The Problematic Child of the Magic Tower
Chapter 60: Training Camp (5)
-Day 6 of the Training Camp.
Damian Proud successfully stabilized his mana circuits and finally reached Level 4 last night.
Hearing this news in the morning ignited the students' motivation.
After all, it was proof that the grueling training could eventually yield sweet rewards.
Looking down at the students, who were filled with a strange excitement, Oscar opened his mouth.
“Starting today, we’re adding new routines to your training.”
In exercise, there’s a principle called progressive overload.
It means gradually increasing the load placed on the body.
The reason is simple:
‘Humans are creatures of adaptation.’
Muscles, and even mana circuits, stop growing if subjected to the same intensity of training every day.
The body adapts too quickly to that level of effort.
‘Especially since these guys’ natural recovery rates are enhanced by my breathing techniques. On top of that, they’re downing potions like tap water.’
By now, their crafty bodies would’ve instinctively figured it out—probably yesterday, or the day before at the latest.
That this level of training wasn’t going to kill them.
And so, Oscar had to deceive their overconfident bodies.
‘Ah, if I’m not careful, I might really die. If I don’t get stronger, I’ll perish for sure.’
Making them feel this way by increasing the intensity of their training was what Oscar called progressive overload.
Naturally, the students listening to his explanation were all dumbfounded.
‘...In short, he’s just saying he’s going to make our lives even harder, isn’t he?’
‘I was just starting to feel like I was keeping up with the training tempo... as of yesterday...’
‘I miss my mom.’
Oscar’s stern voice echoed in their ears as the students wore despondent expressions.
“In the morning, you’ll run the same laps around the track as before. However, you’ll now use twice as much mana.”
“In the afternoon, you’ll gain practical combat experience through sparring. Of course, I’ll be observing.”
Benjamin Scott raised his hand sharply.
“Instructor! Excluding Damian, there are 31 students left. Does that mean someone will have to spar twice?”
“No.”
Oscar answered curtly, looking at Benjamin through his sunglasses.
“Why are you excluding Damian?”
“Well... isn’t he leaving the camp now that he’s reached Level 4?”
“It was clearly written in the official notice, wasn’t it? This training camp ends only when all students reach Level 4.”
“...You mean?”
“Damian isn’t going anywhere. He’ll attend morning and afternoon sessions just like the rest of you.”
One for all, all for one.
If even a single student fell behind, the camp wouldn’t end.
Realizing this, the students’ faces turned pale.
“If you don’t want to be a burden to your teammate who reached Level 4, give it your all in training. Stabilize your mana circuits as quickly as possible.”
“If you understand, start running.”
Oscar's eyes grew contemplative as the students reluctantly began their daily run.
There was a reason he insisted on such an old-fashioned training regimen.
‘These kids are fresh graduates from the Academy.’
He’d been there himself and knew the kind of lessons it instilled: endless competition, more competition, and survival through surpassing one’s peers.
The Academy’s emphasis on its high admission rate to the Four Great Magic Towers made this focus inevitable, and he understood that.
But someday, these students would face moments where they’d need to trust someone else to guard their backs.
‘And unless they’ve built enough trust and camaraderie, it’s impossible to entrust your back to someone.’
He knew that all too well.
It was why he’d fought alone for so long during his first missions on the battlefield.
‘There were plenty of close calls. A mage with an exposed back is the juiciest prey imaginable.’
At the very least, he didn’t want to force these kids—his juniors—to endure the same terrible loneliness.
For that, he was willing to become a demon.
No, he had to become one.
Beep! Beep-beep!
Blowing his whistle relentlessly, Oscar crossed his arms and shouted,
“I see legs moving! Pick up the pace!”
By the time the afternoon training was over, a strange tension hung over the training ground.
Two men stood face-to-face in the center of the field, while the other students sat huddled in the stands, watching them intently.
“You want to be evaluated?”
“Yes.”
Damian Proud took a deep breath, slowly drawing out his mana.
Fixing his gaze on the man before him—the person he had requested guidance from—Damian concentrated all his senses on his fingertips.
‘I’ve gotten stronger.’
This wasn’t just because he’d reached Level 4.
It was a confidence he could feel naturally.
Everything was refined to a level incomparable to yesterday, from the unfolding of his spells to their completion.
And so, he wanted to know more.
Just how far had he come?
『Wind Cutter.』
Shhrrrrr!
Ten blades formed at his slim fingertips, sharp and flawless.
Not a single edge was out of place as they spun at high speed.
What’s more, each blade had its own unique characteristics:
A long, thin one specialized for thrusting.
Another perfect for slashing.
One designed to lodge into a target and resist being removed.
It was like gazing at a master craftsman’s collection of daggers forged over a lifetime.
“...The first time I showed you Wind Cutter during a lesson, your evaluation was harsh.”
At best, it had been a “half-baked” Wind Cutter.
That was the grade he had received back then.
But if he had shown this Wind Cutter at the time, what kind of evaluation would he have gotten?
Seeing the determination in Damian’s eyes, Oscar smirked.
“If I had seen this back then, I would’ve given you high praise. It keeps all the strengths of your old version while fixing every weakness.”
Just as Damian’s expression began to brighten at the praise, Oscar added,
“But just as this Wind Cutter is different from the one you showed back then, the Damian of today is also different.”
