As the academic evaluation entered its final phase, there was one unexpected industry that saw a boom—none other than the quarry business. The climax of the final test of the term, The Battle with the Stone Troll, required an enormous amount of high-quality marble and sturdy rocks, which the academy purchased in bulk from the quarries.

However, while the noble owners and merchants managing these quarries enjoyed this prosperous period, the laborers saw no such benefits. In fact, this time of year marked an increase in overwork and exhaustion for them.

Boom! Boom!

The quarry was a basic, under-equipped facility with only pickaxes, massive hammers, and large iron spikes scattered around. Workers were ceaselessly chipping away at a massive stone mountain, cutting it down bit by bit.

"Hit it in order! Don't slack off on your form!"
"Hey, you idiot! Stop screwing around! You moron!"
"Don't let your guard down! One mistake, and you'll be the next one crushed!"

The foreman's shouts filled the air. In a job where one wrong move could mean death, tempers were understandably short. The workers weren't bad people—they were just focused on their survival and getting paid.

Suddenly—

Crack!

"That idiot!"

One of the new workers had made a mistake. He had struck the stone the wrong way, causing a fissure that began to spread dangerously across the rock face.

Rumble!

"Ah... oh no!"
"Stop standing there like an idiot! Run, you fools!!"

The foreman's gruff voice echoed. Safety protocols were in place for such accidents, and the only thing to do was to run for safety as fast as possible.

But as the workers scattered—

"W-Wait...!"
One of the inexperienced laborers froze in fear, his legs giving out beneath him.

"Gus…!"
A colleague tried to help, but it was too late. The rocks were already falling.

Boom! Boom!

Massive boulders came crashing down, and the workers could only watch in horror as it seemed certain that their comrade would be crushed.

But then—

Grab!

A man pulled the frozen worker out of harm’s way just in time, narrowly avoiding the falling rocks.

"...Huh?"
"Snap out of it. How long are you going to sit there?"
"...I, thank you."
"Don't mention it. This job clearly isn't for you. Find something else."
"Y-Yeah, thanks..."

The worker nodded weakly, clearly shaken by the close call.

"Rohan! Thanks a lot—if it weren't for you, we’d be picking up a corpse right now!"
"Not a corpse. There wouldn’t even be a body to collect."
"God, could you stop with the morbid jokes?"

"Grateful? Then maybe throw in some extra pay."

Rohan, the gruff worker who had saved the man, went right back to work without missing a beat. Despite the near-death incident, the labor resumed as if nothing had happened, an eerie reflection of the harsh reality these laborers faced.

Accidents like this were common in their line of work. With no union and no concern for workers' rights, nobody cared if an accident happened. If anything, some people were probably pleased that the fallen rocks meant the job would be finished faster.

"Don't worry, I’ll talk to the boss and make sure you get a bonus. The guy who messed up won’t be getting paid, so I’ll pass his wages onto you."

"Now that sounds like proper gratitude."

Thud! Crack!

"Wow, you're pretty skilled. Have you worked elsewhere before?"

The foreman watched Rohan's impressive work and couldn't help but be amazed by his expertise. Clearly, this wasn’t the work of a mere novice.

"I’ve just picked up some experience here and there."

"Haha, well, you’re definitely an experienced pro!"

In the quarry, the real work was in shaping the rocks so they could be loaded onto wagons. The tools provided were minimal, and only a pickaxe was given to each worker. Handling heavy stones required both strength and skill, and seasoned workers like Rohan were a rare commodity.

'He’s not your average guy—just look at that precision.'

Crack! Crack!

Each time Rohan swung his pickaxe, the stone split perfectly. This wasn’t just a matter of brute force; it required technique and finesse. The foreman, impressed, couldn’t help but think of recruiting him full-time.

‘…How sad. Why is it that only old men seem to take a liking to me?’

The worker named Rohan, or rather the knight Ihan who had taken up temporary work at the quarry, couldn’t help but feel despondent. He glanced back at the foreman’s intense gaze and felt a deep sense of melancholy.

That Derrick guy was getting all sorts of attention from beautiful noblewomen, while the only thing Ihan got was—

‘Ugh, this is disgusting.’

Suppressing his irritation, Ihan focused on his work. He wore a thick mask to protect against the dust and tirelessly swung his pickaxe.

“Huff! Huff!”

Breathing was difficult. The mask was alchemically designed to block 99.9% of dust and fine particles, but that also made it incredibly hard to breathe—just as the alchemist had warned him. The more he exerted himself, the quicker his stamina was drained.

But Ihan found a strange satisfaction in the challenge.

Bang! Bang!

‘This rock is ridiculously hard!’

Unlike the other stones, this particular one was especially tough, causing his hands to throb with each strike. To an outsider, it might have looked like he was making it look easy, but in truth, it was far from it.

Swinging a pickaxe was grueling, especially when trying to break something so solid. Each blow drained more of his stamina, and Ihan’s body was quickly approaching its limit.

Even with his enhanced recovery, there were always limits.

‘Training 18 hours a day really is torture.’

For the past eight days, Ihan had been pushing himself to the brink, following a relentless training regimen.

Every morning began with a two-hour run. Then, he’d climb cliffs with logs strapped to his back for three hours, followed by five hours of weapons training. Between meals, he’d squeeze in short naps, and the rest of his time was spent working at the quarry.

It was a grueling schedule, and by now, his body and mind were nearing exhaustion. Even his extraordinary regenerative abilities couldn’t keep up with the relentless strain.

Crack!

But Ihan didn’t stop. Instead, he pushed harder, swinging his pickaxe with even more force.

Each swing required every ounce of his strength and focus. But as he continued, something shifted inside him—his body began to move instinctively, and his mind emptied.

At that moment, Ihan reached a state of complete immersion.

‘Here it comes.’

He could feel it—something every warrior only experienced once in a lifetime if they were lucky.

He had entered a state of mūgō, or selflessness.

Completely immersed in his task, Ihan lost all sense of self, focused only on the rhythm of his movements. He didn’t know where this would lead him, but he trusted in the years of training and the countless efforts he had poured into his body.

Thud!
Crack!
Boom!

His movements became fluid, his body following a natural rhythm, and within him, a small yet significant change occurred.

Vrum…

A faint, nearly imperceptible shift in the flow of his body.

And with that—

Slice!

The best possible outcome.

“…Huh?”

As Ihan’s eyes refocused, he nearly lost his balance.

"Hey, Rohan! Take it easy—you’re going to kill yourself at this rate."
"How long have I been like this?"
"Huh? Not even a minute."
"A minute…"

“You sure you’re okay? You don’t want to head back?”

The foreman was clearly worried about losing his star worker, but Ihan just looked down at the rock he had been working on.

‘It was worth the challenge after all.’

The stone he had been chipping away at, previously too hard to break, now lay perfectly split, as if it had been cleanly chopped.

“What the hell? How did you do this?”
"Rohan, what did you do to this stone?"

“…Just lucky, I guess.”

His pickaxe hadn’t just cracked the stone—it had split it cleanly into several pieces, like cutting firewood. Ihan shrugged nonchalantly.

“Just happened that way.”

On the twelfth night of the academic evaluation, Ihan, having completed his own version of “bulking up,” was ready for whatever lay ahead.