Chapter 23 :The pain of weakness

Arthur awoke bright and early. 

He heard the familiar sounds of heavy breathing of the rest of his unit. Felt slept as always, like an iron poker rod, rigid. As if he was trying to stand at attention while he slept. 

Mat snored like a drill. While during war those sounds had blissfully been overshadowed by the shower of heavy artillery. Now that they were no longer fighting, it now became an unbearable torture. Arthur had to make sure he was already asleep before Mat, or otherwise he'd be forced to stay awake the entire night. 

But out of all them, Caster's habits were probably the strangest. Why? Because he slept on the roof. Not on the wooden shafts that were just under the ceiling. No. He slept on the roof, his body open to the elements. 

'Bunch of crazy people, the lot of them,' he sighed inwardly. 

He was no longer in the crumbling barracks of his old base, nor the suffocating confines of the General's outposts. He was sleeping in Fort Lanai, one of the last human-built fortresses in Pandora, famed for its defenses and near-impenetrable design. 

Yet it had fallen in a single day. 

True, there had been no one at General Thanason's caliber defending it, which was unusual for such a crucial stronghold. But that didn't diminish the ingenuity or sheer power displayed by the General. Arthur had watched the plan unfold in stunned silence, witnessing how strategy and might worked in unison. Something stirred within him during that battle. For the first time, Arthur didn't just crave strength for survival or freedom—he wanted it for its own sake, to feel the thrill of wielding such power. 

'Was this how battle-crazed maniacs began?' He smirked inwardly. 

When he woke, it wasn't an alarm or another soldier that roused him. It was his own burning drive. Across the room, Noah was already awake, his sharp green eyes carrying the same focused realization. 

They didn't need words. The shared understanding between them was enough. 

Both dressed in their new armor: the same standard issue they had always worn, now painted white and red, the colors of the rebellion. It was the second phase of Thanason's audacious plan. After taking Fort Lanai, the General intended to pose as the rebellion's own forces, infiltrating their ranks from within to deal maximum damage. 

As Arthur adjusted his armor, he couldn't help but reflect on the brilliance of the plan. Thanason embodied his power through his tactics: he became a beacon, drawing all eyes to himself while the true threat moved unnoticed in the shadows. 

"I wonder if abilities are tied to the psyche," Arthur mused as they made their way to the training grounds. In many ways, General Thanason did embody light. It wasn't a bad idea to explore. 

There, he saw Commander Scarlet, her armor unlike anything he had ever seen. It shimmered with engraved runes, ordinary metal enhanced to exude power. The sight reminded him of Ascension, the legendary spear he had once used to kill a MageKnight. Mana-forged relics, capable of turning ordinary equipment into artifacts of legend. They were a notch above ordinary forged Aresium. 

He saluted without hesitation. The motion no longer felt strange. 

"Arthur, good," Scarlet said, her voice brisk. 

For ten awkward minutes, they stood in silence until he finally broke it. "Commander, are we starting training?" 

Scarlet's lips curved into a smile that carried a touch of malice. "I don't wield the spear, Arthur. Your instructor is waiting for you outside." 

Arthur clenched his teeth. She had a knack for being maddeningly cryptic, and there was nothing he could do about it. 

"Thanks," he muttered, stalking off toward the gates. "I hope it's someone worth learning from." 

Beyond the fort, a figure waited. 

At first glance, the man seemed young, no older than twenty-five. His long, dark hair whipped in the wind, partially obscuring a face lined with weariness that betrayed his age. His clothes were tattered: black robes frayed at the edges and a loose gray scarf draped around his neck. In one hand, he held a spear. 

Arthur's breath hitched. For a moment, he thought it was Ascension, but a closer look revealed otherwise. The blade was longer, slightly curved, designed for slicing rather than thrusting. Yet, the aura it radiated was no less intimidating. 

"So you're him, huh?" The man's voice was soft, almost gentle, in stark contrast to his fearsome appearance. 

"Yeah, I am," Arthur replied warily. 

The man nodded, his eyes glinting. "Follow me." 

He turned and began walking toward the mountains. Arthur hurried to keep pace. "Where are we going?" 

The man didn't answer. 

"What's your name?" 

The question seemed to amuse him. He paused briefly before replying, "You may call me Master." 

Arthur stopped dead in his tracks. "Master? I didn't agree to that." 

The man turned, his expression unreadable. "Nor have I accepted you as my disciple." 

"So we agree then? You're not my master," Arthur said, crossing his arms. In this world, a Master, Disciple relationship was extremely treasured. It was an exchange, a bond that surpassed all others. It wasn't something to be offered or received on a whim. No one apart from the protagonist had ever had more than one master, but of course, he was the MC so there was no argueing with that. 

Arthur didn't want to squander his chance of a good master later down the line because of this. 

