(Arin's POV)
"BLAARGH!"
Stomach acid spewed from my mouth, defiling the green grass at the edge of the private training field. My head spun violently, as if my brain had just been forcibly stirred with a giant spoon. The world around me seemed tilted at forty-five degrees, and the ground beneath my feet felt like it was undulating wildly like a stormy sea.
"Get up, you fool! You have only been at this for five minutes, but your condition is pathetic! Do you want to give up and go home crying to your mother's arms?"
Instructor Brook's shout echoed, piercing my eardrums which were ringing painfully.
I wiped my mouth with the back of a violently trembling hand. The black leather gloves with gold embroidery I wore pulsed softly, emitting a dim purple light that seemed to mock my weakness.
The Feather-Touch Gloves. A gift from Duke Rhyms that turned out to be more like a curse than a blessing.
The gravity circuit inside these gloves was unstable. Instead of merely reducing weight constantly, this object possessed a manufacturing defect: Random Gravity Spike. Sometimes my sword became 50% lighter, sometimes it returned to its normal 100% weight, and in the worst moments, the gravity reversed, making my sword feel as if it wanted to fly into the sky.
To others, this was trash. To a normal knight, this was dangerous because it could ruin their rhythm and break their wrists. But to me? It was the perfect torture device.
I stood up unsteadily, retrieving the practice longsword lying on the ground.
"Problem Analysis: Output and Control Disparity," I croaked, trying to distract myself from the nausea with cold logic.
Ever since injecting the Grizzly V2 Serum, I had a classic problem. My heart and muscles now possessed power equivalent to a Wyvern. But my skeletal frame and nervous system, especially the Cerebellum which regulates balance, were still running on Baboon specifications.
The result? Every time I struck with full power, my own body was thrown off because it was unprepared to withstand the recoil force. I was like a glass cannon that cracked every time it was fired.
The solution was not to strengthen muscles anymore. Brook called it Neuroplasticity. I did not know where he learned such a complex medical term, but the method was not as cool as the name suggested.
I had to force my cerebellum to learn how to balance my body in conditions of absolute Chaos.
"Once more," I said, reactivating the glove's circuit.
A soft hum resonated from the gloves.
Instructor Brook picked up a dry Oak leaf from the ground, then threw it into the air. The leaf floated down in an unpredictable zig-zag pattern.
"Remember, Arin. Your target is not to slice it," said Brook while chewing an apple casually, his voice sounding dismissive yet educational. "Your target is to stop your sword exactly at the cutting point without letting your body sway even a little. Your sword must become an extension of your nerves, not just an iron club you swing blindly."
"Yes, Instructor," I answered briefly.
I took a deep breath.
Inhale... Hold...
My heart pounded, pumping serum-enriched blood throughout my body. I focused my gaze on the dancing brown leaf.
When the leaf was level with my chest, I slashed at it with absolute focus.
SWISH!
Right in the middle of the swing, these damned gloves acted up. The sword's gravity, which had been light, suddenly became twice as heavy (200%) at random.
The sword's inertia increased abruptly. Normally, my swing would veer downward and my shoulder would be pulled until it dislocated. But my brain screamed: Compensate!
My left back muscles contracted with lightning speed, pulling my body in the opposite direction to balance the sudden load. My feet gripped the ground, shifting my stance in a fraction of a second.
My sword slid forward.
It was not a smooth slash. It was a rough slash full of struggle.
Slice.
The tip of my sword touched the leaf. But because I was too busy balancing my body, I forgot to restrain my explosive power.
The wind generated by the blade was too great. The leaf was not cut; instead, it was blown far away by the air pressure before the edge could even touch it.
And me? I managed not to fall. But my position was a mess. My right foot had shifted half a meter, creating a gouge in the ground.
"Failed," Brook pronounced flatly, without mercy. "You are still fighting against the tool. Do not fight it, kid, but adapt to the weight changes. Be the water that fills the container, not the rock that smashes it."
I growled in frustration, wiping away the sweat stinging my eyes. "Again! Throw it again!"
"Good spirit. But clean up your vomit later," Brook replied, tossing a new leaf.
I raised the sword, restarting this torture session.
Before I knew it, the day had changed.
The following days were filled with endless vomiting, bruises, and dizziness. This training made me feel like the world was permanently spinning, even when I was standing still.
I did not sleep or rest except to eat protein bars and drink water. My eyes were sunken, the dark circles beneath them thickening like a sleep-deprived panda.
I continued training even when it was not Instructor Brook's class time. In front of the dusty Class C dormitory courtyard, the longsword kept swinging, slicing through the air. Every slash was accompanied by a suppressed shout from me, trying to swallow back the nausea.
It felt like my muscles were screaming every day. The Grizzly Serum also needed to adapt again to my body's condition, which was now forced into unreasonable training. Lung constriction, joint pain, muscle bruising, stiff bones—what else? I had tasted every variety of pain with each swing of the sword.
