OP Absorption
Chapter 38: Training

Chapter 38: Training

The next few weeks settled into a comfortable routine. Fin spent time exploring his new house with Meg, getting used to having space and clean water whenever he wanted.

He trained lightly, practicing channeling mana into his limbs, recalling the feeling from the dungeon. The five million credits sat safely in his bank account, a constant, almost unreal presence.

Life was quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos he’d experienced since awakening his power.

Then the notification came—a crisp message on his Guild-issued device: Annual Hunter Training commences, 0800 hours.

"Guess the vacation’s over," he said to Meg over breakfast (burnt eggs again, though slightly less so this time).

"Training? Like, push-ups and running laps?" she asked, stealing a piece of his non-burnt toast.

"Something like that," he replied, pulling on his new gear.

Mara had insisted he upgrade after seeing the state of his clothes post-dungeon. He now wore sturdy, dark leather armor that fit well, reinforced at the joints.

Slung across his back wasn’t a dagger, but a sleek, black short staff reinforced with metal—a weapon he had chosen for channeling his Absorption power more effectively, though he hadn’t tested that theory yet.

"Guildmaster mentioned it. Said I needed skills."

"About time," she teased. "You can’t just punch monsters forever."

"well, see you later."

"Yeah, go show them who’s boss."

He stopped at the door looking at her. She looked back at him, confused.

"what?"

"Go show them who’s boss? So corny."

"...whatever, just get out of here you big jerk."

"Hahaha..."

He arrived at the location, an open training ground just outside the city’s western gates, to find a large group of Hunters already assembled. He scanned the crowd – mostly younger faces, likely C and D-ranks, though a few looked tougher, maybe B-rank.

He spotted Lila chatting with some other swordsmen and gave a quick nod, which she returned with a smile and wave.

His own rank had been officially updated to D shortly after the dungeon incident, a fact that still felt strange.

A stern-looking man with military-short hair and the emblem of Valerius City—Arclight’s neighbor—stitched onto his uniform stepped onto a raised platform. The chatter died down.

"Alright, listen up!" the instructor barked, his voice carrying easily over the field. "I am Instructor Henry from Valerius. This year’s Annual Training is a joint operation between our cities. Forget your local rivalries; today, you’re all just trainees aiming to get stronger. Or wash out."

He paced the platform. "This isn’t about fancy techniques or flashy powers. This is about fundamentals. We’ll push your limits across four categories: Endurance, Speed, Strength, and Instinct."

He gestured to different marked areas of the training ground. "You’ll be tested, scored, and ranked. Most of you will simply gain experience. Some might catch the eye of a guild looking for new recruits."

He paused, letting his gaze sweep over the trainees. "However," he continued, his voice hardening slightly, "for the trainee who achieves the highest overall score across all four tests, there is a unique opportunity. You will be granted provisional entry into an elite joint-Guild task force."

A murmur went through the crowd. Elite task force?

He raised his hand for silence. "This task force is preparing for a high-priority mission: the exploration and subjugation of a newly discovered Rank 6 Dungeon that has appeared in the neutral territory between our cities."

Rank 6 Dungeon. The words hit Fin like a physical blow. That was high-level territory, the kind of place where A-ranks cut their teeth, where fortunes were made, and where Hunters died frequently.

It was dangerous.

But it was also a chance. A chance to leapfrog the ranks, to gain the strength he desperately needed, to understand the power Juliana had given him, to protect Meg, to fulfill his promise.

He felt a switch flip inside him.

The relaxed posture vanished. His eyes narrowed, focusing intently on the instructor, absorbing every word. The casual D-rank faded, replaced by the focused survivor who’d clawed his way out of hell.

’Rank 6,’ he thought, a fierce determination hardening his gaze. ’That’s it. I’m winning this.’

Instructor Henry cleared his throat, bringing the focus back to the present. "Alright, maggots, first up is Endurance. Simple doesn’t mean easy. You’ll run the perimeter course."

