Asher followed Harold with measured steps, his demeanor calm and composed. Upon reaching the gathered trainees, Harold gestured silently to a spot on the ground, indicating where Asher should sit.
"The Tenth Sun will now be joining the First Training Ground," Harold announced curtly before turning away. He had granted the trainees a brief respite, five minutes to catch their breath. Once that time passed, training would resume without delay.
The trainees murmured among themselves. There was no need to introduce Asher, his reputation had long preceded him. The disgrace of the Duke’s family was a well-known tale within the estate.
Everyone present knew he shouldn’t be here. By all rights, Asher belonged in the Third Training Ground. Yet, not a single voice rose to question his presence.
And why would they? No one was foolish enough to speak out. Asher might be a disgrace, his awakening delayed until the third attempt, but none of that changed the fact that he was a Sun. A direct descendant of the Wargrave bloodline. The son of a Duke. With a single word, he could make their lives far more difficult than they dared imagine.
They cast fleeting glances at him from the corners of their eyes, breaths still labored, their gazes drawn to his flawless features. Some didn’t bother to look at all, opting instead to sit cross-legged in a lotus position, using every second of the five-minute reprieve to recover their strength.
Asher remained silent. He knew none of them, and his gaze seemed distant, unfocused. But, through his Omni Perception, he observed some of them without turning his head.
They were uniformly dressed in form-fitting compressed black shirts and trousers, men and women alike, just like the one he wore.
As the final moments of rest slipped away, Harold’s voice rang out from the sidelines.
"On your feet. Begin."
Without hesitation, the trainees rose and resumed their drills, not a single complaint uttered. Feet pounded rhythmically against the ground as they jogged, the sound echoing across the training field. Their breathing had steadied, if only slightly and even those who had previously collapsed were now pushing forward, their bodies moving, if only barely.
Asher moved with quiet precision, his footsteps falling in a steady rhythm against the ground. His body automatically adjusted effortlessly into a more perfect form as he jogged.
He kept pace at the front alongside the other trainees, matching their stride with mechanical ease. This wasn’t a race, nor was he trying to outshine anyone. The lingering stares at his back were of no concern to him, he simply mirrored their movements, focused and composed.
"Don’t just jog, control your breathing. Inhale and exhale at steady, measured intervals,"
Harold’s voice called out once more, sharp and brisk.
Without warning, he appeared beside a trainee, his gaze piercing.
"Why are you gasping like you’ve been running since birth?" he snapped. "Hold your breath for a few seconds, then begin breathing again, slowly and with control. I’ve told you before, regulating your breath helps condition and strengthen the body."
After several more grueling minutes, Harold finally gave the command to stop. Many of the trainees collapsed to the ground without hesitation, gasping for air as they struggled to steady their breathing.
Asher came to a smooth halt. He wasn’t panting, nor did a single bead of sweat grace his skin. The duration had been far too short to challenge him.
Without pause, they moved into the next series of physical conditioning drills. Harold offered no further rest, he had already granted them five minutes, and that was more than enough in his eyes.
Yet none voiced a complaint, what right did they have? They were no strangers to the First Training Ground; every drill, every demand, was familiar.
These exercises weren’t just for discipline, they were designed to strengthen the Astra veins, increasing their capacity to channel Astra while simultaneously developing the body to its limits.
’Everyone in this world is born with a naturally strong body. Then there is the passive benefit of the Astra veins. There’s no such thing as a ’fragile fire mage’ who dies from a single strike.’
Asher thought as he moved through the drills, his motions controlled and efficient.
But that didn’t mean Asher had it easy. The physical conditioning was designed to push every trainee to their limits, and Harold made no exception.
Noticing Asher’s superior physique, he silently increased the intensity of his drills, pushing him harder than the rest. It didn’t matter that Asher was a Sun; Harold had no intention of showing favoritism.
Sweat began to roll down Asher’s skin, his muscles burning and straining with each movement. His breathing instinctively adjusted, his body adapting under the pressure as he forced himself to keep going.
Time wore on, and eventually, the sun reached its peak, marking the arrival of noon. The moment the session concluded, Harold vanished without a word, leaving behind only the fading echo of his demands.
No one moved at first. The trainees remained where they were, seated together in silence, each one catching their breath and bracing themselves for the next round of training.
Minutes slipped by in stillness, until, without a single command, everyone rose in unison and began walking toward a secondary door along the side of the field. Asher stood as well, wordless and composed, falling into step behind them.
They passed through the door, and another training field unfolded before Asher’s eyes. At its center stood a towering structure built from an assortment of woods and reinforced planks, rising sharply toward the sky like a monument of discipline and pain.
Boris had already briefed Asher on the nature of the First Training Ground. He knew the second phase of training focused on movement.
The instructor appeared in a blurry frame of motion. Her sharp gaze swept across the assembled trainees, her presence commanding immediate attention.
"Since we have a new face among us," she began, her voice calm but firm, "I’ll go over the principles of movement training once more."
Everyone knew who she meant. The unspoken consensus was clear; the new face was Asher.
"The purpose of this movement training," she began, her voice loud and crisp "is to stop you from swinging your weapons around like idiots. Countless people have died in battle not because they lacked power, but because their movement was trash."
Her eyes narrowed as she continued, "Too many rush into learning advanced techniques without building a proper foundation. Some don’t bother learning at all."
She paused, letting the weight of her words settle over them like a silent warning.
"When your hands and feet don’t move in harmony, you’re no better than a bird waiting to be slaughtered. I’m here to keep you from dying. I’ll demonstrate once. Only once."
Without another word, she turned and walked toward the towering structure.
The instructor hadn’t spared Asher so much as a greeting, nor was it expected.
Once training began, even Suns and Moons were bound by the authority of their instructors. Rank and status held no weight within the boundaries of the training grounds. Discipline ruled, and formality had no place in the pursuit of strength.
Harold’s earlier acknowledgment of Asher had only occurred because he arrived alongside Boris. Had Asher come alone, Harold wouldn’t have wasted a breath on pleasantries, he would’ve gone straight into the drills, as always.