Who Says I'm Not a Proper Adventurer?

Lance licked his chapped lips. His throat was uncomfortably dry.

"And I’m extremely thirsty."

Hearing this, Necros nodded. The shock in his eyes subsided slightly, and he regained some of his elderly composure.

"That’s a normal physiological reaction."

The old man casually handed him the ice water from the table and began to explain.

"For those new to the Breathing Technique, you can’t yet precisely control the ignited Ether. The overflowing, violent Energy is largely converted into thermal energy, which then rapidly evaporates the water in your body."

"Once you’ve mastered the rhythm and learned to lock your pores, this situation will naturally disappear."

Lance took the glass and downed it in one go. The cold liquid slid down his esophagus, slightly suppressing the heat inside him.

Necros kept his eyes fixed on Lance’s, his expression turning serious as if confirming something more important.

"Aside from the physical heat, how is your Spirit?"

The old man chose his words carefully, his tone grave as he asked.

"Are you feeling a strong sense of discomfort? For example, extreme fatigue, or your brain resisting any movement you try to make?"

Necros began to explain patiently.

This was a great obstacle that all Close Combat Professionals must cross, which scholars have termed the "Thought Inertia Shackles."

The human brain is a very shrewd manager. It’s accustomed to planning actions based on daily physical energy reserves.

But once a Breathing Combat Technique is activated, the rate of stamina consumption will instantly soar to three times the normal rate, or even higher.

This deficit creates an extremely severe sense of crisis in the brain.

To protect the body from being worked to death, the brain instinctively releases various negative signals through the nervous system: exhaustion, fatigue, and even physical stiffness.

It will frantically bombard you with commands to stop.

"This instinctual resistance puts immense pressure on your Spirit."

Necros sighed.

"That’s why the vast majority of Close Combat Professionals don’t dare to activate their Breathing Technique casually in daily life. Only on the battlefield, in a life-or-death struggle, can they use the stimulation of combat to briefly break through this limitation."

"Only those with strong willpower specifically set aside time to practice their Breathing Combat Technique every day to expand their Ethereal Energy Pool."

"In comparison, those Casters are truly blessed by nature."

"They don’t have to endure this dual tearing of body and Spirit. So, in the early stages of their careers, their Energy Pool accumulation speed is often far greater than ours."

"This gap only begins to close slightly if you can endure until you advance to the Extraordinary Class."

At this point, Necros looked at Lance with a hint of doubt in his eyes.

"The consumption of this Breathing Combat Technique is even higher than an Ordinary Combat Technique. Logically, the mental pressure should be enough to drive a person mad."

After listening to this long explanation, Lance was stunned for a moment.

He subconsciously checked his own mental state.

Fatigue? Weariness?

Not at all.

On the contrary, he felt incredible. His mind was as sharp as if he were counting money; he felt like he could go run five kilometers right now just for the fun of it.

’So that’s how it is.’

Lance had a sudden realization.

The description of his red Talent, Hevagmir’s Boiling, included an inconspicuous effect: "Abnormal status sensitivity greatly reduced."

’To think that even this "mental pressure" from the brain’s protective mechanism would be judged by the system as a negative abnormal status and mostly nullified. It’s even less severe than being hungry.’

’Cheats really are something else.’

Lance raised his head, met Necros’s scrutinizing gaze, and spoke with a firm tone.

"I think I can handle it completely."

He said this with righteous confidence.

Necros stared intently into Lance’s eyes, trying to find any trace of strain.

But all he saw was composure.

"Good... Good lad."

An uncontainable glint of admiration flashed in the old man’s eyes.

’To withstand the kind of mental pressure that would make an ordinary person collapse, on his very first time activating this Breathing Technique, and purely through willpower...’

’This kid’s willpower is like steel.’

’He’s a natural-born Warrior.’

"Since you’re in good shape, let’s not waste it."

Necros stood up, rediscovering the energy he used to have when teaching new recruits.

"Come with me to the training grounds. Just standing around is useless. You need to move within that frenzied Ether Resonance State and get used to the feeling of losing control after your Power surges."

He wanted to see just where this young man’s limits lay.

The two of them passed through the lounge and arrived at the fully enclosed private training hall at the back.

The walls here were covered with thick, sound-absorbing felt, the floor was paved with hard Obsidian slabs, and various weapon racks were piled in the corners.

"What weapon are you used to?"

Necros asked as he walked over to a weapon rack.

"Short Sword."

Lance answered without hesitation.

"Catch."

Necros casually pulled an unsharpened Refined Steel training Short Sword from the rack. With a flick of his wrist, the Short Sword became a silver streak as he tossed it to Lance.

Lance raised a hand and caught it steadily.

The moment the hilt was in his hand, the familiar feeling put his heart at ease.

He stepped forward with his left foot, lowered his center of gravity, and assumed the opening stance he had practiced thousands upon thousands of times.

Castro Sword Stab.

"Hah!"

Following the low shout, the Short Sword in Lance’s hand shot forward.

The thrust was astonishingly fast, even creating a sharp, crackling sound in the air.

The very instant he thrust.

Lance clearly felt his stamina gushing out of him with this strike, like water from a floodgate being thrown open.

The feeling of being instantly drained was a bit unnerving.

But in the blink of an eye.

With the next breath, his depleted Stamina Bar was instantly refilled as if by a rising tide.

Lance performed a few more thrusts in succession.

At the same time, a small line of text popped up on his retina.

[Castro Swordsmanship Skill Level +1]

Seeing this notification, Lance’s eyes lit up.

Normally, when he practiced this move, he would have to repeat it about thirty times just to squeeze out a single point of Skill Level.

But now, after just a few strikes, his Skill Level had increased by a point?

Did this mean that with the Breathing Technique active, his training efficiency was ten times higher?

’What does that even mean?’

It meant that an hour of practice here was equivalent to several days of painstaking training in the past!

"Again!"

Lance couldn’t suppress the ecstasy in his eyes.

He couldn’t care less about any mental pressure; the Short Sword in his hand became a silver storm, frantically stabbing at the air in front of him.

Once, twice, three times...

Standing to the side, the look of admiration on Necros’s face gradually turned strange.

As the wielder of this Breathing Combat Technique, no one knew better than him just how terrifying its consumption was.

For a novice who was new to it and couldn’t precisely control their Ether, their stamina should have been like water from a punctured skin, completely draining away in a matter of seconds.