When the cadets first heard the order to start jump rope, they were flabbergasted, thinking, "What is this?"

It seemed like a child's game, not something fitting for cadets, and they wondered why they had to do it. The aspiring knights, in particular, were full of defiance.

However, the moment they saw the ropes marked with red…

"What the—what is this!?"

Was this really a jump rope?

...Or was it reinforced steel?

The rope was made of intertwined metal. Could this seriously be used for jumping?

The cadets, wondering if it was just an illusion, picked up the metal ropes, but—

Snap!

It was heavy. So heavy that if they weren’t careful, their wrists might snap. It was that burdensome.

From the handles to the rope itself…

Were they really supposed to jump rope with this?

It was unthinkable.

But—

Swish, swish!

"This is fun!"

Kunta, like a child finding a new toy, started jumping with the rope, and seeing him, the cadets hesitantly decided to give it a try. Maybe it wasn't as bad as it looked?

However, their hopes were short-lived.

"I can't lift it!"

"How are we supposed to spin this thing?!"

Just holding the rope was a struggle; how were they supposed to actually jump with it?

Groan!

Only those who had learned aura techniques could manage, channeling their internal energy at full capacity to get the rope to move.

What they had initially dismissed as a silly child's game had now become a matter of life and death. One wrong move, and they could dislocate their wrists or elbows.

Swish! Swish!

But gradually, some began to gain confidence. Those who knew aura techniques—or even just believed in their own strength—began to think they could manage the required number of jumps.

And then—

Thwack!

Thud…

One of the cadets, while jumping, got hit by the rope and collapsed, unconscious.

One by one, the cadets followed suit, fainting from getting hit by the metal ropes.

The atmosphere grew tense, and without realizing it, the cadets stopped swinging their ropes. They feared that if they were hit on the head, it could be catastrophic.

"Weaklings, passing out after getting hit by something so small? Pathetic, truly pathetic."

-……

This wasn’t a matter of being weak—it was a matter of life and death. The cadets couldn’t speak back to him, though.

And for good reason.

Swish, swish, swish!

"Why are you struggling so much with something this easy?"

The instructor, Ihan, spun the metal jump rope with such ease that it made their attempts look laughable.

Then—

Thwack!

The rope slammed into Ihan’s head.

…It had clearly struck him hard.

"Oh, a mistake."

But there wasn’t even a scratch on him. He was completely fine, only slightly embarrassed that he had made such an error.

Was this guy even human?

"Doesn't it hurt?"

"It does. But knights endure pain. If you want to be a knight, you have to be able to handle this much."

"I’m not so sure about that…"

It seemed like it was something only he could do, but the cadets wisely kept that thought to themselves.

 

Ihan hadn’t simply handed out impossibly heavy metal jump ropes because he lacked sense.

He was aware of his unique physical abilities. But that was why he knew something the cadets didn’t.

They were fully capable of handling this.

"Some of you might have noticed by now, but the weight of the ropes differs by color. The yellow ones are average, lightweight jump ropes, the green ones weigh 3 kilograms, and the red ones weigh 10 kilograms."

• T-Ten kilograms!?

 

There was a wave of murmurs.

The cadets holding the yellow and green ropes looked in horror at those carrying the red ones, realizing that they had been jumping with such heavy ropes all this time.

Ihan ignored the chatter and continued his explanation.

"I remember the sparring matches from the first day. Most of you were easily defeated by me, except for a few. If any of you have forgotten, let me know—I’ll be happy to remind you."

As humiliating as it was, no one argued.

It was the truth, after all.

But Ihan wasn’t bringing up yesterday’s events to insult them.

"From what I saw yesterday, the swordsmanship cadets, especially those aspiring to be knights, have terrible fundamentals. You all claim to want to be knights, but your basics are severely lacking. So I’ll ask you—are you really serious about becoming knights with such pitiful skills?"

-!!!?

It was an insult, no doubt about it.

Even though they had lost miserably, they were still from knightly families. And yet, here he was, questioning their dedication?

It was a massive affront.

But Ihan merely scoffed at their hostile glares.

"Those of you who feel insulted, listen closely. You’re idiots. You don’t even realize what you lack because you’ve been surrounded by people who only tell you what you want to hear. With all those sycophants around you, no wonder your fundamentals are so weak. If you ever go to the battlefield, you’ll either be the first to die or somehow survive by pure luck. The only reason you’d live is because you’d get injured before even seeing combat, lying in some cushy villa to recover. The military would never send someone as pathetic as you into battle."

"……."

An uncomfortable silence fell over the group.

Were they really in the wrong just because they couldn't jump rope properly? Was it so terrible that they got hurt doing something so ridiculous?

And what about lacking fundamentals?

Some of them couldn’t accept it, and Ihan could tell. He chuckled dismissively.

There was no point in trying to talk sense into them.

"It’s pointless trying to explain things to you thick-headed lot. But I'll show you something that even an idiot can understand. Kunta, Arno, Garand—step forward."

Thud.

"Kunta, reporting in!"

"I think I know what’s coming."

"Ugh, this reminds me too much of my old man. Could he be my long-lost son?"

