Marc lay slumped on the ground like an abandoned rag doll. His body barely responded; a searing pain shot through every fiber of his muscles, and his breath was shallow. He was drenched in sweat, caked in dirt, and his throat was so parched that the air burned as it entered.
And this is how the demon who came to save the world dies, he thought bitterly. I haven't even begun the journey.
With an agonizing effort, he raised his hand. Without a word, he began to mold mana to conjure a stream of water directly into his mouth. But his thirst was interrupted by a massive shadow: a boulder the size of his own body was hurtling toward him at a terrifying speed. Marc forced himself to roll, dodging it by scant inches. The impact of the stone made the ground vibrate beneath his chest.
"You are forbidden from drinking water until the training is finished," Silas's voice declared.
"Are you trying to kill me, old man?" Marc hissed, furious, spitting out dirt. "That rock almost crushed me!"
"Your training was so mediocre that the slightest demand is breaking you," Silas replied with an insulting calm. "You are a demon, stronger than almost any being in this world. You should be doing this without blinking."
"It's my first encounter with magic!" Marc exploded. In a fit of honesty born of exhaustion, he told Silas about his origin, the office, and his pact with the God Amir. "I'm learning something that doesn't even exist in my world."
Silas remained unmoved. "You think a hundred years is a long time, but centuries slip through your fingers. Before you know it, you'll be facing the Hero. There will be unforeseen events, wars, and chaos that will steal your study time. You have one year before leaving this place, and you aren't even close to being ready."
"I have a limit!" Marc retorted, feeling his muscles give up. "I can't become an expert overnight."
"I prepared this training precisely because I know you're a novice," Silas said, tapping the ground with his staff. "If I considered you an expert, you'd already be dead. Besides, your fight with the wolves was an embarrassment. Wolves fear fire; a simple flame spell would have scared them off without shedding a drop of blood. But you didn't know that because you haven't read the books in the cabin. Tell me, Marc... have you read anything that wasn't a grimoire?"
"Of course I have," Marc lied, meeting his gaze. "There are many; I just hadn't reached that section yet."
Lie, Marc thought. He hadn't touched a single book on history or nature.
"Knowledge is a fundamental part of your training, just as important as improving your magic and your physique. You must know your enemy; not just their weaknesses, but their strengths as well. Learning what type of magic to use or not use against each monster is paramount for survival," Silas said, as flames formed in his palms and he hurled them at Marc without warning.
Marc dodged the flames by throwing himself to the floor. But he had no respite: another rock, just as large as the previous one, was already three feet above him. He dodged it by rolling on the ground. He managed to stand up, but immediately, a high-pressure stream of water approached at great speed. Marc lunged aside, but the edge of the attack caught his arm. He was barely falling when a violent gust of wind almost sent him flying, but once again, Marc managed to dodge at the last second.
Ha! You're not sending me flying this time, old man, he thought with a triumphant smirk.
In that instant, something invisible and colossal struck him from above, slamming him into the earth with brutal force. Marc felt his ribs creak. He was completely paralyzed, as if a mountain had settled on his back.
"Elemental magic isn't the only way to take down your enemies. You must learn to block. Not just roll on the floor and dodge with stupid movements," Silas said firmly.
"What... what are you doing to me, old man?" Marc managed to articulate, feeling his internal organs being crushed.
"Gravity magic. The pressure on you is now twenty times normal."
"Enough!" Marc shouted, burying his face in the grass. "You're going to crush me!"
"Get out of there yourself," Silas replied, watching him coldly.
This old man is insane! Marc thought, desperately trying to lift an arm, but it felt as if it were made of solid lead. He only managed to move his fingers a couple of inches.
"Use every means necessary," Silas insisted. "Your body can handle it. Move."
Move? I think this old man has a mistaken idea of the strength I possess. "Use every means necessary"? He says it like it's so easy; I can't do anything in this state.
Marc kept trying with all his might, but he had only managed to move his arms and feet slightly. A feeling of pure rage began to surge through his entire being.
"To hell with him!" Marc roared, rage searing his throat. "You old fossil, I'll show you what I'm capable of!"
His eyes glowed with electric intensity. The ground beneath him vibrated as Marc, still crushed by gravity, managed to hurl chunks of earth and rock toward Silas. The old man barely tilted his head to dodge the first; the others shattered against an invisible barrier. Marc didn't stop: he summoned two massive water columns to flank him, but the liquid crashed uselessly against the priest's shield.
