The morning mist crept like a ghost between the giant trees. Dew dripped one by one from the tips of the leaves, falling without a sound onto the dark, damp earth.
In the middle of a field of roots that looked like the very veins of the earth, Rian stood tall. His chest expanded, holding the air in his lungs as if he could stop time with a single breath.
Bebegig stood before him, his gaze as serene as a mountain lake—yet it felt as if it could pierce through to the very bottom of one's soul.
"How long can you hold your breath, young man?"
Rian shrugged, trying to sound casual to hide his tension.
"I can hold my breath for a full day."
Bebegig's eyebrow rose slightly, his voice remaining flat.
"Impressive. But simply holding it for a long time isn't what matters. What I need to train is your circulation: how air and mana flow in harmony, how mana regeneration can be accelerated. Our focus isn't on how long you can hold it, but on how regular and efficient the flow is."
Rian sighed, then grinned.
"If I can hold my breath all day, why do I still have to play at breath control like a woman in labor?"
Bebegig suppressed a small laugh.
"Begin. Inhale for four counts, hold for four, exhale for four, then empty for four. Repeat without error."
Rian snorted.
"Fine, you bossy old master…"
With his eyes closed, he followed the pattern. Inhale… hold… exhale… empty. Again and again. The air felt stable, but boredom began to seep in like a poison.
While holding his breath, he muttered softly:
"If this were training to be a singer, I probably would have passed the audition by now."
Tok.
Bebegig tapped the ground with his staff, a wordless reprimand that made Rian immediately refocus.
"Now," Bebegig commanded next, "run around that rocky hill one hundred times without stopping."
The path was a nightmare. Tree roots jutted out like bones from the earth, and slippery moss was ready to trip anyone who lost their footing.
Rian groaned but ran nonetheless. His lungs felt like they were on fire, every muscle in his legs screaming in protest, but he forced his breathing to remain steady in the four-count pattern.
On the fortieth or fiftieth lap, as his vision began to blur and sweat stung his eyes, a shadow crossed his mind—Catty. The loyal black cat who had always been by his side, whose gaze was always full of trust. A painful lump of longing clogged his chest.
He closed his eyes for a moment, swallowed the pain, and turned it into fuel.
Bebegig's short command from a distance—
"Keep going."
—became a whip that forged his exhaustion into a fire of determination.
The strength session began with crushing weights. After hundreds of push-ups and squats made his muscles tremble violently, Bebegig placed a large stone on Rian's back.
"Today's lesson: enduring a burden while keeping your mana flow stable."
Rian groaned with every movement.
"Old man, if I die, please write the cause of death as: 'Victim of Grandpa Bebegig's crazy experiments.'"
A warm touch from Bebegig's hand channeled healing magic into his torn muscles, a cruel mercy that forced him to rise and repeat the suffering all over again.
The peak of that day's trial was a deep lake that shimmered calmly under the twilight sky.
"Get in. You must survive underwater. Monsters will attack. This short sword will suffice. Focus, regulate your mana, and do not panic."
Rian stared at the dark surface of the water, a nervous frown etched on his forehead.
"Gramps, is this breathing practice or am I signing up to be fish food?"
Without waiting for a reply, he dove in. The world changed instantly. The water pressure crushed his body, stabbed at his ears, and the cold bit into his skin, chilling him to the bone.
In the fading light, the glint of monster scales looked like dancing shards of glass.
A school of monsters attacked him, their slashes and thrusts creating whirlpools that tore at his arms. Blood spread, forming a red mist that baited more ferocious attacks.
Surrounded, Rian screamed in his mind:
"What kind of training is this?!"
A larger creature coiled around his body, crushing his ribs with a horrifying crack. The last of the air was forced from his lungs.
Just as his consciousness was about to fade, a shadow shot through the water like a flash of lightning—Bebegig. A single slash, and the creature was cleaved in two.
Rian was lifted to the surface, where he coughed violently on a rock, spewing up water and blood.
"If I die, write on my tombstone: 'Died from a failed training exercise, then became fish food.'"
Bebegig stared at him coldly.
"Foolish boy. You're still alive. We continue tomorrow."
That night, Rian lay limp on a bed of straw. The pain in his body slowly subsided, but the memory of nearly dying at the bottom of the lake kept replaying in his mind. He realized how little he knew about the world that had nearly claimed his life for a second time. That realization sparked an unbearable curiosity.
Under the candlelight in the treehouse, Rian asked in a soft voice:
"Grandpa, who are the gods in this world?"
Bebegig, who was sipping water, answered slowly.
"There are five: Dewa Hideung, guardian of the underworld. Dewa Biru, controller of the sky. Dewi Bereum, the punisher of souls. Dewi Hejo, protector of nature. And Dewi Bodas, guardian of the cycle—though I myself don't know what cycle she oversees."
Rian nodded, absorbing every word.
"What about races? And kingdoms?"
"Humans, elves, dwarves, beastmen, demons. Three great kingdoms: Esbekday in the north, Lea in the west, Fulakmi in the east—and many other kingdoms beyond those."
Rian's eyes sparkled.
"What about adventurers? Are there heroes, too?"
Bebegig fell silent. His eyes stared into the campfire with a distant gaze, as if seeing shadows from a forgotten past.
"Adventurer ranks: Warrior, Elite, Master, Grandmaster, Epic, Legend, and finally, Mythic. The higher the rank, the greater their influence and power."
Rian swallowed hard, his voice half-trembling, half-excited.
"And you, Gramps? What's your rank? What level?"
Bebegig paused for a moment. He took a slow sip of water before answering in a quiet voice, filled with unspoken memories.
"I am Epic, a regional hero. Level… sixty-eight."
He averted his gaze and patted Rian's shoulder gently.
"That's enough for now."
A mysterious smile touched his lips. Rian grinned broadly, though his body still felt broken.
"So I've got a local hero for a teacher. Pretty cool. So, what's the training tomorrow? Arm wrestling a dragon?"
Bebegig held back a smile.
"Tomorrow, we begin close-quarters combat techniques. From the basics to the advanced."
Rian let out a long sigh, then grinned, full of spirit.
"I'm ready."
After Rian left, Bebegig walked to the window, gazing up at the black sky filled with thousands of stars.
"Let us see," he murmured softly, "if he can carry on my will."