The interview ended in a thick cloud of tension.
No doubt, many had come to despise Zane Carter for his bold and unapologetic responses.
Yet despite the rising discontent, under Shelby's direct instruction, the House Drakon formally extended an invitation to Zane. A selector handed him a small emblem, the token of the faction—an obsidian-black badge etched with a coiled golden dragon, its eyes gleaming with emerald fire.
Even so, the gesture didn't change much.
Among the Drakon seniors present, not one offered a congratulatory glance. Some even frowned openly, as though Shelby had made a foolish decision by recruiting someone so defiant.
They think he's a loose cannon, Shelby mused silently. They don't know what I see in him. Yet.
Zane studied the token in his hand. "Looks cool," he said plainly.
Shelby cracked a grin. "You'll like it better once you realize what it stands for."
Zane looked up. "Where are we going now?"
"Gym," Shelby replied. "Time to stretch those legs."
The group of twenty-two freshers—those who had joined House Drakon—trailed behind them. Five others had aligned with different factions and were now under separate training regimens in preparation for the Fresher Ranking Tournament two weeks away.
Zane noticed Shawn Bracewell was among the five. Good—he was sick of that guy's constant glare.
Soon they arrived at a wide, high-ceilinged hall filled wall to wall with glistening arcane-enhanced gym equipment. Strange machinery pulsed with glowing cores, and the air buzzed faintly with energy.
Shelby turned around and shouted, "Alright! Everyone stand in line!"
The freshers formed a row. Some were still in awe of the facility; others were visibly nervous.
Shelby's tone hardened. "Listen up. We've got exactly two weeks before the Ranking Tournament. Those who do well get benefits—gear, resources, recognition, power. But only if you earn it."
He paused and paced in front of them.
"From now on, I'm your training coach. When I speak, you listen. When I command, you follow. You fail to obey, you walk out that door. Understood?"
A few gulps, then a unified:
"Yes, sir!"
"Louder!"
"YES, SIR!"
Satisfied, Shelby gave a short nod. "We start with something simple—running."
With a wave of his hand, twenty-three AI-assisted treadmills rose from the floor, lighting up with neon indicators.
"Mount them!"
As soon as their feet touched the belts, the machines whirred to life—starting slow but steadily accelerating.
The pace rose gradually. Within thirty minutes, sweat began to trickle.
An hour in, half of them were panting like dogs.
Two hours in, some stumbled and were flung off, groaning as they rolled across the padded mats. The smart-mills powered down automatically for them.
Zane kept going.
Even at 59 km-per-hour, he ran—without activating mana, without special techniques, relying solely on his physical stats.
The others gathered around him, watching in disbelief.
"Is he made of steel?"
"He hasn't even used any enhancements!"
"Is he… human?"
Shelby folded his arms and grinned. This was what he wanted them to see.
Then his expression darkened.
"Weaklings," he barked. "Did I say you could rest? Get your asses down and give me one hundred push-ups. Now!"
The startled group scrambled, collapsing into push-up positions.
Zane continued running.
Two more hours passed.
Still, he ran.
Finally, Shelby stepped forward. "That's enough. Zane—off the mill. Now do a thousand push-ups."
Without complaint, Zane jumped off. In mid-air, he twisted his body, flipping twice to bleed off momentum and landed on the floor like a feather. Without missing a beat, he dropped into the push-up position and began.
The others were collapsing around him. Some lay flat on the floor, gasping for breath.
Shelby turned to them, furious.
"What? Who said you could stop? Another hundred—on your knuckles!"
Groans erupted across the hall.
"Then I want each of you on those benches, pressing 150 kilos. Minimum."
He pointed toward a row of weight benches that seemed more like medieval torture racks to the exhausted students.
The air was filled with the sound of moaning muscles and clanging steel.
Shelby shook his head as he watched them struggle.
"Hmph," he muttered under his breath. "Pampered little brats… I'll break them first—then mold them into champions."
Under his command, the group dove into a relentless circuit of physical training.
Weightlifting. Sled-pulls. Battle ropes. High-intensity shadow sparring.
Every exercise pushed the freshers toward their limits—and a few past them.
But Zane Carter was in a world of his own.
At first, he approached the exercises with the mindset of a martial artist:
Stamina is the foundation. Endurance the core.
He gritted his teeth and pushed harder on the treadmill, refusing to slow down.
Then suddenly—
Ding!
[+1 granted to all stats!]
A bright translucent panel blinked into his vision.
[Stats Updated]
Strength (Physical): 97 (Base) + 5 (Divine Radiance) + 10 (Radiant Strike) = 112
Agility (Speed): 96 (Base) + 5 (Divine Radiance) + 10 (Luminous Step) = 111
Mana (Intelligence): 100 (Base) + 5 (Divine Radiance) + 10 (Sacred Barrier) = 115
Health Bar: 475 / 475
Mana Bar: 500 / 500
Zane blinked, surprised.
Wait… my stats increased? From just running?
His heart thudded, not from exertion, but excitement.
If hard physical work improves my base stats, even slightly… then this is more than just training. This is progress. Real progress.
Driven by that revelation, he kept running—faster, harder, his feet pounding against the AI-controlled track.
Then it happened again.
Ding!
[+1 granted to all stats!]
[Stats Updated]
Strength (Physical): 98 (Base) + 5 (Divine Radiance) + 10 (Radiant Strike) = 113
Agility (Speed): 97 (Base) + 5 (Divine Radiance) + 10 (Luminous Step) = 112
Mana (Intelligence): 101 (Base) + 5 (Divine Radiance) + 10 (Sacred Barrier) = 116
Health Bar: 495 / 495
Mana Bar: 510 / 510
Zane felt his body grow lighter. His steps steadied.
All sense of fatigue faded beneath the rush of progression.
This… this is it! This is the path. I just have to keep going!
Four hours passed.
He earned another +2 to his base stats—but the notifications came slower.
The gap between each point widened exponentially.
So it gets harder the more you grow… makes sense.
It was around that time Shelby called out.
"Enough running. Zane—off the mill. Get down and give me one-thousand push-ups."
Zane leapt off the machine, executed a mid-air flip to kill momentum, and landed like a cat.
Without pausing, he hit the ground and started pumping out push-ups.
He counted each repetition in his head. Fifty. One hundred. Two hundred.
But nothing happened.
No stat change?
At 256, he paused. Sweat dripped onto the floor. Something felt off.
Despite the exertion, no notification appeared. No new point.
Maybe… I'm doing it wrong?
Shelby walked over, arms crossed. "That's wrong."
Zane looked up, surprised.
"You're rushing it. The way you move is wrong. You're shifting your weight through your core, not your arms. It's all momentum. There's no real pressure on the muscles that matter."
Zane blinked, then nodded. "Show me how to do it right."
Shelby paused.
Normally, he'd snap at any student for a request like that. But coming from Zane—his latest gamble, his uncut gem—he couldn't help but grin.
"Haha. Alright, kid. Since you asked nicely."
He clapped Zane on the back, then turned to the rest of the class.
"Oi! Juniors! You're all doing it wrong. Watch and learn."
He dropped onto the floor, hands wide and firm, spine aligned in a perfect straight line from shoulders to ankles.
Then he started—
Slow, deliberate push-ups. No bounce. No jerk.
His chest hovered just above the floor with each descent, then rose gradually in a smooth, full-range motion.
"This," he said between reps, "is how real warriors train. Control. Focus. No shortcuts."