Twenty days.

It had been twenty days since the swordsmanship cadets began climbing Vulcan. That also meant it had been twenty days since they started risking their lives in training.

Risking their lives.

Some might think it an exaggeration, but anyone who had witnessed their training from start to finish would have no doubts. Their training was brutal and relentless.

"Urrgh!"

"Climb! You have to climb! If you fall here, you die…!"

A week into their training, they faced their first cliff climb. The PT drills had ended unusually early, within two hours, so they could attempt this climb. They strained themselves to scale the dizzying heights, with all their senses heightened.

One slip could mean death or severe injury. They weren’t ready to die yet, so they climbed with all their might, bleeding and crying, up that unforgiving cliff.

In reality, only the three assistant instructors and Roen managed to reach the top. The rest had fallen mid-way but were saved by Irene Windler’s telekinesis, waiting at the bottom. That was their first attempt. It took them four more days before everyone managed to climb it successfully.

But once they had finally all made it up…

Thud.

"From now on, you’ll climb with these bags."

"........."

…Their instructor was certainly a demon.

Otherwise, how could he suggest they climb the cliff with sandbags on their backs? They could hardly protest, not just because they had been conditioned to obey him, but also…

"The instructor will demonstrate first. Watch closely."

When they carried 10-kilogram sandbags, he would carry a 100-kilogram one, scaling the cliff with ease. And he would come back down to climb with them again. How could they complain?

After another nine days, they finally managed to climb with the sandbags themselves.

"You’ve all done well. Seems like there’s no need for PT drills anymore. You’ve all learned how to push your limits without them."

Hearing praise for the first time in twenty days almost brought tears to their eyes.

It wasn’t just because they wouldn’t have to listen to the annoying, hated sound of his whistle anymore. It was because he had acknowledged them. For this reason alone, the tears were justified. Anyone who had been through the training would understand.

Because, no matter how brutal the training was, he had always trained alongside them. He never just stood by. He was there to the end, working ten times harder than them.

‘He’d help us up when we fell.’

‘He’d always bring us food from the base of the mountain.’

‘He’d even bring our replacement reports for lectures… though that one might not be appreciated as much.’

‘There wasn’t a single time he didn’t help.’

They began to understand what it meant to be a role model, why someone could command such respect. He was truly worthy of their admiration.

So, after twenty days…

They had some resentment, but none harbored hatred or animosity towards him. He didn’t control them through violence but by leading through example. How could they resent that? They were not beasts.

"From now on, you’re responsible for your basic physical training. Other than the morning runs, you’re on your own. I’ve taught you everything you need. Now it’s up to you."

"R-really?"

"Why would I lie? I’ve shown you enough. Now you decide whether you’ll continue to train or slack off. Your future depends on it."

"......"

"Don’t get lazy. Don’t make me ashamed to have taught you."

"......"

They nodded solemnly.

“AAAAH!”

They shouted, full of sincerity.

"Your physical capabilities have definitely improved compared to twenty days ago."

"It’s hard to believe they’re the same people, right?"

That was the assessment of Arnault and Garland. Twenty days ago, they had barely been at the level of low-tier mercenaries, living day-to-day, unsure if they would survive. But now…

They were no longer at the low-tier level.

"They’re mid-tier, maybe even high-mid-tier mercenaries now."

Not only their physical strength but their aura was also different. They were at the level of veteran mercenaries. Garland even compared them to mercenaries from the legendary Wild Wolves, which spoke volumes about his high regard for them.

"They could probably put up a good fight against the disciples from any prestigious swordsmanship family."

The young noble of the Oppen family, renowned for its many disciples, shared the same impression. Arnault even considered introducing Ihan’s training methods to his family when he returned.

At that moment…

"Even so, they’re still not at the level where they could take down a bear barehanded."

“…Kunta, your standards are a bit odd.”

"In our tribe, a warrior isn’t recognized until they’ve taken down a bear, an alligator, or some monster. And once they reach warrior status, they’re no longer afraid of shamans. But these seedlings aren’t there yet. If they fought a shaman now, they’d lose. They’re still weak."

"…I see."

Though his speech was clumsy, Arnault and Garland seemed to understand his sentiment. They recognized that "shaman" referred to magicians and accepted his judgment that twenty days of training was still insufficient.

However…

"Then we’ll just have to fix those weaknesses from now on."

