Episode 64

The Hunting Master opened and closed his mouth repeatedly as if struggling to find the right words. Meanwhile, I pondered my situation. Regardless of how the fight had unfolded, I realized there was little to gain by continuing. With that in mind, I saw no reason to continue fighting.

“I concede,” I declared.

There was no shame in winning or losing, but the sparring format itself felt limiting. Within the constraints of a spar, it was harder for the weak to defeat the strong. I couldn’t carry out a bold, life-risking attack. Once those restrictions were lifted, it couldn’t even be called a spar anymore. It was simply inevitable.

Tanko regarded me with a sullen expression. He didn’t give off a pleasant vibe, and I felt uncomfortable. He wasn’t going to argue with me for admitting defeat, was he?

“Regardless of how the spar played out, you lost in the end. That’s a two-point deduction,” he stated.

“Understood,” I replied, accepting the penalty without protest.

Losing two points was far from pleasant, but I judged the experience to be worth more than that. The spar with Tanko had been the most intense fight I’d experienced since my regression.

I felt a twinge of guilt toward Kayan, who had spent the past week training me, but the truth was undeniable. The match had given me inspiration for the White Sun Eclipse’s second half, and I planned to spend the day refining new techniques.

“But…” Tanko began, catching my attention.

I looked at him, puzzled.

He met my gaze and continued, “The completeness of your martial arts, your improvisation, your persistence, your ability to counterattack without losing focus until the very end… For all that, and for making me break my imposed restriction, I’ll award you with three additional points.”

So, despite the two-point deduction, I’d gained three points. Didn’t that mean that I gained one point overall?

“Thank you,” I replied, my voice tinged with disbelief. But Tanko had already turned away.

At that moment, I felt a sharp gaze from somewhere.

I turned my head and saw a figure standing head and shoulders above the other hero disciples, staring intently at me.

This fellow’s name is Charon Woodjack, right? He is the son of Hyde Woodjack, the empire’s strongest ranger.

Although we had never spoken, his reputation rivaled that of Hector or Seren.

“What are you looking at?” I mouthed at him.

Charon silently averted his gaze.

What is up with this jerk? I wondered.

***

Later that evening, as I lay in bed, Evan said, “You were incredible today.”

I kept my eyes closed. “What do you mean?”

“You fought the instructor.”

“Well, I lost.”

Evan chuckled. “That’s no surprise. The Hunting Master is known as the Undefeated Great Warrior. Everyone in the Eastern Grasslands knows his name.”

“True enough,” I conceded.

Sleep eluded me as I replayed the day’s spar in my mind. My reply carried a hint of irritation at being disturbed, and Evan seemed to notice, falling silent.

I wasn’t one to care much about others’ opinions, but I couldn’t ignore my task of getting to know Evan better.

Reluctantly, I opened my eyes and said, “You won today, didn’t you?”

“Uh, did you see the match?” he asked.

“No, but you would’ve looked depressed if you’d lost.”

“Fair point,” Evan said, his grin widening. “My opponent was the youngest daughter of the Rubieta family.”

“I see.”

She was a significant figure in the future. The Rubieta family was one of the most powerful among the Great Families, and their youngest daughter, Charles Rubieta, was someone I knew well. Evan, too, was destined for fame. Their spar must have drawn considerable attention from the other hero disciples.

“She was strong. Honestly, I won partly by luck,” Evan admitted. “I heard she uses a blunt weapon, but the instructors didn’t seem to have prepared one for sparring.”

Making a spear or sword out of wood was easy, but a blunt weapon was a different challenge. A mace would be impossible to craft, and even if they tried, a bat would probably be the best they could manage.

“Still, I won. I proved that my father’s martial art is strong,” Evan said.

“Did you learn martial arts from your father?”

“That’s right. He is my one and only master,” Evan said, his voice brimming with pride.

“No one in the world thinks highly of my father. Frankly, he never gained much fame as a martial artist,” Evan admitted with a smile. “But he is my pride. I have the Raven technique he taught me… and I will succeed.”

There was a quiet passion in his calm voice. I recognized that kind of tone—it belonged to those who truly respected their teacher and took pride in being their disciple.

I still didn’t know much about Evan. What I had heard before the regression were mere rumors. I had only gathered fragments of information about the Helvin family.

Naturally, I knew nothing about Evan’s father, the current family head. But hearing Evan speak, I realized his father was likely an exceptional teacher.

“What do you consider success?” I asked.

“Huh?” Evan was caught off guard by my sudden question and stammered, “I will join the Hero Society and become a hero… help a lot of people… and later, I want to drive out the church and the demon kings to bring peace to the continent.”

To my surprise, his ultimate goal was similar to mine. If he stayed true to that purpose, he would one day become my ally.

“My immediate goal is to survive this training camp,” he added.

“I see. Good luck.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

Evan’s sudden gratitude surprised me, but I didn’t respond and closed my eyes again.

