Heretic Trainer: The Gym Is My Cultivation Method Chapter 364: Send The Best Or Don’t Bother

The elders fell silent again, each of them thinking carefully.

After a mont, one of them spoke up, his voice steady but cautious.

"Your idea has rit," the elder said. "Letting the younger generation learn humility is important."

He paused, then frowned slightly.

"But Sorien... this sect destroyed a Demon Gate. Shouldn’t such a sect be filled with veterans? If that is the case, how can you justify bringing our younger generation?"

"Their mbers who will participate in the test," Sorien continued, "are also from the younger generation."

He raised a finger. "Most of them are under twenty years old."

The hall stirred again.

"Under twenty?"

"That young?"

Sorien nodded. "Yes."

The elders exchanged looks.

"...I see," one of them said slowly. "If that is the case, then this truly will be a fair test."

Another elder nodded. "It will also serve as a trial for our own younger generation."

The eldest among them leaned back slightly.

"Very well," he said. "Which group do you intend to take?"

Sorien didn’t hesitate.

"I want Sindral," he said. "And several others from his group."

The reaction was imdiate.

"Sindral?"

"Are you certain?"

"He’s one of the strongest among them!"

Sorien’s smile deepened.

"That’s exactly why," he replied. "God Gym is not weak. If I don’t bring our best, the test will lose its aning."

He looked around the hall.

"This is not a light matter. If they truly deserve grand faction status, we must face them seriously."

The elders studied him for a long mont.

Then the eldest smiled.

"Very well," he said.

He lifted his hand and tossed a small amulet toward Sorien.

Sorien caught it easily.

"Take this," the elder said. "It bears the elders’ agreent. Show it to the mbers you choose."

Sorien bowed deeply.

"I won’t disappoint you," he said.

As he straightened, his eyes glead faintly.

---

Sorien walked through the training grounds at an unhurried pace, hands clasped behind his back.

His presence alone was enough to make nearby disciples straighten their posture.

Sindral was in the middle of practice when he noticed him.

He stopped, wiped the sweat from his brow, and turned around, surprise flashing across his face.

"Sir Sorien?" Sindral said. "What can I help you with?"

Sorien gave a small, polite smile.

"Sindral," he said evenly, "I need you to gather nine other mbers and follow this Sunday."

Sindral blinked. "Sunday?"

He raised an eyebrow. "For what reason?"

Sorien answered calmly. "There will be a rank fight. A test to determine whether a sect may be promoted to a grand faction."

Sindral frowned slightly.

"A sect?" he repeated. "Sir Sorien... are you sure about this?"

He straightened his back, confidence leaking into his tone.

"We are the geniuses of the Solmira Clan," Sindral said bluntly. "Why should we fight low-level outsiders?"

So of the nearby disciples nodded, clearly sharing his thought.

Sorien let out a quiet sigh.

Without raising his voice, he reached into his robe and took out an amulet.

It glowed faintly with authority.

"The elders have already agreed," Sorien said. "This is not a request."

He held the amulet up just enough for Sindral and the others to see.

"You cannot reject it."

Sindral’s expression stiffened.

The surrounding disciples exchanged looks, their earlier confidence wavering.

"...The elders agreed?" Sindral asked.

Sorien nodded once. "Yes."

Sindral clicked his tongue softly, displeased, but before he could say more, Sorien continued.

"If you win," Sorien said, "there will be a reward."

Sindral’s eyes flicked back to him.

"A reward?" he asked, interest sparking imdiately.

Sorien t his gaze calmly. "Yes. One suited for your contribution and performance."

Sindral’s frown faded, replaced by a confident smile.

"...Are you certain?" he asked. "You won’t take it back later?"

Sorien’s tone remained even. "I don’t make empty promises."

Sindral laughed lightly.

"In that case," he said, rolling his shoulders, "leave it to us."

He looked around at the other disciples.

"Sunday, then," Sindral said confidently. "Let’s see what kind of sect dares aim for a grand faction."

Sorien watched him for a mont, then nodded.

"I’ll be expecting results," he said.

As Sorien turned to leave, Sindral’s smile remained.

---

A few days passed quickly.

Garion spent most of that ti in the gym area, not watching from the side, but standing right in the middle of it.

Varko stood in front of him, shirt soaked through, arms shaking, and legs barely holding him up.

"Again," Garion said.

Varko gritted his teeth. "Yes... Master."

He dropped into position, muscles screaming as he forced his body to move again.

The movent was slow, clumsy, and far from correct, but he didn’t stop.

Around them, several disciples had already finished their own training.

They lingered nearby, watching with mixed expressions.

"...He’s still standing?" Rynor muttered.

Rynar crossed his arms. "That supplent alone would’ve knocked a normal person out."

Clara wrinkled her nose. "I can sll it from here. That stuff is evil."

Earlier, rsha had handed Garion a small bottle with a grin that made everyone uneasy.

"High-density recovery blend," she had said cheerfully. "Taste might be... intense."

Intense was an understatent.

The liquid was thick, bitter, and sour and carried a strange tallic aftertaste that made even hardened cultivators gag.

Varko had taken it without hesitation.

He had nearly thrown up.

But he swallowed it.

Then he asked for more.

That alone had stunned everyone.

Now, days later, the effect was showing.

Varko’s body still looked thin, but sothing inside it had changed.

His breathing was steadier.

His stance, while rough, no longer collapsed imdiately.

His recovery speed was visibly faster.

Garion watched closely, arms crossed.

"You’re still too weak for formal training," he said bluntly. "So we build the base first."

Varko nodded, sweat dripping from his chin. "I understand."

Garion stepped forward and pressed two fingers against Varko’s chest.

"Your body doesn’t reject anything," Garion said. "That’s your advantage. Most would break by now."

Varko clenched his fists. "Then I won’t waste it."

Garion stepped back. "Good. Drink. Rest for ten breaths. Then we continue."

Varko reached for the bottle again without complaint.

The other disciples exchanged looks.

"...He’s serious," Dahlia muttered.

Garion turned slightly. "Watch carefully," he said. "You’re looking at soone starting from zero."

Varko finished the supplent, wiped his mouth, and stood straight again.