News of Cassian’s survival—walking away unscathed after enduring a brutal barrage from the troll—spread quickly, even reaching the other reinforcement units and the main forces of the Karmen Earldom.
Though he wasn’t unscathed, his wounds were already knitting back together at an unnaturally fast pace. To onlookers, he was just a mess of ragged, blood-soaked clothes—damage they assumed came from the troll.
Cassian, however, didn’t care for the attention. In fact, he preferred to avoid the spotlight. The more eyes on him, the more trouble it tended to bring. And after coming within a breath of being turned into a pile of broken flesh, he had no desire to stand out.
He wasn’t traumatized by the fight, but the brush with death left him unsettled. It made him wonder if he’d been taking things too lightly. With his war armor, Cassian never minded being thrown into dangerous situations—situations he couldn’t normally handle alone. But this time was different. If he could nearly die even with the war armor... what would happen when he faced something beyond even that protection?
The last time he’d killed a Third-Circle warrior from the cult, it had been thanks entirely to the element of surprise. He’d had that advantage this time as well—yet he hadn’t used it. He should have deployed the war armor earlier, not just to hide behind its defenses and survive, but to truly fight back. Still, the risk of revealing he possessed it had held him back.
"...Fuck it," Cassian muttered as he stepped onto the training field. The high, white ceiling and spacious, familiar room wrapped around him like a silent arena.
"System," he said, squaring his stance, "simulate the battle with that troll."
In an instant, the training field shifted. The plain white walls dissolved, replaced by the jagged terrain where he’d last faced the beast. A massive troll lay in the distance, slumped in sleep, its breaths heavy and rumbling.
"Start the simulation," Cassian ordered.
The frozen scene stirred to life, as if time itself had been released from Naset Lawk’s domain. Mana flowed through the air, saturating every detail until it felt almost too real—the stench, the weight of the atmosphere, the faint tremors underfoot.
Cassian’s gaze locked on the troll, anger simmering. His domain rippled faintly around him. Thanks to the training field’s stamina-recovery function, his body felt fresh, ready to fight as if the battle had never happened.
This time, Cassian didn’t hide, didn’t wait. As soon as the troll stirred, he surged forward, blade flashing. The first strike cut shallow across its massive arm—a scratch to something that size, but enough to make the beast roar and thrash.
It swung to shake him loose, but Cassian leapt, landing on its other arm. The momentum of the troll’s movement worked in his favor; he drove his sword down into thick muscle, feeling the blade bite deep. The troll bellowed, its free hand snapping up toward his neck with crushing speed.
Cassian’s eyes narrowed. His domain flared, killing intent boiling over, and he pressed harder—yet in the end, the brute’s raw power won out. Its massive fingers grazed his throat, and before he could disengage, he was slammed into the dirt with bone-rattling force.
The simulation flickered. Cassian lay there for a heartbeat, breathing hard, then pushed himself up. His jaw tightened, his eyes cold.
[Impact simulation stopped.]
Mana surged, and the battlefield reset.
The simulation reset in a blink, the troll once again looming in the distance, breathing slow and heavy like some great, sleeping beast. Cassian gripped his sword tighter.
"Let’s see who slams who this time..." he muttered, stepping forward.
He moved first, darting between its legs before it could fully rouse. The blade sang against its calf, leaving a faint red line. The troll howled, stomping down with a force that made the ground ripple. Cassian rolled aside, the air blasting past his ear.
The beast’s hand came sweeping in—a blur of gray and muscle. He ducked, only to find the other hand already coming from the opposite side. He jumped back, feeling the rush of air as those fingers barely missed his ribs.
He darted around again, lasting barely a minute longer than before.
Then the inevitable struck—one brutal backhand caught him mid-air. The world spun; the ground surged up to meet him like a wall.
[Impact simulation stopped]
The scene froze, crimson text hanging in the air.
Cassian spat to the side. "Tch... again."
The battlefield rewound.
Again and again, he simulated fighting the troll, spending nearly half a day on it. The longest he’d managed to last was three and half minutes—and even then, the latter half had been nothing but frantic dodging. He hadn’t landed a single hit, and the one time he tried, he was smacked away.
On the one attempt, he strapped on the war armor. The protective plates locked into place, humming faintly with stored mana.
The troll’s first blow struck him square in the chest—hard enough to send him skidding backward in a spray of dirt. He coughed, but the armor held.
"Ha! Not so easy now, you overgrown rat!" he snarled, charging back in.
He used the armor’s burst ability to spring onto its shoulders, hammering his sword down into its neck. Black blood sprayed, hot and stinking. The troll roared, grabbed him, and—
The ground shuddered.
Cassian groaned, peeling himself out of the crater. "Damn it! How strong are you, you hairy bastard?!"
The simulation reset again.
"Hey, System, any suggestions on how to take that thing down?" Cassian asked, dropping into a seat, feeling mentally drained.
To his surprise, the System actually responded.
[At your current level, even with that equipment, it is impossible to defeat this monster.]
Cassian sighed, irritation edging his voice. "Yeah, yeah, I figured that out. Anyone who’s seen my fight with that oversized freak could tell me the same. I mean—how can I at least last a bit longer?"
[Trainee can utilize his combat techniques more efficiently to significantly extend survival time.]
Cassian frowned in thought. "I did that... but it didn’t make any progress, though?"
[Trainee has only been using the offensive applications of his technique. Trainee could last longer by using other aspects of his style.]
Cassian blinked, confused. "Other aspects?"
[That is for trainee to figure out.]
Cassian let out a low, frustrated grunt. He knew he wasn’t getting anything more out of the System, so he started digging through his memory of the Gale Whisper Sword Style, searching for anything that might help him survive longer.
Aside from its offensive forms, there was only one defensive move—the Twister. It doubled as both attack and defense, but against a monster with such brute strength, it was practically useless. At his current power, he couldn’t hope to block even a single one of its punches.
Cassian sat there, running through every stance, every sequence, every drill he’d ever practiced. The frustration built with each thought—none of them could block that monster’s punch. Not even close.
Even if he mastered all the higher sword forms, they were meant to cut deeper, stab harder—raw, brutal offense. And right now, he didn’t have the strength to drive them through that thick hide.
His jaw tightened, knuckles pressing into his knees. "Damn it... nothing here works."
Then it hit him. A flicker of memory from his very first lesson. His master’s voice, calm and patient:
"Flow like wind... be a wind."
Cassian’s eyes widened. This wasn’t about raw power, or cutting deeper—it was about movement. Movements of his opponent, reading them, predicting their strikes, and slipping away before they landed. He had to read the wind.
A slow grin spread across his face as the thought settled in. "Alright... let’s see if you can swat the wind, big guy."