A month. That's how long I'd been enduring Rock's sadistic version of training—a month of pain, grit, and more sweat than I thought my body could produce.
And somehow… I survived.
Today, I finally achieved what once felt impossible.
One thousand swings.
Vertical. Horizontal. Diagonal. Over and over until my arms screamed, until my fingers went numb, until I no longer needed to think—my body just moved.
The sword no longer felt like an awkward piece of steel in my hand.
It felt like an extension of my will.
But Rock didn't celebrate.
He merely crossed his arms and grunted. "Next time, do it without panting."
Encouragement? Not likely. The man had the emotional range of a rock—ironically.
Yet, deep down, I could tell… he was pleased.
Of course, just because I completed my sword routine didn't mean he let me off the hook.
Fifty laps? Sixty now.
Push-ups? Doubled.
Breaks? Still non-existent.
Rock trained me like I was preparing for war—not just to wield a sword, but to survive a battlefield. And to be fair, he wasn't wrong.
The only time I collapsed without getting yelled at was when my body literally gave out.
And if not for Lia... I don't know how I would've managed.
Lia.
She didn't owe me anything.
Yet every time I pushed too far and collapsed on the training ground, she was there—gently lifting me, patching me up, dragging me to safety like some frustrated guardian angel.
Not once did she complain.
Maybe it was pity. Maybe gratitude. Maybe something more. I couldn't tell yet. But every time she looked at me with those soft, stormy eyes, I felt… grounded.
I never asked for her help.
But she gave it anyway.
And sometimes, when she thought I was asleep, I'd hear her whisper things like, "Why do you push yourself so hard…?"
I never answered. I didn't know how.
If I'm being completely honest, there was one real reason I hadn't given up.
The cafeteria.
That sacred place.
The food.
The aroma.
The warmth of a full plate.
Every day after training, I'd stagger in, broken and bleeding, only to be met by a glorious banquet of calories and the gruff glare of the bear chef.
"Still thin as a bamboo," he'd snort, tossing another slab of meat onto my plate. "Eat more before you disappear."
And I obeyed.
I ate like a starving animal—because I was one. Training burned through everything I had, and that food was the only reason I could stand upright the next day.
That man—gruff and furry as he was—probably saved my life more times than he knew.
Since I stopped going to the Healer's Guild, rumors had spread. Wild ones.
Apparently, some thought the Adventurer's Guild had kidnapped me.
Which… wasn't too far from the truth, if you asked my sore body.
One afternoon, while I was midway through sword drills, a commotion shook the guild.
A group of over thirty people stormed in—led by Mira, a few senior healers, the chef whose hands I'd healed weeks ago, and… yes, even Elen.
They marched in like an angry mob, ready to burn the place down.
"If you don't return Cassian this instant, we'll report you to the Church!" Mira shouted, waving a holy staff.
I was too out of it to respond, but Rock handled it with his usual tact.
"He's training. Willingly."
That didn't exactly calm them, but after a long back-and-forth, they left. Still worried. Still irritated. But they didn't drag me away.
Even Elen… she didn't say much. Just looked at me once—then turned and left.
Things were changing.
I was changing.
I no longer needed to cut myself to focus during healing. I no longer trembled when casting spells. My control had improved. My mana flowed smoother, stronger. I could feel it responding to my will.
And then… something happened.
While treating a particularly stubborn wound, a soft warmth bloomed inside me—like sunlight in my chest. A notification appeared before my eyes.
[Achievement Unlocked: Healed 100 Individuals.]
You have acquired the skill: [Basic Heal].
I froze. My breath caught.
A skill—not a spell.
The difference? Monumental.
Spells needed incantations, time, focus. Skills didn't. They activated with intention. Instantaneous. Efficient. Life-saving.
And with it, my healing efficiency doubled overnight.
I could now heal over thirty people before running dry. And even that wasn't much of a hurdle, because my mana regeneration was absurdly fast.
According to Rock, most people took four or more hours to recover mana through meditation. Most adventurers never even let their mana fully deplete.
But me?
I did. Every time.
Because I had to. If I wanted to grow, if I wanted to afford this brutal training and still eat enough to survive—I had to.
The guild started to change, too.
More adventurers registered every week.
They came for the training. For the opportunities. But mostly?
They came for me.
Word had spread: there was a healer who charged next to nothing and never turned anyone away. They called me kind. Some called me crazy.
I didn't care.
I just did what I could.
Even Elen changed.
She came back once, for healing. Quiet this time. No arrogance, no demands. Just a faint blush and a "thank you" when I finished.
I didn't press her.
People change. Pain changes people.
So do I.
Even my reflection was changing.
My hair had grown slightly, messy and uneven from battle and blood. My face had sharpened. Mana did strange things to the body—here, even fifteen-year-olds looked closer to seventeen.
Growth was rapid. Bones strengthened. Muscles developed with each drop of mana flowing through them.
I was no longer the weak boy who stumbled into this world, lost and unsure.
Today, I decided to take a break.
A real one.
My clothes were destroyed—ripped by blades, soaked in blood, torn by relentless drills.
And for once, I had a little coin to spare.
So I set out to buy something new. A shirt, maybe. Pants that didn't reek of sweat and monster guts.
I even felt… hopeful.
A strange feeling.
The sun was warm. The air was light. People smiled as I passed, a few even waving. I was starting to feel like I belonged here.
And then…
I stopped walking.
A chill crawled up my spine.
My heart skipped.
"…Ah."
I looked up, eyes narrowing.
"I knew it. I shouldn't have come out."
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
—To be continued..