Chapter 3
In the still-unrising dawn, the late-night taverns had yet to close their doors, and it was just about time for the farmers to slowly rise and head toward their farms.
Huff, huff!
Thud, thud.
However, along with breaths that didn”t quite match the time of day, a dull, thumping sound reverberated through the streets, possibly giving someone the illusion that a horse was galloping down the path.
The intensity emanating from whoever was sprinting was anything but ordinary.
Yet.
“Sir Knight, are you off for another run today?”
“You’re quite dedicated, aren’t you?”
“Hang in there!”
The farmers, their early rising habits still laced with a hint of sleepiness, cheered on the man, whose vigorous energy was a perfect antidote to their lingering drowsiness.
No matter how hardworking one is, it’s easy to fall into the monotony of everyday life. When every day starts feeling the same, it can lead to mental fatigue. But witnessing this man’s fervor brought great joy and motivation to the farmers.
Especially.
“Oh my, how shameless.”
“Should we just pretend not to look?”
“If only my husband were like that, hehe.”
“…Is that a man or a beast?”
The women, while pretending to cover their eyes, managed to sneak glances at the half-naked man, deriving a rather unexpected source of vitality from the sight.
On the other hand, the men sometimes found themselves green with envy, occasioning a moment of inspiration as they looked at his physique. So, in a way, perhaps this was a positive phenomenon mutually.
“Huff, huff…!”
The man merely nodded at the farmers who greeted him; there wasn’t a shred of warmth in his response.
It wasn’t that he was dismissive; it was just that he was too engrossed in his workout to bother with pleasantries.
The farmers recognized this and didn’t take offense; rather.
“Have some of this later!”
Whoosh!
An apple flew through the air.
Without even a backward glance, the man deftly caught it and waved in gratitude.
It was a sign of thanks.
The farmer who threw the apple beamed with pride.
“Really, people are quite entertaining.”
“It’s rare to see a knight living on the outskirts of the kingdom.”
“That’s true, heh heh.”
For three years—rain or shine, each day without fail—there was not a soul who didn’t want to cheer for the man running tirelessly.
They couldn’t quite pin down his goal, but…
“I’m sure he’ll make it big.”
The farmers firmly believed it.
“I swear I’ll quit this year, without fail!” (Han)
Crunch!
With a vigorous bite, the man—no, Han—bit into the apple once more, galvanizing himself for the day ahead.
His goal? Retirement.
He craved retirement with every ounce of his being.
Han ran again today.
But it wasn’t just any run.
His target was to complete a 20km run within an hour.
But don’t mistake it for aimless speed; that wasn’t the idea.
The aim was to maintain a steady pace throughout the hour, and yes, he had sandbags strapped to his wrists and ankles.
Exactly 10kg each.
This didn’t do his body any favors, and occasionally, he even donned armor while running.
Thud, thud.
Every step caused the ground to tremble, and while the burden became heftier, he chose to ignore the weight and press onwards.
Running was merely the prelude; there was so much more on the docket.
“Huff.”
He reached the parallel bars set up in an open space.
Han grasped the bars and hung on tight.
“Ugh!”
Time for pull-ups.
With perfect form, he pushed through the repetitions, never stopping.
Biceps brachii, latissimus dorsi, erector spinae.
Countless muscles were flexing and twitching, his focus intense as he felt those movements.
This is my body, and those are my muscles.
I must contemplate how my muscles are engaged, when they encounter greater strain, and how to wield their power.
Just brute strength isn’t enough.
‘Even if I can’t replicate that monster’s movements down to the last segment, I just need to build a body robust enough to withstand his strikes!’
As long as there’s a goal, contemplation is essential.
At one point, he strapped 20kg sandbags between his legs and 30kg on his back. As he swung back up, the stimulation peaked, and he felt dramatic tremors in his muscles.
Thud, thud.
The pull-up bar, usually silent, started to wobble from the relentless high-intensity sessions that went on for a solid hour.
“Isn’t it? Am I applying too much force?”
“…Gotta keep it in check, Han.”
Even Han pondered if he had overexerted himself. With a resigned sigh, he eased the strain and lowered himself back down.
After an exhausting 90-minute pull-up workout, sweat rolled off him like steam, radiating warmth.
Sweat pooled beneath him, and every muscle in his body trembled as if they’d been squeezed dry.
He ran non-stop and tightened his body without a single break.
This string of activities was no walk in the park.
Even for a knight, such vigorous exercise could apply massive stress to the body.
“Ugh!”
After a few stretches to loosen up, Han showed no signs of letting his body rest.
