EPISODE 62

What surprised me most about the training camp was the number of famous attendees whose names I recognized.

Alongside Hector and Seren were Charon Woodjack, who took first place in the run, the Executioner of the Rubietas, the Black Knight of the Chevaliers, the Young Chieftain of the Nightwalkers, and the future hero of the beastfolk. It was a gathering of legends who would one day uphold the empire.

Yet, the name I had heard most often was Evan Helvin. In less than ten years, maybe five, there wouldn't be a person in the empire who didn't know his name.

Perhaps Evan would join the Hero Society within one or two years.

As a hero, Evan had achieved unprecedented feats, earning the expectations of both the empire and the organization. That's why his eventual fall was later called the "most painful betrayal of humanity."

I glanced at Evan. His gray hair and innocent face belonged to a boy. Although I didn't know much about the Helvin family, I remembered them as a rural family with no notable heroes, despite having the blood of one.

But Evan was different. He had achieved fame from a young age, traveling to various swordsmanship exchanges and earning praise from every instructor who had taught him. The rumors about his talent spread quickly to the capital.

I don't think he is a bad person, I mused.

There were two possibilities: either he was so cunning and deceitful that he could fool even me, or something had happened to turn this innocent boy into the worst kind of criminal.

We were roommates, so I decided to observe him closely for a while. If I concluded he was truly beyond redemption, I would cross that bridge when I came to it.

For now, I pushed the thought aside and focused on finishing the last piece of meat on my plate.

***

After lunch, I went to the training hall. The people who had been left behind had returned to the camp one by one and were now lying face down.

The sight of nobles crawling on the ground like earthworms was unusual in many ways. I sat in a suitable spot and watched.

Time passed, and then the knights appeared. They carried the exhausted hero disciples on their shoulders and tossed them onto the dirt without a hint of consideration.

"Geh."

"Ugh..."

At least they were alive.

As expected, their noble upbringing had made them resilient. Although they were the scions of Great Families, most came from warrior lineages, meaning they were hardly greenhouse plants. They had probably endured their own share of rigorous training from a young age.

"I-I'm hungry..."

One hero disciple began crawling toward the dining hall, his will to live palpable.

I found myself silently cheering for him, admiring his determination.

Unfortunately, his hopes were dashed by a heartless knight who stepped into his path.

"Stop."

The disciple looked up with pleading eyes, but the knight's expression remained cold and unyielding. "Lunchtime is over."

"T-that can't be. I haven't even eaten breakfast..."

"You should've come in sooner if you wanted to eat."

The hero disciple crumpled to the ground, emitting a strange, defeated noise.

It was clear that food was the most effective way to control the hero disciples in a place like this. The method felt cruel and desperate, but its effectiveness was undeniable. Even with unlimited food available, the sheer intensity of daily activities ensured that no matter how much they ate, they would always be hungry.

"Now, gather together again if you've had enough rest. The afternoon class will start," the knight announced.

I rested, ate, and digested my food until my stomach was empty.

Meanwhile, those who had just arrived were still crawling on the ground. Of course, this didn't mean they could ignore the instructors' commands. They kicked those who couldn't move and forced them to gather in the training hall's center.

"Are you okay?" Evan asked, his voice filled with concern.

"Y-yes..." came the weak reply.

Evan spent the time helping others, offering support or even carrying those who couldn't walk. In both appearance and demeanor, he seemed like the quintessential good person—the type who might lose money while buying something.

Once the hero disciples had gathered in the center, staggering to their feet, a man stepped onto the stage. He was young and handsome, but his thin lips made him unattractive, at least by my standards.

"Hello, hero disciples. I am Juan, your martial arts instructor. During this training camp, I will be teaching you the fundamentals of martial arts," he said.

It was the first time we had heard such a soft voice since the training camp started. It felt strange coming from an instructor.

Juan scratched his cheek, observing the hero disciples who stared at him like zombies. "The morning class was with Instructor Tanko, right? Everyone seems exhausted. I suppose it can't be helped. Since today is the first day, you may sit and relax as I proceed with the class."

"O-ohh..."

"Thank you... Thank you..."

At these words, most of the hero disciples collapsed onto the dirty ground.

Just yesterday, they would have hesitated to roll on the ground, but physical fatigue left no room for such concerns.

Meanwhile, something about Juan's words unsettled me.

On the surface, he seemed like a kind person, encouraging the hero disciples to rest. But this was only the second day of the retreat.

Why now?

Tanko hadn't been harsh for no reason—he was deliberately pushing them harder during this adjustment period. But this man's kindness was undoing that discipline, loosening the tension that had been built up.

It is nice to be comfortable now, but what if we are thrown into another grueling class immediately after and asked to roll like dogs? Is this break really a good decision?

Then again, perhaps I was overthinking things and Juan was genuinely kind-hearted.

"Then I'll begin the class," Juan announced.

I raised my head.

The instructors were already evaluating us. Even looking clumsy was a mark against us. If I wanted to place first, I couldn't afford to show weakness.

First place?

I was momentarily taken aback by the thought. It seemed the Iron-Blooded Lord's words had unconsciously become my goal.

It is because I am confident, I reassured myself.

I had already experienced how strict the Iron-Blooded Lord could be when it came to rewards and punishments. If I secured first place, it wouldn't just be a simple compliment. I could receive something as valuable as the Spirit Jade.

"The foundation of martial arts lies in self-defense—the protection of the body. However, its scope has expanded significantly over time. Today, martial arts encompass numerous disciplines, including the use of weapons, the emphasis on specific body parts, strategies for facing particular opponents or environments, and even specialized techniques tailored to individuals with rare physical conditions."

