EPISODE 60

Hans was quick to read the room in most situations.

Among the reclusive Badnikers, who seldom appeared in formal settings, Hector was renowned as one of the family's most exceptional talents. It was this very reputation that had allowed Hans to forge a connection with him.

Hans had a knack for interpreting subtle cues—shifts in complexion, fleeting facial expressions, tone, and hand gestures—allowing him to discern what others were thinking. And now, his instincts were ringing an alarm.

This is bad, he thought.

Hans had stepped on a landmine.

"Hans Vander," Hector said, his voice cutting through the tension.

"Yes," Hans replied cautiously.

"Know your place."

"I-I'm sorry."

Hector spoke curtly, then glanced to his left, his eyes briefly meeting Luan's.

A heavy silence followed before Hector turned and walked to the water station without another word, his expression unreadable.

"W-wow..."

"Oh my. I-I thought my heart was going to drop."

It was only then that Evan, Charis, and the other hero disciples let out sighs of relief. They had heard tales of the fierce war of nerves among the capital's nobles, but experiencing it firsthand was more intense than they had imagined. For the county or fallen nobles, this atmosphere was entirely foreign.

Pam, an orange-haired girl with freckles, broke the tension. "Wow! Luan, contrary to the rumors, you seem to be close to Hector."

"Rumors?" Luan asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes. I heard that you are a complete outcast in the family, that you don't have any close friends among your siblings, and that you especially don't get along with Hector."

Pam, envious of the capital's nobles, was quick to pick up gossip. She had a lively, sociable personality, but her tactlessness was a flaw.

"Hey, watch your tone," someone interjected.

"What tone?" Pam shot back.

"Show some respect, Freckles."

"Are you done talking, you bastard?"

"Enough," Luan said, chuckling. "You can't believe everything you hear about the Badnikers. Our family is as closed off as the church. Most rumors are just speculation and exaggeration."

"Then what is the truth?" Pam pressed.

"The truth?" Luan paused, thinking for a moment. "Well, Brother Hector usually dotes on me."

A collective gasp rippled through the room. All eyes briefly turned to the water station, where Hector was wiping the corners of his mouth.

He cleared his throat uncomfortably before heading straight up to the second floor.

"Wow!

"

"It must be true!"

"I'm envious!"

Luan tilted his head, puzzled by the sudden outburst. "What's with this reaction?"

"But you're close with Hector!"

"The Iron-Blooded Lord's Third Fang!"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Don't you know that Heero Badniker and Nero Badniker are called the First Fang and Second Fang of the Iron-Blooded Lord?"

Luan indeed didn't know. As mentioned before, he had deliberately avoided listening to any family rumors.

The hero disciples were frustrated by Luan's attitude.

"Those two are among the most famous Young Bloods!"

"What are the Young Bloods?" Luan asked.

"It's an informal term for heroes under the age of twenty-five! Seriously, are you really a Badniker?"

"Sometimes, I wonder myself," Luan replied, running a hand through his platinum-blond hair, a stark contrast to the dark-haired Badnikers.

"In any case, as impressive as the others are now, Hector is the one with the highest expectations. He's set to become a hero soon and has already shown remarkable skill at official events like martial arts competitions."

"Wow, he is amazing," Luan said, genuinely impressed.

"He is your older brother!" Pam exclaimed, her eyes sparkling. "I'm so glad I joined this training camp! The instructor's mention of survival rates was a bit scary, but my mother was right—the Badnikers' training camp is worth it."

"What did your mother say?" Luan asked.

"She said that the training camp is a great opportunity to expand my network! I've even made my own plans. First, I absolutely have to befriend the Big Three."

Charis looked bewildered. "What is the Big Three?"

"The most talented people at the training camp!" Pam declared.

"Who decided that?"

"Well, I did," Pam said with a sly grin.

"What a credible authority," Charis muttered sarcastically.

Pam chuckled mischievously. "Of course, Hector is part of the Big Three!"

"Who are the other two?"

"Well, one is obviously from the Goodsprings'—"

At that moment, the main doors swung open, and a white-haired girl stepped in. "Luan Badniker!"

The hero disciples gasped as another prominent figure made her entrance. It was Seren Goodspring, her hair flowing in the cold wind.

"You, wait a minute—"

Before Seren could finish, the instructor's voice echoed through the communication crystal.

"This is a message to the hero disciples. Curfew is approaching, so please return to your rooms promptly by 10 p.m. Points will be deducted for anyone caught loitering after that."

Luan stood up. "Did you hear? We will talk tomorrow."

"What? Hey!" Seren called out urgently, but Luan headed upstairs without looking back.

Charis, still seated, muttered, "Is Luan more of a big deal than we thought?"

"Well, he is a Badniker," someone replied.

"That is true."

"Still, there is something unusual about him," Evan mumbled, his eyes narrowing as he glanced toward the stairs.

***

The next day, before the sun had even risen, the hero disciples gathered in the clearing, their faces heavy with drowsiness as they gazed up at the stage.

"There are four core subjects you will focus on during this training camp: hunting, survival, theory, and miscellaneous skills," announced the Hunting Master from the stage.

His piercing glare swept over the hero disciples, and those who failed to sense the gravity of the moment and dozed off immediately lost points.

"The maximum score for each subject is ten points. To complete the course, you need a total of twenty points. This means you could pass by earning just half the points in each subject. Sounds easy, doesn't it?"

No one smiled or nodded in agreement.

At that moment, a hand shot up among the hero disciples. It was Seren, her radiant beauty undiminished in this messy place.

