The old man vanished.
Not jumped. Not stepped away. Not ran.
Vanished.
As if the wind itself had swallowed him.
Aaryan stood frozen in the clearing, blinking rapidly. His fingers tightened around the half-eaten roasted meat still in his hand.
The forest felt different now.
Quieter.
Heavier.
"…Did he just… disappear?"
The fire crackled sharply behind him, pulling him back to reality.
The assassins' bodies lay motionless in the dirt.
This was real.
Aaryan lowered his head and slowly finished the remaining meat. Warmth spread through his empty stomach, giving his trembling body a small but precious strength.
He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and looked toward the towering mountain rising beyond the trees.
It stood like a silent judge.
"…If I want answers… if I want strength…"
His jaw tightened.
"I have to climb."
He began under pale moonlight.
The mountain path was merciless.
Jagged rocks tore into his worn sandals. Thorn bushes clawed at his cloak. The cold wind howled through narrow ridges, slamming against his fragile body as if testing his resolve.
Hours passed.
His breathing grew ragged.
Sweat soaked his tattered mage cloak despite the freezing air. His legs trembled violently with every step.
Still…
He climbed.
The sky slowly shifted from deep blue to faint orange.
Birds cried across distant valleys.
By the time the sun rose, Aaryan's vision blurred. His muscles burned as if they were being ripped apart from inside.
Then—
He saw it.
A small wooden hut near the peak.
Wild grass swayed gently around it. Thin smoke rose from a crooked chimney.
So close.
"…Old… man…"
His voice barely escaped his throat.
He took one final step—
And collapsed face-first onto the cold ground.
Darkness swallowed him.
When Aaryan opened his eyes again, sunlight streamed through a small window.
He lay on a rough straw mat inside the hut.
The scent of dried herbs filled the air.
His body felt heavy… but alive.
Metal scraping against stone echoed nearby.
Shhk. Shhk. Shhk.
The old man sat near the doorway, calmly sharpening a rusted blade.
Without turning around, he spoke.
"You took longer than expected."
Aaryan pushed himself up slowly.
"…I climbed all night…"
"Yes. I noticed."
The old man pointed toward the corner of the hut.
"There is a wooden chest. And a bucket."
Aaryan followed his gaze.
A massive wooden box stood against the wall — large enough to fit two grown men inside.
Beside it lay a small wooden bucket with a cracked handle.
The old man continued casually,
"You will fill the chest with water from the lake at the base of the mountain. Morning and evening."
Silence.
Aaryan stared at him.
"…What?"
"In the remaining time, I will train you."
Aaryan blinked.
"…The lake is at the bottom."
"Yes."
"…This box is enormous."
"Yes."
"…And the bucket is tiny."
"Yes."
Aaryan slowly turned toward him.
"Are you insane?"
The old man scratched his chin thoughtfully.
"Possibly."
Anger flared inside Aaryan.
"You said you would make me strong! This is servant work!"
The scraping sound stopped.
The old man stood.
Despite his aged appearance, his posture straightened like an immovable pillar.
"You want strength?" he asked calmly.
"Yes!"
"Then carry water."
"That has nothing to do with magic!"
The old man stepped closer.
His eyes lost their humor.
"Your body collapses after climbing one mountain."
Aaryan clenched his fists.
"Your breathing is unstable."
His jaw tightened.
"Your footing is uneven."
He swallowed.
"You cannot even control your own body… yet you speak of controlling mana?"
The words hit harder than any insult from the palace.
Because they were true.
The old man walked past him and opened the door.
Sunlight flooded the hut, revealing endless mountain ranges stretching toward the horizon.
"We eat only when the sun stands at the center of the sky," he said, pointing upward.
"Or when the moon rises and night flowers bloom."
He glanced back with a faint smirk.
"If you miss those times…"
"You don't eat."
Aaryan's stomach tightened instantly.
The old man tossed the bucket toward him.
Aaryan barely caught it.
"Work begins now."
Aaryan stepped outside.
The descent looked even steeper in daylight.
His legs were still trembling. His palms were blistered and raw. Every muscle screamed for rest.
He looked at the bucket.
Then at the hut.
Then at the endless mountain path disappearing into mist.
For a brief moment—
Doubt crept into his heart.
"Can I really survive this?"
A breeze passed across the mountain peak, brushing lightly against his face.
His expression slowly hardened.
"…I didn't survive exile to quit now."
He tightened his grip on the bucket.
Without another word, he began walking down the mountain again.
Step.
After step.
After step.
Behind him, the old man watched silently from the doorway.
The playful smirk returned faintly.
"He has some guts…"
He folded his arms.
"…Let's see how long they last."
The wind swept across the peak as Aaryan descended toward the base of the mountain.
The training had begun.
And this—
Was only the beginning of hell.