The old man led Rayen to an enormous wooden water storage tank, aged and weathered, standing in a clearing far from their home—and even farther from the mountain where Rayen had once gone in search of the divine lily.
"This is your next training," the old man said plainly.
Rayen narrowed his eyes at the tank. "This? You want me to stand here and stare at it?"
"Of course not," the old man replied. Then, after a pause, he asked, "Do you remember the waterfall on that mountain?"
Rayen nodded slowly. He'd bathed in it once—cold, clear, and high up in the cliffs.
The old man stroked his beard, deep in thought—something unreadable flickered in his eyes. Then, with a flick of his hand, he summoned two iron buckets. They dropped to the ground with a heavy clank.
"This is your training," he said. "You'll carry water from that mountain's waterfall using these buckets, and you'll fill this tank to the brim. You have three days to complete it."
Rayen stared at the giant wooden tank, then looked at the iron buckets. His lips twitched. "You're kidding, right?"
The old man didn't even blink. "Do I look like someone who jokes?"
Rayen groaned and rubbed his face. "That mountain is far, and the waterfall is even higher up… how am I supposed to carry two heavy iron buckets full of water, climb up, come back down, then walk all the way here—and do that enough to fill this huge tank?!"
The old man simply adjusted his cane and turned. "That's not my problem. It's yours. This is a test of endurance, discipline, and pain tolerance. You fail, you go back to square one. You succeed, you'll understand the value of every step you take."
Rayen let out a long sigh, muttering under his breath, "More like a test of how close I can get to dying without actually dying."
The old man paused and glanced over his shoulder. "Also, remember—Only use your legs, your will, and your strength. If you want to grow stronger."
Rayen looked at the distant mountain, then at the empty buckets. "This is going to be hell..." But despite his words, he picked them up, one in each hand, and began walking toward the mountain without another complaint.
He reached the base of the mountain and began climbing higher toward the waterfall, the iron buckets swinging heavily in each hand. But the further he went, the more the heat pressed down on him like a suffocating blanket. Sweat clung to his body, and each step felt heavier than the last. His breath grew shallow, and his throat burned with thirst.
Damn this heat… I'm already exhausted, he thought, pausing for a moment to catch his breath. If I'm this worn out just getting there, how the hell am I supposed to carry enough water to fill that entire tank? At this pace, I'll be lucky to fill even half in a week...
He wiped the sweat from his forehead, gritted his teeth, and pushed forward.
The path grew steeper, the rocky ground burning under the glare of the sun. Rayen's muscles ached from the weight of the iron buckets, his hands raw from gripping the rough handles. Each step felt like a punishment, and yet he didn't stop. Not because he wasn't tired—he was—but because he knew turning back would only make it worse.
I've already come this far. Just a little more. Just reach the waterfall…
Birds screeched high above the mountain cliffs, the only sound aside from his own labored breathing. Dust clung to his legs. The heat didn't let up for even a second.
Finally, after what felt like hours, the sound of rushing water reached his ears. The cool roar of the waterfall echoed through the trees. Rayen's eyes lit up, even as his legs threatened to give out.
"There it is..." he whispered, voice dry and hoarse.
He stumbled the last few steps and collapsed at the edge of the pool, splashing water on his face, his arms, his neck. He dipped one of the buckets into the cold stream and watched it fill.
One down… only a thousand more to go.
He began walking down the mountain, but as he moved, his foot slipped on a loose rock. One of the iron buckets swung forward and struck his nose with full force, cracking the bone. The other bucket rolled down the slope. Blood dripped from his nose as he clutched it in pain, eyes tearing up. But even through the sting and dizziness, he pushed himself up and ran after the runaway bucket.
By the time he caught it, all the water had already spilled.
Without a word, he turned back and climbed up again. This time, he filled the buckets with a calm mind—focused, not absent like before. Carefully, step by step, he descended, controlling his breath, keeping his balance.
Eventually, he reached the wooden water storage tank. Climbing up with strained muscles, he poured the water inside. The tank remained almost unchanged—too large, and under the glaring sun, much of the water likely evaporated.
Still, he didn't stop.
He went back, filled the buckets again, returned, and poured them in. Then repeated. Again and again. Time passed. Even as the sun dipped below the horizon, Rayen continued. Even when the stars blanketed the sky, he didn't rest. The old man watched from afar in silence, hidden among the trees.
