Bharam stood up and dusted the dirt from his clothes.
He walked toward me without any particular expression.
"You lost the bet," he said calmly. "Do you understand what that means?"
"Yes."
"Then sit. Use your breathing technique. Gather sufficient aura. Repeat the Sensory Field."
I sat down and began using the Beast Breathing technique.
Compared to the first time I learned it, the flow was smoother now. Controlled. Natural.
Aura gathered without resistance.
When I felt it was enough, I stood up to try again—
"Not today," Bharam said.
I paused.
He looked at me steadily.
"Tell me," he said, "what is your final goal?"
"Strength," I answered instinctively.
He shook his head.
"Survival."
The word lingered in the air.
"Money is not the goal. Strength is not the goal. Techniques are not the goal," he continued. "They are tools. Survival is the goal."
I stood silently.
"When you first came," he said, "you wanted power to survive. But now, you crave strength for its own sake."
He was right.
Somewhere between killing monsters and mastering techniques, I had begun chasing growth itself.
I had forgotten why I needed it.
Not to dominate.
Not to prove anything.
To survive.
"That is enough," Bharam said.
He turned to leave.
"…Sorry," I said quietly. "For glaring at you earlier."
He stopped.
Then burst into laughter.
"Do you think I am so thin-skinned?" he said. "After how much we tortured you in the name of training?"
He shook his head.
"If you didn't glare, I would be disappointed. It would mean you felt nothing."
He stepped closer and patted my head.
"You may not be my official student. You may not carry our legacy. You may even forget us one day."
I opened my mouth to protest.
He raised a hand to stop me.
"That's fine. Life is not about remembering teachers forever."
His tone turned firm.
"My only advice—survive as long as possible. By any means."
Then he left.
His words stayed with me long after he disappeared.
When I returned to Duracal's backyard, Rusty came running toward me.
He had grown slightly. His frame was broader, his horns sharper.
He pressed his head against mine.
"Thank you," I murmured. "For hatching."
Duracal stepped out and studied my face.
"You seem emotional," he said.
I walked up and hugged him suddenly.
"Thank you. For raising me."
He stiffened.
"What are you planning?" he asked suspiciously. "You sound like you're about to do something reckless. Should I inform Rathen and Siena?"
I tightened my grip.
"No. Please. They'll kill me."
He laughed.
"They won't kill you. They'll just make you stronger."
I still didn't fully understand what he meant.
A month passed.
Leion finished Rusty's equipment—light armor, reinforced saddle, proper harnessing for his six-legged frame.
In that month, I changed.
My Death Glare reached its first stage. If I met an opponent's eyes, I could instill fear and slow them slightly.
My hand-to-hand combat improved after countless beatings from Siena.
My Sensory Field stabilized to roughly ten meters around me, with selective filtering.
If allies were visible, I could confirm them.
If they touched me, I could identify them.
If unseen and unknown—
I treated them as enemies.
That was Bharam's rule.
I also spent another week learning to ride Rusty properly.
With six legs, his speed was frightening—but his balance was flawless.
His horns were dangerous.
But his true strength was his legs.
During a forest test run, we encountered a Dual-Horn Rat.
One tried to ambush from behind while I was mounted.
Rusty sensed it before I did.
He twisted mid-stride.
I struck the creature's hind legs.
They shattered like glass.
I hadn't realized how strong he had become.
Or how strong we were together.
One month and one week after training ended—
I rode toward the Mercenary Office.
They had separate barracks for monster mounts.
After handing Rusty over, I stepped inside.
Training was over.
Now survival would be tested.