The Regression Of A Grand Mercenary - 55 - Training The Neighbors - Part 3

***Mario Roy’s POV***

As difficult as it was to come to terms with, I had been born with a frailty that no amount of ordinary medicine or careful living could cure. My parents told me it had a name — the Snow Rot Constitution — a cruel condition that seemed almost poetic in its cruelty. Like morning snow that melts with the gentlest touch of sunlight, my body was delicate to the point of tragedy. My muscles refused to grow strong, leaving me with barely enough strength to lift a bucket of water. Worse yet, my bones were as fragile as ice left too long in the sun, prone to splintering or fracturing even under the slightest strain. Every fall, every bump, every careless movement was a threat. It meant I was not just weak, but breakable, as though nature itself had sculpted me out of frost and then dared me to survive the world’s harshness.

But despite the harsh, miserable hand life had dealt me, I made a vow to my parents — that I would endure, that I would survive, no matter how fragile or broken I might feel. It was a promise spoken with grand, virtuous conviction, yet living up to it proved far more punishing than I could have imagined.

Because of my frailty, I was never able to join the other children in their games, never able to climb the orchard trees or race across the fields. Even the gentle warmth of the sun drained me, making my already brittle body feel twice as feeble if I lingered in its light for too long. Worst of all, I could not help in the family’s potato fields, could not shoulder a single burden to lighten my parents’ load. All the hard labor fell squarely on my father’s shoulders alone, day after day, without rest.

Then, as if to mock our struggles, disaster arrived. A plague swept through the fields, leaving our crops shriveled and dead — and stealing my father’s life with it.

With him gone, everything collapsed onto my mother’s exhausted hands. I was her only child, and far too weak to help. There was no one else. Watching her bear the weight of an entire household, while I stood by useless, was a pain far worse than any I had ever known.

Day after day, I watched my mother fight a battle she was never meant to fight alone. Each sunrise brought more struggles, more burdens she could barely shoulder. No matter how hard she worked, it was never enough to keep our livelihood from crumbling around us. Her hands, once gentle and patient, grew raw and calloused under the endless weight of farming potatoes — a crop that demanded a strength she simply did not have.

Eventually, the truth became impossible to ignore: my mother could not keep up. Our fields, so heavy with expectation, had become a curse too harsh for her body to bear.

Then, winter arrived, cloaking the world in white. Unlike the blazing heat of summer, the winter chill made it easier for me to breathe, easier to stand under the pale sky without my legs giving way. In the cold months, I was a little stronger than usual — though “stronger” was a relative word for someone like me.

Compared to the other children my age, even in winter, I was a shadow. I could walk the roads without collapsing, but I could not help. I could not lift. I could not work beside my mother to ease her aching bones.

No matter how hard I wished to change it, I remained useless, watching her wear herself down one day at a time while I stood helpless, bound by the weakness of my own fragile body.

During the winter, when my body was at its strongest — or at least less fragile than the rest of the year — I tried to help in any way I could. The best I could manage was to work as a server at a well-known tavern in town. The tavern owner, a kind man with a soft spot for struggling families, had agreed to hire me through the cold months so I could earn something to ease the weight on my mother’s shoulders.

Though it wasn’t much, the pay was enough to buy a few more meals, a few more days of firewood, and in my heart, it felt like a victory. That night, after finishing my first day at the tavern, I hurried home bursting with pride and eager to share the good news with my mother.

When I told her everything — how the owner had taken me in, how I was finally earning honest pay — I watched something I hadn’t seen in so long appear on her face: a smile. It was small, but warm, reaching the tired corners of her eyes.

That single smile felt like sunlight breaking through a storm that had covered our house for far too long. It filled me with a fragile hope, a naive certainty that maybe things were finally changing for us.

But hope, as I learned that night, could be a cruel thing.

I had barely fallen asleep, exhausted from a day’s labor, when a loud crash jolted me awake. My heart froze, my skin prickling with dread as I heard a muffled struggle from downstairs.

