The Extra's Rise - Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Torture Training (1) Chapter 6: Torture Training (1) After spending some time with Rose, I let her drift off to socialize with others while I made my quiet exit.

Her perfume lingered around me, a pleasant reminder of the afternoon’s diversion-but one I couldn’t afford to dwell on.

I had more important things to do.

The moment I was alone, my mind settled back into one singular thought-strength.

No distractions.

No detours.

No pointless socializing.

I needed to get stronger.

I arrived at the training facility, swiping my I.D.

card at the scanner.

A soft beep, a quiet whirr, and the door slid open.

The private training rooms at Mythos Academy were, of course, state-of-the-art, the kind of thing most warriors could only dream of.

A personal training chamber, reserved exclusively for every Class A student.

This was where legends sharpened themselves.

And this was where I was going to break myself.

Step One: Evaluate Arthur Nightingale.

Not as a protagonist.

Not as a swordsman with potential.

Just as a body with stats that needed fixing.

First problem-no Art.

Combat Arts were essential, sophisticated techniques passed down through legacies that dictated a warrior’s style, power, and efficiency.

I had none.

Thankfully, as a Class A student, I would receive a Grade 5 Art automatically.

Problem solved.

Second problem-no Gift.

That was worse.

Gifts were natural-born abilities-inherited talents, bloodline blessings, cheat codes for reality.

I had none.

Every other Class A student had at least one.

This, however, I could fix.

The solution?

Beast Will acquisition.

Third problem-low mana rank.

And this?

This was the real issue.

The rest of Class A stood at mid-Silver, high-Silver, or even White-rank.

Meanwhile, I was comfortably sitting at low Silver, which was another way of saying, I was a toddler surrounded by adults with sharp weapons.

This wasn’t something I could afford to ignore.

Thankfully, I knew a way to fix this.

Unfortunately, that method was torture.

The growth of a mana core-at least until Integration-rank-was determined almost entirely by talent.

The speed at which one absorbed ambient mana, purified it, and reinforced their core dictated everything.

But there was a way to force the process.

A method so brutal that even the novel had only ever mentioned it as a desperation move.

You break your body.

Not metaphorically.

Not in the “push past your limits” kind of way.

You literally tear your mana circuits apart, force them into overload, and make them rebuild themselves stronger.

It was effective.

It was also madness.

Most people never attempted it because the pain alone was enough to shatter their minds.

I sat cross-legged in the center of the training room, closing my eyes.

No weapons.

No techniques.

No movement.

Just mana.

I inhaled deeply, steadying my breath.

The air was thick with ambient mana, drifting invisibly, waiting to be seized.

And so, I seized it.

The moment I began absorbing, my circuits roared to life.

Mana poured into me, flowing through the pathways in my body, filling my core.

But that wasn’t enough.

I forced more in, dragging in the surrounding energy like someone determined to never be without resources again.

It burned.

A deep, searing pain ignited in my veins as my circuits strained under the influx.

My muscles twitched, my skin prickled like fire ants had burrowed into my flesh.

This was beyond natural absorption-I was deliberately overloading my body, pushing it to its absolute limit.

Break, heal, refine.

I smiled faintly as the pain intensified.

In my previous life, I had learned what true agony was-not the physical kind that eventually ends, but the endless, hollow ache of complete failure.

This?

This was nothing.

Just a transaction.

Pain for power, a bargain I would make a thousand times over.

I clenched my fists, forcing my body to compress and purify the mana faster.

My sternum throbbed, the pressure in my core growing unbearable as the low Silver-rank mana core struggled to expand.

Then- Crack.

A sharp pain stabbed through my chest, stealing my breath.

The sensation was similar to having a rib snapped and driven into a lung-immediate, intense, and impossible to ignore.

My smile didn’t waver.

Good.

That meant it was working.

Physical pain had boundaries, limitations, endings.

It was quantifiable, manageable.

Unlike the pain of loss, which had no shape or form, just an endless void that consumed everything it touched.

The mana circuits splintered under the force, but instead of stopping, I dragged in even more mana, demanding that my body adapt.

If it couldn’t keep up, it would just have to change.

My nerve endings screamed as the damaged circuits began to regenerate.

The sensation was akin to having molten glass poured into open wounds, then feeling it harden and crack, only to be replaced with more.

Each breath became an exercise in control as my lungs fought against the constriction of my chest.

More.

I pulled in another surge of mana, shoving it into my core with calculated precision.

The pain evolved from merely intense to comprehensive-no longer confined to specific points but spreading throughout my entire system.

My vision blurred, the room around me becoming a hazy approximation of reality.

My body was signaling clearly: stop this.

Rest.

Recover.

This isn’t natural.

I ignored the warnings with the practiced ease of someone who had broken himself many times before.

Physical discomfort was just information, neither good nor bad.

Pain meant the process was working.

My damaged circuits were rebuilding themselves, stronger and more efficient than before.

As sweat beaded on my forehead and ran down my spine, I maintained my focus.

The methodical application of agony required concentration.

Too much pressure and I risked permanent damage; too little and the circuits wouldn’t reshape properly.

Time passed.

The initial sharp, acute pain gradually transformed into a deep, persistent throb.

My muscles occasionally spasmed involuntarily, small tremors running through my limbs as mana forced its way through newly formed pathways.

My breathing had settled into a controlled pattern-shallow enough to avoid aggravating the pressure in my chest, but sufficient to maintain oxygen flow.

Through it all, I kept my slight smile.

This was just the beginning, after all.

The first of many sessions that would systematically rebuild my body into something worthy of survival in this world.

Something capable of protecting instead of failing.

Hour after hour, I continued the process.

The training room’s environmental controls adjusted to the excess mana I was releasing, preventing any destabilization of the surrounding area.

My uniform grew damp with sweat, then dried, then dampened again as the cycles of breaking and healing continued.

And finally-I felt it.

A difference.

The mana moved faster now.

The absorption was smoother.

My circuits had adjusted, slightly wider, slightly stronger.

It wasn’t dramatic, but it was measurable-the first step on a long path.

I blinked, finally coming back to reality.

My hands were steady despite the strain they’d endured.

My chest ached, but the pain was already receding as my body’s natural healing accelerated by the enhanced mana flow.

My vision was clear, sharper even than before I’d begun.

I turned my head toward the digital clock near the entrance.

10:00 PM.

I had been here for ten hours straight.

An efficient use of time, all things considered.

I stood up, noting the various sensations as my body adjusted to movement again.

Muscles protested, joints creaked, but there was new strength underlying the discomfort.

The shadow of what would eventually become real power.

“Progress,” I said simply to the empty room, my voice neutral despite the significant achievement.

This wasn’t a victory to celebrate, merely a necessary step taken.

As I walked toward the exit, I mentally scheduled tomorrow’s session.

The foundation had been laid; now came the consistent work of building upon it.

Day by day, hour by hour, constructing the strength that would ensure my objectives could be met.

It wasn’t enough.

Not yet.

But it was a start.

The door closed behind me with a soft hiss.

One day down, countless more to go.

But the path was clear, and I would walk it regardless of the cost.

Because ultimately, physical suffering was temporary.

Failure was not.

And I refused to fail again.