The line of students stood ready along the courtyard track.
The air was cool, yet it carried the heavy scent of dust and expectation.
Ravel stood before them, his arms crossed behind his back.
"Endurance," he said flatly. "Let's see which of you understands it."
Then, the command fell like a hammer.
"Begin!"
The air erupted.
Boots thundered against the tracks as twenty six students burst forward.
Dust kicked up beneath their feet.
The sharp scent of metal and mana filled the air.
Darian started at the back of the group.
His strides deliberate, not rushed.
Each step matched the rhythem of his breath — inhale...two steps, exhale...two steps.
He didnt chase the lead.
He simply moved forward,body relaxed, pace constant.
Around him, others sprinted wildly, eager to prove themselves.
But none could match the two above all.
Melinda surged ahead first.
Her hair streamed behind her, silver-white strands catching every flicker of sunlight. Mana burned around her like an aura of molten glass, hot, shimmering, alive.
Her boots barely made a sound as they struck the ground, each stride sharp and graceful, her breathing composed, almost serene.
The distance between her and the others widened with every lap.
With the sole exception of Xavier of Varllata.
Xavier ran with quite precision.
His body moved with practiced efficiency: posture perfect, pace unwavering. His expression stayed calm, unbothered by the heat or the dust.
Darian kept his rhythm, neither gaining nor falling behind.
He watched them briefly, admiring their strength but not envying it.
His mind drifted back to the fields of his past life, where every breath and step was measured under the weight of armor, where every misstep meant death.
That memory anchored him.
Kaelric, however, was already faltering.
By the second lap, his pace began to break. By the third, his breathing turned ragged, each inhale a desperate drag.
"Bloody… hell…" he gasped, sweat streaming down his temples, his glasses slipping low on his nose.
"Keep moving!" Ravel barked without glancing at him.
But Kaelric's body didn't listen. His foot caught on the dirt; he stumbled, catching himself on one knee before collapsing forward with a groan.
Some nearby students slowed, eyeing him with faint pity before pressing on. Others smirked—nobles who thought weakness was a disease.
By the fifth lap, Kaelric lay on his back, chest heaving, eyes glazed with exhaustion.
Ravel didn't spare him a look.
All around the track, the strong were beginning to falter. Mana-enhanced muscles burned hotter than they expected.
The confident glow that once surrounded them flickered, dimmed, and finally guttered out. One by one, they slowed to a walk… then to stillness, collapsing on the ground.
Yet Darian kept moving.
No mana flared around him. No glow shielded his body from fatigue.
Only the soft rasp of breath and the steady rhythm of his footsteps.
He didn't look impressive—just persistent.
The ache in his legs deepened with every lap, but he embraced it. The burn in his lungs became sharp, but he welcomed it. The pain reminded him he was alive.
The students who had collapsed began to notice him now—this "Cursed Count" who should have fallen long before them.
"Isn't that… the Cursed Count?"
"He doesn't even have mana."
"How is he still going?"
Their whispers followed him with every lap.
Melinda and Xavier were way in front.
They were head to head, yet even they began to feel the weight of time.
Melinda's mana flared hotter, her steps kicking up faint ripples of light across the sand.
Her breaths came quicker now, her perfect rhythm breaking for the first time. Her pride wouldn't let her slow.
Each stride screamed defiance.
Xavier's pace was steady, controlled.
His breathing was deep, eyes locked forward, sweat rolling down his neck in silent lines.
His expression didn't change—if he was tired, he didn't show it.
His mana pulsed beneath the skin, reinforcing him.
And still, behind them both, Darian moved.
His strides were shorter, slower—but relentless.
He didn't look to them, didn't compare. He simply ran.
Ravel's gaze lingered on him longer this time.
Among the young promising nobles:
This one — the Cursed Count of Redmond— managed to keep up with the two prodigies.
The instructor's eyes narrowed slightly. He said nothing.
Minutes stretched into what felt like hours. The sound of running grew fainter as fewer feet remained on the dirt.
By the time the sun climbed high enough to cast sharp shadows, only three remained: Melinda, Xavier, and Darian.
The others had either stopped or collapsed, too proud to admit exhaustion, too human to hide it.
Melinda's mana blazed so intensely that the air wavered.
Her face was set in a calm mask, but her eyes betrayed her stubbornness– fierce, unyielding, unwilling to lose to anyone.
Xavier's breathing was heavy now, but his form hadn't broken. His endurance was sheer will wrapped in discipline.
And Darian—sweat-drenched, chest heaving—still held his pace. His breaths came measured. Body screaming yet he kept going.
Ravel finally raised his hand, the silence that followed was almost deafening.
"Enough."
The three stopped almost at once.
Melinda and Xavier first, their momentum halting with sharp control.
Darian a few steps later, before throwing himself on to to the ground.
Ravel's boots scraped softly against the dirt as he approached, the air heavy with the sound of labored breathing.
His gaze swept over the three who still stood — calm, assessing, expression unreadable.
He stopped a few paces before them, hands clasped behind his back.
"Endurance," he said finally. "It's not about speed or power. It's about lasting when others stop. Remember that."
His eyes flicked toward the fallen students scattered across the courtyard. "Most of you have strength," he continued, "but few have the will to hold it."
There was no praise in his tone, only fact.
Then, with a short nod, he turned away.
"Recover your weapons. We're not finished yet."
The silence that followed was heavy and sharp.
Melinda wiped sweat from her brow with a flick of annoyance. The thought of a mana–less count keeping up to her standard lingered in her mind.
Xavier exhaled slowly, his expression composed but his eyes thoughtful. He gave Darian a short, almost imperceptible nod.
A quiet acknowledgement.