I stumbled out of my room, confusion and terror fighting for control in my mind.

At the foot of the stairs, illuminated by the faint moonlight seeping through the cracks in our wooden walls, I saw my mother being dragged toward the front door by two rough-looking men. Their clothes were filthy and patched, their faces hidden behind snarls of cruelty.

For a heartbeat, I thought maybe I was still trapped in a nightmare. But the blood on the floor — bright and real — shattered that illusion, yanking me fully into a waking horror.

Before I could think, I launched myself down the stairs, screaming.

“Let her go! That’s my mother!”

The closer I got, the clearer their brutality became. One of them, a hulking brute with wild, hungry eyes, turned and drew a sword that glimmered with a terrible sharpness.

My mind went blank with fear, but my body, clumsy and weak, refused to back down. I ran at them anyway, barehanded, desperate beyond reason.

As I lunged, the man struck me across the chest with the hilt of his sword. The impact felt like being shattered from the inside — bones screamed, muscles tore, my ribs splintered like thin ice under heavy boots. I slammed to the floor, the pain so immense I thought I might go mad.

I could do nothing but lie there, paralyzed, sobbing out a raw, broken scream as I watched my mother being hauled into the night like a sack of grain.

“Mother!” I shrieked, my voice the only part of me still working, cutting through the darkness.

But it was useless.

My body, born fragile and cursed by the Snow Rot Constitution, betrayed me once again, refusing to even let me stand.

As the night swallowed them, I felt my vision dim and my strength fade, the agony too much to bear. Before unconsciousness finally took me, the last thing I heard was my own strangled cry echoing through the empty house.

I lay sprawled on the cold, unforgiving floor of our house for an entire day, unable to move. My body, already fragile, was completely overwhelmed by pain. Every shallow breath sent lightning bolts of agony through my ribs, and no matter how hard I tried to will myself up, my limbs refused to answer.

For hours, I lay there helpless, barely clinging to consciousness, the chill of the floor seeping into my bones. The day passed in a blur of half-sleep and pain until night fell again, leaving me alone with my thoughts — and the unbearable dread of what might be happening to my mother.

Then, on the second day, a small miracle arrived. The door creaked open, and through the haze of pain, I saw a familiar face appear in the doorway — the owner of the tavern where I’d been working.

His eyes widened in shock as he took in the sight of me on the floor, bruised, bloodied, and broken.

“I was worried,” he said gently. “You never showed up to the tavern yesterday.”

Summoning what little strength I had, I told him everything — about the bandits, about my mother, about how powerless I had been to stop them.

As I spoke, a bitter frustration gripped me, and tears threatened to spill from my eyes. I thought he would be shocked, but instead, he shook his head sadly and explained that my family was not alone — that the entire village had been under attack.

Rough-looking men, thugs, bandits — they had stormed into homes across our community, snatching women and anything of value. No one had been able to fight back.

Hearing that made my heart sink into a pit of despair.

The tavern owner crouched beside me and, with surprising kindness, offered me a small vial of deep-blue potion. “This will help your body recover,” he said softly. “It cost more than I should have paid, but… I couldn’t let you suffer like this.”

I was stunned. The thought of someone spending money on me — someone who was nearly worthless by everyone’s measure — nearly brought me to tears.

“I-I’ll repay you,” I choked out.

He nodded but waved it off.

When I steadied enough to ask what the village council planned to do about the kidnapped women, his answer crushed me.

“We… have to wait for our only hope,” he said grimly.

My mind reeled. Wait? Our only hope?

“What do you mean, wait?” I exploded, my voice breaking. “They took my mother! How can we just wait?!”

His face tightened. “Thill,” he said finally, as if the name explained everything. “Thill Cicial. The Dragon Slayer.”

