My past self, who despised anything involving sweat and physical effort, would never understand this feeling.
But now?
I can grow stronger.
The thought alone reshaped my mindset completely.
Every swing of my sword made my muscles tighten, stretch, respond—almost as if telling me they wanted more.
And the more they move, the stronger I'll become.
It was such a simple, obvious truth, yet only now did it genuinely click inside me.
If I put in the effort, I'll grow stronger.
If I grow stronger, I'll survive.
And if I survive… I get closer to my goals.
With each swing, I absorbed every one of Lycan's corrections—posture, angle, weight distribution, even how to breathe.
"Relax your shoulder. Don't force the blade—guide it."
"Good. Again."
"Your core isn't engaged. Tighten it."
"Yes, that's it."
My sword cut through the air again and again, sharper and cleaner with every repetition.
I didn't stop.
Not until my magical power ran completely dry—