The three stepped forward as if they had been expecting this, and Ihan was satisfied.

Yes, that’s the proper attitude for learning.

"You should all feel ashamed. The most skilled among you are doing this without complaint, while those of you with average or below-average skills are the ones whining."

With a simple glance from Ihan, they knew what to do without needing any further instruction.

Swish, swish!

The sound of the metal ropes cutting through the air filled the space.

Kunta handled the heavy rope like it was a toy, swinging it freely, while Arno performed perfect, textbook jump rope techniques. Garand, though more casual in his movements, was just as steady as Arno.

Their ropes spun without a single misstep. Despite the differences in speed and the sweat pouring down their faces, they kept turning the ropes without showing signs of exhaustion.

Ten jumps became twenty, then thirty.

Slowly but surely, they kept going.

Watching them, one might even begin to doubt whether such stable, consistent jumping was possible.

Compared to the cadets who could barely manage three jumps before collapsing, these three were in a different league entirely.

Just as the few remaining cadets were blushing in shame, Ihan—

Tap!

—suddenly tapped Kunta’s rope, disrupting the rhythm, causing the rope to lash out and strike him on the back.

Smack!

The sound was so loud and sharp it seemed like both a whip and a hammer had hit at once. It wasn’t just painful—it sounded like a blow that would break bones and require three months of recovery.

But—

"Ugh, Instructor, that hurt…"

"Stop whining. You can handle it."

"Pain is pain."

"Quit grumbling. …Fine, I’ll buy you something nice later."

"Instructor, you’re a good person!"

Kunta seemed fine.

Though his skin had turned red from the impact, showing that the strike had left its mark, the fact that he could withstand such a blow was astounding.

Could it be—

"Anyone here thinking ‘Is this the power of a barbarian?’ had better pluck out their eyes. Especially those who’ve learned aura techniques—you might as well rip out your eyes if you can’t see what’s right in front of you."

...Another wave of humiliation washed over the cadets.

There were quite a few who had been wondering if Kunta’s endurance was due to some special barbarian ability.

Scoffing at them, Ihan continued his explanation.

"I’ve never formally studied aura techniques, but I know the basics. Aura techniques temporarily unleash your body’s potential, and that potential can be developed through hard work and training. Am I right?"

"Precisely."

"Thanks for the honest answer. You’ve got potential. Ever considered becoming an assistant instructor?"

"...I’ll pass."

"Shame."

It was Arno who responded, still turning the heavy rope without any sign of fatigue. By now, he had completed over 100 jumps.

"Arno here is using his aura only on his knees, ankles, wrists, elbows, and shoulders to prevent injury from such strenuous activity. He’s only protecting the areas at risk while using minimal energy to keep jumping lightly. He isn’t using his aura for anything else. Do you understand what this means?"

"Ah…"

The cadets finally started to understand.

It was like teaching toddlers rather than cadets, painfully slow, but Ihan didn’t care. He continued, addressing what they were finally beginning to grasp.

"Arno isn’t relying on his aura for anything unnecessary. He’s using his own natural strength and stamina to spin the rope. Does that make sense?"

"How… how do you know all this if you’ve never studied aura techniques?"

"I can tell just by looking."

"Is that so…?"

"The important point is this: Arno, Garand, and Kunta have all built up a solid foundation of physical strength and endurance. Unlike you lot, who rely on aura for everything and train lazily."

Aura may be regarded as a powerful force, but the truth is that the person wielding it matters more than the technique itself. Even with a legendary sword, a third-rate swordsman would struggle to cut through a tree.

That’s why these cadets were wrong.

‘It’s like someone who only trains their internal energy but never practices their physical strength.’

They weren’t even glass cups capable of holding water.

In fact, that’s giving them too much credit.

‘They’re nothing more than paper cups.’

When would they finally become competent?

"What you need right now isn’t more swordsmanship or aura training. You need to build your strength, stamina, endurance, and durability from the ground up, you pathetic weaklings."

"...That’s a long-winded way of saying we need to start all over again."

Garand’s blunt comment struck home.

Right as Ihan finished his speech, Garand hit 200 jumps, and the cadets’ expressions grew even darker.

Basic training? At this stage…?

"For the record, the part of the knight entrance exam that causes the most failures is the stamina test. Strangely enough, the easiest section. Ah, right, it doesn’t matter to you, since you’ll just join your family’s knightly orders without needing to pass any tests, huh? How nice it must be to have good bloodlines, right? Haha!"

"……."

Being told to rely on their family ties was like being slapped in the face for nobles who valued honor above all else. It was tantamount to telling them to die.

And with that, their rebellion died down. Ihan was finally satisfied that the noise had quieted.

They were starting to understand their place.

"Don’t worry, though. I’m not planning on dragging this out forever."

Maybe just the whole first semester.

"I promise you this: if you follow along with me this semester, your physical abilities will improve dramatically by the end. Of course…"

He trailed off as he glanced over the cadets.

His eyes seemed to say:

"If any of you manage to keep up, that is."

The cadets could feel the mockery in his gaze and thought to themselves:

If I could just punch him once, I’d die happy.

…But that would be a long, long way off.