Chapter 23: It’s Not That I’m Unwilling to Improve

“I’ve never met anyone like you before,” Harold said, sighing deeply.

Wu Qingsong was equally frustrated. He was diligently adhering to the rigorous training plan Harold had set for him. Yet a month had passed, and the results were lagging far behind the effort, time, and energy he had invested.

He experienced only a smidgen of gains in strength, endurance, speed, agility, and reflexes. That was it, only a smidgen. If his initial attributes could be quantified as a four on a scale that went up to ten, he barely managed to inch his way to a five, and progress seemed to halt there.

Harold started to wonder if Wu Qingsong had been slacking off when he wasn’t looking. It seemed to be the only reasonable explanation. Were the thirty renals he was being paid each month just for show?

After watching Wu Qingsong’s all-out training efforts for a week, Harold was forced to admit, much to his shame, that his training program was effectively useless for him.

Wu Qingsong’s body didn’t experience the transformations it should have. The training only managed to tap into his existing physical potential, without making him any stronger or agile.

So disheartened was Harold that he even contemplated refusing Wu Qingsong’s payment. However, Wu Qingsong had a pretty good idea of what the root issue was.

Conventionally, muscle growth is spurred by countless microscopic tears that occur during intense exercise. These tiny injuries trigger a cascade of complex physiological responses that ultimately lead to the increase and strengthening of muscle fibers.

But his body didn’t get injured, not even the microscopic tears that should occur during strenuous exercise appeared. As a result, his muscle growth was stunted, hindering any potential increases in strength, speed, or endurance through training.

‘Ah, is destiny forcing me to become a noble mage instead of a mere brute?’

So far, Wu Qingsong hadn’t witnessed even a trace of magic spells in action. All he had were the incessant tales of the might of mages. One thing was undeniable, magic did exist in this world, but it was a forbidden art tightly controlled by the elves, the ruling elite, who prohibited any other race from mastering it.

He had heard a chilling rumor from Harold. Every few years, armed forces from each territory would conduct screenings of newborns in various villages. Hiding a child would lead to the death penalty. Infants identified with magical potential were either killed or taken away, and their entire immediate family would also be executed to prevent the birth of another magically gifted child.

Such rumors had led many beastfolk families to painfully kill their own infants if they showed the slightest sliver of magic. To them, it was a devastating choice, but one that was better than having their entire family wiped out.

The empire officially scoffed at such rumors, labeling them as fabrications designed to incite rebellion. Yet, villages with no indications of unrest were being massacred year after year, and the soldiers carrying out these orders couldn’t help but leak some of this information.

“True, there are mages among the half-elves, but I’ve never heard of a self-taught one,” Harold remarked, dousing Wu Qingsong’s hopes like a bucket of cold water. “Based on your looks, you don’t appear to be a well-connected half-elf.”

Wu Qingsong was left speechless. ‘So you’re underestimating me, huh? Wait until I master magic. I’ll make you regret ever doubting me!’

“Since I can’t train you, our agreement is effectively null and void, I suppose,” Harold said, his voice tinged with regret.

For a disabled old man like him, finding such a job was akin to striking gold. In a city like Umber, few sought to learn the art of the sword from someone like him. Lower-class beastpeople generally relied on brute strength and unyielding courage to take up the mercenary path, gradually learning combat skills from their comrades in arms. The upper echelons, merchants, and nobles, had access to far more qualified instructors, leaving little room for someone like him to act as a mentor.

“You could continue to guide me in sword techniques. And perhaps, you might consider sparing some time to train Liuli and Ling as well?” suggested Wu Qingsong.

Harold may not be renowned as a master teacher, and his tongue was often sharper than his sword, but he had experience. A quality that made him the best and most reliable guide Wu Qingsong could find for the time being.

In fact, Liuli had already shown remarkable gains in agility and stamina simply by shadowing him, lobbing sandbags from trees day in and day out.

Wu Qingsong thought that if couldn’t improve and reached a plateau for the time being, it was better to focus on elevating Liuli and Ling’s skills.

In a team, one might expect a strong leader to guide two weaker members, but since he had momentarily lost the opportunity to improve, enhancing the skills of the other two could only serve to bolster the team’s collective strength.

“The two of them?” Harold paused, eyeing Wu Qingsong as if to question the wisdom of training two girls who seemed their nature was ill-suited for the martial path.

“Are you certain?” he asked. “Some people are just not built for wielding blades and in their hands, a sword is more likely to harm themselves than anyone else. From what my eyes see, both girls seem to fall into that category. They just don’t have the talent for it.”

“How can we know if we don’t try?” Wu Qingsong countered. “Even if they only get stronger by a bit, I think it’s worth giving it a shot.”

Harold mumbled something inaudible, then shook his head. “I can’t teach them. What I know is beyond their grasp.”

Wu Qingsong felt a pang of disappointment, but Harold seemed to hesitate before offering, “That said, if you can wait a month or two, I might be able to find someone qualified to teach them.”

“Fifteen renals a month, then? For you to continue coaching me in combat and sharing your adventuring wisdom? And maybe some basic training for them in the meantime?” Wu Qingsong quickly agreed, given that they had no immediate plans or places to go.

“Ah, all right, fifteen renals it is,” Harold relented with a tone of resignation.

Ling and Liuli were slightly taken aback by Wu Qingsong’s arrangement. The idea that they would one day need to brandish swords had never crossed their minds. Nonetheless, Ling chose not to object, placing her trust in Wu Qingsong’s judgment. Liuli, ever the follower, accepted the arrangement since Ling showed no disapproval.

Soon enough, the rigorous training regimen that had once been Wu Qingsong’s burden was shifted onto them. Naturally, the intensity was dialed down considerably compared to Wu Qingsong’s initial ordeal, but it was still more than enough to make them wince in discomfort.

This freed up a surprising amount of time for Wu Qingsong, compelling him to ponder another issue that had now become a priority.

It was high time to figure out a way to earn some money.