Battlefield Restart (Dropped)

The Bet

The House Master's opinion was biased in many ways, but even so his argument held a great amount of weight to it. This was because of how reasonable and logical it was on the surface.

My confidence in my abilities still hadn't faltered considering I was still indeed a 'special case'.

'The the higher the mountain, the more difficult it is to climb.'

This was a fact that is accepted by all magical fighters of this fantasy world of swords and magic.

But so what if it was difficult?

I wasn't going to get a second chance if I waste my time becoming a weak servant.

I might have had a low quantity of Mana, but that didn't mean I wouldn't be able to increase the number of my 'otherworldly techniques' with time. I just needed to do the work to move forward.

So what if I had a low starting point at birth?

It wasn't like I was 'talented' in my past life...

With the trio of bad conditions: Eczema, Asthma, and Hay Fever. I'd almost died just by training...

If I'd missed a daily dosage of my medicine, the condition my body was in would deteriorate fast...

My parents hadn't actually WANTED me to make a career in the military. It was just 'punishment'.

However, I'd stayed there anyway...

It was the only place that made me feel loved.

When I was training, there were people who would take care of me and ask about me... unlike before.

The military became the place that filled the empty hole in my heart. It gave me a sense of purpose.

...Like even my insignificant self had worth.

But to stay there, I needed to fit in.

The tearful man-child I was before needed to be broken down, and a 'man' needed to be created.

It was exactly as Zakk Wylde said:

{There's no substitute to hard work.}

Talent was only an extra benefit that could help you on your way. If you didn't have it, then forget about it. Back then, the ambition I had WASN'T to become a legend or boast about my achievements.

...I just wanted to 'live'.

For that singular goal, I did everything possible.

My instructor broke me down mentally and physically every day. Poking at my soft spots.

It wasn't the same as abuse. By then, I was already a grown man. Leaving had always been an option.

That's why... enduring was my only choice.

Others mastered combat techniques easily. They were also gifted with better things at birth.

Stature, agility, dexterity, health... They took it for granted. They even went drinking sometimes and complained. None of them ever knew what it was like to work hard every day and never get results.

It wasn't good on self-confidence at all...

Hehe... Since when did I need that anyway? A 'real man' only needed to do what must be done.

Nothing more, nothing less...

I'd never been as strong as some of my close comrades, not as smart as them, and definitely not as social as... those softies who'd never seen the battlefield first hand. All I gained was experience.