It had been a month since I woke up in this girl’s body. Adapting to it felt strange since I had been a man before, after all. Still, I managed, though “managed” might be generous. It was more like I didn’t have the option to complain.

  “Do mor’ pushups.”

  The gruff voice belonged to Instructor Demo. He had been visiting nonstop for the past month, drilling me like I was in a military camp.

  I still had no idea where I was, but I had a few guesses. I definitely wasn’t on Earth anymore.

  Honestly, that was the best outcome I could have hoped for. The fact that I had ended up in a girl’s body, more specifically, a homunculus, only confirmed it. And judging by everything that had happened so far, that assumption wasn’t wrong.

  The guards I had seen when I first woke up wore strange armor, and they called their batons artifacts. On top of that, the women in white gowns who occasionally came in to bring food and water kept murmuring odd words like ‘mana’ and ‘magic’. That alone told me enough I wasn't in America anymore.

  I kept doing push-ups until my arms went numb. I had a strong body, but after a thousand, I was completely spent.

  “Yer can stop now.”

  At Instructor Demo’s words, I collapsed into a sitting position, relief washing over me.

  For the past month, it has been nothing but training. Running around this vast, cold, dark room. Endless exercises pushed until my limits. And finally, combat training with Instructor Demo, where I got beaten every time I made a mistake.

  Still, unlike the first day, he no longer beat me to death. Now it was usually just being thrown to the ground once or taking a kick to the leg or arm. If somebody heard me saying that, they would think I was crazy, but yeah, comparing the first day, it was like a heaven.

  “Instructor Demo?” I spoke up, even though it meant breaking rule number two. However, he rarely kept the rules, much less told me what was the rest of them. He even sometimes forgot about them.

  “Wha’?” he replied, sounding surprisingly willing to listen.

  “Can you tell me why I’m doing this?”

  Instructor Demo stared at me for a long moment. Then, without warning, he kicked my leg.

  “Yo’ broke number two,” he said flatly. “Do five hundred push-ups.”

  I did five hundred pushups because I knew if I didn’t, I would be beaten up.

  By the time I finished, I actually couldn’t feel my arm anymore. I collapsed face-first onto the cold stone floor, breathing like my lungs were about to tear themselves apart. Instructor Demo didn’t tell me to get up this time. He just stood there, meaning against his iron crane, watching until my breathing steadied.

  That was how it went for the rest of the first month. No explanations. No sympathy. Just training.

  Every day started the same. I wake up before the artificial lights come on. I ran laps around the underground hall until my legs shook. Strength training until my muscles screamed. Then combat, always combat. I was barehanded at first but given with wooden weapons, then with dulled metal ones that still hurt like hell.

  I got beaten every single time.

  Demo didn’t hold back. If I flinched, I got hit. If my stance slipped, I got thrown. If I hesitated, I kissed the floor. However, there was no anger or malice behind them.

  By the end of the first month, I had learned three things.

  First, my body was far stronger than it looked. Well, this was an obvious fact since I could throw a full grown man without breaking a sweat.

  Second, I stopped feeling pain because I was beaten too much.

  Third, Instructor Demo was not an evil man. No, he was a devil.

  Just joking. Jokes aside, that last realization genuinely surprised me.

  During training, he never mocked me for the countless stupid mistakes I made. He never insulted me either, at least not beyond short, rough remarks that were always about correcting my form. When I collapsed and couldn’t get up no matter how hard I tried, he waited. When I bled, he tossed me a rag and told me to wrap it up.

  “Can’t train a broken tool,” he said once, flatly.

  At the start of the second month, something changed.

  Instructor Demo started hitting me less. Not because he went easy on me. No, no, that would have meant the world was ending. It was because I stopped making the same mistakes and actually learned how to fight.

  My feet moved on reflex the moment my eyes caught Instructor Demo’s movements. My arms stopped flailing around and started going where I told them to. I learned how to fall without breaking myself, how to roll, how to take a hit without losing my balance.

  “Yer gettin’ good,” Instructor Demo said.

  Then he immediately started beating me again as soon as I stood up.

  “No’ a mock battle.”

  Naturally, I was beaten into meat. But little by little, I began using the techniques he had drilled into me. I could counter and I could strike back at that bearded man.

  By the end of the second month, I managed to survive a mock battle without collapsing.

  I couldn’t help grinning at the accomplishment. Instructor Demo noticed, and for the first time, he spoke about something that wasn’t training.

  “Yer want answers,” he said, tossing me a canteen containing a fruit water which I drank right away, tasting the first sweetness ever since coming to this world. “I ain’t yer teacher. But if yer can last one mock battle more than an hour without goin’ down… I’ll tell yer one thing.”

  “One thing per hour?” I asked.

  “Aye. One.”