To ensure his safety, the old man cast a protective barrier around him, one that kept away any mischievous or hostile creatures.
Rayen's eyes were already shut, but his body moved on instinct. His unconscious mind followed the rhythm he had burned into his muscles—the same cycle, again and again.
He's asleep… yet still not resting. His body continues to move just as he commanded it. Such willpower... the old man thought. If it's him, then perhaps... I can teach him both magic and martial arts.
---
Two days had passed since the training began. Rayen hadn't stopped—not during the day, not even at night. He hadn't eaten a single thing and was surviving solely on water.
More than half of the massive water storage tank was already filled. The old man, watching silently, couldn't help but be impressed by Rayen's unshakable will and strength.
---
On the third day, Rayen continued the cycle, pouring everything he had into completing the task. His body screamed to stop, but his spirit refused—he wanted to grow stronger, to cultivate further.
That same day, Vaelion returned to visit the old man, who was still observing Rayen from afar. Arriving at the empty house, Vaelion looked around and muttered, "Where is Sir?"
He closed his eyes, focusing his senses to detect the old man's presence.
He's that far away from home? And with him… that cursed one is there too.
As Vaelion reached closer to the giant water storage tank, someone suddenly dragged him behind the trees. "Who the hell—" he growled, but stopped as he turned and saw the old man.
"Why did you drag me like that, sir?" Vaelion asked, slightly irritated.
"Just watch and wait," the old man replied calmly, then gestured for him to stay hidden.
Vaelion crouched beside him, confused but curious. A few moments later, Rayen came into view—completely exhausted, clothes soaked in sweat, eyes half-open yet determined. Without pausing, he climbed up and poured water into the giant tank, just as he had been doing for the past two days.
Vaelion narrowed his eyes, sensing the shift within Rayen. His elven essence was diminishing, but his life force—was growing, pulsing stronger than ever before.
"You see that?" the old man said quietly, voice filled with something close to pride. "That boy hasn't stopped since the moment I gave the task. He hasn't eaten, hasn't slept properly. Even when his mind gave in to sleep, his body kept moving. He's reshaping his will into pure force."
Vaelion looked at Rayen silently, his jaw clenched, fingers curling into fists. After a moment, he turned to the old man. "Sir… why can't you see it?"
The old man frowned slightly. "What are you talking about? What is it that I'm not seeing?"
Vaelion pointed directly at Rayen. "That cursed boy—you're digging your own grave by helping him grow. Do you even understand what you're cultivating? You think he's just trying to get stronger for survival? No. His intentions—his reasons for cultivating—are different. Dangerous."
The old man's brows furrowed. "And what do you think his intentions are?"
Vaelion's voice dropped into a low, bitter tone. "He's not training to protect… he's training to conquer. I've seen that look in others before—he's not looking for strength to save people. He's looking for strength to control the world that wronged him. If he keeps walking this path, he won't stop until he rewrites it all in his own image."
The old man didn't respond at first. His gaze lingered on Rayen, watching as the boy poured more water, staggered slightly, and turned back toward the mountain again.
The old man smiled faintly, gaze still resting on the distant figure of Rayen. "Tell me, Vaelion—who do you think wronged him? That boy has never seen the world beyond our home and this mountain. Among people, he's only ever known you and me. So, who do you think planted that so-called darkness in him?"
Vaelion opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. The truth in the old man's words silenced him.
The old man continued, his voice calm but firm. "Even if we assume—just for a moment—that he is a transmigrator with a past life, even if he's come here with a desire to conquer… don't you think I would've seen through it? I've lived long enough to recognize the weight behind a person's eyes. I'm old, Vaelion—not blind, and certainly not naïve."
Vaelion lowered his gaze, fists clenched. You're still not seeing it, sir… what might happen if you're wrong. What the consequences could be.
Without saying another word, he turned and stood. "I only came to check if you were doing well," he said flatly. "Now I'm leaving."
The old man didn't stop him. He merely watched as Vaelion took off into the sky, disappearing into the clouds without even a parting glance.
A quiet wind blew through the trees, rustling the leaves around the tank. The old man let out a slow breath, then turned his eyes back to Rayen—still walking, still carrying, still pushing forward without pause.
He narrowed his eyes, the smile fading.
"…Let's hope you're wrong, Vaelion," he muttered under his breath.