I froze. That name. I had heard whispers, of course — stories of a single warrior who had once faced down a dragon that threatened to burn our village to ash. Neighbors gossiped endlessly about how he slew the beast alone, a feat so impossible that I dismissed it as little more than drunken fantasy.

After all, on the day the dragon appeared, I had been hiding indoors, sheltering from the heat of the sun that made my Snow Rot Constitution even weaker. I’d never seen the fight with my own eyes — only heard secondhand tales that seemed too grand to believe.

But now, faced with the bandits, they were saying only he could save the women?

My hands curled into fists. “Why do we have to rely on this one man?” I demanded. “Why aren’t we doing anything ourselves?! Why aren’t you doing anything?!”

The tavern owner sighed. “Because,” he explained heavily, “the women are hostages. There are too many bandits. No one else here has the skill, or the courage, to face them and guarantee no one gets killed in the rescue. Thill is the only one who can do it.”

The words felt like a slap across the face. I gritted my teeth so hard my jaw ached, hating the truth in them.

I wanted to scream that I would save her myself — but my body would not even let me sit up, let alone fight fifty seasoned killers.

All I could do was lie there in my bed, the potion slowly knitting my bones and flesh back together, while my mind tore itself apart. Every moment that ticked by, I imagined my mother suffering at their hands. It was a torture far worse than any wound.

By the next day, news spread through the village like wildfire — Thill had returned.

And in a single night, he acted. He did not wait, did not hesitate. With terrifying speed, he tracked down the bandits’ camp and tore through them like a vengeful storm.

By dawn, he returned to the village with the women safe, including my mother, who looked shaken but alive.

In that moment, as I watched them being reunited, a mix of gratitude and shame gnawed at my heart.

I had failed.

But Thill had not.

“Mother…” my voice was shaking at the sight of my mother being safe and sound.

“What is it dear?” she asked.

“…I want to be stronger! I don’t want to be weak anymore!” I screamed out my desires in front of my mother…and she understood my pain. She could feel the desperate soul that was inside me.

By the next day, I returned to work at the tavern to pay off the debt that I owed to the owner. Yet as I was walking towards the tavern, to my shock, I saw a new message being posted up by the council. When I curiously looked at it, my jaw dropped and my eyes opened.

It was a chance….almost as if brought upon by fate itself, I quickly dropped everything and made my way straight to the village council.

The recruitment message…

Being trained by the hero himself…

A chance to become stronger…

I couldn’t let this get pass by me…not anymore!

“Mother…” My voice trembled as I took in the sight of her — alive, safe, untouched. Relief crashed through me so hard it nearly brought me to my knees.

She looked at me with concern, still pale and shaken from her ordeal. “What is it, dear?” she asked gently, as if afraid I might break.

I couldn’t hold back the wave of emotion inside me. The shame, the fear, the powerlessness — it all rose up and spilled out.

“…I want to be stronger!” I shouted, voice cracking under the weight of everything I had carried for so long. “I don’t want to be weak anymore! I don’t want to watch you be taken away again while I lie on the ground helpless!”

My mother’s eyes widened, then softened with a deep, motherly understanding. I saw the pain mirrored in her face — the same pain I carried in my heart. She stepped forward and placed a trembling hand on my shoulder.

“I understand,” she whispered. “I truly do.”

That moment felt like a turning point.

The next day, determined to honor the debt I owed the kind tavern owner, I forced myself to get up and return to the tavern. My body still ached from the bandit’s blow, but my mind was sharper than ever.

As I walked through the village streets, something caught my eye — a gathering of people near the council board. My curiosity tugged at me, and I moved closer to see what had drawn their attention.

Then I saw it.

A brand-new notice, freshly nailed to the wood, the letters bold and clear for all to read.

Recruitment.

My eyes flew over the words, my heart hammering.

Selected recruits will receive weapons training and tactical instruction under the direct guidance of Thill Cicial, the Dragonslayer, hero of our village.