Oh, look—he’s picking up a log lying around like it’s a barbell!
Just getting the 100kg log on his shoulders was a feat in itself, but Han went even lower into a squat.
Squats.
There’s hardly a better exercise for building lower body strength, but this level of exertion bordered on torturous.
He maintained the seated position and pushed himself back up repeatedly.
At a certain point, the searing pain in his thighs threatened to overwhelm him, but he pressed on.
Just like the pull-ups, Han treated strength exercises like cardio, and treated cardio like strength training.
It was a blissfully foolish method—an approach that a fitness expert would decry as self-destructive.
Thud!
Upon completing an excruciating 70-minute squat session, he gently set the log down.
He harbored an instinctual urge to toss it aside, but if it shattered, he’d have to scrounge for a replacement, so he opted for rationality over immediate relief.
“Cough!”
A sudden cough unveiled the metallic taste of blood.
Injury had finally caught up to him.
His ultra-intense training session had become so reckless that not injuring himself would have been the real anomaly.
No noble knight family would ever train their recruits this harshly.
They usually kept a professional healer or priest on standby or employed family remedies to help with injury recovery and stamina replenishment.
In truth, Han’s regimen was nothing short of self-imposed torment.
A daredevil version of self-harm.
Was it impulsive? No, more like he teetered on insanity.
Yet, this wasn’t due to Han actually being insane or foolishly unthinking.
Rather.
“Man, my recovery power is downright troll-like.”
It was confidence in himself that allowed for such absurd training.
Han suddenly dived into his backpack, bringing out supplies to devour.
Forget looking for a priest; he was unceremoniously shoveling food into his mouth.
Nom, nom.
He was genuinely putting in the effort to chew properly.
Instead of swallowing mindlessly, he meticulously broke down the food, aiming to absorb every bit of nutritional goodness.
One kilogram of chicken (skin removed and boiled, mind you). Broccoli and nuts. Boiled potatoes and steamed cabbage—the whole health spectrum.
The epitome of “health food.”
Of course, it lacked flavor.
Salt and seasoning were kept to a minimum. His goal was wellness, not culinary delight.
However, rather like a rare recovery potion sprinkled onto his meals, it rejuvenated Han’s body.
Thud, thud.
It restored him.
Before long, the tremors in his muscles subsided, and despite his earlier pale complexion, color returned to his face.
Not that it was obvious, but even the knees threatening to explode and the internal wounds mended instantaneously.
His recovery prowess could rival that of a fearsome creature.
The dreaded forest-dwelling flesh-eating fiend—what was it called again? Ah, yes. Troll.
That was the kind of recovery speed he boasted.
And indeed, he was spot-on.
One of the cells from a monster experimented on him back in the day belonged to a troll.
Sure, he couldn’t regrow a severed neck or reattach a lost arm like a troll might.
His abilities maxed out with rapid healing benefits paired with an impressive constitution.
If some gym fanatic were here, they might envy him so much they’d turn green with jealousy.
It meant nutrients quickly absorbed into his system.
The speed at which nutrients converted into blood and flesh was alarming.
Even with an injury, he could bounce back quickly—a prime ability for sculpting a powerful physique.
“Huuu…!”
Han confirmed his stamina—and all those nagging pains—had been fully restored as he rose to his feet.
Three hours until work remained.
During that time.
Whish!
Swoosh!
Swish!
He began to swing his sword.
Basic sword techniques of the kingdom awaited him.
A straightforward routine of executing cuts through eight stances—so simple even children could master it.
And now Han could execute it blindfolded, never losing track of the sword’s path nor the blade”s point for even a split second.
He pondered how best to wield the sword, how to apply force through his own movements, and how to maximize strength, destructive power, and agility.
As he navigated each technique one by one, he sought ways to improve further.
And at some moment.
The sword—once merely a typical longsword—transformed into something that could slice through the wind!
Eventually, it moved so swiftly that it generated no sound, and the shining silver edge of the blade was the only telltale sign of its motion.
Flick, slice!
Each swing of the sword engulfed the area in clouds of dust, leaving marks of his strikes engraved in the earth.
And, in conclusion.
Boom!
When he brought his full might down onto the ground with a mighty swing, the earth erupted, forming crater-like indentations.
Thud, thud, thud.
The shockwave sent debris flying, showering him with dust and dirt.
Yet, still.
“…Is this really the strongest I can swing?”
Dissatisfaction lingered in his expression as he frowned.
The path to retirement, it seemed, was going to be a long and bumpy ride.
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