Reaching a new level also meant that the standards of evaluation had changed.
“For a Level 3 mage’s Wind Cutter, this is a perfect score. But for a Level 4 mage’s Wind Cutter, it’s far too ordinary.”
Once again, his report card fell short of satisfaction.
Seeing the frustration clouding Damian’s eyes, Oscar teased with a smirk.
“You’re no genius. At best, you’re a talented prodigy.”
“You don’t need to spell that out for me!”
“Then why are you trying to act like a genius?”
Oscar’s expression remained indifferent as he posed the question.
“Have I ever explained the difference between the average, the talented, and the genius?”
At that, not only Damian but also the trainees watching their sparring shook their heads.
If they don’t know, he should explain.
“It’s simple. The average person learns one thing when you teach them one. The talented? They learn five or six. So, what about a genius?”
“...I don’t know. I’m not a genius. Do they learn ten things when you teach them one?”
Damian responded with irritation, making Oscar chuckle softly.
“No. A genius doesn’t need to be taught by someone else. They figure out ten, a hundred things on their own. Their way of thinking is fundamentally different.”
Oscar himself hadn’t mastered his ability to control mana through teachings.
Back when he was a runny-nosed kid wandering the alleys, clueless about what magic even was, he instinctively understood how to manipulate mana, sometimes creating something resembling magic.
That’s how his master, who happened to see him, took him in.
“...You’re boasting, aren’t you? Saying you’re a genius.”
“Halfway, maybe? But what I’m trying to say is this: there’s a way of learning that suits the talented.”
People aspire to learn the perspective and thought process of geniuses.
Books and lectures on the subject sell like hotcakes for a reason.
Everyone wants to be extraordinary, to be called a genius.
But that’s all an illusion.
“You can’t learn it. It can’t be taught. So stop pretending to be a genius and focus on being the talented person you are.”
“Talented this, talented that... So what are you saying I should do?”
“There’s no point in trying to understand what geniuses think. Just memorize it all.”
Oscar beckoned with a finger.
“Throw them.”
Without hesitation, Damian sent ten blades flying.
Was he worried about hurting his opponent?
Not at all.
He knew from experience that such a simple Wind Cutter spell wouldn’t harm someone like Oscar.
“Watch closely. This is your homework, just for you. By the end of this training camp, you’ll have to memorize this spell completely.”
The mana Oscar summoned instantly took the form of blades.
But the sheer number was unusual.
In the blink of an eye, they multiplied past a hundred, then two hundred, eventually numbering three hundred.
They were far smaller than typical Wind Cutters, no larger than cherry blossom petals.
Damian stared, spellbound. How could magic be so beautiful?
The swirling petals surrounding Oscar looked as though they were in full bloom.
The Noble of the White Tower...
The title whispered about this senior mage.
For some reason, the words floated to the forefront of Damian’s mind as a gentle breeze blew through.
‘The blades may be many, but they’re so small. Could they really destroy my Wind Cutter...?’
The moment doubt crossed his mind, the fluttering petals turned into ferocious beasts, dismantling his daggers piece by piece and sweeping past him.
“Gah!”
The unnerving sensation made Damian stumble and fall backward.
Frantically patting himself, he realized there wasn’t a single scratch on him.
“The blades may be small, but each one is enhanced with mana, giving them plenty of power. They’re difficult to defend against.”
“...What’s the name of this spell?”
In Damian’s wide eyes burned pure longing—an intense desire to make the spell his own.
“Flower Rain.”
Tiny Wind Cutter petals overwhelming their target.
Damian clenched his fists tightly.
In the main hall of the White Tower.
A meeting held once a month brought together over a dozen individuals.
In the absence of the Tower Master, Vice Tower Master Hamel Grimwiz presided over the gathering.
“Is everyone here?”
“Yes, except for the head of the Potion Division.”
Oscar Crucian, the head of that division, was currently away, leading a training camp for junior mages.
“Thus, I’m attending in his stead.”
Lena White’s sharp response drew approving smiles from the vice master and elders.
They were grateful someone of her caliber was part of the White Tower, especially with other factions constantly trying to recruit her.
“Let’s start with the security division. How are the observers performing after learning the new breathing technique?”
The White Observers were the sword and shield protecting the order of the White City, Shirin.
“The improvement is remarkable, as expected from Oscar Sage. For one, their mana regeneration rate has increased significantly. Their natural healing has improved so much that they wake up without feeling any fatigue. I can personally attest to this as well.”
“Hmm.”
Such improvement was highly encouraging.
At that moment, the leader of the Observers spoke cautiously.
“But the technique is too effective. If the Blue Tower were to obtain it... the consequences are unimaginable.”
“Of course, security must be a top priority.”
The vice master smiled gently, glancing around the hall.
“But there’s no need to worry too much. Oscar Sage isn’t one to be careless.”
“Does that mean...?”
“That’s right. The breathing technique has an unknown security spell woven into it. We haven’t deciphered its effects yet...”
For now, that part could wait.
After a moment of thought, the vice master added:
“Hmm. Since Elder Schwein is still in seclusion, perhaps we should consult another mage well-versed in theoretical magic.”
A theoretical magic expert of the White Tower.
At that thought, one name came to everyone’s mind—a name that wasn’t a coincidence.

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