It felt as if the very heavens had opened and laid a path before me — a path I had longed for, a chance I thought would never come.

The chance to train under the hero who had saved us, to gain the strength to never feel helpless again.

Without a moment of hesitation, I turned on my heel and sprinted through the village streets straight toward the council hall, ignoring the protests of my aching body.

I would not let this opportunity slip away.

Not this time.

Even with the cruel weakness of my body — this wretched Snow Rot Constitution — I refused to let it hold me back. This was a once-in-a-lifetime chance, a chance that could change everything about who I was.

And so, my new life began, training under the hero himself.

From the very first day, I could tell it would be brutal — far beyond anything I had ever faced.

Running.

Fifteen kilometers on the biting cold of that first morning. Each step sent pain lancing through my brittle bones, each gasp of air burned my lungs. More than once, I nearly collapsed, my legs trembling, my vision going dark.

But every time I thought of quitting, I forced my mind to remember: the days I had wasted hiding in the shade, too afraid to even play with the other children. Remembering that weakness — remembering my mother being taken — made something inside me burn.

I refused to be that pathetic boy again.

So I kept running.

When I finally staggered back to the training yard, the last to finish, Captain Thill was there waiting. He looked at me with the same cold eyes he showed everyone else — no hint of pity.

But he was fair.

Even though I was dead last, he did not turn me away from the next trial.

Sword drills. Two thousand strikes.

He placed the wooden practice sword in my shaking hands and simply told me to begin.

And I did.

I ignored the ache in my arms. Ignored the hunger tearing at my belly. I ignored everything except the drive inside me.

One swing.

Then another.

And another.

I lost count somewhere after a few hundred, but I refused to stop.

I thought of nothing but effort — every swing was a prayer to the gods that I would never be helpless again.

When the final strike fell, the world went black.

The next thing I knew, the sun was setting. My eyes fluttered open, and beside me sat my mother, gently wiping my forehead, her eyes filled with both worry and pride.

My mother carefully scooped up a bit of broth from the bowl beside her and brought it to my lips. The warmth of it chased away the chill in my chest, and I swallowed slowly, my body still aching from the day’s brutal training.

“Eat, dear,” she murmured, voice gentle but strained with worry. “You need your strength.”

I managed a small nod, letting her feed me spoon after spoon. The simple taste of boiled vegetables and a hint of chicken felt like a feast after everything I had gone through.

As I finished another mouthful, I glanced up at her. She was trying to hide how tired she looked, how afraid.

“Mother…” I whispered, but she shook her head, brushing my cheek with her calloused thumb.

“Mario,” she began, voice trembling, “do you really want to keep doing this? This training…it could kill you. Your body—”

I stopped her with a weak, but determined look.

“I have to,” I said, as firmly as I could manage.

Her eyes watered, and for a moment I thought she might cry. “But why? Why put yourself through this?”

I struggled to lift my hand, placing it gently over hers. “Because I can’t… I can’t stand by anymore, Mother. I can’t be the boy hiding behind you while you suffer. I won’t let them hurt you again.”

She looked at me, eyes wide, lips trembling.

“Even if it breaks me,” I went on, voice growing steadier, “I would rather die trying to change than live another day being useless.”

Tears finally spilled from her eyes, but she nodded, gripping my hand tight.

“Then,” she whispered, swallowing back a sob, “I will believe in you. And I will pray for you, every day.”

The next spoonful she brought to my mouth tasted of salt — maybe from her tears, maybe from mine.

As she continued to feed me, I closed my eyes, letting the warmth of the soup and her love soak through my battered, aching bones.

Soon enough, I ate everything that my mother brought me…and as I gained enough strength to stand once again, I was told by Theresa, Thill’s sister that I had to go to the cafeteria to meet with Thill.

She told me that Thill wanted to talk personally about my future…

Nervous, I grabbed my mother’s hand and we made our way to the cafeteria.

