Every person has a glorious goal they aim for. A merchant dreams of earning great wealth, a scholar dreams of rising to high office, and one who wields a sword dreams of becoming a great hero. That's all well and good.

Dreams are free, and they cost nothing. But those who begin to take action to make those dreams a reality soon realize something. That in this world, nothing is gained for free.

"Pathetic fools. It hasn't even been an hour yet, you bastards!"

A ten-year-old boy was brazenly shouting and scolding a group of grown men. Who was he? Need I even say?

It was Patrick. Before his eyes, two hundred soldiers wore expressions as if they were about to die, straining with all their might. The soldiers had their legs half-bent and their torsos held straight, with both arms extended forward, gripping their swords.

In the martial world, this was known as the horse stance. The foundation of martial arts. The foundation of the lower body.

The most basic of basics. When Patrick first demonstrated the stance and told them to try it, the soldiers' first thought was, ‘What is that?’ To the soldiers who failed to understand, Patrick said.

[If you can endure this for two shichen... no, for four hours, I will teach you the training method, that is, Aura Blessing.]

The moment they heard those words, the soldiers' eyes went wild.

Aura Blessing?

Was that not something they could never even dream of?

‘Aura Blessing, of all things?’

‘He truly intends to make us knights.’

‘All we have to do is hold this strange stance for four hours. This is a gift.’

And when Patrick said to begin, they all awkwardly assumed the posture. Patrick walked among the soldiers, correcting their flawed stances. After he had corrected them all, he climbed onto a platform and began to watch over the soldiers with a stern gaze.

And now, thirty minutes later...

"Kugh..."

"Ugh..."

The soldiers were gritting their teeth and holding on. Their thighs felt like they were on fire, and their entire bodies swayed and twisted, but they endured and endured with the single-minded goal of attaining Aura Blessing.

But...

"Aaargh!"

"Damn it!"

"Nooo!"

Eventually, they reached their limit. They had been burning with determination with the greatest opportunity of their lives before them, but once the body’s limit was reached, it was not easy to endure with willpower alone. Mind over body?

Come on, that's not something just anyone can do. Especially in an atmosphere like this, one person's failure is contagious to the other challengers. Once the first person drops out, a thought begins to form in the corner of the others' minds: ‘I guess it can't be helped.’

When that happens...

"Aaargh!"

"Damn it all..."

"Nooooo! Dammit!"

Here and there, soldiers began to collapse, plopping onto their rears. Of the two hundred soldiers, about seventy collapsed in an instant. Watching this, Patrick clicked his tongue as if they were pathetic and said.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. A fine job you're all doing. Back in my day, once I started the horse stance, I could do it all day long. I slept in that stance, ate in that stance, and even looked at erotic paintings in that stance, you punks! You get me?"

‘What are erotic paintings?’

They were intensely curious, but it was not the situation to ask. An hour passed.

"Uuuugh..."

"Kugh... Kuaaaah..."

Their muscles screamed. Pleading with them to give up. Telling them how comfortable it would be if they just gave up and sat down.

Protesting and raging, asking why they were doing this. But you see. To go against the signals sent by the body, to resist them and push oneself to the very end, that is what is known as training.

By this point, more than half had dropped out, and fewer than seventy men remained. Those who were left tried to hold on somehow, their legs trembling uncontrollably. Their will was commendable.

Their will, that is. Two hours passed.

"So, you're the only one left?"

Everyone had collapsed, and only one man remained, beads of sweat pouring down his face. Patrick sat before him cross-legged, looking at the final challenger with an indifferent expression.

‘Well, I figured he would be the one to last.’

Sanson.

The man with a body born for martial arts whom Patrick had already taken note of. In terms of his body alone, Sanson's talent was considerable.

Had he been born in the Central Plains, he would have made a name for himself as a strongman from a young age, and a renowned righteous sect would have sent some old geezer with a white beard to say, "Hohoho, you shall become my disciple," and snatched him up without a second thought.

Even at this moment, when everyone else had fallen, Sanson endured and endured. And more than two hours had passed. Of the four hourglasses prepared, two had completely run out, and the third had begun to flow.

Seeing this, Patrick spoke with a pleased smile.

"Good. You're doing well."

"..."

"Halfway there now. You can do it, right?"

"Kuk..."

"Just hold on for as long as you already have. You can do it. Right?"

"Ugh... Kuuugh..."

Sounds of pained groans began to escape Sanson's lips. The human mind is truly a fickle thing.

Halfway done.

Halfway to go. Though it was the same situation, the feeling it evoked differed from person to person. Sanson had endured and endured through the burning pain in his legs, but the moment he realized that he still had halfway to go, his spirit wavered.

‘There's still half left? I have to do this for as long as I just did? This?’

His knees trembled, and his whole body began to scream. The moment he realized he had to experience this hellish agony for the same amount of time all over again...

‘This is... insane...’

"Kuaaaaargh!"

In the end, Sanson too, collapsed. Sanson, who had fallen backward, sat there with a dazed, vacant expression. Then he brought both hands to his face, covering his eyes.

He gritted his teeth and covered his eyes, lest a grown man show an unseemly sight. The other soldiers looked on with pity.

‘Sanson, I was hoping at least you would pass.’

‘Damn it, does this make any sense? Does it?’

‘It was impossible from the start. That damned young master was just toying with us.’

The soldiers said nothing, but they shot glances full of resentment toward Patrick. Receiving their gazes, Patrick clicked his tongue and said.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. You have no grit. No tenacity."