He pointed towards a winding track marked by flags that disappeared into the rolling hills surrounding the training ground. "Twenty laps. Standard Guild pack weight."

Assistants began distributing weighted packs. Fin hefted his – it was substantial, designed to simulate carrying supplies on a long mission.

He adjusted the straps, the weight settling comfortably on his shoulders. He saw Lila nearby, already geared up, stretching casually. She caught his eye and gave a small, challenging smirk.

He grinned back.

"The course is five kilometers per lap," Henry continued. "That’s one hundred kilometers total. Drop out, you fail. Last one across the line gets extra ’incentive’ training tomorrow. First lap starts... NOW!"

A horn blared, and the mass of Hunters surged forward. The initial pace was fast, adrenaline pumping. Fin stayed in the middle of the pack, finding his rhythm, breathing steady.

The weighted pack felt noticeable but not crushing. He remembered hauling heavier loads of scrap for Greg under the scorching slum sun for hours on end. This was structured, the ground relatively even. Comparatively, it felt almost manageable.

By the third lap, the pack had thinned considerably. Many Hunters, especially those reliant purely on flashy powers rather than physical conditioning, were already lagging, faces red, breath coming in ragged gasps.

Lila was near the front, her pace strong and consistent, a testament to her own rigorous training.

Fin maintained his steady cadence. He wasn’t sprinting, just eating up the ground with relentless efficiency. He started consciously channeling a tiny thread of mana, not into his legs for explosive speed, but circulating it subtly through his body, warding off fatigue, regulating his breathing, keeping his muscles from cramping.

It was an idea born from the bridge jump, refined during his weeks of quiet practice.

Around lap seven, he began passing people. Then more people. His pace hadn’t increased dramatically, but others were slowing down, hitting their walls.

He moved past Lila on lap nine. She glanced over, surprised but focused, giving a curt nod as he pulled ahead.

Instructor Henry stood near the start/finish line, stopwatch in hand, observing with a critical eye. He noted the early dropouts with a dismissive grunt.

He watched the lead pack change composition lap after lap. When Fin, the unfamiliar D-rank, took the lead and started widening the gap, Henry frowned slightly.

’New blood, probably burns out fast,’ he thought.

But Fin didn’t burn out.

Lap twelve. Lap fifteen. Lap eighteen. He kept going. His breathing was deeper now, sweat trickled down his temples, but his stride remained unbroken, his pace unwavering.

He wasn’t just leading; he was lapping the slower runners. The gap between him and the second-place runner—a determined-looking B-rank—had become a chasm.

Henry stopped looking at the main pack and focused solely on Fin. He clicked his stopwatch, checked it, frowned, then clicked it again as Fin completed another lap, looking far less taxed than anyone had a right to be.

’This pace... it’s faster than last year’s winner. Significantly faster. And he’s not even straining?’

The other trainees watched with growing disbelief. Whispers started.

"Who is that guy?"

"Is he even human?"

"Look at him go..."

On his twentieth and final lap, Fin picked up the pace slightly. Not a sprint, but a smooth acceleration. He crossed the finish line, pulling the pack off his shoulders with a grunt.

He wasn’t collapsing, just breathing steadily, a faint sheen of sweat on his skin. He looked back down the track. The second-place runner was barely starting lap nineteen.

Instructor Henry stared at his stopwatch, then at Fin, then back at the stopwatch. He cleared his throat, his military stiffness momentarily replaced by sheer astonishment.

He double-checked the name on his roster. "Carver... D-rank?" he murmured under his breath. This wasn’t just good; this was unprecedented.

Fin leaned against a nearby post, catching his breath, feeling the cores humming faintly within him. He barely tapped into their reserves, relying mostly on his improved physique and basic mana circulation.

He felt the weight of dozens of eyes on him – instructors, trainees, Lila who was now approaching the finish line in the top group, her face a mixture of exhaustion and impressed surprise.

He had dominated. And the training had only just begun.