Ihan’s words carried certainty, and everyone looked at him with anticipation.

"Chick Number Two."

"Yes, sir!"

"Bring that over."

"Understood."

Irene Windler, familiar with Ihan’s commands, quickly moved. After assisting him as an aide, she had become attuned to his wishes. She took pride in this silent understanding.

Thump.

The ground shook as a significant number of dead and withered trees were uprooted and gathered.

Thud.

"You’ll find that this wood is incredibly tough. These trees may be dead, but having grown under the harsh conditions of Vulcan, they are unnaturally resilient."

Even without touching them, their hardness was apparent. Their massive size and the faint energy emanating from them hinted at how powerful the still-living trees on Vulcan must be.

"Don’t be intimidated. I’m not showing you this to make you feel small. But you should know that magicians can manipulate something as heavy as these logs single-handedly."

"!!?!"

He hadn’t had Irene move the logs just because he was lazy. He wanted to show them what people with mysterious magical powers could do.

"These logs weigh at least 1.5 tons. Chick Number Two, was it difficult to lift them?"

"Uh, it was a bit tricky. With telekinesis, I have to wrap my magic around the entire log."

"How many could you lift at once?"

"If I really focus, maybe four?"

"I see."

Irene spoke as if it were nothing extraordinary, and Ihan accepted it as a given.

Their calm exchange sent chills down the cadets' spines.

The fact that she could move four of those logs… approximately 6 tons… It was no wonder magicians were so feared.

Magicians were like one-man armies, capable of deciding the outcome of a battlefield on their own.

But then…

"Don’t be afraid, you lot."

Ihan reprimanded them, a reminder not to waste their training. The cadets looked up, seeing the clear, confident smile on his face.

"Yes, it must seem unfair. Magicians can wield massive forces and unexpected powers. Chick Number Two, could you control fire as well?"

"Uh, that’s not really my specialty. I connect with the elements of water and wind."

It was a shocking statement. Most magicians focused on a single element. But she had two.

Double affinity. An extraordinary trait, usually reserved for archmages.

But to someone like Ihan, who had no interest in magicians, this was nothing special.

"Enough with the chatter. Can you do it or not?"

"It would take some time, but I could."

"Then, imbue that log with fire magic and throw it at me with all your strength."

"...Excuse me?"

"Don’t ask questions. Just do it."

"…Understood."

Though she hesitated, she complied.

Fwoosh!

The log levitated, engulfed in flames.

Irene Windler, a magical prodigy whose talent hadn’t been seen in a century, now demonstrated why she was so highly regarded. She unleashed fire magic on the log, transforming it into a blazing spear of immense heat and power.

It was practically a siege weapon.

And she was going to hurl it.

"Am I really throwing this?"

"Less talking, more throwing."

"...Alright."

Swallowing hard, she poured all her magic into the log, setting it ablaze, and unleashed it with telekinesis.

Whoosh!

The sight of the flaming log was terrifying, not unlike a giant bell striking at New Year’s, yet with a pressure that could pierce through even the thickest armor.

But Ihan didn’t flinch as it hurtled toward him. He stood his ground, facing it head-on.

"The human body, when trained, is incredibly strong. But most people don’t know how to use that strength properly."

Thud!

Ihan dug his foot into the ground, firmly planting himself.

"However, when you know how to channel that strength, it can be applied like this."

He rotated his body and swung his fist.

A straightforward punch.

It was clean, poised, and incredibly powerful.

Swoosh!

A vortex formed around him as he unleashed his punch. The sheer might of the blow clashed with the blazing log.

Boom!!

Logic dictated that a human body should be torn apart against such a massive object.

But…

Crack-!

…It was the log, not Ihan, that shattered.

"Is it… split in half?"

"....."

"Is this real…?"

No one blinked, unable to believe what they had just witnessed.

As he dusted off his unharmed hand, he turned to face them.

"That’s what using strength is. I’m still a bit clumsy at it, though."

"...Haha."

A laugh escaped, almost reflexively, at such an absurd statement.

"...Does that punch have a name?"

Roen asked calmly, though there was a hint of anticipation in his tone. Ihan named the punch, inspired by a goal he had long aspired to reach.

"Divine Fist of a Hundred Steps (백보신권)."

It was a punch that could barely reach a distance of ten steps, a name that belied its current limitations.