Atlas stood still for a moment before starting. He raised his right hand, moving it slightly, then tapped his helmet.
Silence… Absolute silence.
He could feel the weight of the armor, but when he lifted his foot to take a step, there was no sensation.
This armor completely shut down all his senses. It felt like he was standing in a void—no sound, no smell, no touch. Absolutely nothing. Well, at least if he fell into lava, he'd feel the heat. That was some small comfort.
He lifted his head slightly, visualizing the terrain he'd memorized beforehand. There were streams of lava along the track, some sections requiring him to leap across gaps. If he jumped too short, he'd fall in.
He started to move. Every step felt aimless, directionless. This time, even Kurogasa wouldn't step in to correct his path. Atlas would have to realize when he was heading the wrong way on his own.
He had to finish this challenge entirely by himself. Twenty laps. Only then would he succeed.
Right! If he couldn't rely on his senses, the only option left was the same as before—trial and error, enduring burns and excruciating pain.
Atlas started running, moving more easily than in his earlier attempts, despite the weight of the armor. By now, he had built enough endurance to run for hours without feeling tired. However, the moment any part of his body touched the lava, the searing pain would still be unbearable.
Danger!
He sensed it—just as his right foot was about to land. But it was too late. His momentum carried him forward, and his foot plunged into the lava.
ARGHHHH!
ARGHHHH!
Atlas roared in pain, pulling his body back and collapsing onto the ground. The scream ripped from his throat, echoing across the area—or so he thought. From his perspective, it vanished into the void of silence created by the helmet.
In reality, Kurogasa, Lyrassa, and Edrik were standing not far away, watching him intently.
Atlas writhed on the ground, clutching his leg as the blistering heat tore through him. It was as though the pain pierced straight to his bones, threatening to crush them, sending waves of agony through his entire body.
He endured it. He forced himself to ENDURE it!
Focusing his breathing, he worked to regain control of his mind, forcing himself to calm down and let the pain gradually fade.
Moments later, he stood up again, steadying himself. Step by step, he searched for the edge of the molten stream. He had to cross it. He had to jump to the other side.
Atlas inhaled sharply, trying to calm himself, suppressing every ounce of fear swirling within him.
This wasn't the first time he'd been burned by lava!
With that thought, he jumped, his body surging forward despite the weight of the armor.
And yet—
He missed.
Both feet plunged into the molten river, searing agony shooting through his legs.
Atlas immediately scrambled to the edge, pulling himself out of the lava and collapsing onto the ground. His body trembled uncontrollably, sweat pouring down his face. The pain was unbearable, threatening to push him into unconsciousness.
He couldn't take it!
He had to stop this madness!
Why?!
Why did he have to put himself through such grueling, torturous training?
He had Elite Subordinates, didn't he? Warriors strong enough to fight on the frontlines, while he could stay at the back, giving commands.
Wouldn't that be easier?!
After all, he'd only ever had one combat talent. He wasn't born a fighter! Why was he forcing himself this hard?!
Did he really think he could catch up to someone like Kareem? That he could become as strong as a man who had trained and fought for decades—probably 60 years or more?
And him? He was just 22 years old, for crying out loud! Why torture himself to this extent just to grow stronger?
Atlas screamed, his voice raw with pain, as he slammed his fists into the ground, trying to distract himself from the agony coursing through his body.
Minutes passed, but the pain didn't let up.
HELL NO! HELL NO! HELL NO!
He roared at himself, forcing his resolve to surface.
I didn't come this far just to stop now! This is still the early phase! I haven't grown stronger at all yet!
With sheer willpower, Atlas pushed himself to his feet again and started running. His legs felt like they were on fire—literally—but he didn't stop. He kept going until, once again, his body betrayed him.
He missed the jump.
And once again, his feet plunged into the lava.
The unbearable pain consumed him, but he gritted his teeth, enduring it. Every part of him screamed to stop, to give up.
There was no way this was possible!
No way anyone could accomplish this!
What was even the purpose of running without any senses? How could someone possibly "feel" their surroundings without traditional senses?
Atlas clenched his fists in frustration.
How the hell am I supposed to do this? What kind of concept do I need to use? Kurogasa hasn't given me a single clue!
[Your Constitution has increased by 1 point.]
Were they just trying to torture him with this training? No. This was his own choice. Atlas had chosen the most grueling training menu, one designed to push him to his absolute limits and force growth.
Wait… absolute limit? forcing growth?
That's right. He would only grow when he hit his breaking point—when there seemed to be no way out. It was in those moments of complete hopelessness that breakthroughs would come.
And where was he now? He was just enduring the pain of being burned by lava, over and over again—a pain he'd already faced countless times before. He could still keep going.
By midday, Atlas still hadn't managed to complete even his first lap.
When the break for lunch arrived, none of his troops stopped to eat. They, too, kept training harder than ever.
Watching their Lord step willingly into what looked like Hell itself made their own suffering feel lighter. Inspired by his resolve, they pushed themselves even further.
"Hey, everyone, is the food bad?" the male cook asked nervously. "Please tell me. If it is, we'll remake everything from scratch."
The female cook, panicking, only to drop a pot onto the ground in her rush. The loud clatter drew the attention of nearby troops.
"The food is fine," the female cook said.
The two cooks exchanged a sigh before curiosity got the better of them. They, too, wandered over to see exactly what kind of hellish training their Lord was putting himself through.
By late afternoon, as the sun began to sink toward the horizon, Atlas was still nowhere near completing a single lap. He wandered aimlessly, his sense of direction completely lost, plunging into the lava over and over again and enduring the unrelenting agony that followed.
Now, he lay sprawled on the ground, his body feeling utterly destroyed. Exhaustion gripped him, and his consciousness began to waver. In this void where none of his senses worked, it was as though he was teetering on the edge of passing out entirely.
He didn't even know how long he had been enduring this torment or how many laps he might have completed. Time had dissolved into a blur of pain and effort.
As his eyes began to flutter closed, a faint glimmer caught his attention—a single, floating dot of light hovering near him.
Wait, what is that? he thought sluggishly, forcing his hazy mind to focus.
The dot was a soft reddish-orange, faint and delicate.
Half-conscious, Atlas strained to look around him. To his surprise, more faint lights began to appear in the area surrounding him.
Soft orange, deep brown, pale blue—more and more faint dots of light emerged, scattered around him.
What is that?!