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Beside her, Noah was performing his own unique workout routine. Like the day before, he was wearing the duplicate headband he made. All of his muscles were under magical restraint, so not only did his workout stress his physical strength and stamina, but his mana as well, leaving him drenched in sweat, but unlike the day before, he completed the workout. Once they both finished their routines, she turned to him.

Abner drew his sword, and the blade glowed with searing intensity as a sheath of lightning enveloped it. Applying elemental energy to one’s weapon was basic magic, akin to dousing a blade in oil and lighting it on fire, but this was the next stage, the true combination of warrior and elemental magic, more like a white-hot sword pulled out of a forge. It reminded Noah of plasma weapons he had used in the past, capable of cutting through steel like butter, and Aithorn’s spear techniques.

Noah continued punching the bag in her place. “Since when has it ever been fair? When I was in Handent, I fought a Profane who forced me to fake my death in order to escape, and another captured me like a fly in a web. In Welindar, the battle was lost because I failed to kill Kaisen before he could transform. This is the struggle of fighting against the Profane, the struggle of being outclassed and overpowered. In this war, surviving with just a bruised ego is victory enough. You stood up to that monster, you fought, you survived.