As we got there, I saw that the other families also visited the other trainees…and seeing them enjoy themselves, I realized that this was a planned event made by Thill himself to motivate us on our first day.

While I was admiring this warm event, soon Thill approached me and my mother. He had the same cold calculating eyes…but his smile was warm enough for us to not fear him.

“I’m glad that you’re up again.” he said.

“T-thank you…and I’m sorry that I couldn’t participate half of the first day’s exercise regiment.” I said in apology.

“…Hmm,” Thill mused, studying me with those sharp, unwavering eyes. “With how much your condition is affecting you, it won’t be long before you fall behind the rest of the other trainees. Tell me, Mario — how do you plan to overcome this?”

His words struck deep. They were not spoken out of cruelty, but as a cold, honest truth. I swallowed hard, feeling my mother’s fingers tighten around mine in silent support.

“I… I will endure it,” I managed to say, my voice still a little shaky. “No matter how many times I fall down, I will stand back up. I don’t want to stay weak anymore, Captain.”

Thill studied me for a long moment, eyes searching, weighing every word I had spoken.

“Endurance alone may not be enough,” he finally replied. “You will need to accommodate for the lost of time you spent in your rest. Tonight, at midnight…meet me at the training grounds.” he said.

My mother’s worried gaze flickered between us, but she didn’t interrupt.

“I understand,” I told him, meeting his gaze with every bit of courage I had left. “I will do whatever it takes.”

Thill’s expression barely shifted, but I saw the faintest glimmer of approval in his eyes.

“Good,” he said. “You will be treated no differently from the others — no matter your condition. Do you understand me.”

I nodded firmly. That was what I wanted. That was what I needed.

He then turned his attention to my mother, his voice softening.

“Madam,” he said respectfully, “your son has chosen a harsh path. With his body’s constitution, he will suffer twice as much…but thankfully, I know of a way to help him surpass this issue. If he can survive it, I promise you he will be stronger than any guard who has ever stood watch over this village. ”

My mother wiped the tears from her eyes and gave a small, trembling smile.

“Please,” she whispered, voice thick with emotion, “take care of him.”

Thill nodded, grave and certain. “I will.”

Then, as if dismissing all worries, he gestured to the tables lined with food, laughter, and warmth.

“Tonight,” he said, “rest and gather your strength. Share time with your loved ones. Tomorrow, we begin again.”

I looked around the hall, taking in the faces of my fellow trainees — some bruised, some limping, but all smiling with their families.

“Mario, remember…Meet me tonight at midnight.” to his order, I nodded.

The hours crawled by painfully slowly, each second weighed down by my nervousness. After spending what remained of the evening with my mother, I tried to rest, but my mind would not let me sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Thill’s gaze — unflinching, cold, but filled with a terrifying sense of truth.

When the clock finally struck midnight, I slipped quietly from my bed, careful not to wake my mother, who had fallen asleep watching over me. I stepped into the freezing night, the cold biting into my skin with needle-like sharpness. The moon hung pale and distant above the barracks, throwing ghostly light across the empty training yard.

Thill was already there, standing at the edge of the dirt ring where we’d trained earlier that day. He looked completely unfazed by the hour or the cold, his coat billowing slightly in the wind, eyes fixed on me as I approached.

“Mario,” he greeted, his voice steady in the silence of the night. “Good. You came.”

I nodded, fighting to keep my knees from trembling.

“You told me,” I replied, “no exceptions. No sympathy. So I’m here.”

“…I’m sure you remember the potion I made you drink right before you were told to sleep.”

“Y-yes…for some reason, I couldn’t sleep right. Maybe I’m just nervous because you told me to meet today.” I said.

“No, like I said…it is meant to heal your body for the next day.” as soon as he spoke those words, I suddeenly lost all strength in my body and I fell to my knees.

What came next was a sudden expulsion of filth from my mouth.

“Khk-Bleagghh!!” I couldn’t control this upsetting feeling. It was so sickening.

