"Wake up, Luan."
The sensation of someone shaking my shoulder roused me from sleep. I opened my eyes to see Hector standing over me, his face etched with exhaustion.
"You slept well in front of me," he remarked.
"Why shouldn't I?"
Hector lowered his voice slightly. "I've been curious about something. Why do you switch between polite and informal speech?"
"It's called semi-formal speech," I answered nonchalantly, brushing off his question.
Leaving a stunned Hector behind, I stepped out of the carriage and drew a deep breath. The cold air flooded my lungs, crisp and invigorating. It was even clearer here than at the Badnikers' main house, though it carried a faint hint of animals.
Why is it so cold?
Somehow, it reminded me of Coland, the harsh, extreme region of my mother's homeland—a place I had never visited.
It hadn't been this cold at the main house.
I pulled up my collar and surveyed my surroundings. Dense forest encircled me, opening into a clearing where several buildings stood. They were divided into two distinct groups, separated as if by an invisible line.
On the left, the structures looked dilapidated, on the verge of collapse. On the right, they stood sturdy and well-maintained, as if recently built.
In the clearing, a group of people my age stood with blank expressions. Their faces suggested either dull senses or an uncanny ability to adapt. Among them, a small cluster of friends stood together.
Seren was easy to spot, her striking appearance setting her apart.
I stared at her until she noticed my gaze. When our eyes met, I waved cheerfully.
Seren blinked, rubbed her eyes, and looked again.
"You—" she began, her eyes widening in surprise.
Before she could finish, a thunderous voice cut through the air, so powerful it seemed to carry mana within it.
The source was a man with dark skin and a gruesome scar covering half his face. His eyes, however, were his most striking feature, sharp and intense. These were the eyes of a veteran who had survived over a decade in the mercenary industry.
He is a Great Master, I marvelled. He should be the Hunting Master, though I can't recall his name.
His sudden outburst startled the group, and everyone quickly gathered in the clearing.
The instructor watched them with cold eyes before speaking. "Nice to meet you, hero disciples. My name is Tanko. Some of you may remember me as the Badnikers' guest and a Great Master, but forget that while you're here. Everyone you encounter at this training ground is an instructor. Show them courtesy."
Most of the group looked bewildered, slow to grasp the situation. Some even bristled at his blunt words. This might be the Badnikers' territory, but these were noble children accustomed to comfortable lives within their own families.
Tanko seemed to relish their reactions. Smirking, he said, "You have spirit. Even if you don't look it now, you'll soon be rolling like dogs. Just wait. But before that..."
A few knights emerged from behind the platform and handed each disciple a piece of paper.
I glanced at mine and saw it was a pledge.
"Sign it," Tanko commanded.
One person mustered up the courage to ask, "W-what are we signing?"
The corners of Tanko's mouth twisted wickedly as if he had been waiting for this very question.
"What don't you understand? It's a pledge stating that if you get hurt, fall sick, or die, the Badnikers won't be held accountable."
I realized why they had chosen this man out of all the Great Masters to address us. His menacing appearance and low, gravelly voice were perfect for setting the tone. It reminded me of my time as a mercenary, where seasoned veterans often used similar tactics during rookie initiation ceremonies.
"I will warn you for the first and last time. You've probably heard similar warnings at every knight's training center, but the quality is different here. The mortality rate here is 20%."
Tanko raised two fingers for emphasis. "20%. You might think that's not high, but a noble who sees numbers as mere statistics might. Out of all of you standing here today, at least six or seven won't make it out alive."
One of the hero disciples beside me gulped.
"Why is it so harsh, you ask? It's simple. To be recognized as a hero, you must complete a probationary period of at least one year, sometimes up to five. Here, you can shorten that to six weeks—if you survive. If the training wasn't harsh, you'd be dismissed as unworthy. This is the price of greatness."
A heavy silence fell over the group.
"You're free to sign or not," Tanko said, his tone final. "But once you do, there's no turning back. No matter how much you cry, howl, or cling to each other, you can't leave. In six weeks, you'll either walk out alive or be carried out dead. There's no third option."
It wasn't just about setting the mood; Tanko was deliberately forcing us to choose between two options.
If one only listened to his words, it seemed like the choice was live or die—the survival rate appeared to drop to 50%. Wouldn't a weak-minded person be discouraged by this?
"I-I'm going back," someone stammered.
"Me too..." another muttered.
As expected, a few gave up early. I counted four in total. I wasn't sure if that was a lot or just a handful, though.
