After his morning training, Ihan thoroughly washed himself off.
He didn’t want anyone around him to complain about the smell of sweat.
Then he ate again.

Nutrition was just as important as training.

He had stew—filled with meat, vegetables, and tomato sauce, which he had slow-cooked the night before.
Stew was one of those dishes where you could absorb all the nutrients from the ingredients. Despite using cheap ingredients, slow cooking made them tender and easy to digest, while the tomato sauce and commonly available herbs like basil enhanced the flavor. It was a nutritious and tasty meal.

“Whew, that was good.”

After eating, it was time to rest.
Ihan was meticulous about rest, just as he was with his training. He took a short, 30-minute nap.

Although it wasn’t as effective as a full night’s sleep, the benefits of a short nap were undeniable.
Even a brief nap helped restore physical energy and mental clarity. After precisely 30 minutes, Ihan got up and stretched his body.

Waking up after rest, followed by stretching, then intense exercise, followed by nutrition.
Sword training, then a bath, and more nutrition.
A nap followed by more stretching.

This was Ihan’s daily routine, the structure that shaped his mornings.

For the past three years, he hadn’t missed a single day of this routine.
Even after getting beaten to a pulp by that wretched knight captain, he still followed it religiously the next day.

‘Honestly, sometimes it feels like getting beaten and then recovering makes me even stronger.’

If someone asked why he continued such insane training, Ihan would say it was because it worked.
Pushing his body to the limit and then healing with his troll-like recovery always left him feeling stronger.
Though his progress was slow, like a snail's crawl, what mattered was that he was making progress.

Even if he only gained 0.01 points in strength or stamina each day, over 100 days, that became a full point.
Over 1,000 days, that would be 10 points.
Since experiencing this, Ihan had trained consistently.
What might seem like insignificant progress to others was his lifeline of hope, especially since he wasn’t a noble, didn’t have a teacher, and had nothing but his own body to rely on.
Sometimes, his progress was even faster—0.05 or 0.1—and the pleasure that came with growth was incomparable. Ihan felt like he was steadily moving toward self-perfection.

"...But when will I ever win?"

Yet, he was human, and sometimes those gloomy thoughts crept in.
Today was one of those days.

It was one of those days when he just wasn’t in a good mood.

As Ihan walked out of the area where farmers and commoners lived on the outskirts of the city, the bustling capital began to emerge.

The overwhelming grandeur of Pandragon, the capital of the kingdom, became more apparent the closer he got to the royal palace.
Magnificent buildings lined the streets, and it wasn’t uncommon to see sculptures that looked like works of art.
It hadn’t always been this grand. The kingdom underwent significant development after the war, transforming its capital to match its newfound status as a major power.
Anyone who remembered the old scenery would probably be shocked and disoriented by the sight of the capital now.

As Ihan entered the noble district near the capital, the towering royal palace came into view.
Some people gazed at it with admiration, but while Ihan could appreciate its beauty...

"...I really don’t want to go."

His expression was one of pure dread, and it was clear he had no desire to be there.
He stood still for a few moments, engaged in an internal struggle before finally giving in and walking toward the palace gates.

When he arrived:

“Salute! Sir Lihan, reporting!”
“Good morning, Sir Lihan.”
“Thank you, everyone... but for the last time, it’s Ihan, not Lihan.”
“Aren’t they the same thing?”
“......”

Oh, grandfather.
Your honorable lineage is being mocked in this medieval world.
Should I beat them up for this?

[Stop spouting nonsense and just get on with your day.]

‘...Yes, sir.’

Imagining what his grandfather would say, Ihan nodded and presented his identification.
The soldier used a magical device to scan his medallion, and it glowed blue in response.
It was a bit like modern fingerprint or iris recognition technology—magic really was fascinating.

“No problems. Have a good day, Sir Lihan.”
“...I don’t want to have a good day.”
“Haha, you’ve got such a sense of humor.”
“......”

What’s so funny?
Feeling like everyone but him was having a great time, Ihan entered the palace, grumbling to himself.
His stress levels were pretty high, and he was on edge.
One wrong move, and he might just explode.

Just one person.
Let someone mess with me today.

Fueled by frustration, Ihan quickened his pace toward the knight’s quarters on the outskirts of the palace.

“Lihan’s here.”
“He’s arrived.”
“Wonder what today will bring?”
“The captain’s here too, right?”

A group of knights in silver armor, adorned with white lions, greeted him.
Of course, most of them avoided making eye contact with him.

‘Cowards.’

If a commoner like me had shown up, shouldn’t they be glaring at me, picking fights, or something?
Shouldn’t they be trying to push me into traps or send assassins after me?
Why did none of them have any spine?

‘The guys in the old days were better.’

At least back then, the noble knights had tried to stab him, sent assassins, and genuinely attempted to kill him.
He had enjoyed those days, back when beating them up gave him an excuse to relieve stress.
But things had changed. After getting beaten up by Ihan so many times, all the troublemakers had disappeared.
He couldn’t help but feel the passage of time.

