I Can Only Cultivate In A Game-Chapter 142: Morning Routine 2

"When an Umbryx shadowfiend pierces through your front line and tears through your team, your regenerative spell won't mean a damn thing if you're too slow to dodge the blow. Being weak is not an excuse. It's a death sentence."

Silence~

Victor couldn't help but respect that. Harsh—but fair. The battlefield would never ask for your specialization.

The instructor took his place again at the front. "Two laps. Around the entire course. No walking. No breaks. If you stop, you start again."

There were quiet groans from all classes now.

"GO!"

The sound of hundreds of mana-infused boots slamming against simulated terrain echoed through the zone.

Victor burst forward with the other students with tight breath and the resistance from the weighted gear already pulling at his muscles.

All around him, awakened students of varying classes struggled to keep pace, each facing the same grueling challenge.

The terrain was intentionally designed to break them.

The course looped through a valley designed with uneven slopes and spiky outcrops. The ground changed constantly. From dense mud pits to unstable stone paths, from shallow rivers laced with magnetic pullstones that made each step stickier, to uphill slopes of fine shifting gravel that gave no footing.

Patches of mana-static air pulled at their stamina like parasites, and high-pressured wind tunnels forced students to lean into their run or risk being blown off course.

Berserkers tore through the track like rhinos, laughing at the strain. Warriors treated it like a tactical march. Assassins moved with fluidity as they seemed to have a better balance despite the uneven footing.

But the Healers, Summoners, Mages, and Necromancers struggled.

Unable to rely on their spells or familiars, their movements were sluggish and their steps inconsistent.

A few already collapsed, panting and clinging to the ground. Some were dragged out of the track by automated drones that responded to signs of medical distress.

Victor's first lap pushed him to his limit especially since he decided not to use any qi. But he held firm.

His body had grown far more capable in recent months from his game-based cultivation but he realised he had never actually done real training.

He passed the halfway mark with sweat plastered to his forehead and his gaze locked ahead.

As he began his second lap, something caught his attention near the far-left side of the training valley, close to the incline slope bordered by rough obsidian spikes.

A slender and pale face male mage with a face streaked with dirt—was down on one knee, gasping.

The weights on his arms and legs made it nearly impossible for him to move.

To make matters worse, three Berserkers stood over him, laughing and jeering.

"Come on, little spellboy! I thought mages were supposed to be smart!"

"Maybe cast a stamina spell—oh wait, you CAN'T!"

"You sure you're not lost? This place is for real awakeners!"

Victor was about to step in when a figure suddenly inserted himself into the scene like a bolt of divine lightning.

"Back off."

The Berserkers blinked and turned.

The voice belonged to a tall, lean figure with dark, sun-kissed melanin skin and a buzz cut. Even with the weighted gear, he stood as if gravity hadn't touched him. His eyes gleamed with unwavering confidence.

Rylan.

Victor's heart lifted slightly at the familiar sight.

Rylan had been on his team during the New Avalon City second screening—a healer who had outpaced most of the warriors. He was always more physically gifted than most gave him credit for.

One of the Berserkers stepped forward while chuckling. "What's a healer gonna do? Lay hands on us with kindness?"

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"He already did," came Victor's voice.

Rylan turned and broke into a grin. "Well, if it isn't my favorite shadowy sword-swinger."

Victor walked up and stopped beside him. "Looks like you're still allergic to minding your business."

"You still allergic to letting me handle it alone?"

The two shared a quick knuckle tap.

"What's good, Victor?" Rylan chuckled.

"Everything, except some douchebags. Did I mention, the douchebags?"

The Berserkers regrouped.

The tallest among them looked between the two and scowled.

"You two think you're heroes now?"

One of them who seemed to have also originated from New Avalon city narrowed his eyes at Victor.

"Hey... I know you. You're that guy... Victor Revenant or something. New Avalon City finals. First place with just four people."

The leader sneered. "Who cares? He's just another B-rank like us. Four against two. You think some track record scares me?"

He stepped forward and placed a hand on Victor's left shoulder before slowly increasing the pressure.

His arm flexed slightly as he pushed down.

"You're on the wrong side, Revenant. B-ranks should know their place is above the trash."

Victor didn't flinch. Instead, he raised his own hand and laid it gently on the Berserker's massive shoulder.

A ripple of invisible energy spread through his palm and a strange pressure descended upon the Berserker.

The teenager's face twisted in confusion—then pain.

His knees buckled.

He crashed down to the ground like someone had dropped a boulder onto his shoulder.

Victor looked down with calm indifference.

"Isn't it a little cliché to be a big bully in this day and age?"

The other three hesitated with a shocked look.

"What did he do?"

Victor removed his hand, and the kneeling Berserker gasped and stumbled backward while clutching his shoulder.

Rylan turned to the mage and offered a hand. "Can you keep going?"

The boy nodded shakily. "Yeah... th-thank you. Both of you."

'How did he do that? He was so strong... he must have used magic. I can't show weakness... No! I must teach him a lesson...'

The Berserker felt ashamed at what had just happen and instantly tried to activate his magic.

The moment he did, a sharp whine tore through the air.

BZZZZT!

Red lights flashed from tall sensor pillars planted around the training grounds, and a series of automated drones swept above the crowd with their lenses locked directly onto him.

"Use of active magic during morning routine is prohibited," a robotic voice declared.

The Berserker's face twisted in panic as he quickly canceled the technique. But it was too late.

Instructor Vex Rhane arrived a split second later with his boots kicking up dust as he stormed into the confrontation.

"You!" he bellowed while pointing straight at the embarrassed Berserker. "What part of 'no powers' did you not understand? Want to try that move on me instead, tough guy?"