Before long, a figure slowly stepped onto the raised platform at the front of the training grounds.
The man wore a simple green shirt. A full beard framed his rugged face, and his presence carried a coarse, unrefined sharpness, like a blade that had never been polished but had tasted plenty of use.
He stopped at the center of the platform and swept his gaze across the gathered disciples.
Then he cleared his throat.
"You little bastards," he said coldly, his voice carrying effortlessly across the vast field. "Let me introduce myself. I'm Liam Maxwell. From today onward, I'll be your instructor, responsible for your daily martial training."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"I don't think it'll take long before I become the nightmare you rookies can't forget."
A few dry chuckles escaped him, low and unpleasant.
Then he turned slightly, gesturing toward the woman standing beside him.
"Next, let's hear from Miss Selena Redwood."
She stepped forward.
In stark contrast to Liam, her presence was calm and composed. She was strikingly beautiful, her expression indifferent, her posture straight and unyielding.
"I am Selena Redwood," she said softly. "In addition to teaching history, I will be overseeing your batch alongside Instructor Maxwell."
Her voice was gentle, yet it carried clearly.
"This year, there are eleven probationary batches in total. Each batch contains anywhere from one to five thousand disciples."
A ripple of whispers spread through the crowd at those numbers.
Selena's expression did not change.
As she spoke, her tone remained even, almost detached, like someone stating simple facts rather than addressing a group of new disciples.
"Alright! Shut up, all of you!"
Liam's roar exploded across the field like thunder.
A chilling aura burst forth from him, sweeping over the students.
In an instant, the whispers died.
Spines stiffened. Breaths halted.
No one dared speak again.
"Hmph. A bunch of little bastards," Liam sneered. "Not even grown yet and already acting like a pack of lechers."
Selena shot him a cold glare from the side.
Liam scratched the back of his head with a sheepish grin.
"Heh… alright, that's enough for introductions. You can go, Mentor Selena. I'll take care of these little bastards from here."
Selena didn't respond. She simply turned and left the field, her figure disappearing beyond the entrance without a second glance.
The moment she was gone—
The atmosphere shifted.
Liam's expression hardened.
"Look at this sorry lot," he said, his voice dripping with disdain as he pointed at the crowd. "Not a single decent one among you."
He snorted.
"You call yourselves geniuses? Back in my hometown, farmers plowing fields could outperform you."
The words hit like a slap.
A wave of discontent surged through the students.
Every one of them had passed multiple layers of selection to stand here. To be compared unfavorably to farmers… it was humiliating.
Liam watched their reactions carefully.
A glint of cunning flickered in his eyes.
"Heh. What's this? Feeling defiant?" he said. "Good."
Boom!
With a heavy sound, a massive pile of equipment crashed onto the ground before them.
Iron bracelets for arms and legs.
Heavy, armor-like shirts.
"This," Liam said, "is training gear. Each set weighs five hundred pounds."
A collective intake of breath followed.
"Put them on," he continued coldly, "and run one hundred laps around the field."
Silence.
Then—
"Remember this," his voice sharpened, "no one is allowed to use qi. If I catch even one of you doing it… Every single person here runs an extra hundred laps."
A chill swept through the crowd.
"Now stop standing there like idiots. Gear up and start running!"
There was no room for hesitation.
One by one, the students stepped forward and picked up the iron gear.
Despite its rough appearance, the craftsmanship was precise. The joints were flexible, allowing movement without restriction.
But weight… was another matter entirely.
Without the support of qi, five hundred pounds felt like a mountain pressing down on the body.
And one hundred laps—
Each spanning four kilometers.
The moment the numbers settled in their minds, expressions changed.
Some turned pale. Others frowned deeply.
"This is insane…" someone muttered.
Liam's gaze snapped toward them.
"What are you waiting for?" he barked. "If you don't finish today, you won't eat or sleep for three days!"
He stepped forward and kicked a burly student squarely in the backside.
"Move!"
That was enough.
The entire group surged forward.
Heavy footsteps pounded against the ground as nearly a thousand disciples began running across the vast field.
The weight dragged at their limbs.
Their breathing grew heavier with each step.
By the time the first lap ended, sweat had already soaked through their clothes.
"Heh… hey… ho…"
Ragged breaths filled the air.
Some of the female disciples trembled visibly, tempted to circulate qi, but were immediately stopped by those around them.
No one dared risk it.
If one person broke the rule, everyone would suffer.
"Too slow! Too slow!" Liam's voice thundered from the platform. "Did none of you eat today? Are you all idiots?"
His insults fell like whips.
"You can't even handle this? Go back and raise pigs!"
Teeth clenched.
No one spoke back.
They simply ran.
Among the crowd, one figure stood out.
Jason Cromwell.
While most had barely completed two laps, he was already on his fourth.
And he didn't even look strained.
His breathing was steady, his pace controlled, as if the crushing weight meant nothing to him.
