On the southern continent, to the east of Vestrica, lay the single human kingdom resisting the monsters of the Great Sea: the Kingdom of Aslan.
To the forces of the Great Sea, where all manner of beasts and fiends ran rampant, the clustered humans of Aslan looked like a well-prepared feast.
Yet, despite this, the monsters of the Great Sea dared not lay careless hands on the Aslan Kingdom.
The reason was simple: the Tower of Wisdom and Magic, a repository of knowledge and sorcery, and the Lichtenauer Martial Clan, a group of superhumans trained in extreme martial arts, stood firmly in place.
Among them, the Lichtenauer Clan, true to its reputation as a house that revered martial skill, possessed numerous elite strike squads.
Born into frail human bodies yet capable of standing against the Great Sea’s countless monsters of extraordinary power, each member was, in effect, a living weapon.
These strike squads were essentially the backbone of the clan. It was only natural that those overflowing with talent and virtue would hold positions within them.
Many successors destined to inherit the future of the Lichtenauer Clan had been continuously proving their abilities, leading strike squads befitting their status.
Including, of course, the so-called "Thunder Brats" from collateral branches.
Even among the feudal families, the heirs of the Falkion, Kalia, and Clonen houses—considered the most prestigious—each commanded a single unit.
Among the brightest talents of the martial clan, Alex stood out as the pinnacle, leading not just a squad, but an entire corps.
Clack, clack!
Alex flipped through the documents before him in the office of the Houun Corps, chin resting on his hand.
Finally, after reviewing the last page, he closed the document and set it firmly on the desk.
—Final roster for the Submerged Dragon Unit.
Indeed.
Alex was reviewing the papers to decide who would be assigned to Ian’s newly organized unit.
“The number of members is smaller than I expected,” he muttered.
“It seems there aren’t many reckless ones classified as strays within the clan… my apologies,” the man, appointed as deputy after the disappearance of Johan, replied.
“Ah, no. That’s fine. Understandable. Hmm…”
Alex scratched his chin at the man’s response.
“What if we mix in a few competent members? Otherwise, it won’t be easy to plant our own people.”
It was as difficult as finding a white stone in a pile of sand—yet, in a heap of black stones, picking out a single white one was almost trivial.
If a normal member were included among uncontrollable strays, that alone would render them a failed spy.
However, the deputy seemed to have anticipated Alex’s concern and answered without hesitation.
“In preparation for this, someone from the Stray Squad has been secretly recruited by the Shadow Corps. Operating in a smaller group makes it easier to approach the truth behind the apprentice Lord. There’s no need to worry.”
Alex nodded in satisfaction at the response.
“Hmm. Not bad at all.”
Seeing that the deputy’s handling of matters surpassed Johan’s, Alex wiped the memory of the fool from his mind.
There were far too many issues demanding his attention to linger on someone who couldn’t even manage himself.
“Moreover, should the apprentice Lord indeed possess the capacity to manipulate people, it’s better to limit the number of recruits under him,” Alex continued thoughtfully.
A "stray."
A public term for the clan’s uncontrollable troublemakers—eccentrics so obstinate and unpleasant that every strike squad had rejected them.
In short, they were incorrigible brats.
Yet in a clan governed by strict discipline, such individuals could thrive for a simple reason: their skill matched their chaotic temperament.
Had they walked a righteous path consistently, they might have rivaled the brightest stars of the clan’s next generation.
If, by any chance, the apprentice Lord were capable of recruiting such strays, it would be best if his following remained limited.
“Good. This is a well-organized approach,” Alex concluded.
Indeed, the deputy had shown clarity and principle in his handling.
Those who served under him needed not think—but those standing beside him must not be mere puppets.
The ability to act independently in his absence was essential.
Satisfied, Alex’s gaze brightened as he looked out the window.
“I’m curious. Will my brother be shredded by these strays like a piece of meat, or will he command them effectively?”
It mattered little either way.
The reason Ian irked Alex was the uncertainty surrounding his abilities.
Whether remarkable or imagined, if Alex could determine Ian’s strength, he could deal with him accordingly.
After all, Alex would undoubtedly be the brightest star of the clan’s next generation.
He had no doubt about that future.
“Huff, huff…”
The misty breath escaping Ian’s lips swirled through the air.
Sweat dripped from his brow and fell to the floor.