At this point, a hand shot up. "What do you mean by rare physical conditions?"

"Congenital conditions such as having one arm, being lame, or blind," Juan explained.

"I see."

"Of course, their training methods are necessarily unconventional."

The class primarily focused on the theoretical aspects of martial arts: the mindset of a warrior, the empire's representative martial arts and their characteristics, the strengths and weaknesses of each style, as well as training methods, sparring techniques, and precautions during practice.

Most of this was common knowledge for those raised in warrior families. While the instructor's voice was pleasant, the content itself was dull. Some of the hero disciples began to doze off.

"Wake up."

Noticing this, Juan issued a quiet warning without imposing any real punishment or deducting points.

The chastised hero disciple simply chuckled sheepishly, seemingly unbothered.

In any case, the tedious class soon ended, and it was time for the dinner I had been eagerly anticipating.

"You aren't allowed to enter," the knight standing guard declared.

"N-no...!"

The hero disciples with fewer than ten points slumped in despair, though none dared to protest. The consequences of such defiance had been made clear on the very first day.

The hungry hero disciples roamed around the dining hall like zombies while I observed them as I ate.

"I never thought I would be so happy to eat dinner," Evan murmured from his seat beside me.

Come to think of it, this fella earned two points today. This is more than enough to make up for yesterday's deduction.

"I need to be truly grateful for every meal I have from now on," he added.

Evan's words unexpectedly reminded me of my time on Spirit Mountain. After starving for a week there, I had seriously considered whether I could eat rocks. I hadn't expected this training camp to evoke memories of that period.

Eldest Senior Brother used to say, "What seems like misfortune might be a blessing in disguise."

I involuntarily recalled one of his habitual sayings and sighed.

Perhaps it was the sudden discomfort that followed, but my appetite vanished. That evening, I ate less than half of what I normally would.

***

In the evening class, Tanko reappeared.

Though there were said to be eight Great Masters, their appearances were irregular. While no clear hierarchy existed among the instructors, I suspected Tanko held the role of a full-time instructor.

"The evening class is sparring," Tanko declared in a grave tone. "Use the weapons provided. Divide into pairs. You have five minutes."

He paused, then added, "The winner of each match will gain one point, while the loser will lose two."

The hero disciples stirred at his unexpected words.

Among them, a young man with an awkward expression raised his hand. "I-isn't that unfair? Why do we only get one point for winning but lose two for losing?"

I wondered who could be so foolish—then saw it was Charis.

The corners of Tanko's mouth twitched. "Charis Earthman, you have a remarkably romantic view of the world. I'd like to open your head and see what kind of flower garden is growing in there."

His icy tone made Charis instinctively clutch his head.

"If you want to live long, listen carefully," Tanko continued. "Don't assume hardships always yield rewards. The world doesn't care about your effort. To gain anything, you must claw your way up from the bottom. Conversely, a single defeat can cost you everything."

His words resonated with my outlook on life, so I nodded in agreement.

Tanko appeared to hail from a minority ethnic group on the Grasslands. From what I knew, his people lived in harmony with nature from childhood, likely learning the law of survival of the fittest before reaching adulthood.

Charis stood frozen, overwhelmed. Meanwhile, the more decisive ones had already started pairing up.

"Would you like to join me?" one asked hesitantly.

"I-I'd rather not. You're from the Chevalier family..."

"Then what about me?"

"Umm... I'd prefer to face a swordsman..."

Most of the hero disciples scrambled to find weaker partners.

Now, I understood the weight of the two-point deduction.

At this point, the majority of scores was ten points.

With the majority starting at ten points, falling below that threshold meant losing the right to dinner—and possibly facing further penalties. Only now did the disciples grasp the true weight of their scores.

Amid the frantic search for weaker partners, one pairing stood out as surprisingly fitting.

"You won't regret it, will you?"

"Of course not."

Even I hadn't expected this pairing—Hector and Seren.

I watched with interest.

Hector had the upper hand. He was older and had received blessings during the first ceremony, which likely enhanced his skills.

Nonetheless, that didn't mean Seren was bound to lose. Having fought alongside her, I knew she was no longer an ordinary hero disciple. She was more than capable of holding her own and lacked nothing in practical application.

Tanko looked at me and asked, "Aren't you looking for an opponent?"

"I'd like to ask you something," I replied, my eyes still on Hector and Seren.

"What is it?"

"There are thirty-nine disciples in this training camp. That means one person will be left without a partner. Who will they spar against?" I asked.

"The last one will fight with me," Tanko answered.

At these words, the unpaired disciples flinched, their bodies trembling.

The Great Masters were legendary across the empire, revered figures personally invited by the Iron-Blooded Lord.

While their primary focus was education, placing them outside the ranks of the continent's absolute strongest, their power still far surpassed that of any single hero disciple. To compare the two would be an insult.

"Will one lose points if you defeat them, Instructor Tanko?" I asked.

"You are asking the obvious," he answered.

"I see." I nodded and turned my attention back to the scene.

The remaining disciples grew increasingly desperate.

"Hey! Just fight me!" one urged.

"S-shall we?" another stammered.

"Why don't you pair with me?"

"Ugh... It can't be helped."

Even those who had initially avoided challenging the more famous hero disciples now hurried to form pairs, preferring any opponent over Tanko.

"Why are you still standing here?" Tanko asked, his gaze fixed on me.

I replied casually, "You said that the last one would spar with you, Instructor Tanko."

"Yes."

"Then that's me."

Tanko's brow furrowed briefly before he broke into a silent laugh, baring his teeth.

Perhaps the reason for his laughter was the same as mine.

Realizing this, I laughed as well.