The wooden training dummies— they're surprisingly more sturdier than they look.
I've been hitting them for the past six hours with all my strength— every single one of them in the training grounds. But I haven't even left so much as a dent on any of them.
After doing my training routine— running, pushups, meditation and mana gathering, and spell formula recalling— I started this nonsense.
My robe's on the ground, not too far from my bag. And my mask's on my face.
I'm shirtless, only wearing black pants, and my black boots are off my legs too.
I wish I had a training partner or something. It's getting depressing just kicking and punching a training dummy on my own all day.
The beads of sweat on my forehead keep sliding trickling my eyes.
But I continue hitting the dummy— even as the sun sets, and even as the hot air keeps getting more and more cool, and refreshing. I keep punching, and kicking the dummy.