Passing students looked at me like a madman. A mana-less person constantly slashing at floating leaves with a large longsword only fueled their foolish perception of me.
"Hey, look at that crazy Cripple!" exclaimed a student while pointing. "He wants to cut leaves with a longsword? Haha, does he think he is playing circus?"
"Just leave him be," his friend replied indifferently. "He has lost his mind due to exam pressure. How pitiful."
"Even before the exam, he will collapse first at this rate."
"Haha, so stupid! What is the use of muscles if the brain is empty?"
Various insults were hurled by the students passing me. They laughed, mocked, and made my suffering their afternoon entertainment. However, among those who passed, there were a few who kept watching me. Their gazes were different. Not mocking or degrading, but... respectful?
Suddenly, a thin student with a dull practice sword came and stood not far from me. He did not speak to me; he simply began swinging his sword, focused on his own training just like me.
I glanced at him briefly, then returned my focus to the leaf. No energy for small talk. Besides, focusing on training was paramount.
I kept swinging my sword morning, noon, and night. Some students even protested from their room windows because they were disturbed by my cries of pain in the middle of the night.
Three days passed.
Without realizing it, the dormitory courtyard was no longer a quiet place. Now, it was not just me and the thin student, but a dozen other students were also swinging their swords in silence.
They were so focused on their own training. There were even students trying to copy my 'floating leaf' training method, only to fail miserably and give up because it was incredibly difficult.
To me, perhaps this was just a normal reaction from students panicking because the Final Exam was approaching. But without my realizing it, to them, what I was doing was something precious. An unyielding spirit that was deeply inspiring amidst the despair of Class C.
They were fellow Class C students. They were sick of being bullied and treated like trash by the upper-class students. But seeing me, the mana-less Cripple, stay focused on training despite being mocked and humiliated, had reignited the dim fire of spirit in their hearts. A knightly spirit they used to be proud of when they were first accepted as Academy students.
Those students trained very hard. Some were so extreme that they pushed their bodies until late at night, accompanying me as I screamed and nearly vomited in the dark of night. We became a group of madmen shouting at the moon.
"Do you want a drink?"
The voice stopped my swing.
A short-haired student, the first one to join me three days ago, held out his water bottle. His face was covered in sweat, but his eyes were sincere.
I fell silent for a moment, staring at the bottle. Suspicion immediately seized me. Was this one of Karl's henchmen's tricks? Was the water poisoned? Were there sleeping pills in it?
Seeing my hesitation, the student smiled awkwardly then pulled his hand back.
"Ah, sorry. I forgot you are in a difficult position," he said with understanding. "I will not force you. Caution is necessary, right?"
The student returned to focusing on his own training without being offended. As if he had anticipated my wary reaction. After all, the feud between Karl and me had spread widely. So it was natural for them to see me suspecting a stranger who suddenly acted friendly.
"Thanks for the offer," I mumbled softly, just loud enough for him to hear.
He only nodded with a thin smile, then went back to slashing the wind.
Ignoring the stiff atmosphere, I returned my focus to the floating leaf, slashing at it again. However, the unusual reaction of the students kept playing on my mind.
On the third day, the laughter began to decrease. On the fourth day, no one mocked anymore. On the sixth day, they started stopping just to watch. Watching a sword swing diagonally, trying to pierce through the limits of destiny.
I had slashed at hundreds of leaves. The result? hundreds of times I had failed.
Gravity kept changing. Left, right, heavy, light, floating. My brain was forced to process thousands of balance variables per second. It felt like my neural circuits were being burned and reconnected forcibly over and over again.
But slowly... amidst that chaos, I began to feel something. A pattern within the uncertainty.
Late afternoon, two days before the Final Semester Exam began.
The setting sun painted the sky with dramatic splashes of purple and orange. The winter wind blew harder, carrying the cold scent of snow.
I stood still in the center of Brook's training Arena. My body was relaxed, no longer tense like a violin string about to snap. My breathing was calm and deep.
Instructor Brook stood at the edge of the arena, chewing his last apple of the day. He stared at me sharply, demanding that I immediately show the results of my training over this full week.
"Show me, Arin. Have you become water, or are you still a rock?" Brook challenged.
I closed my eyes for a moment. Feeling the position of every joint, every muscle fiber. I no longer thought about "how heavy is this sword." I thought about "where is my body's center of gravity."
The Class C students who trained together in the dormitory courtyard had also come to the training ground. They stood at the edge of the arena, watching in silence. They came to witness an unyielding student being tested by his instructor. Their breath hitched, as if they were watching their own battle against fate.
I opened my eyes. My focus was sharp.
Brook threw the leaf.
The leaf floated down. Simultaneously, the glove activated, causing the gravity to shift wildly.
But this time... I did not fight it. I danced with it as if gravity were my friend.
Today, those students would be witnesses. Witnesses to the beginning of the glory of a brave Knight born from pain.