"What's going on?" Asta asked, rubbing the back of his head as he looked at the gathered villagers.
If they were really thankful, why not just send the church more food? At least then Sister Lily wouldn't have to stretch sweet potatoes into a week's worth of meals.
"Asta, it's like this..." Sister Lily said anxiously, stepping forward. "Some of the children want to train with you. Their parents think it's good for them to exercise rather than run wild across the plains. They see it as a healthy outlet."
"Oh?" Asta blinked. He looked at the group of kids staring at him with sparkling eyes—respect, curiosity, and a whole lot of misplaced assumptions swirling in their expressions.
"Did Asta agree already?" one of the villagers asked excitedly. "It's good for the children. Even if it's just physical training—it's still better than nothing!"
"Yes, yes!" another chimed in. "We even prepared a little apprenticeship ceremony for them! There's food too—rice, even!"
But Asta crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes.
"I refuse."
The words hit like a bucket of cold water.
"What?!" a wave of shocked gasps rippled through the crowd.
"Come on, Asta—we're from the same village! Why are you being so stingy?" one man grumbled.
"Is it because the kids can't afford to bring more food? Or are you worried they'll outshine you?"
"Hah! It's just physical training anyway. It's not like you can teach them real magic! If one of our kids gets into a Magic Knight squad someday, they might remember your help."
"Enough!" said another with a snide tone. "Asta doesn't even have magic. Maybe he's just afraid to lose his edge if others get stronger. Better to leave him his one trick…"
The murmuring turned bitter, and even the children started to look unsure.
One father grabbed his chubby son's hand and turned to leave. "Come on. There's no point in wasting time on physical training. What really matters in this world is magic."
"I want to learn swordsmanship!" the boy shouted stubbornly, trying to pull away.
Asta's eyes softened, just a bit, but his voice remained firm. "I'm not teaching people who look down on what I do."
The crowd stilled.
"You think physical strength is a joke?" Asta said, stepping forward. "Then you're not worthy of learning it. I don't care if you're a kid or an adult—if you don't respect the training, you don't deserve it."
A sudden gust of mana-less pressure swept through the air—not from magic, but from sheer presence.
Even without magic, Asta's strength made the villagers take a step back. For a moment, he wasn't just the loud, headstrong boy from the church—he was something more. A warrior.
"You people," said an old butcher who had been silent till now, "really have the nerve to mock him? The same boy who risked his life fighting off the boar that destroyed our harvest last winter?"
The villagers quieted in shame.
"May I ask why, Asta?" the butcher added softly. "Why not teach them?"
Asta's gaze didn't waver. "Because I don't train people who only see strength as a tool for magic—or worse, as a joke. I train people who have resolve. People with guts. You want your kids to grow up strong? Then they better learn what it means to earn it."
Some of the kids shifted uncomfortably.
"If you really want to learn," Asta said, his voice now calm but unwavering, "come find me before sunrise tomorrow. At the Demon Skull's base."
Everyone flinched. Even adults avoided that eerie, towering relic. It was a place kids whispered about when they dared each other to be brave.
And yet…
The next morning, before the first light of dawn, seven kids stood at the base of the Demon Skull—panting, pale, but determined.
Asta grinned.
"Well, well. I guess there are some with guts after all."
He didn't hold back. Asta assessed their stamina, flexibility, and attitude, then assigned individual training routines based on their needs. He didn't teach them like a knight—he taught them like someone who had carved his own path with nothing but raw will and relentless effort.
Soon, villagers saw the strangest sight: Asta running laps around Hage Village with a gang of kids dragging logs, doing handstands, or holding squats under buckets of water.
One day, while the kids were mid-training, the village chief approached.
"Asta, I've noticed you've been chopping wood and fixing the church roof in your spare time... If it's not too much trouble, would you consider repairing the village fence? Wild boars have been breaking in again."
Asta wiped his brow and thought for a moment. "I'll do it—but not for free. You've seen how tight the church's food stores are."
The chief nodded immediately. "In return, the village will deliver food and supplies to the church. Every month. For the next five years."
Asta smiled. "Deal."
The fence repair became part of training.
"Kids, these crooked trees won't fall themselves. Grab your axes!"
"YES, SIR!"
Asta didn't just have them chop—he taught. How to plant your feet. How to drive force from your legs. How to let your core twist naturally to deliver explosive power.
"Strength doesn't come from your arms alone," he explained. "It starts in your legs, flows through your core, and ends in your strike. That's how you bring out your full power!"
The kids tried. Some over-swing. Some dropped their axes. A few rebounded hard and landed flat on their backs.
"Don't let the force knock you around!" Asta barked. "Learn to absorb it! Loosen and sink! If you get it right, the power won't hurt you—it'll help you!"
He picked up an axe himself.
Everyone watched.
Asta set his stance. His feet rooted like a tree. His legs tensed, power surged up through his waist and exploded outward.
WHAM!
The axe bit deep—nearly a fifth into the trunk.
Then—without pause—Asta absorbed the rebound, swung again, even faster.
WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!
The tree groaned and fell after just six strikes.
The kids gawked, jaws slack.
"How did he get stronger with each swing?" one whispered.
"That's the magic of real strength," Asta said, smiling. "No grimoire. No spells. Just heart, grit, and pure determination."
And from that day forward, not a single child ever mocked physical strength again.
They had seen the real charm of it—with their own eyes.
****
It took just two weeks for Hao Fan or Asta as you wish to call him, and the others to finish repairing the fence surrounding Haji Village. By the end, what was once a rundown settlement was now encircled by a ten-meter-high wooden wall—rough, but sturdy.
Time slipped by, and before anyone realized, March had arrived.
Today marked a significant day across the Forsaken Region: the annual Magic Book Grimoire Acceptance Ceremony at the Grimoire Tower. It was here that all fifteen-year-olds would receive the grimoires that would shape their futures as magic knights—or not.
Hao Fan stood among them, waiting early with the others from Haji Village. Over the past few months, his life had changed dramatically.
Through intense physical training, he'd strengthened his body enough to emulate the basics of taijutsu-like combat, akin to opening the "Gate of Opening" from a technique he had once read about—an imagined legacy from another world. But more importantly, he'd finally started growing.
Once mocked for his short stature—barely reaching the shoulders of his peers—Hao Fan had finally hit a growth spurt. A steady diet of grilled fish, wild boar, and snake soup had filled out his frame. Now, he stood tall with broad shoulders and a lean, powerful build. His snow-white hair and calm, serious eyes often drew lingering stares from girls nearby.
"His white hair is so cool..." one girl whispered, nudging her friend.
"And his eyes... he looks like he's already seen battles we can't even imagine."
A few girls giggled, sparking scowls from two boys nearby dressed in fine robes embroidered with minor noble crests.
"Tch. Typical. These village girls get excited over anyone who looks mysterious," muttered Will, whose angular face twisted in disdain.