"All right, that's it for the morning session. Take a break and eat so lunch—we'll resu this afternoon."
As soon as Charles spoke, both Bell and Welf plopped onto the ground, panting heavily and wincing in pain.
You really couldn't bla them. Since the start of live combat training, each of them had been struck by Charles at least a hundred tis.
Though Charles carefully controlled his strength to avoid injuring them, the pain was still very real.
Yet neither of them uttered a word of complaint—because they could both clearly feel just how much stronger they'd beco compared to before the training began.
As the three prepared to eat lunch, Bell pulled out two lunchboxes and handed one to Charles.
"Um... it's not much, but I'd like to offer this as a token of thanks for your guidance. Please accept it."
Charles accepted the lunch with a smile. "Then I'll gladly take it."
He shot a glance at Welf. "Look at Bell—he even brought a lunchbox. And you? Nothing at all?"
He wasn't actually criticizing Welf—just teasing him.
And Welf, naturally, caught the tone. "All right, all right. How about I let you hold onto that notebook of mine a little longer?"
Back when Welf had learned that Charles was struggling with crafting magic swords, he had handed him a notebook supposedly filled with insights he'd "jotted down on a whim."
But Charles had long realized Welf never actually made magic swords—where'd the notes even co from? Not to ntion the handwriting was fresh. He must've stayed up all night putting it together.
And despite saying Charles could borrow it a bit longer, Welf had never even asked for it back.
The two exchanged a smile—fully aware of each other's intentions.
Opening the lunchbox, Charles glanced at it, then at Bell. "This is quite the spread. You made it yourself?"
Charles didn't recall Bell being particularly skilled in the kitchen. The box was beautifully arranged—far beyond what he expected Bell could do.
Bell scratched his head. "Ah… no. I bought it from The Benevolent Mistress. Miss Ryuu said she made it for you when she heard you were training ."
Charles froze, then looked over at the lunchbox in Bell's hands. Sure enough, the ingredients and prep didn't match his own.
"Wait… Did the elf lady make this herself? Isn't this basically a love lunch?"
Charles chuckled to himself. Was he overthinking it? Maybe. But the food was undeniably delicious—he ate every last bite.
Afterward, with their stomachs full and needing ti to digest, the three rested. Bell, blushing slightly, walked over to Charles.
"Um, Charles-san… I heard you went on the Loki Familia's expedition. Did you, uh… happen to et Ais Wallenstein from their Familia?"
Charles grinned. "Ah, so that's what this is about—Sword Princess, huh? What, you got a thing for her?"
Bell turned crimson and waved his hands frantically. "No! I an… yes! I an—she saved in the Dungeon, so I just…"
Charles laughed heartily. "I get it. Just a young man's admiration. Perfectly normal."
Welf chid in teasingly. "Oho! So Bell's got a crush on the Sword Princess, huh?"
Bell's face reddened even further—he practically stead.
"Charles-san! Welf-san! Please stop teasing !"
Charles finally reined in his grin and said, "Sword Princess, huh? I do know a few things about her."
Bell's eyes lit up.
"She's an exceptionally talented adventurer. I'd say she's close to leveling up to LV6."
At that, Bell's gaze dimd—realizing just how vast the gap between them really was.
"But that girl's worked unbelievably hard too. She's been pushing herself nearly to the brink for a single goal. That's why she seems cold—she's not good at showing emotion. Makes her hard to approach."
Bell nodded vigorously, clearly moved. He really did wear his heart on his sleeve when it ca to Ais.
"Thank you so much for telling all this."
Charles waved it off. "Just so well-known stuff. I wouldn't spill anything personal even if I knew it."
"No, really—I'm grateful."
Charles stood up. "Break ti's over. Let's get back to training. Bell—if you want to catch up to the Sword Princess, you can't afford to slack off!"
"Yes, sir!"
…
As training continued, Charles began to identify their individual flaws.
After kicking Welf aside, Charles called out, "How many tis do I have to tell you—stop charging in recklessly! You're a smith. Soday you'll be diving the Dungeon with a team. You have to learn coordination!"
He then tilted his head slightly to dodge Bell's short sword and tapped him sharply on the head.
"And you, Bell—what exactly are you afraid of?"
Bell's movents halted. Images of the Minotaur flooded back into his mind.
Bell was facing a fear all rookie adventurers encountered—fear of monsters, and fear of death.
Many newcors quit the profession entirely after encountering their first life-or-death mont.
As Ais had once said, adventurers gamble their lives in the Dungeon for money, fa, vengeance, or dreams—they cast away fear long ago.
But Bell was different. Charles could sense his innocence—and it was that very innocence that made fear linger around him.
Charles sighed. "Listen closely, Bell. There's nothing wrong with fear. It's because we fear death that we learn to treasure life. But don't let fear control you."
Then he turned to Welf. "You're the opposite. Having resolve doesn't an you shouldn't feel fear. You need to learn fear!"
"Words might not be enough… So…"
Charles dropped into a combat stance—but made no move to strike.
Bell and Welf both felt a sudden suffocating pressure as crimson flas seed to flicker in Charles's eyes.
"I'm going to die!"
That was the imdiate, instinctive thought that gripped them. Every vital point on their bodies scread in alarm—one false move and they'd be killed.
Charles hadn't moved a muscle. He rely let loose the intent to kill them.
That alone was enough for their bodies to tremble in terror.
Welf's legs gave out, his broadsword clattering to the ground. He wore a mask of pure agony—gone was the overconfident brawler from earlier.
Bell wasn't much better. He couldn't even feel the grip of his weapon anymore.
Charles kept a close watch. This kind of adaptive training only worked the first ti—it needed to make an impact.
Bell's vision blurred. Once more, he saw the mont he had stood before the Minotaur.
Just as he was about to collapse—
A back appeared before him in his mind.
"I have to stand beside her with pride! I have to beco stronger—right now!"
Fueled by that determination, Bell's senses snapped back. He straightened his spine beneath the weight of Charles's bloodlust.
Charles wasn't surprised. After all, the protagonist was bound to have his "breakthrough" mont. Bell pushing past his limit was practically a given.
What did surprise him was Welf—who also pushed himself upright, bracing against his weapon.
"I'm not gonna let Bell outdo ! Ti to show you the resolve of a blacksmith!"
Satisfied, Charles withdrew his killing intent. Both collapsed onto the ground in relief. Only then did the sweat finally burst from their pores—instantly soaking them.
Watching Bell, Charles recalled his special skill—"Argonaut."
What makes a hero? Soone with flashy skills, wielding a holy sword to slay demon kings?
No.
To Charles, a hero was soone who could give people hope even in the bleakest of circumstances. Soone who could guide others forward, even without power.
That was a true hero.
Just like the first of all heroes—Argo.
In his previous life's mythology, Argo was the na of a ship that carried fifty great heroes—including Jason, Heracles, Orpheus, and Theseus—to retrieve the Golden Fleece.
But in this world, Argo was the one who started all the heroic legends.
Unlike other fad heroes, Argo's story was full of ridicule, manipulation, and mockery. He was like a clown on stage.
Yet Argo never gave up on his ideals or his dream of becoming a hero.
In that dark era, he shone with radiant light through his unyielding smile.
He was called the first hero not because he slew a Minotaur or saved a princess—but because his tale inspired countless others to rise and beco heroes themselves.
Just like that ship that guided great heroes to their feats.
Even if his story ended with the next expedition, it was still sung to this day.
In this mont, Charles finally understood why the gods took joy in this.
Watching young heroes sprout and grow—it really was sothing special.
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