The man smirked and continued walking. "I used to be called Syar, a lifetime ago. If you wish to follow me, do so. Take the leap, or don't. It matters little to me." 

Arthur hesitated. Syar's demeanor screamed power. Arthur had learned to trust his instincts in this world: if someone acted like they could destroy a mountain, they probably could. It was common sense. Same as if you see someone doing protagonist feats, don't get in the way, you will lose. 

But trusting Syar meant committing to something lifelong. Was it worth it? 

"Can you teach me the spear?" Arthur called out. 

"No," Syar said without stopping. "But I can show you how to master it. How to surpass everyone else." 

Arthur clenched his fists, should he take the risk, or not? Should he, or not? Syar, he hadn't heard that name before, which means he was either very strong, so much so that he was only known by another title. Or he was a fraud. 'I doubt they'd make me train with a fraud,' he reasoned to himself. 

"Fine. Thank you, Master" he relented, running to catch up. 

Syar snorted. "I'm not your master yet. Nor are you my disciple." 

"So what was the whole name thing about?" 

"To see if you were willing to try. To see if you truly wanted to become stronger or not. Strength is all about risk. To handle more than what you are, so you can become greater than yourself. But with the promise of strength, also comes risk. I needed to know if you were desperate enough to make the leap." 

Arthur didn't understand but nodded anyway. "Why are you doing this?" 

Syar's laughter echoed through the mountains. "Weaklings don't get to ask questions. If you want answers, get stronger. Until then, accept that you exist to obey or die. Never forget that." 

Arthur bit back a retort, swallowing his frustration. If Syar could make him stronger, then so be it. He'd endure. But damn, he just had to jump from one cryptic bastard to another, didn't he. 

/////////////////////////// 

Meanwhile, Noah faced Officer Mara in the training grounds. Her smile was as sharp as her unsheathed blade. 

"Commander," Noah saluted stiffly. 

"At ease," Mara said casually. "Today's training will be simple. I'm going easy on you." 

Noah's gut twisted. "What kind of training?" 

"A casual spar." She smiled sweetly, and Noah's stomach dropped. 

"Casual, huh?" he muttered, gripping his sword. "Why do I feel like I'm about to regret this?" 

With a resigned sigh, Noah lunged forward. He had no choice. If Arthur was out there getting stronger, so would he. He still owed Noah for taking him by surprise that one night. 

Arthur's lungs burned as they climbed higher into the mountains within rebel territory. Syar had seemed to find the most ancient and scary looking mountain, and climb it. It was so large, he doubted he could live there his entire life and still not have traversed it all. 

 The air thinned with every step, and each breath felt like dragging fire into his chest. Yet, Syar didn't slow, so neither did Arthur. 

He stumbled, cursed, and pushed forward, refusing to collapse. 'He'll falter before I do,' he thought stubbornly, determined to prove that this man wasn't worthy of being his master. It was that motivational spite that kept him going. 

But spirit alone couldn't sustain him. His legs gave out, and he fell to all fours, dragging himself forward with trembling arms. Syar finally stopped, turning back with an amused snort. 

"Damn bastard," Arthur muttered through gritted teeth, clawing at the dirt to keep moving. 

One more step. Then another. Then another. Heaving as he forced his arms to keep going. Dragging his legs, his face dragging across the dirt as he lost the energy to lift it. 

Darkness closed in, and Arthur collapsed. 

Syar stopped as the boy finally fainted. Now that Arthur had lost consciousness, he finally turned back, a small smile flickering on his lips. This had been an unfair test, true. But he wanted to test the boy's grit. That was one thing he had noticed with the previous nobles he had tried to train. 

They lacked grit. It was something he only found in those whose everyday was a struggle, a battle to live. Not in the pampered homes of the nobility. If it wasn't for the insistence of the Thanason boy, he never would've even tried training Arthur. 

Yet, Skelter had died for this boy. True Skelter wasn't anyone powerful, deserving of respect. He had chosen a family over power, home over hardship. Yet he had been the only one to successfully refuse him. 

So it had been curiosity that drove him here. Who was it that had finally managed to make that fool sacrifice his own life, for something else. 

Who? 

And, he was not disappointed. 

The ten thousand steps was an old practice. Ancient...something even the old masters of today hadn't undertaken. It was an ancient trial between student and master. Something discontinued due to the sheer strain placed on the untrained disciple. 

Yet of those, none had ever gone past the first three thousand steps untrained, only the those with the most potential reaching that 

This boy, he had collapsed on three thousand and ten. Syar wasn't impressed by the three thousand. After all, that he been achieved before. But those last ten, they had impressed.

Because those last ten steps weren't done by two feet, but by crawling pitifully on the ground.

 That was grit. And he liked it.