Tanko, who likely knew the answer, nodded impassively and pointed to a waiting carriage. "Those who are leaving, board the carriage guided by the knights."
The four trudged toward the carriage, their steps unsteady.
Some of the remaining hero disciples couldn't tear their eyes away, still hesitating.
However, as Tanko had said, this was the last chance.
The sound of the carriage door closing echoed unnaturally loud in the silence.
"Now. The last carriage to heaven has left. You fools who have chosen hell, I warmly welcome you. I will give you your first order immediately. Roll."
There was a moment of silence.
One hero disciple blinked stupidly, his voice trembling. "What?"
"Roll, you damn mutts!" Tanko thundered, his voice sharp and commanding.
***
On the continent, the name Badniker was synonymous with fear. They were feared not only by the Dark Church but also within the empire itself. The family was notoriously insular, and the rumors surrounding them were dark. Most of its members were known for their ruthlessness.
Yet, despite the fear they inspired, the Badnikers also commanded respect. Their achievements over the years were undeniable.
The story of a fallen house, once glorious, rising again to reclaim its former glory—it was the kind of tale that stirred the hearts of those who heard it.
Evan Helvin, the third son of the half-ruined Helvin family, had his reasons for joining the Badnikers' training camp. If he could endure their brutal curriculum, he would likely find something—anything—that could serve as a clue to his family's revival.
That was his calculation. Becoming the direct apprentice of a Great Master or catching the Iron-Blooded Lord's eye would be a bonus.
"Roll, you damn mutts!" the Hunting Master bellowed again.
Evan's mouth fell open at the sudden command.
Roll? But there's nothing to roll here. No—he said to roll, not to roll something. Is he seriously telling us to roll on the ground? This filthy dirt?
"The last five to roll will lose points! Ah, I forgot to explain. By default, all hero disciples in this training camp will start with ten points. The lower your points, the more interesting your life here will become."
Almost instantly, the boy beside Evan dropped to the ground and began rolling. Evan stared in shock.
The boy looked every bit the noble—refined, polished—yet there he was, writhing in the dirt like a bug as if the filth beneath him were his bed.
Soon, the other hero disciples followed suit, including the daughter of the Goodspring family, who seemed the least likely to stoop to such an act.
Caught in the frenzy, Evan hurriedly bent down to join them.
"Stop moving," Tanko's dry voice sliced through the chaos.
His piercing gaze, enough to make one's knees weak, landed on the five people who remained clean.
"Evan Helvin, Hans Vander, Shaw Greenwood, Bruno Hammer, Laura Rossi. One point deducted," Tanko declared. "Resume rolling."
As the five of them stood there in a daze, Tanko shouted, "What are you doing? Roll, damn it!"
Snapping to their senses, they dropped to the ground and rolled. Damp mud smeared their clothes, skin, and hair.
Ugh, this is disgusting
Of course, as the descendant of a martial family, Evan was no stranger to dirt. But willingly rolling in it? That was a first.
Tanko's voice cut through again, his eyes shifting to Evan's side. "You, what is your name?"
The platinum-blond boy, who had rolled faster than anyone, straightened slightly. "Yes, sir! I am Luan Badniker!"
Evan was surprised. Badniker? I didn't realize earlier because of his hair color. Luan... that lunatic who sold his family's treasure sword? Of course. He's already crazy, so he'd do crazy things faster than anyone else.
"Your response was quick, and your movements were the fastest," Tanko remarked.
"Thank you, sir!" Luan replied promptly, his voice steady.
"Luan Badniker, I'll award you one extra point."
"Thank you, even more, sir!"
Tanko grunted, giving Luan a long, scrutinizing look before turning his attention back to the group. "Everyone, on your feet!"
This time, the thirty hero disciples stood up almost simultaneously.
"Classes start tomorrow. Today, we will assign you your rooms. If there are no further instructions, you may rest in your rooms. Make yourselves comfortable." His lips curled into a dark smile. "Today might be the only day you'll get to rest without regrets, so enjoy it while you can."
Evan stood motionless, thinking bitterly, I should've left when I had the chance.
***
The moment Evan stepped into the so-called dormitory, his face turned even paler.
This is the accommodation?
Layers of dust coated every surface, the stairs groaned ominously with each step, and the roof looked as though it would collapse under a drizzle. Was this a pigsty masquerading as a dorm?
One of the hero disciples, who seemed to share Evan's sentiments, turned to the knight guiding them. "Wait! You must've brought us to the wrong place."