A few glanced at him, frustration flickering in their eyes.
Monsters…
Stephen, meanwhile, had just completed his third lap.
Already, he could feel the strain building.
His body had been tempered when he broke through to the Apprentice Realm, but without a proper body refinement technique, his endurance lagged behind the truly elite.
Still—
He didn't slow down.
If I can't endure even this… how will I ever reach the King Realm?
His thoughts hardened.
How will I bring my mother back?
He pushed forward.
Lap after lap.
Among the female disciples, only Elsa appeared relatively at ease. The rest were already struggling, their steps growing unsteady under the crushing weight.
Twenty laps.
Stephen's vision flickered slightly as sweat dripped into his eyes.
Out of the corner of his gaze, he noticed Wilson Thorn closing in from behind.
Despite his attitude, Wilson's strength was undeniable.
Arrogant… but not weak, Stephen thought briefly.
He didn't look back.
Fifteen more laps passed.
Thirty-five.
Stephen's legs felt like lead. Every step sent dull pain through his muscles, as if they were on the verge of tearing apart.
His breathing grew uneven.
His body screamed at him to stop.
But he didn't.
Then—
The blue sapling within his soul sea trembled.
A faint pulse spread from it.
A stream of gentle, mysterious energy flowed out, moving through his meridians and seeping into his body.
Stephen's eyes sharpened.
This feeling—
It was the same as when he had broken through to the Apprentice Realm.
His body… was being tempered.
The exhaustion receded slightly, replaced by a subtle, steady strengthening.
Without hesitation, he increased his pace.
Step by step, he pulled ahead.
Behind him, Wilson's expression darkened.
Moments ago, he had been right behind Stephen.
Now—
He was being left behind.
A surge of anger rose in his chest.
That trash… dares…
But he said nothing.
Jason Cromwell's presence still lingered like a shadow over everyone.
Wilson swallowed his frustration, but deep inside, a cold resolve formed.
I'll remember this.
Ahead, Stephen was no longer paying attention to anything else.
The sapling continued releasing that mysterious energy.
It wasn't qi.
That much he was certain of now.
Relief flickered briefly in his mind before fading.
He immersed himself fully in the sensation—
Of his body breaking… and rebuilding.
Of weakness being ground away with every step.
Thirty-six laps.
One by one, disciples began to stumble.
Some collapsed outright.
Liam showed no mercy.
"Get up within twenty breaths!" he barked. "For every minute you lie there, everyone runs an extra lap!"
Groans filled the field.
By the fortieth lap, more than half had reached their limit.
Bodies slammed against the ground.
Blood stained the grass.
"Only forty laps!" Liam's voice rang out like a judge's verdict. "And already forty of you took too long to get up. Congratulations! That's forty extra laps for everyone!"
Despair spread instantly.
For many, even standing had become difficult.
"Instructor… I can't…" someone gasped.
"What instructor?" another shouted bitterly. "He's a damn devil!"
Liam laughed.
"I told you. You'll remember me for the rest of your lives."
A whip appeared in his hand.
Crack!
The sharp sound tore through the air.
"Run!"
Forty-first lap.
Forty-second.
Forty-third.
Time blurred.
By the fiftieth lap, more than half the field was filled with fallen bodies.
Less than thirty were still running.
Even Stephen's breathing had turned heavy now. His muscles throbbed with dull pain, though the sapling's energy continued to sustain him.
On the platform, Liam narrowed his eyes.
Fifty laps… not bad, he thought. And a few haven't even broken yet.
A faint, satisfied glint appeared in his gaze.
From the beginning, he had never intended for all of them to finish.
This was a test.
Of endurance.
Of will.
And a reminder—
That whatever they had been before, here… they were nothing.
Crack!
The whip snapped again.
"Pathetic!" he shouted. "You can't even stand? Fine! I won't force a hundred laps anymore."
A brief pause.
"Whoever can complete a hundred laps—just one of you—your punishment will be reduced to two days without food or sleep."
Murmurs stirred weakly.
"If three people manage it…" he added casually, "no punishment at all."
Hope flickered.
Then he sneered.
"But looking at you lot… I doubt even one of you can do it."
Silence.
Then—
"Hmph. Don't underestimate us!"
A tall young man stepped forward, his fists clenched.
"Even if I have to crawl, I'll finish it! Who's with me?"
"I am!"
"Count me in!"
Voices rose, strained but resolute.
A handful of disciples pushed themselves forward again, eyes burning with stubborn determination.
Liam watched them with a faint smirk.
"Big words," he said. "Now prove it."
Stephen let out a slow breath.
A faint smile touched his lips.
For the first time, he saw through Liam's harshness.
This "devil" wasn't just breaking them—
He was forcing them to rise.
"Forty laps left…"
Stephen's eyes sharpened.
He leaned forward—
And accelerated.
His figure shot ahead, catching up to the leading group as he ran with everything he had left.