Chapter 6

The Strongest Class

Deep into the night, silence descended over the training camp.

Darkness, draped like black silk, enveloped the Carcerium dormitories.

The trainees’ rooms were steeped in silence, but there was one exception.

Ethan’s room.

It was a luxurious space that couldn’t even be compared to the cramped beds used by the other trainees.

“Being the class representative might actually be pretty good.”

Ethan stretched out his stiff body before sprawling across the bed.

He had been tense all day, and now drowsiness came flooding over him in gentle waves.

Just then—

Bang!

The window shook lightly, and a sharp gust of wind slipped inside.

At the same time, a shadow glided into the room.

It was a falcon.

Ethan reflexively reached out and caught the bird.

A small note was tied to its leg.

He untied the tightly knotted string and unfolded the paper.

[To the top of the spire.]

A short yet decisive message.

Ethan’s eyes flashed.

It must be Lowfang.

He couldn’t imagine why Lowfang had sent the note, but there was no reason to hesitate.

The spire… Is that it?

Ethan naturally looked out the window.

In the distance, standing isolated from everything else, a ruined spire loomed prominently against the night.

Its gloomy appearance was somewhat unsettling, but Ethan stepped outside without much hesitation.

The staircase leading to the spire stretched upward in an endless spiral.

Dim lanterns along the walls flickered, casting dark shadows.

“Haa… haa…”

By the time his breathing had grown ragged and his legs heavy, Ethan finally reached the last step.

He wetted his lips and stared ahead.

And there, beneath the broken ceiling, sitting atop a half-collapsed wall, was a man.

With his back against the crumbling wall, he looked as though he were sitting on the edge of an endless cliff.

Faint moonlight filtered through the ruins, illuminating him.

Lowfang.

His angular jaw resembled the hilt of a sword, and his slightly tousled hair fluttered in the wind.

Dressed in a black coat, his silhouette looked almost like a wraith in the darkness.

“You came.”

Lowfang spoke in a low voice.

“Weren’t we supposed to meet at the entrance ceremony? I may have been the master of a thieves’ guild, but that was mostly thanks to luck. I’m not exactly in good shape.”

Ethan asked between heavy breaths.

Lowfang let out a quiet laugh.

“Haha. How do you expect to become a tax collector with stamina like that? Plans have changed. We have to go collect taxes again.”

“…Again?”

“Yes.”

Lowfang casually placed one foot on the edge of the wall.

“And the training here. It’s going to be on an entirely different level from what you’re imagining.”

Ethan’s body stiffened.

He had vaguely expected something brutal, like military drills or obstacle courses, but there was something in Lowfang’s words that made it sound as though his life would literally be on the line.

Lowfang raised an eyebrow.

“You agreed to work under me, but if you can’t even pass these basic requirements, you’d better be prepared, Ethan.”

“Can’t you give me some kind of tip?”

“What? Hahahahaha.”

Lowfang burst out laughing at Ethan’s question.

But there was a note of cynicism in his laughter.

“If you could survive with nothing but tips, the mortality rate of tax collectors wouldn’t be seventy percent.”

“…”

Ethan swallowed.

Seventy percent?

Could that seventy percent actually include people dying during their training at this camp?

“…Still, I’ll tell you one thing.”

Lowfang climbed down from the wall and slowly approached Ethan.

“After you pass the first stage, there’ll be a second-stage test. You’ll meet Aisha there.”

“Aisha? Who’s that?”

When Ethan asked, Lowfang looked at him meaningfully.

“She is famous by the nickname ‘White Witch.’”

Ethan waited expectantly for more, but Lowfang kept his mouth firmly shut.

Naturally, Ethan’s expression fell.

“…Is that really all?”

“If I told you everything, there’d be no point in the training, would there? If I had to add one more thing I wanted to say, it’d be this.”

Lowfang shrugged with a deliberately playful expression.

But then his expression hardened.

He placed a hand on Ethan’s shoulder.

And left him with one short, weighty sentence.

“Don’t die.”

With those words, he disappeared into the shadows of the night.

Ethan stood there for a long time.

Morning came.

The trainees stood in neat rows on the training field.

Thirty-three people in total.

Before them, their training instructor, Walter, slowly stepped forward.

Ethan watched him carefully as he thought,

How many of them will survive this place?

The standard for becoming a tax collector was absolute, not relative.

Anyone could become one as long as they met the required standard.

But whether reaching that “standard” was actually possible was an entirely different matter.

Walter looked over the trainees with a heavy gaze and began speaking.

“Your class already has basic toughness and weapon-handling habits ingrained in your bodies. But that’s not enough. What you’ll learn here isn’t merely physical conditioning.”

His voice was strict and emotionless.

“The Astar Empire is a unified empire that has preserved records of even civilizations that disappeared long ago. One of them is the Hittite Body Art.”

The trainees’ eyes sharpened at the unfamiliar term.

“Hittite is a destructive and domineering martial art. But it isn’t simply about increasing aggression. It’s a technique that pushes mana sensitivity to its absolute limit, maximizing the body’s sensitivity.”

Walter paused and swept his gaze over them.

“Training in it dramatically increases your body’s regenerative abilities and changes the density of your bones and muscles.”

He took a step back and continued.

