

Yet, she didn’t spring into action immediately. She knew she was being toyed with.

Art wanted her to attack first, to catch her off guard in her state of rage. That harmless-looking teacher of hers was cunning. She would have fallen for it had she not heard what happened to poor Cheshire.

Steadying herself, she fixed her stance, eyes sharp with clarity. Then—she darted forward.

Her batons moved in a wide arc, aiming to corner Art. The laid-back swordsman took a single step back, avoiding her strike effortlessly before countering with a quick crescent slash.

Val crossed her batons in front of her, blocking the attack—only for something swift to shoot past her guard, lashing toward her face.

"His foot?"

Panicked, she tilted her batons, allowing Art’s slash to pass by before twisting her body awkwardly to evade. The movement gave her just enough room to block his follow-up kick.

Art retracted both his blade and foot, stepping back again.

"Let’s do this again—but I’ll increase the speed. Try to keep up."

She heeded his words, resetting her stance defensively. Before, she had focused only on his sword—now, she observed his entire body.

Then, in an instant, he was above her, descending with a slash.

No time to panic. She rolled forward, barely avoiding the strike. The ground where she had stood moments ago suffered a massive dent, the wooden sword leaving a visible impact.

"He didn’t even use aura..."

She didn’t know how strong Art was, but this feat should have been impossible with a wooden sword. Worst of all—he hadn’t even used Aura.

"How?"

As he rose, she wiped a bead of sweat from her face before dashing at him again. Art still had his back turned to her.

Leaping forward, she swung diagonally at his spine—but Art tossed his sword backward, caught it with his free hand, and blocked her strike mid-air.

*CLACK!*

A sharp clap echoed through the gym, drawing gasps from the spectators.

Valaria barely had time to process it before she was swept off her feet. The moment she hit the ground, a wooden sword was thrust before her face.

"Again."

Art’s cold eyes reflected her fear—but he wasn’t bothered in the least.

After all, he was just getting started.

---

**Thud—!**

"Hey, Cheshire, what’s that noise?"

It was midday—a time when Cheshire, along with her new friend Ellie, often visited the school gym to unwind.

After her humiliating defeat at the hands of that detestable teacher, she had made it a habit to come here to clear her mind. Sure, the constant questions about her loss were bothersome, but since most only knew rumors, she could sprinkle in a few lies to save face.

But today, fate had a cruel way of reminding her of that day.

The moment she pushed open the gym doors, an explosive sound drew her and Ellie’s attention to the ongoing match.

On one side stood a handsome young man, barely a year or two older than her, dressed in a tracksuit and wielding a wooden sword with one hand. He effortlessly parried the strikes of his sparring partner—

"Cheshire!"

She recognized those blonde strands of hair and piercing sapphire eyes. A shiver ran down her spine as dark memories resurfaced.

Ellie, noticing her distress, grabbed her arm and squeezed it tightly—but it did little to help. Cheshire couldn’t tear her gaze away from the match.

It wasn’t Art who fascinated her, but the girl fighting him.

She had pure white hair, reminiscent of snow, and piercing grey eyes that burned with unyielding determination. Again and again, she charged at Art, only to be parried and knocked away.

Each time she fell, she stared blankly at the ceiling for a moment before rising again—bruised, battered, but never broken.

Watching her, Cheshire felt a pang in her chest.

She remembered her own fight—how helpless she had been.

But unlike this girl, she had given up.

The white-haired fighter never did.

Defeat. Stand up. Charge again.

Even as bruises accumulated on her body, even as her arms swelled from the relentless strikes—not once did she falter.

"Let’s go, Ches," Ellie whispered, pulling her shoulder gently.

The pink-haired elf was always considerate. Cheshire was about to accept her offer to leave—

—when Art’s gaze shifted.

His eyes swept past the crowd and locked onto her.

Time seemed to freeze.

His lips moved, whispering words that sent a chill down her spine.

"Going to cry again?"

When time resumed, she stopped herself.

She wouldn’t leave.

Ellie blinked but said nothing as they watched until, finally, Valaria landed a hit.

A sharp crack echoed as the wooden baton struck Art’s face.

Cheers erupted.

A dark bruise formed on the teacher’s cheek. He touched it, momentarily confused, and Ellie burst into laughter at the sight.

But Cheshire knew.

She knew.

That strike had only landed because Art had momentarily looked away—at her.

It was a fluke. A lucky stray hit.

Yet Art didn’t argue nor did he diminish it.

He simply shrugged and smiled at Valaria, who looked like she was floating on cloud nine.

"Well done."

He patted Val’s shoulder, and Cheshire looked down in shame.

Right then, it finally hit her.

What kind of man their teacher was.

He was cold. He was cruel.

But like most in the institute, his goal was their growth.

He favored hard work. Persistence.

Not those who gave up without a fight.

In his eyes, if you lost, you had to do so with honor—not helplessness.

On that day, hidden from the spotlight, the young maiden made a vow to herself.

She would never cower again.

Even against those far stronger than her.