A brand-new day began while the sky was still pale and dim.
There was no clock inside the cabin—no timekeeping device of any kind. Most of the day's rhythm depended on the sun and their own internal sense of time.
It had already been more than a year since Duncan arrived in this other world. From his initial confusion and ignorance, he'd gradually become something close to a "local"—at least by the standards of the region around the Great Tree Labyrinth.
A Level 3 adventurer was already a core, mid-tier "Second-Class" adventurer even in Orario—especially a freak-of-nature stat monster like Duncan.
For Duncan and Bell, mornings were always the same: firewood and breakfast.
Only after those chores were done would they begin their "self-training." The experience gained from that was negligible; it was mostly warm-up—getting their bodies moving, keeping their techniques familiar, preparing for what came next.
Because for adventurers, the techniques earned by fighting monsters with your life on the line were your true lifeline. You could never take them seriously enough. Adventurers who got cocky over small achievements were the kind Orario's cruelty would eliminate without mercy.
The monsters in the Great Tree Labyrinth weren't as ferocious as the Dungeon beneath Orario—but "dying from a careless mistake" happened all the time. And if someone wanted a close example of how brutal fate could be, they didn't need to look far: the fall of Zeus and Hera's Familia was practically carved into the world's memory… even if "stepping into a ditch" didn't really capture what happened to them.
After self-training and breakfast, the real work began—when either Zald or Alfia stepped in to run the day's "proper" practice.
If there was one clear difference compared to before…
After Duncan reached Level 3, "training" turned into baptism.
And their practice shifted from solo sessions to two-on-one.
On paper, that sounded like good news.
In reality, when Alfia and Zald raised the intensity to match, Duncan finally understood what "baptism" actually meant.
Endless attacks—like a storm that never let you breathe.
Every strike that landed added another wound. Zald's blows were brutal and heavy; Alfia's were precise and razor-sharp.
Two completely different styles—producing the same outcome:
As long as it didn't kill you or cripple you, everything else was negotiable.
Over the past year, Zeus had commissioned Hermes—another god—to continually bring mid-grade and high-grade potions from Orario for Duncan and Bell. At Level 3, basic potions simply couldn't keep up. If they wanted to keep pushing their limits safely, they needed stronger medicine.
Hermes was a stylish man with short orange-blond hair, dressed in practical traveler's clothes, wearing a travel hat decorated with white feathers. He looked sharp and capable…
…but up close, he was light and flippant, the kind of person who never stopped joking.
As a god of contracts, Hermes had special permission to freely enter and leave Orario. His Familia, supposedly an exploration type, was actually better known for commerce, delivery, and intelligence. Zeus called him a guy who never did his "real job"—which fit Duncan's stereotype of gods down here perfectly.
That bright, friendly grin might work on honest locals… but Duncan had lived in the internet's swamp. Anyone who smiled like that too easily was never truly harmless—at best, they were a god who lived for entertainment.
Still, Zeus told him Hermes was troublesome but "mostly positive," and far more reliable than most of Orario's gods. Aside from small tricks, he actually got things done.
And thanks to that, Duncan and Bell could sustain this brutal, potion-fueled baptism without running out of supplies.
Metal rang again and again.
Even when Duncan swung his spear so tightly it felt like he'd formed a wall of water, Alfia's blade still slipped through from time to time, cracking his defense. In her hands, a light one-handed sword became wind and rain—unceasing, unbroken, impossible to fully shut out.
"Your turns are too slow," Alfia said calmly. "Stop thinking and then moving. Against strong opponents, you won't be given time to think. Use your body memory."
As she spoke, a dagger stabbed in from an angle—thrown from her blind spot.
Before the dagger even arrived, Bell's body was already moving into position on her other flank.
The ambush forced Alfia to redirect her blade. She casually knocked the dagger aside—then followed through into a slash at the approaching Bell.
But in that single moment of rotation, Duncan had already escaped Alfia's pressure. His spear arrived after—yet landed first, perfectly threading into a space where she couldn't cleanly recover her posture.
A full chain of offense executed in an instant:
Duncan deliberately exposed a flaw to bait Alfia in, then synchronized with Bell's speed and technique. It demanded absurd coordination and timing.
Alfia's lips curled into a faint smile.
"Evan—"
"Silence."
Duncan cut her off at the last possible moment.
Countless repetitions had made Alfia's habits familiar—almost predictable. He waited until the end not for drama, but because he wanted to deny her the chance to adjust. If he cast too early, she could improvise. If he cast right as she committed, she had no room to change.
Alfia's mana flow was severed.
Yet she didn't panic.
She opened her eyes, sword in her left hand, fist in her right—one motion forcing Bell to abandon offense and defend, the other knocking Duncan's spear aside with brute, effortless authority.
Duncan's winning strike was collapsing.
So he forced it back to life.
Keen Swift Advance!
He tightened both hands on the spear. The exhausted, already-completed attack surged again—reinforced.
Power flooded from his body into the spear in an instant. He stepped forward and swung with that sharpened force.
All of it happened within two seconds.
But for Alfia…
it was still too slow.
After shattering Bell's attack, the balance flipped. Alfia increased the pressure of her sword. Steel screamed against Bell's dagger as she crushed him back—then, with the same motion, she pivoted into Duncan.
Even Alfia didn't dare to take Duncan's full-force strike lightly.
Sword met spearpoint with a violent bang.
A shockwave blasted Duncan backward—and Bell, too, was caught and thrown aside.
Alfia herself wasn't as wrecked, but the recoil still forced her back several steps. She grimaced at her weapon.
Only the hilt remained.
The one-handed sword had shattered. Even with her reinforcement, the collision of forces was too much for a normal-quality blade.
"Rest."
After a few breaths, Alfia steadied herself—then tossed the broken hilt aside. She'd pushed beyond what her body could safely bear, and she urgently needed to regulate herself.
"Alfia!"
"Mom Alfia!"
The two boys didn't even have time to process how battered they were. They scrambled over immediately.
This scene had happened several times over the past year.
As the two of them grew stronger and the baptisms grew harsher, it meant Zald and Alfia had to draw deeper on their power—
and that meant accelerating the damage to their own bodies.
A double-edged sword:
sharpening the children… while cutting the adults who were sharpening them.
....
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