  That became the rule and I was excited about it. Looking back, I should have slapped myself right then, because the third month was pure hell.

  This time, it wasn’t just Instructor Demo I had to face. Three wooden training dummies joined in. They were artifacts powered by mana, an energy source for magic, or so I was told. They came at me with full force, hitting with their four arms attached to them.

  Facing one opponent, Instructor Demo, was already bad enough. But facing three was just overwhelming for me.

  I could hold off one, maybe even two for a moment. But the instant I focused on defending or attacking against a single dummy, the other two would circle around and beat me into pulp.

  So I started moving with my surroundings instead of going directly against them.

  I ran. I dodged. I weaved. I hid behind training equipment and baited the dummies into crashing into each other. I used every dirty trick I could think of just to stay standing on my two feet.

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  Even then, it wasn’t enough. The dummies would grab me while I was running and punch me. They would throw the whole training equipment and along with it. They would slam at me together to the walls when they would crash at each other.

  “Cough… cough… ugh… help…”

  “Again.”

  I hacked and coughed more than I could count. And every time I did, spit was flying everywhere, and sometimes mixed with blood. The three dummies showed no mercy no matter what I did.

  Once, after my head went a little foggy from a hit, I tried bribing one of the wooden dummies. I even offered the boots I had managed to snatch from Instructor Demo.

  Instructor Demo saw that and beat me himself for wasting time.

  Despite those ridiculous attempts, I slowly started getting better at using my surroundings to my advantage. I learned how to reposition, how to force angles, how to make space where there wasn’t any.

  When Instructor Demo saw that I was holding out for longer than usual, he joined in.

  “Mock battle.”

  And just like that, I was beaten into pulp again.

  Still, after every defeat, I forced myself back up. I replayed the fight in my head, remembered where I got hit, where I stopped, where I could have moved faster.

  Each time I was overwhelmed, I forced myself to last just a little longer than before.

  By the final month, on the very last day before the next one began, I was still standing, dashing around the room.

  The three training dummies chased after me while Instructor Demo took a different route, clearly trying to corner me, but I was ready this time.

  I grabbed a wooden stick lying on the floor and started swinging it as I ran, building momentum. Then, without slowing down, I suddenly changed direction and charged straight at the three dummies instead.

  They were strong, but they were nothing compared to Instructor Demo.

  They couldn’t fully stop or settle into their stances before I reached them. Instead of swinging it wildly, I drove the stick forward with the super strength in my body, piercing straight through the chest of the first dummy, Dab, as I had named it.

  Using the momentum, I jumped forward while holding the stick, my body moving like something straight out of the Olympics.

  The world slipped into slow motion, and I saw the other two clearly. Lin and Kie were ready now. Lin stepped in first, throwing a punch, while Kie leapt from the side, twisting his body to bring down a kick.

  I kicked back in midair, snapping the stick in my grip to shorten my fall. Using the broken end as a stepping stone, I twisted my body aside. In one smooth motion, I slammed my fist into Lin and drove my foot into Kie’s stomach.

  The result was devastating.

  Dab, Lin, and Kie crashed to the ground, massive dents carved into their bodies. Cracks spread across their frames as they lay there, barely holding together as they were almost broken.

  I smiled in triumph as I turned toward Instructor Demo, who was watching me with interest.

  “Nic’ job, usin’ tricks instead o’ rushin’ straight in,” Instructor Demo said, almost sounding impressed. Then his foot slammed straight into my stomach. “Now it’s me.”

  The next moment, I was beaten into pulp again. This time, all I could do was defend. I didn’t even try to counterattack. Unlike the training dummies, I saw no opening at all.

  By the time the first hour ended, I was on my knees, my whole body shaking uncontrollably, but I was still conscious.

  Instructor Demo didn’t stop though as he stepped in and uppercut me, like something straight out of a boxing show on TV. For a brief moment, my body floated in midair before gravity caught up, and I crashed onto my back, staring blankly at the ceiling.

  A familiar face entered my vision. Instructor Demo loomed over me, poking my side with his iron crane.

  “Yer alive?”

  “…First hour…”

  For the first time since I met him, Instructor Demo smirked. He dropped a basket of fruit straight onto my face.

  “That’s th’ reward I give yer for bein’ th’ first one ta beat th’ dummies,” he grunted. “Now ask.”

  I swallowed hard, my throat raw as if it had been scraped from the inside.

  “Why am I fighting?”

  Instructor Demo stayed quiet for a long time, staring down at me with his single visible eye beneath all that hair and beard.

  “…’Cause yer made fer it,” he finally said.

  “That’s it?”

  “Aye.”

  I stared at him, disbelief creeping in. “That’s not an answer.”

  “It is,” he replied coldly. “Yer a weapon. Weapons fight. Simple.”