Since declaring before Lord Paon that he would lead the new strike squad, Ian had paused his training with the twin-bladed spear, focusing entirely on basic physical conditioning.
He ran the training ground tirelessly, lifted and dropped heavy weights repeatedly, forcing his feeble body to strengthen.
“Ughhh…!!”
Trembling arms threatened to drop the iron, but Ian gritted his teeth and pushed through the final reps.
The last moment—the point of no surrender—was the foundation of true muscle growth.
Clang!
The iron landed with a heavy thud, and Ian collapsed to the ground.
“Phew…”
He wiped the sweat from his face and regulated his breathing.
Heart, skill, body.
True martial power cannot rely on a single attribute.
Only when all three elements harmonize can one wield their full strength.
Having released the two chains of the Solar Vein, the level of his Blood Iron Chain technique had reached rank 2.
Yet, what use was skill with mana and weapons if one lacked the stamina to swing a sword?
Without physical strength, one’s prowess was as ephemeral as a sandcastle by the sea.
“Alex would never assign me a normal strike squad,” Ian thought, recalling Siegfried.
The idea that such a man would grant him an easy position was laughable.
Alex would surely have gathered every uncontrolled lunatic.
This way, Ian would be marked as incompetent, facilitating their humiliation.
Such misfits could not bear to see someone they deemed weaker stand above them.
But Alex could never guess…
How many had Lucas dealt with when uniting the nomadic tribes of the northern continent to found the Alexandor Empire?
Few on this continent had mastered communication through fists like him.
“I think I roughly understand your plan, Alex… but it won’t be that easy.”
Clenching his jaw, Ian grasped the dumbbell beside him.
Only one month remained until he would be officially assigned to the new squad.
There could be no rest if he was to maximize his physical potential.
Step by step.
A month.
Brief yet sufficient for change, for those with will and purpose.
Though insufficient to sculpt a body like Lucas’s past form, it was enough to restore strength, stamina, and vitality to his weak frame.
During this month of secluded, relentless training, a directive from the clan head arrived for Ian.
Confirming the order, he proceeded to the building designated for his squad.
The document bore the unit’s name and location.
—Submerged Dragon Unit.
A dragon submerged underwater, yet to ascend to the sky—referring to talents who had not yet had their opportunity to shine.
“The Submerged Dragon Unit… flashy name,” Ian scoffed.
Though named after dragons, in truth it was a nest of failures.
If one possessed talent comparable to a divine beast, why would they remain unnoticed?
Conversely, failure to stand out despite ability implied a flaw that eclipsed their skill.
‘I wonder which type my squad members will be…’
Imagining his soon-to-meet members, Ian arrived at the location indicated in the order.
—Nest of rookies.
“…Hmph. This is the state of things, huh?”
Compared to other units’ buildings, it was practically a stable, a ruin about to be abandoned.
Even though the squad was under direct lineage, this treatment was insulting.
Suppressing rising anger, Ian slowly placed his hand on the door handle.
…No need to get upset. This is but a temporary humiliation.
In time, his true strength would force them to renovate his quarters.
Screech!
Ian pushed the door open, revealing the interior with an eerie sound.
A dust-laden wind from the training yard hit his face directly.
Clang! Chaaang! Chachachachang!
Metal clashed against metal.
A small girl and a towering man wielding a massive halberd were the culprits stirring the dust storm.
The girl, still youthful, aimed her dagger and palm strikes at the man’s vital points.
The massive halberd, intimidating on its own, fell as if to cleave her frail body.
“….”
Ian was speechless at the chaotic scene upon entering the unit’s quarters.
Chaaaaaang!
The girl deflected the man’s throwing star, and the training yard briefly fell silent.
The three spectators’ eyes shifted toward Ian, standing at the entrance.
“Who are you? Another poor soul assigned to this garbage unit? Wait a moment. Once I handle this girl, I’ll sort out your ranking too.”
The man, catching his breath with the halberd on his shoulder, growled at the girl.
“…Hilarious. You think a big pig can manage anyone?”
Snap!
The girl’s derision twisted the man’s face into a mask of rage.
“Don’t call me a pig!!”
Bwaaak! Kraaang!
His halberd sliced the air, stirring dust again.
A fragment of the building caught the blow.
The dilapidated structure had just become slightly worse.
Amid the flying hair and dust, Ian’s mind formed a single thought.
“…What a mess.”
No other words could describe the scene before him.
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