Fortunately, Evan wasn’t tactless and stopped talking. Soon, the room was filled only with the sound of steady breathing. In the quiet, we gradually drifted off to sleep.

***

—Wake up! All hero disciples, wake up!

I opened my eyes after about ten minutes of restless sleep.

—It is an emergency! Demonic monsters have invaded the camp! All hero disciples, prepare for battle and gather at the training hall!

What was going on now?

***

I hastily threw on my clothes and bolted out of the building.

Fortunately, the instructor’s booming voice had roused most of the hero disciples, who now stood in the training hall with bleary, half-awake expressions.

On the stage stood an instructor I had never seen before.

“I am Soymond, one of the instructors,” he announced. “I’ll skip the formal introductions. Let’s focus on the situation at hand. The magic barrier surrounding the camp has collapsed for reasons unknown.”

“What?”

The hero disciples, who had been standing in a daze, suddenly snapped to attention.

“This area has a high concentration of people, which means the demonic monsters in the forest will soon swarm here. The instructors are holding them off on the front lines, but some monsters will inevitably slip through.” Soymond took a deep breath before saying, “You understand what I’m saying, don’t you? Do whatever it takes to survive.”

A heavy silence fell over the hall.

“Now, I’ll join the other instructors,” Soymond said, descending from the stage and disappearing into the forest.

The hero disciples, who had been suppressing their anxiety, finally spoke, their voices strained.

“Demonic monsters are coming?”

“I-is he lying? Archmage Assad created the Butterfly Forest’s magic barrier. It can’t just be destroyed like that.”

“That’s incorrect,” Hector interjected, addressing the clueless hero disciple—Charis again, unsurprisingly.

“The barrier Assad created only extends to the main house’s walls. I doubt he extended his protective magic to the Butterfly Forest’s depths. Even if he did, it would be to prevent the demonic monsters from escaping, not to protect us,” he explained.

“T-that can’t be…” Charis’ face twisted in disbelief.

I agreed with Hector but was also convinced this situation was another test. The instructors’ absence was telling. If Soymond had stayed, it would likely have been different, but leaving all the hero disciples alone was suspicious.

Soymond joining the front lines wouldn’t alter the battle’s outcome. It would have made more sense for him to stay and command us here.

Are they testing our ability to handle a crisis?

This seemed like the most critical evaluation, especially considering we would eventually face the church.

How many of us had realized this?

It wasn’t hard to figure out, but maintaining composure in such a situation was another matter. Unless someone was naturally calm or had extensive experience, panic was inevitable.

Experience was the one thing the geniuses gathered here lacked. A life-threatening struggle would provide that experience in the most brutal way.

The death rate at the Badnikers’ training camp was 20%. At least 20% of the hero disciples here would die. The instructors wouldn’t intervene, even if someone was on the brink of death.

I was starting to get a sense of the true purpose of this training camp.

Rumble…

A faint presence stirred in the forest.

The hero disciples drew their weapons, their faces pale, but they instinctively took a step back. Not all of them faltered, though. Some remained calm, adopting battle stances.

Based on what I could tell, the fastest to react was Charon Woodjack. He had shown signs of having faced life-and-death situations since childhood. He seemed to be the only one here with the kind of experience that mattered.

Behind him, I saw familiar faces, such as Hector, Seren, and Evan.

Looking at them, I realized they were the top talents who had received extra points in the last run.

I didn’t join them. They would manage on their own. I had my own role to play.

This is an opportunity.

I unsheathed the Seven Sins Sword from my waist. Though it didn’t look like much, this was the relic of the Nameless King. It wouldn’t break just from swinging it.

At that moment, a giant tree toppled, and the demonic monsters finally emerged.

“It’s here!”

“W-what the hell—”

“Ugh…!”

The creature resembled a house-sized centipede, accompanied by a swarm of smaller ones. Even at the size of a finger, centipedes were revolting—now they were absurdly large, and I hated it.

The hero disciples were stunned by the monstrous sight. Fortunately, there didn’t seem to be any fools who panicked.

The instructors treated them like children, but only to set the tone. In reality, everyone at the training camp was undeniably skilled.

The smaller centipedes were the first to attack.

“Shit!”

“We have to fight!”

The hero disciples drew their weapons, preparing to fight in the way they knew best. But they wouldn’t be able to keep it up for long.

At some point in the battle, a crisis would strike. We had to do everything we could to overcome it. That was the real purpose behind the instructors’ dramatic display—to push the hero disciples to adapt to the mysterious power of their blessings.

As I reached this conclusion, I paused.

What about my blessing?

I had received one too, yet I still didn’t know what it was. Compared to the others, I hadn’t even reached the starting line.

Despite this, I often acted condescendingly, looking down on the other hero disciples. Perhaps this was nothing more than pride and arrogance.

I calmed down as I recalled my master’s advice—”Don’t be conceited.”

Then it hit me. Maybe this training camp is also my chance to discover how to use my blessing.

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