When I woke up, I found myself in an infirmary. Numerous tubes were attached to my wrist, arms and my nose. It seemed to be pumping mana into my bloodstream.

Once again, I have been useless in magical combat.

I felt frustrated. I tried my best but every single time, Andreas had to come and save me. I felt powerless in almost every battle. Back when we fought against Polso Daku and Ierda Lauer, I got frozen by Ierda’s ice magic and my consciousness was also frozen by Polso’s illusion magic. And back when we fought against Eldan Wycan, urgh.. I don't want to talk about it.

And so when I first gained consciousness, I picked up a sword and trained. If I couldn’t utilize my attribute to its fullest, then all I could do was to train my body and possibly learn the way of the sword.

And so I self-taught myself and trained even when my healing body was screaming. I trained even when my joints made weird creaking sounds. I mustered up what little mana I had recovered and swung my sword every day and night alike. Obviously, the nurses in the infirmary weren’t too happy about my activities.

One day, when I went about my usual, a certain someone—who’d later become an important mentor figure to me—made their appearance.

The first thing she did when she looked at me was….hit me. Yes, she hit me. I looked over completely baffled at her. And I still remember the face she made to this day. With an amused expression, she held out her massive staff—which was totally disproportionate to her figure—at me. The staff, made of some kind of mysterious mana stone, glowed with a purple hue. Although, shorter than her weapon, she wielded it like a pro. She spun her staff a little before stepping her left foot forward. Her mage dress waved around elegantly as she showed magnificent foot work. Left, spin, right, left, spin. She ended the “ritual” with a somersault.

She then held out her staff against me who had his butt on the ground. She didn’t utter a word but her expression and body language seemed to say “I want to try you”.

So that’s how it is then?

I leaped up from the ground and took my own stance of sorts. I didn’t mind losing to be honest. As long as I can further improve, I didn’t mind being a mop for someone.

I swung my blade at her vital points which normally, would’ve been hard to avoid for a normal human being. But she, she was built different. She would move her bodies in ways which seemed impossible. For example, when I targeted her head, she’d do splits to avoid it. But, the crazy part was that she’d leap back up in no time to give me an uppercut sending me flying.

This would go on for about thirty minutes before I completely drained my stamina. The thirty days I spent training on my physique had helped me compete on equal footing for thirty minutes with an expert at the craft. I was feeling proud. I just had to train further and harder, then maybe… maybe I could stand on equal footing with Andreas and Clara.

“You did well.”

Huh? The girl who beat me up was now acknowledging me. This was new to me.

“Thank you,” I said.

“If you’d like, I want to take you as my disciple.”

Ehh? Disciple? I mean I do want a clearer path to my goals so…

“Yes, I’d love to be your disciple master.”

Her face lit up when I said that as she said with a warm smile, “Okay! Now time to introduce ourselves formally. I’ll start. I’m Bevlin Canaxar, an Archmage and I’m working as a tutor for the Latix family children.”

“Huhh?! You are an Archmage? B-But you look so young.”

My new master just simply chuckled. “Yes, I’m 17, but I’m an Archmage.”

“That is really impressive. I don’t know much about the hierarchy of mages but I know that is a top rank.”

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“Yes, yes. The rank of Archmage is the highest and the most prestigious rank a mage could achieve, and you could count the total number of Archmages on one hand.” She said it with a proud snort. “Now about you.” She directed the question toward me now.

“Uh.. I’m Asher Clavor. You could say I’m an acquaintance and a protégé of Osiris Latix.”

“You-You are an acquaintance of Lord Osiris?” Bevlin looked stunned for a second.

“Yeah, I am,” I said. “...Why are you making that face..?”

“Don’t you realize how big of a thing that is?”

Is it really that noteworthy that I’m an acquaintance of Osiris?

Seeing me unimpressed, Bevlin sighed. “It seems like you don’t get it,” she said. “Okay, let me put it this way: you know the person who is the head of the most powerful and influential demon family in the entire world.”

Okay, wow. That does seem impressive. Now I really want to see what her reaction would be if I said I was personally hired by Osiris.

“Yes, I get it.”

Finally, she seemed satisfied. “Okay, let’s start our first training, shall we?”

Bevlin, my new master, taught me everything. From the absolute basics of sword mastery to complex foot work to weaving and resonating magic with the sword.

She gave me motivation every single day until my body broke past its limits.

–Fabulous. You've got the Fire attribute. It is all because of your hard work, my student.

I even inherited a second attribute. Even though he was the prime reason why I got this far. Even though he was the reason why I became strong enough to stand on my own two legs.. He still reasoned that it was because of my own hard work. One couldn't ask for a better master.

–Master, I want more. I want to get even stronger.

–Hmm.. it's a bit hard. You've nearly reached your maximum. But it may be possible. There's a slight chance if we go ‘there’.

The journey up the Natarishi snow mountains was brutal, and when we finally reached the small village where the sword school was hidden, it was clear that this place was no ordinary training ground. The wind here was relentless, cutting through layers of clothing like shards of glass, each gust a reminder of the unforgiving environment I’d chosen for my training. Even the air was thin, forcing my lungs to work twice as hard for each breath, a constant strain that began to wear on my stamina before the training even began.

Bevlin explained that the village elders had trained swordsmen for generations, teaching them to synchronize their minds and bodies with the extreme conditions around them. To become stronger, I needed to undergo their most rigorous routine, something she described as the “Forge of the Soul.” It involved stripping down to the bare minimum, despite the biting cold, to let the body and mind adjust to the raw harshness of the environment. She handed me a thin tunic that barely reached my knees, the only layer I would be allowed to wear while training.

The first exercise focused on breathing. Bevlin instructed me to practice “wind breath,” a method designed to take in air slowly and deeply, despite the sharp cold that filled my lungs like needles. Mastering this technique, she explained, would allow me to conserve energy while amplifying my stamina. Each breath had to be controlled and rhythmic, aligning my heartbeat to a slower, steadier tempo. If I could control my breath, I could control my fear, she said.

Then came the endurance drills. I was told to hold specific stances on a cliff edge for hours, sometimes perched on one leg while balancing stones on my shoulders, testing my patience and physical limits. Every muscle burned, and my hands would start to tremble, but I knew that losing focus even for a second meant tumbling into the icy abyss below. Bevlin’s voice echoed around me, calling out corrections and encouragements. She’d often scold, “In battle, there’s no room for trembling. You must be the calm in your own storm.”

Finally, when my body was exhausted and my mind was on the edge of breaking, we’d move on to the sword techniques. Bevlin introduced me to a series of rapid strikes and defenses that relied on speed over power. The mountain wind became my opponent, and each time it howled, I was to cut through it with my blade, channeling the raw force of the cold into my strikes. I practiced until my hands felt numb and the hilt of the sword felt like ice against my fingers. The entire focus of the training here was not just to hone physical skill but to build an inner resilience against any kind of pain or weakness.

Each day I would return to the village with my muscles screaming, my lungs burning, but with a new resolve forming within me. As days passed, the mountain no longer seemed as hostile. I started to feel my body adapt to the relentless conditions, and my mind grew sharper. The biting cold became a friend rather than a foe, a constant reminder of my endurance.

Bevlin’s praise was rare but hard-earned. “You’re learning, Asher,” she said after one particularly grueling session. “The mountain respects those who respect its strength. Keep pushing forward, and one day, even Andreas and Clara will see the strength you’ve forged here.”

With each strike, each stance, each cut through the chilling air, I could feel myself moving closer to my goal of standing as an equal beside my friends.