A week had passed.
Seven days of agony.
Seven days of regret.
Seven days under the merciless boot of Rock the Orc.
Cassian Von Aegis never thought he'd beg for death so often. Each morning began the same way: him being yanked out of bed like a rag doll by Rock, tossed onto the training field while the sun was still rising, and greeted with the same cheerful threat:
"Morning, weakling. Time to break your bones again!"
No warmups. No stretching. Just pain. Raw, unfiltered pain.
It started with running—no, sprinting—laps around the guild building while wearing weighted chains. Then came pushups in the mud, sit-ups while boulders were thrown at him for "motivation," and carrying barrels of water up a hill only to roll back down again.
Rock was relentless.
"You call that a punch? I've seen kittens do better!"
"You fainted already? I only made you squat a hundred times!"
Cassian could do nothing but scream inside his heart.
"Why did I agree to this?! I should've just stayed in the library and learned healing spells from books!"
After the brutal training that left him collapsed in the dirt for hours, barely breathing, he'd wake up to a familiar face.
"Up, Cassian."
Lia's voice was soft, gentle. Almost kind.
She would help him sit up, hand him a towel, and offer him water.
"Lunch is ready. You're late, and the cafeteria aunties said they'd eat your portion."
Even while his bones felt like they were made of shattered glass, he forced himself to rise. Because after training came the second part of his punishment—healing.
Every afternoon, he dragged his aching body to the infirmary.
There, rows of injured adventurers awaited him—bandaged, bruised, bleeding. And Cassian… healed them all. Twice a day. Until his mana ran completely dry.
Some days he could heal fifteen people. Other days, he pushed himself to twenty. His control had improved. His efficiency had grown. His skill… evolved.
The adventurers were grateful.
"You're doing god's work, kid."
"Thanks again! And for such a low price too!"
"If only the priests at the temple were this humble…"
Their words didn't ease the soreness in his limbs, but they warmed something inside his chest.
After healing, he stumbled into the cafeteria—sometimes guided by Lia when his legs gave out.
And there, like a reward from heaven, was the food.
Not just any food. Mountains of it.
Steaks dripping with sauce, roasted vegetables glistening with butter, thick soups with herbs, perfectly cooked eggs, grilled mushrooms, fresh bread, and desserts that melted on the tongue. It was food worth silver coins—maybe even gold on a good day.
The first time he saw it, his eyes widened.
The first bite made him tear up.
"This… this is better than any five-star restaurant in my old world!"
Cassian devoured everything. Every dish, every last bite. He chewed slowly, savoring the taste, like it was the only joy left in his tortured existence.
But peace was fleeting.
One day, while eating his third portion of roast beef, a shadow loomed over him.
He looked up—and saw a bear.
No. Not a bear.
A man.
A gigantic, terrifying man with arms thicker than Cassian's torso and a beard that could house birds. The chef.
"You're the kid who keeps healing the adventurers," the man said, voice like a boulder rolling down a mountain. "Eat more. You're still skinny."
He dropped two extra plates in front of Cassian and walked off.
Cassian stared at the food. Then at the chef's back.
"First an orc trainer… now a bear chef. I must've been cursed in my past life. No—probably two past lives."
Throughout the week, Lia remained his saving grace.
She helped him up when he collapsed on the street. She sat beside him when he trembled from exhaustion. She smiled when he succeeded and encouraged him when he failed.
"Your body's improving," she said one evening. "You don't fall as hard anymore."
Cassian sighed. "Yeah. Now I only hit the ground at a 45-degree angle instead of flat on my face. Progress."
But even with all the pain, something strange began to happen.
His body started moving on its own.
Whenever he saw someone in need, even if he was exhausted, he helped.
A lost child crying by the guild gate? He picked them up and brought them to the reception.
An old man struggling with crates? Cassian carried them without a word.
A limping adventurer trying to walk? He offered a shoulder.
"Stop it, body! I'm tired! Let me rest!" he cried inside.
But his legs moved. His hands lifted. His lips formed words of comfort. His body didn't listen to his mind—it followed his heart.
And the people noticed.
"Cassian helped me carry my gear the other day."
"He healed my friend even after his mana was out."
"He's always there when you need someone."
He had become loved. Not because he was powerful, but because he cared.
Even the grumpy healers in the guild had started warming up to him. They brought him snacks. Gave him tips. One of the older healers even said, "You remind me of myself when I was young. Naive and overworked."
By the end of the week, Cassian was Level 2.
His healing had improved.
He could now heal twenty people in a row with decent mana efficiency.
His mana capacity was higher. His control sharper.
His stamina had doubled, and his body had started changing.
He still wasn't strong. But he wasn't fragile anymore.
No longer a glass twig, but maybe… a bamboo shoot.
Strong enough to bend, not break.
Now, he didn't walk like a zombie—but he still collapsed when Rock kicked him too hard during sparring.
That night, after dinner (which the chef doubled again, muttering "You're still too thin"), Cassian finally returned to his room.
The moonlight shone through the window. His bones screamed. His muscles twitched. His heart, however, felt light.
He flopped onto his bed and whispered:
"Everything hurts… but I think I'm getting stronger."
His eyes shut. Sleep came fast.
And for the first time in a long while…
He smiled.
-To be continued..