Annd soon, other trainees who also drank the potion ran outside of the barracks and started pucking on the grounds.

One after another, puke and shit could be heard. The smell was unbearable.

“Listen well,” he began, voice carrying through the cold night, “what you are experiencing is the purging of every impurity within you — every weakness of the flesh, every lingering sickness, every lingering fear. The potion is designed to cleanse you, inside and out.”

He stepped closer, eyes cold but steady.

“Think of it as burning away the rot. You cannot build a strong foundation on rotten wood. So I will tear out the rot first — everything that holds you back, whether it is your clogged guts or the cowardice that poisons your mind. This is the first step.”

“This will pass by soon and you can go back to rest in your beds.” he continued, unfazed, “But let me tell you, by morning you will feel cleaner, stronger, and clearer than you ever have in your entire lives.”

As he had them go back onve they were finished, puking out their insides, he asked me to stay.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“…I feel like shit..will this really work?” I asked.

“Like I said, by tomorrow, you will feel better than you were this morning.”

“R-really?”

“Yes…but other than that, I called you here today to talk about a certain issue with your body’s constitution.”

“The Snow Rot?…What about it?” I asked.

“The potion I gave you today isn’t enough. Unlike the other trainees who have only replaced the rot in their bodies that have been compiling for all their lives, your body requires more. Do you kknow the metal called the Cold Steel?”

“No, I am not.”

“It is one of the strongest metals in the world that rivals even that of the strongest metal to exist.”

“W-what about cold steel? Captain?”

“I’ve seen men who had the same constitution as yours,” Thill continued, his eyes never wavering from mine, “men born with bodies so fragile they would break at a harsh breeze, just like yours. But they found a way to overcome it.”

My breathing was ragged from the purging, my stomach still twisting painfully, but I forced myself to listen.

“How?” I asked hoarsely, wiping away the foul taste still lingering on my tongue.

Thill’s expression was as cold and unshakable as ever.

“Through forging the steel inside your body using your Pure Core.” he said, voice steady as iron. “Their bones were fused with an alloy made from Cold Steel, creating a skeleton stronger than any born of flesh alone.”

My heart skipped a beat, a strange mixture of fear and wonder rushing through me.

“F-fused with metal? Is that even… possible?”

Thill nodded. “It is dangerous. The procedure will bring you pain beyond your imagination. But if you survive it, your bones will become unbreakable, your weakness burned away, reforged like a blade pulled from the flames.”

I shivered despite the sweat on my skin. The idea sounded like a nightmare — metal forced into my bones, my body remade. Yet at the same time, it stirred something fierce inside me.

A chance to truly stand on my own.

“Why…why would you offer me this?” I managed to ask.

Thill looked down at me, eyes calculating but not unkind.

“Because,” he said, voice calm as falling snow, “I will not allow a single trainee under my command to fail. You came here to change, Mario, and I will give you that chance — no matter how terrible it may seem.”

I swallowed hard. My heart was pounding so violently I felt it in my throat.

“Will I… still be myself?” I asked, terrified of the answer.

Thill paused, considering. Then, with the barest flicker of softness in his otherwise unyielding voice, he said:

“You will still be you — but stronger. Stronger than you ever dreamed.”

“Decide now. If you accept, there is no turning back.”

I looked at his hand. At the iron certainty in his eyes. I thought of my mother’s tears, of the day I lay helpless on the floor while she was stolen from me, of the ache in my heart that never went away.

Slowly, with trembling fingers, I reached forward and took his hand.

“I’ll do it,” I said, my voice shaking, “I don’t want to stay weak anymore.”

For a moment, just a moment, I saw a faint spark of pride in Thill’s expression.

“Very well,” he said. “Return to your bed for tonight. Tomorrow, we will continue with our training.”

As he turned and walked away into the shadows, leaving me to the cold night air, I realized I was shivering — not from fear alone, but from something else: a burning, desperate hope.