‘I should’ve left a few around.’

He should’ve let some of the small fry survive, those who could at least pick a fight now and then, so he wouldn’t be so bored.
Just as Ihan was frowning with a hint of regret...

“Ihan, what’s with the murderous expression today?”
“…Can’t you at least pick a fight with me?”
“No way. Who in their right mind would pick a fight with a monster like you?”
“Stop exaggerating.”
“...It’s not exaggerating.”

Jake, a noble-born knight who didn’t look down on Ihan for being a commoner, was one of the rare good guys in the order, and one of Ihan’s few friends.
He was also one of the few who actually called Ihan by his proper name. Jake was skilled too, ranking among the top knights in the order, making him a decent sparring partner, or stress-relief target.

“Don’t even think about it. Sparring with you makes my bones ache.”

Jake preemptively shut down any chance of a fight, sensing where Ihan’s thoughts were headed.
He really was a perceptive guy.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a noble? If a commoner gets uppity, shouldn’t you get mad and try to kill him or something? Tsk tsk!”
“More than anything, your view of nobles seems incredibly narrow.”

Jake had joined the knight order at the same time as Ihan.
He was well aware of how many conflicts Ihan had with the noble-born knights in their early days.

...And he also remembered what happened to those nobles after their clashes with Ihan.

‘It still gives me chills.’

The memory of that day was etched deeply into Jake’s mind.
The nobles had tormented Ihan a bit too much, and when they crossed the line, Ihan turned into a literal beast, battering them to the brink of death.
Others had tried to stop him, but in the process, they too were gravely injured, ending up in long-term recovery. In hindsight, it might have been better to just leave Ihan alone.
If the captain hadn’t intervened, at least three knights would have died that day...

After that, there had been discussions about expelling Ihan from the knight order, but the captain ignored all of them.
It seemed like the captain was protecting Ihan, but Jake and the sharper knights knew better.
Ihan had wanted to be expelled. He would’ve welcomed it.
If it weren’t for the captain, Ihan would have quit a hundred times over.
In a way, the captain was messing with Ihan by keeping him in the order. Jake thought it was a bit too much, but he understood the logic behind it.

After all...

‘He’s definitely strong.’

It was hard to let go of someone with that kind of talent.

Jake’s refusal to fight Ihan came from a place of deep, genuine respect.

The knight order’s training was, to be honest, rather lackluster.
It wasn’t too harsh, nor was it particularly challenging.
In fact, knights were often left to train on their own.

‘It’s like Major League Baseball.’

Ihan recalled something from his past life—how players in Major League Baseball mostly handled their own training.
They paid out of pocket and organized their schedules down to the minute, honing their skills in order to survive in the ultra-competitive league.
That was the life of a major league player.
Similarly, many of the knights were either the apprentices of renowned masters or nobles receiving support from their families.
As a result, they trained individually and rarely shared their training methods with others.

Those methods were family secrets and personal assets.

‘They’re all hiding something, for sure.’

Like treasure-hoarding goblins, these knights possessed centuries-old techniques, passed down through generations.
Whenever Ihan fought them, he was often surprised by their unconventional and impressive moves.

Like right now.

Whoosh!
Clang!

Two knights sparred with training swords, their blades clashing and producing sparks.
The brilliance of their advanced swordsmanship was a sight to behold—more mesmerizing than any circus performance.

Fwoosh!

One knight's sword bent like a whip, pressuring his opponent.
The impressive part was that the opponent deftly parried the attack, countering with three precise strikes in quick succession.

“Wow, that’s flashy.”

It was a spectacle of swordsmanship far removed from anything Ihan could perform.
Watching it was both a pleasure and a vicarious thrill.

...Not that watching meant he could copy it.

‘In the novels, reincarnated guys can copy anything they see, but why can’t I?’

Once, Ihan had tried to learn by observing the knights during sparring sessions, but he didn’t manage to pick up anything.
He couldn’t understand why they moved the way they did or how they generated so much power from those positions.
Rumor had it that noble families practiced a secret form of martial arts that made them as strong as ten ordinary men.
Some said it was a way of reaching for Aura, but whatever it was, it was clearly impressive—like something out of the wuxia novels he had read in his previous life.

...I’m jealous.

“They’ve all got such impressive skills.”
“Are you one to talk?”
“Huh?”
“Ugh.”

Why was this guy picking a fight now?
Was it a sign he wanted to spar?

“For the record, I’m never sparring with you.”
“...Oh.”

Ihan was disappointed.

It wasn’t just Jake; everyone else avoided sparring with him, leaving Ihan with no outlet for his stress.

‘Kids these days─.’

“-Sir Lihan!”
“…Huh?”
“I request a duel, Sir Lihan!”
“…Oh.”

So there was someone.

‘Finally, someone with some guts.’

Ihan smiled widely.