  And that was all I got for the third month.

  At the start of the fourth month, Instructor Demo came in with the newly repaired training dummies: Dab, Lin, and Kie. But there was someone new behind him. This one only had two arms, unlike the others’ four.

  “Yer gonna train harder.”

  “Hah.” I smirked. If he’d doubled the number of dummies, I might’ve worried. But adding just one, it was as easy as eating a pie “You are looking down on me. I can handle myself jus—”

  Thack!

  The next thing I knew, I was on the floor. Pain exploded across my forehead, and I clutched it instinctively.

  “IT HUUURRRRTS!”

  “Qui’ yer yappin’,” Instructor Demo said somewhere above me. I barely heard him through the ringing in my head.

  When the pain finally settled, I looked up. The new dummy, who I immediately named Bill, was holding a crossbow. The bolt was blunt-tipped, but judging by my head, that didn’t matter much.

  “Now long range,” Instructor Demo said calmly.

  Then something sharp slammed into my side. I cried out and staggered back as another needle bounced off the floor beside me.

  “Can’t go ta war if yer can’t block one.” Instructor Demo said as he held out a bunch of needles each between his fingers.

  I didn’t get any answers in the fourth month. No matter what I did, Bill never got off me.

  If I tried to engage Dab, Lin, or Kie, a blunt bolt would slam into me almost immediately, throwing off my timing. The moment my movement stalled, Instructor Demo would jump in, and then all of them would have their fun joining the club “beat me to death”.

  At the start of the fifth month, I finally managed to block the bolts. Using a wooden sword, I learned how to redirect them, sometimes knocking them aside, and sometimes stopping them completely.

  I celebrated for exactly three seconds before Instructor Demo knocked me unconscious, which was one second short of the full hour. The next day, he came back with two more dummies. One specialized in close combat while the other carried yet another crossbow.

  To make things worse, Dab, Lin, Kie, and the new one, Nue, were all equipped with wooden clubs, one in each of their four arms. Their attacks became harder to counter and read.

  By the end of the sixth month, I was still getting beaten into pulp. So I changed how I fought.

  Instead of trying to endure everything with only light skills in weapons, I started mastering weapons, and learning how to properly use them.

  First was the sword because well, it was balanced and cool. Then the spear, keeping distance when I needed breathing room. Then the axe, shield, daggers and so much more

  At the end of the seventh month, I was dashing across the floor, grabbing weapons mid-fight, throwing them away when they broke, switching without thinking, cutting, striking, blocking, moving, while the dummies chased me from all sides.

  I was still getting hit, but this time, I was hitting back.

  I smiled in triumph as I lasted a full hour at the end of the eighth month. Ten dummies had come after me, six for close combat, four with crossbows. I beat every last one of them down and still stood facing Instructor Demo when the hour ended.

  “Alright,” he said. “Siege weapons.”

  I didn’t even get time to ask a question.

  A massive boulder slammed into me, filling my vision before pain caught up. It had been fired from a catapult somehow crammed into the training room, operated by two training dummies.

  “You ain’t allowed ta destroy it,” Instructor Demo said calmly. “Only dodge. Or use it ‘gainst yer enemies.”

  Just like that, a new hell began.

  Month after month, more dummies were added. Catapults. Ballistae. Projectiles screaming through the air while I ran, rolled, leapt, and sometimes barely survived. By the end of the first year, Instructor Demo introduced iron weapons to all of us.

  That meant one thing. If I got hit, it would hurt like none other than before.

  I survived an hour more times than I could count after that with many chances to ask questions. But each time, I held back. Something told me I needed better questions, one worth thinking for.

  By the end of the fourteenth month, Instructor Demo added something truly monstrous.

  “Now,” he said, resting his weight on his iron crane, “mages.”

  “Mages?”

  “Until yer ready ta take on 5th Order,” he continued flatly, “yer will practice.”

  “What does tha—”

  A fireball blasted out from a hole in the wall and I barely threw myself aside in time. After that, everything blurred together.

  I dodged. I slashed. I hacked. I blocked. I threw weapons I didn’t even remember picking up. Fire scorched past my face. Ice cracked beneath my feet. Lightning burned the air where my head had been a moment earlier.

  I learned fast or I died in pain trying. Time stopped being something I could feel.

  And before I realized it, two years had passed.

  “Now,” Instructor Demo said, his voice steady as ever, “yer ready for war.”

  I stood atop a mound of shattered wooden bodies, splintered limbs and cracked cores piled beneath my feet. I had stopped naming the dummies a long time ago, somewhere after Ole, the six-armed nightmare stuffed with weapons in every hand.

  I stared down at Instructor Demo as he looked up at me, unreadable beneath his beard. I opened my mouth.

  “…Wait, this whole training was for war?”