The knight asked with a sly smile, "What's wrong?"
"This isn't a dormitory but a warehouse!" the hero disciple insisted.
"No, it's not," the knight replied flatly.
"What?"
"This is indeed your dorm. You'll be staying here for this training camp's duration," the knight clarified.
"What...?"
"In addition, Bruno Hammer, addressing an instructor disrespectfully costs you a point. One point deducted," the knight added dryly.
Bruno's name had been mentioned earlier, and Evan swallowed hard, realizing he'd nearly lost points himself. He still didn't fully grasp their significance but knew he couldn't afford to lose any.
Better play it safe for now.
What Evan desperately wanted, though, was to wash up before settling into his room. Rolling around on the filthy ground had left him feeling gritty, with sand even working its way into his underclothes.
" Um , excuse me... Where do we wash up?" another hero disciple asked the knight, his tone noticeably more polite after Bruno's blunder.
Evan perked up, listening intently.
"The bathing facilities are only open twice a day: once when you wake up and once before bed. At present, you can't wash," the knight explained.
"W-what..." the hero disciple stammered.
We have to stay like this all night?
He opened the door to Room No. 3 and found two beds and two desks inside. What struck Evan as odd was the design—the beds were stacked above the desks, almost fused together. The desks had a roof-like structure, with the beds perched on top. Evan couldn't fathom why anyone would design something so bizarre.
But as he took in the room's layout, he realized the necessity. In such a cramped space, this was the only way to fit two beds and two desks.
This is insane. Am I really supposed to live here? Evan wondered, feeling a wave of dizziness.
Even the home of Dux, the dog he was raising, was bigger than this!
Still, he didn't dare argue with the knight, not after witnessing Bruno's mistake. Whatever these points were, he couldn't afford to lose any.
Evan had no luggage, so he plopped down on the bed to the left.
Just then, the door creaked open, and someone walked in.
"Ah..." Evan blurted out.
It was the person who had been standing next to him earlier—Luan Badniker.
Evan hurriedly greeted him politely, "I-it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Evan Helvin of the Helvin family. You are a young master of the Badniker family, right?"
Even if the other person was the lunatic who had sold his family's treasure sword, the Helvins were practically fallen nobles. It was only proper for him to show respect first.
Luan glanced around the room with a detached expression before turning to Evan and smiling faintly. "Evan Helvin, you're quite the celebrity."
"Huh? M-me?" Evan stammered, confused.
"Not yet, huh?" Luan tilted his head before saying, "Anyway, nice to meet you. Then I will take the right side."
"Ah, yes," Evan replied.
"And feel free to drop the formalities. We're going to be eating dirt and rolling around like dogs together from now on," Luan added with a grin.
"What do you mean?"
Luan didn't reply. He just chuckled unnervingly and hopped up to the top bunk.
He doesn't look like a noble , Evan thought, though he wasn't in a position to judge.
Still, he couldn't shake the uneasiness of sharing a room with someone like Luan for the duration of the training.
—Ahem.
"Huh?!" Evan jumped, startled by the sudden voice.
—Attention, hero disciples. Meal service will be available from 6 p.m. to 7 p.m. That's all.
"W-what was that?" Evan asked, bewildered.
"It is communication magic," Luan explained nonchalantly. "They probably placed the communication crystals in the rooms beforehand. See, there's one over there."
He pointed to a crystal embedded in the wall.
"It serves as both a communication tool and a light source. This room really doesn't have anything useless, huh?" Evan muttered.
Luan chuckled. "Let's go get some food."
"Ah, yes."
Evan tilted his head as he followed Luan, wondering, Why does he seem so familiar with it?
The answer came quickly; Luan was a Badniker. He had probably been briefed about the training camp beforehand.
Evan thought it was a bit cowardly.
Finding the dining hall wasn't difficult. They simply followed the smell of food.
Evan had been starving since noon, to the point where his stomach felt like it was glued to his back.
The food probably won't taste great , Evan thought.
He had already prepared himself for that, though. As long as it wasn't unsanitary or lacking in nutrients, he could endure it.
Unfortunately, Evan never got to find out what was served.
"Evan Helvin, you're barred from entering the dining hall," declared a knight stationed at the entrance.
"W-what? Why... sir?" Evan stammered, barely catching himself before slipping into informal speech.
The knight's dry gaze bore into him as he explained, "Hero disciples with fewer than ten points aren't permitted to set foot in the dining hall."