"What is it, Seren Goodspring?"

"I'd like a detailed explanation of each subject," she said.

"Hmm... very well." Tanko nodded coolly. "First of all, all of you here have received a blessing, which means you naturally possess the aptitude for anti-demon abilities. In other words, you've gained the minimum amount of preparation required to face those disgusting church bastards."

Tanko repeated, "The minimum amount of preparation."

Silence ensued.

"I know you're all brimming with confidence after receiving your blessings. But let me assure you of one thing. If you step into their territory as you are now, none of you will last a day before you're either dead or captured."

Evan felt a surge of defiance at these words. He had received not one, but three blessings during the ceremony, each of them powerful. Moreover, he had trained relentlessly in the Helvin family for over a decade, starting from childhood. He was confident that, even now, he could take on any church member below the executive level single-handedly.

"Luring church members and demons is a long and tedious process, one that requires skills you brats sorely lack. That's why your first priority is to learn hunting."

Tanko stretched out one finger first, and then another.

"During missions, you'll often be isolated. The church's curses are the antithesis of your blessings and can nullify them entirely. There will be times when you'll have to hold out and wait for support, so survival training is essential.

"Lastly, if you don't know about demons, you can't survive let alone hunt them. They are disgusting. Because of that, you need knowledge. That's why theory is included."

Someone raised their hand. "What about the rest?"

"Charis Earthman. One point deduction."

Charis' expression contorted at the unexpected reply—a stark contrast to Seren's inquiry. "Huh? W-why...?"

"I was about to explain, but you interrupted the flow," Tanko said curtly.

Evan watched with a grimace, reminding himself of the lesson he'd learned the previous day, Stay still and don't act recklessly.

"The miscellaneous subject covers everything else. It's based on your attitude, approach, and overall behavior during the training camp. There are no fixed criteria. Each instructor evaluates differently."

He paused, letting the information sink in.

"Over the next week, we'll test you in various ways. The first is a fitness test." Tanko stretched with a rough, deliberate motion. "The rules are simple. Keep up with me until the end. The top five finishers will earn extra points, while the bottom five will lose points. Let's begin."

With that, Tanko took off, quickly disappearing into the distance.

"Ah!"

"Damn!"

Belatedly snapping out of their daze, the hero disciples scrambled after him in a frantic pursuit.

***

Tanko respected all martial arts. Even if a style seemed strange at first glance, he believed no one had the right to dismiss it. After all, if there were a hundred people, there would be a hundred different possibilities.

However, if someone were to ask what the most fundamental quality of a martial artist was, Tanko believed most would agree on one answer—stamina. No matter what, they had to build up their stamina first.

Tanko glanced behind him while running at high speed.

It was about an hour into the run. It had been an hour since the run began, and the results were starting to show. Some chased him effortlessly, others pushed through with sheer determination, and a few had already fallen behind.

For the most part, the group had kept up well. This was no surprise. Most of those chasing after him had been treasured by their families since childhood.

This didn't mean they were coddled like greenhouse plants. They were groomed to become the next generation of heroes, destined to bring honor to their families.

From a young age, they had been burdened with immense expectations. They had consumed rare elixirs worth more than 1,000 gold coins, trained under skilled instructors, and followed rigorous, minute-by-minute regimens. Every aspect of their upbringing had been meticulously designed to mold them into martial artists of exceptional caliber.

Even so, individual talent varied widely.

"Is it hard? Do you feel like you are going to die? Then just sit down and rest!" Tanko taunted as he noticed a few stumbling, on the verge of collapse. "But have you forgotten where we are?"

The Butterfly Forest teemed with demonic monsters. Though the area they were running through was part of the training camp, and real encounters were rare, the hero disciples didn't need to know that.

He could see some at the back gritting their teeth and pushing forward, while others simply collapsed, refusing to continue no matter what he said.

Tanko sighed inwardly. This was why he disliked training nobles. Talent aside, they often lacked the most crucial quality for strength: grit. He despised those who relied solely on talent and those who gave up too easily. Unfortunately, these nobles were often one or the other—or both.

Surprisingly, though, the one who seemed to embody everything Tanko disliked was now showing an unexpected side.

His gaze landed on a platinum-blond boy, drenched in sweat as he ran.

Luan Badniker was the type Tanko despised most—a scoundrel devoid of both talent and grit.

From what Tanko had observed and the rumors he'd heard, Luan seemed to embody every pitiful trait imaginable. Yet here he was, drenched in sweat and gasping for breath, somehow managing to keep pace.

His stamina must be reaching its limit, he thought.

By now, even a breath of cold air would feel like fire in Luan's lungs, his throat burning and his head spinning from lack of oxygen.

He is showing grit, but he will collapse soon.

Not that it mattered. Few of the hero disciples realized it, but the knights trailed at a set distance, ready to retrieve those who fell behind.

Tanko stopped showing interest in Luan and increased his speed again, pushing the group harder.

"Uhh..."

"N-no..."

The hero disciples groaned as they watched Tanko pulling ahead, their legs barely keeping up.

He maintained this pace for another half hour before glancing back.

The group had been halved. Most of those still running were the ones Tanko had marked as promising before the training camp.

To his surprise, Luan was among them, though he staggered as if on the brink of collapse.

He's got more grit than I thought. I'll have to reassess him.

Suppressing a smirk, Tanko ran on.

An hour later, he looked back once more. Fewer than ten hero disciples remained, and Luan was still there.

What's up with this kid?