But Asher didn't move. He stood perfectly still, his hands in his pockets as the blade came hurtling toward him. At the last possible moment, he stepped aside, the axe missing him by inches and slamming into the ground.
The man growled and swung again, faster this time. Asher sidestepped effortlessly, his movements precise and calculated.
"Is that all?" Asher asked, his tone almost bored.
The man roared in frustration, pouring more mana into his weapon. The axe began to glow brighter, radiating an intense heat. He swung once more, this time unleashing a wave of fiery energy toward Asher. The source of this content is Novel~Fire. (n)et
This time, Asher moved. In a blur of motion, he was behind his opponent before the fire even reached him.
"Too slow," Asher said, his voice low. He raised his hand, and his blood-red scythe materialized out of thin air. In one fluid motion, he swung the weapon, stopping just short of the man's neck.
The scarred man froze, his eyes wide as he felt the cold edge of the blade against his skin.
"You lose," Asher said, his voice calm but firm. He stepped back, dismissing his scythe as he turned to walk away.
The crowd was silent, stunned by the display. Even Renard raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed.
"Well," Renard said after a moment. "It seems we have a prodigy among us. Asher Magnus, was it? You've got talent, I'll give you that."
Asher gave a small nod, his expression unreadable. "Just doing my part," he said, stepping back into the group.
Renard's gaze lingered on him for a moment before he turned to address the rest of the squad. "Alright, let's keep going. The rest of you, pair up and show me what you've got. And remember—this isn't just about winning. I want to see how you think, how you adapt, and how you fight."
As the training continued, Asher stood quietly at the edge of the group, watching and analyzing the others. This squad might be rough around the edges, he thought, but with the right push, they could be something more.
Asher observed the squad members sparring, silently analyzing their movements and strategies. Most of them relied heavily on brute force, their techniques lacking refinement. A few showed promise, demonstrating agility or clever use of their abilities, but they were in the minority.
Renard walked among the sparring pairs, offering sharp critiques and occasional nods of approval. "Don't just swing blindly! Think about your opponent's weaknesses!" he barked at one recruit. Turning to another, he added, "You're wasting too much mana with every attack. Conserve your energy!"
Asher watched, his sharp eyes picking up on every flaw and strength. Most of them rely on their ranks to carry them through a fight. They've been taught power equals victory. That mindset will get them killed against stronger enemies.
When the sparring session ended, Renard clapped his hands together, drawing everyone's attention. "Not bad for a first session," he said, though his tone made it clear he wasn't particularly impressed. "But there's a lot of room for improvement. Remember, out there, you won't have time to make mistakes. You'll either adapt, or you'll die."
He pointed toward a large obstacle course on the far side of the training ground. "Next up is endurance training. The course is designed to push you to your limits. You'll face physical challenges, mana-draining traps, and illusions meant to test your focus. Finish it, and you'll have proven you can handle the basics. Fail, and… well, let's just say you won't be staying here for long."
The recruits groaned, but none dared to voice their complaints. Renard's sharp gaze dared anyone to protest.
Asher stepped forward, his expression calm. "Do we run it individually or as a team?" he asked.
Renard smirked. "Individually, for now. Later, we'll test your ability to work as a unit."
The recruits lined up at the starting point of the course, the tension palpable. One by one, they began the grueling trial. The course was brutal—walls of fire, pits of quicksand-like material, and rotating blades that demanded both agility and timing to avoid. Mana-sapping fields left even the more experienced recruits struggling to stay upright by the end.
When it was Asher's turn, the other recruits watched closely, eager to see how he would fare.
He started at a steady pace, his movements smooth and precise. When faced with the walls of fire, he didn't hesitate, using quick bursts of mana to shield himself as he passed through. The quicksand-like pits barely slowed him down, his powerful leaps carrying him effortlessly across. As for the rotating blades, his timing was impeccable, his movements almost dance-like as he weaved through them.
By the time he reached the final stretch—a series of mana-draining illusions designed to disorient and confuse—he hadn't even broken a sweat. The illusions tried to show him horrifying images, but his iron will rendered them ineffective. He passed through without so much as a flinch.
When he crossed the finish line, the recruits stared, some in awe, others in envy. Renard clapped slowly, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
"Impressive," Renard said, his voice carrying across the training ground. "You've set the bar high, Magnus. Let's see if the rest of them can reach it."
Asher said nothing, merely stepping aside to let the next recruit begin. Inside, he felt a flicker of satisfaction.
As the day wore on, the recruits continued to tackle the obstacle course, some barely managing to cross the finish line, while others failed entirely. Each failure was met with sharp criticism from Renard, who showed no mercy in pointing out their flaws.
"You're not here to be coddled," Renard snapped at a panting recruit who had collapsed halfway through. "Out there, no one will care if you're tired. Either you rise to the occasion or you die. Get up and try again!"
The recruits who had completed the course sat off to the side, some nursing bruises and others silently fuming at Asher's flawless performance. A group of noble-born recruits, still seething from earlier, whispered among themselves, their gazes frequently darting toward him.
"Who does he think he is, showing us up like that?" one of them muttered.