Determined, Marc struck the ground mentally, raising a stone pillar beneath Silas's feet. The old man reacted instantly, shattering the pillar and descending with the elegance of a feather thanks to wind magic. With a shout of pure effort, Marc managed to crawl out of the pressure zone. As soon as he felt the weight lift, he launched ice spikes from his palms, but the magic dissolved in the air before it could even form.
Did he neutralize my spell? Marc thought, mouth agape. Is that even possible?
"There is still too much to learn," Silas said, noting his astonishment. "We'll continue tomorrow. We'll start with physical training and the sword. I'll bring a wooden one from my hut."
"Sword?" Marc huffed, trying to catch his breath. "With powerful magic, I won't need weapons. It's a waste of time. If I learn that barrier of yours, I won't have to worry about anything else."
"A magic wielder cannot always rely on a single tool," Silas declared, gently tapping Marc's side with his staff. "One who aspires to greatness does not limit himself. There will be times when magic fails you, and on that day, only your body and your steel will save you."
Damn it, he's right, Marc admitted to himself. If they block my magic like he just did, I'd be a sitting duck.
"And another thing," Silas added, turning away. "You have one year to read every book in the cabin. If I were you, I'd hurry."
"That's impossible!" Marc protested. "I don't have enough hours to train my body, my magic, and read on top of it all."
"You can't fool me, Marc. I know you haven't touched any of the other books. You have plenty of time at night. Besides, you'll have one day off a week from training; I suggest you use that day to read as much as you can. If you haven't read anything by tomorrow, I'll make you train double, and it will be like that every day," Silas said, and without another word, he disappeared into the woods.
Marc stood alone, feeling the weight of the new routine. Magic, physical, weapons, and studying... it's more work than my old office. What a drag. But then he shook his head. No turning back. I said this would be my best life, whatever the cost.
He spent the last hours of the day in a state of letargy. His body couldn't take any more; Silas's last attack had left his neck stiff and aching. That evening he prepared a simple dinner, as he had no energy for anything complex. He made roasted potatoes directly in the embers, served with toasted bread spread with butter and herbs from the garden.
He poured a large mug of beer from the wooden barrel, watching the foam form. Then, raising his hand effortlessly, he conjured a thin layer of elemental ice over the glass, chilling the liquid instantly. Cold beer was a luxury his magic training allowed. He was so thirsty he emptied the entire mug in one long swig.
"Ahhhh, what a delight!" he exclaimed with a satisfied grin. The beer was the only refuge in what he was already calling "The Hellish Training."
At the end of his dinner, Marc reached toward the bookshelf. Reluctantly and without enthusiasm, he took the first book his fingers found at random. He didn't want to risk double training the next day.
The book he held was a thick tome of human territory, titled "The History of the Rise of the Kingdom of Holy Law." Its pages recounted the early years of the kingdom's formation: from being a simple merchant town south of the Kingdom of the Ancient Pact, it became independent in the year 550 of the Lord Amir, after a bloody power war that lasted thirty years, until the winning side crowned the first King.
Fifty years after its foundation, the first Great Church was erected in the name of the God Amir: a massive structure, about a hundred and sixty feet high, adorned with gold and filigree. The book mentioned a well-structured religion with a Cardinal at the top of the hierarchy, whose origin was the word given directly by the God Amir to a priest of the kingdom.
Yeah, right, Marc thought. Amir told me humans created the religion in their own way and with their own rules.
The book did not focus on what the religion professed, but limited itself to chronicling the history of the kingdom, with one exception: it mentioned how, thanks to the divine word and prophecies granted by the God Amir, a war had begun against the Demon King of antiquity, and how the first Hero defeated him, leaving the territory of the demons without a king for more than a hundred and fifty years.
The Demon King of antiquity and the first Hero... I wonder how many "heroes" have existed. It could be an eternal cyclical confrontation between these heroes and the demon king of the moment... and in a hundred years, it will be my turn.
Marc continued reading for another hour until boredom and sleep completely overcame him. He left the book open on the table on the page where he had stopped and went to bed, feeling more exhausted than any other day in that world. The arms of Morpheus did not take long to wrap him in a deep and restorative sleep.