“But those changes don’t come without blood and pain.”

At that moment, the instructors approached the trainees and fastened five-kilogram mana-stone shackles around their wrists, along with bizarre breathing apparatuses.

“This isn’t simply equipment for adding weight.”

Walter explained.

“It forcibly suppresses the flow of mana and interferes with your breathing.”

Some trainees fiddled with the shackles, already feeling uncomfortable.

But it didn’t take long for them to realize that discomfort was the least of their concerns.

“The Hittite breathing method is different from ordinary breathing techniques. You don’t breathe through your nose or mouth. You breathe through your skin.”

Murmurs spread through the ranks.

“Those of you who can’t understand what that means can experience it firsthand.”

At Walter’s signal, the assistants forcibly sealed the breathing apparatuses covering the trainees’ mouths and noses.

Hiss!

The apparatuses clamped shut.

Are you fucking kidding me?!

Ethan’s forehead bulged with veins as he desperately tried to tear the apparatus off, but it wouldn’t budge.

The trainees began pounding on the devices with their fists in desperation, but the equipment had been designed specifically to withstand such situations.

Its durability was monstrous.

Thump, thump!

I’m going to die.

Ethan could genuinely feel himself approaching the brink of death.

Instead of wasting time trying to remove the apparatus, he desperately focused on mastering the breathing technique.

Whoosh.

Just then, oxygen began flowing into the breathing apparatus again, allowing all the trainees to breathe.

They looked refreshed, as though they had just discovered paradise.

But Ethan sucked in as much oxygen as possible and thought,

It’s going to start again.

His prediction was correct.

Hiss!

The apparatus activated again, cutting off everyone’s air.

“Guh…!”

“Ugh…!”

They instinctively struggled, but their mouths and noses were completely sealed.

At first, it was bearable.

But as time passed, an agonizing sensation spread through their lungs, as though they were burning from within.

Fear.

Those whose bodies fell into a panic instinctively tried to breathe through their mouths and noses, but their lungs had already been denied that option.

I can’t die.

Just as despair began to overwhelm him, several trainees sensed tiny pockets of air forming on their skin.

They finally began drawing air through their skin.

It was clumsy, but it was definitely breathing.

Most, however, couldn’t adapt.

Thud!

One trainee collapsed.

As time passed, more and more people lost consciousness and fell.

The assistants immediately dragged away those who had collapsed.

Walter looked at the remaining trainees and grinned.

Everyone’s faces had turned red from the agony of being unable to breathe.

Walter leaned close to Ethan, the class representative, and spoke.

“Our tax collectors are people whose profession requires them to face death. Whether you survive through a sense of duty to the nation or sheer stubbornness—that’s up to your talent.”

“Is it painful? Overcome it.”

“What we guarantee you is power and honor.”

This fucking psychopath has a completely different personality depending on the situation.

Ethan glared at Walter, who was grinning gleefully at them while Ethan struggled for breath.

Walter clearly sensed the intense resistance in Ethan’s gaze, but he didn’t care.

“That’s a good look in your eyes, Ethan. You’re worthy of being the class representative.”

WHAM!

Contrary to his words of praise, Walter’s foot flew forward with tremendous force and slammed into Ethan’s stomach.

“Cough!”

Already unable to breathe, Ethan collapsed to the ground as the impact burst blood vessels in the whites of his eyes.

Fuck, I can’t breathe.

Two breaths in, then exhale through the skin.

Two breaths in, then exhale through the skin.

If he couldn’t understand it, he would train the breathing technique until he could.

“Hm. Good. This class has some grit.”

Walter actually looked pleased as he glanced at the other trainees.

By then, only three people remained standing.

Nicholas, Rebecca, and Koren.

All three were clearly struggling.

Sweat poured down their faces, their eyes were half-closed, yet they desperately forced themselves to remain standing.

Walter smiled brightly.

“You probably haven’t figured out the knack yet, though.”

Thud!

No sooner had he said those words than all three standing trainees collapsed unconscious.

The second day of training.

The breathing apparatus had to be worn for eight hours a day just to survive.

Yet only one day had passed, and most of the trainees had already developed such severe trauma that they would faint the moment they put the apparatus on.

On top of that, they had to wear the five-kilogram shackles all day.

Most of the trainees were suffering from such severe muscle pain that they could barely stand properly.

This isn’t enough.

Ethan had no intention of sharing their suffering.

He had no choice but to become a tax collector anyway.

To survive an extreme profession with a seventy-percent mortality rate, he absolutely had to overcome this hurdle.

That realization stirred something fierce inside Ethan.

I’ve never accomplished anything.

He had believed he had done his best in his first life, but in the end, he had gained nothing.

Then what about his second life?

Doing his best wouldn’t even be enough.

If that was the case, then the only way to overcome this obstacle was to stake his life on it and fight with everything he had.

I can’t fail twice.

It was four in the morning.

Training began at six, but Ethan was the first to put on the breathing apparatus.

The moment he did, he began running laps around the training field.

Watching the scene early that morning, Walter whistled.

“Looks like I have to give him credit for his tenacity, seeing as Senior Lowfang brought him here.”

I wonder how I should torment them today.

Walter’s eyes gleamed ominously.

Judging by his expression, he was already looking forward to it.