"Kuk..."

"Damn it..."

The soldiers clenched their fists in frustration, their bodies trembling. As they gasped for breath and gritted their teeth to control their anger, Patrick spoke.

"And you think you can become knights with such weak tenacity? Not a chance."

"..."

"A bunch of worthless trash."

"Kuk..."

"..."

Even if he was the lord's son, being insulted like this by a ten-year-old boy ignited a rage that felt like it would make their heads explode. They glared at Patrick with murderous eyes, and Patrick looked back at them and said.

"You looked down on it, didn't you?"

"..."

"You thought it was nothing, didn't you? You thought it was easy, so you accepted in a heartbeat, didn't you? Giddy with the thought of learning Aura Blessing."

"..."

"Am I wrong? If I'm wrong, say something. I'll apologize."

"..."

No one answered. What Patrick said had struck the nail right on the head of their inner thoughts. Then, instead of anger, shame and self-reproach filled their hearts.

They had thought it was just a simple stance, yet not a single one of them had been able to clear the condition Patrick had set. What could they say? They had accepted without a second thought, so were they now going to argue that the conditions were too harsh after failing?

If they had any conscience, they could not do such a thing. The soldiers hung their heads, dejected. Seeing the soldiers like this, Patrick smiled faintly to himself.

‘They know what is right. Though unlearned, they can distinguish between right and wrong, and act upon it.’

He already knew of and believed in the soldiers' loyalty. But separate from that, he had to verify whether they were qualified to learn martial arts. Martial arts meant power.

Those qualified to obtain that power had to be individuals who possessed the minimum character to use that power correctly. ... That was his Master's philosophy.

‘Huh? Then why did he teach me?’

He felt a brief contradiction in his Master's teachings, but in any case, it seemed the test for the soldiers was sufficient. Patrick spoke in a calm voice.

"We'll do this again tomorrow at the same time."

At that moment, the soldiers who had been hanging their heads low all lifted their faces at once. One of the soldiers then spoke.

"Does this mean we're not disqualified as of today?"

"Of course not. I'm going to make you do it until you succeed."

"We... we don't have to give up?"

"Give up?"

A deep furrow formed between Patrick's brows. In that instant, all two hundred soldiers flinched. It was strange that hundreds of grown men would flinch just because a mere ten-year-old boy scowled a little, but was the opponent not who he was?

Patrick looked at the soldier who had mentioned giving up and said.

"Give up? Go on. Just try and give up."

"Ah... No, sir. That's not what I meant. I wasn't saying I would give up."

"Ah, you weren't? I see. I must have misunderstood. Hahaha. My apologies."

"Ha... hahaha..."

Patrick's expression, which had turned demonic, softened, and he laughed good-naturedly. The soldier awkwardly laughed along, and Patrick deliberately muttered loud enough for all the soldiers to hear.

"What a shame. I need to make a proper example of someone at the start. That's the only way to prevent a second and third deserter."

In that moment, the soldiers realized. From the very beginning, the option to give up had never been available to them. A week later.

"Hey, you worthless piece of trash!"

"Kuaaaargh!"

Patrick instantly rushed toward a soldier who had collapsed while holding the horse stance and sent him flying with a kick. He then approached the soldier, who had flown several meters and was now crumpled in a corner of the training grounds...

"Didn't I tell you? Huh? Did I, or did I not, say you'd die if you collapsed sooner than yesterday?"

"Ugh... Uwaaaah... You did. You... Kuaak!"

"Then why did you collapse? Are you looking down on me? You disrespecting me? And you still expect to live?"

"No, sir. Not... Uwaaaaargh!"

It was a scene of brutal assault, difficult to watch. The other soldiers who were watching gritted their teeth and endured.

‘He's insane...’

‘No. I have to hold on.’

‘Uwaaaah... Noooo!’

One might ask how much it could possibly hurt to be stomped on by a ten-year-old. If anyone were to say such a thing here and now, there would be another body to clean up. The soldiers knew.

They knew just how cruel and terribly painful Patrick's violence was. After the first day of training. Patrick had assigned the soldiers a quota.

"You must endure for at least thirty minutes longer than you did yesterday. Got it?"

"Thir... thirty minutes, you say?"

"Yes. Isn't that obvious? A person should be better than they were the day before. That's what progress is, isn't it?"

"......"

"You have to progress in your training. Training that doesn't achieve the result of progress is just a waste of time. The goal for that is thirty minutes. What do you think? Sounds good, right?"

"..."

He was right. Regrettably, he was indeed right. At that point, one soldier spoke with a grimace.

"But young master, thirty minutes is too..."

"..."

"Hmm? Is it too short?"

Before the soldier could finish, Patrick quickly interjected. Then, with a bright smile, he continued.

"Shall we make it an hour then?"

"..."

"Ah... no, that's not what I..."

"Hmm, it seems I have underestimated the passion of you men. I bow my head and apologize to you all. Please curse this incompetent me for not recognizing your zeal and desire for improvement."

"..."

For a moment, the thought ‘Can we really curse him?’ flashed through the soldiers' minds. To those soldiers, Patrick spoke with a demonic expression.

"Well then, just as you all wish(?), it's one hour. You just have to last one hour longer than you did the day before. Wow, at this rate, we'll reach four hours in no time. Right?"

"..."

In an instant, the soldiers' faces turned deathly pale. And Patrick clapped his hands and said.

"Alright, begin!"

And so, the training resumed. And the beatings began in earnest. It was the moment hell descended upon the training grounds of the Schneider Fief.