The World Is Mine For The Taking-Chapter 1085: Epilogue 20 - The Heroes From Another World (4)

Training later that day felt different in a way I couldn’t quite put into words at first.

It wasn’t just my muscles being stiff or my arms feeling heavier from earlier exercises. No—something deeper was shifting. Mentally, something had snapped awake inside me. There was this strange heat simmering under my skin, like every emotion I went through that morning had been dumped into a furnace somewhere in my core. It wasn’t painful, but it burned enough to keep me sharp. Focused. Hungry. Like some hidden drive had been switched on, waiting for this moment to push me forward whether I liked it or not.

"It seems your potential has increased," my instructor said as we sparred. His tone wasn’t surprised, more like he’d been expecting it for a while and was just waiting for me to notice the change myself.

He was a middle-aged magic knight—though honestly, calling him "middle-aged" felt like an understatement. The man had gray hair tied back tightly, scars littered across his arms and one slicing diagonally across his cheek. His posture alone could put a nobleman to shame—straight, rigid, disciplined to the point that it made you question every sloppy life choice you’d ever made. One look and you’d know he wasn’t just someone who fought battles—he lived them.

Magic knights weren’t just your average knights swinging swords for the glory of some banner. They were the elites. The backbone. The kingdom’s quiet monsters who never needed recognition because their work spoke for them. They didn’t rely on flashy spells or traditional styles. Instead, they trained their bodies and magic until both could naturally fuse into something terrifyingly efficient. Warriors built on discipline and raw talent honed over decades.

And somehow this man—this titan who looked like he’d fought armies—still showed up every day just to teach someone like me.

He looked well over sixty, maybe even older when the sunlight hit his wrinkles just right, but every time he swung his arm, the air literally shifted. I felt the pressure of every strike against my skin before his wooden training sword even reached me. Each blow carried so much weight that my body was practically begging me to just fall over, roll aside, and surrender for a break. But somehow—maybe because that strange fire inside me wouldn’t shut up—I stayed on my feet. My legs trembled, yet they held. My breathing stuttered, yet it steadied again.

Somewhere along the way, my stamina had changed.

Not double.

More like triple.

I didn’t get it. I didn’t understand the how or the why, but I could feel everything in my body responding differently—stronger, faster. I could move again even when my muscles screamed. I could recover in seconds instead of minutes. The burn inside me wasn’t dragging me down—it was pushing me harder without letting me crumble.

"I see that your potential is quite high," he said, and this time he gave a smile—one of those rare, genuine ones that stretched gently across his weathered features. "I think you’re going to get stronger soon."

Coming from anyone else, that would’ve been empty encouragement. But coming from him? That was huge. The kind of praise you’d bottle up if you could. And weirdly... I appreciated it more than I ever expected.

"Thank you, Sir," I said, a bit out of breath.

"You don’t have to thank me. It’s only natural. It’s my job, after all." He chuckled lightly, the kind of laugh that carried a hint of warmth. And for a moment, I caught a glimpse of something familiar in him—an aura that felt like my grandfather’s. That same mixture of strict discipline and quiet care.

He was the only person taking care of me here. The closest thing I had to a family in this place. The only person who looked out for me not because he had to, but because he genuinely wanted to. And that was the reason I was fighting. To come back to him. To make sure the old man didn’t end up worrying himself sick wondering whether I’d return alive or not.

I hated the idea of worrying him. I hated the idea of him waiting and not seeing me walk back through that door. Which was why... I promised myself I’d come back. No matter what.

"Well," he said suddenly, wiping sweat from his face with a towel, "considering how fast you’re growing, I think it’s only natural for me to hand you off to someone younger and more capable. I don’t think someone like me is enough to be your instructor anymore. You should be under someone stronger."

He smiled again, gentle but firm.

"Huh? But..." I blurted out before I even realized it.

Something twisted in my chest. I shouldn’t say anything. I knew I shouldn’t. This was obviously him trying to give me the best path forward. A chance to grow even faster. A chance to become someone stronger. Someone capable.

But at the same time... if I didn’t speak up right now, it felt like I’d lose something precious. Like this part of my journey with him would suddenly just... end.

He probably could already tell I wanted to go home soon. That I was pushing myself so hard because I didn’t want to waste a second. He must’ve seen it in my training, in how I kept going even when I was exhausted.

"You don’t have to worry," he said before I could speak again. "I’ll still be involved with your teachings. I just won’t handle your physical training."

"I see..." I breathed out.

That eased something inside me. As long as I could still see him, still learn from him, still hear his voice correcting me or scolding me or guiding me—I wouldn’t complain.

"I learned a lot from you," I said, and this time I bowed, bending in a perfect ninety-degree angle. "I’m grateful for everything you taught me. The strength I have now, and all of the things I’ve learned... I owe them to you. So really—thank you."