The Indomitable Martial King

The relics from the Silver Age were so expensive that ordinary places couldn’t even dream of purchasing them. However, this was the capital of the Chatan Principality, Zeppelin. It was a place teeming with major companies that could readily mobilize thousands of gold coins in cash.

Choosing a major trading house nearby, Repenhardt quickly liquidated his treasures. True to the worn-out merchants they were, they bargained hard, but his opponents stood no chance. He had already sold these items in his previous life and knew their fair price by heart.

With a cheerful heart, Repenhardt left the trading house, carrying a fortune of 2,000 Chatan gold coins. Typically, such amounts would be handled through bank drafts, as 2,000 gold coins weren’t something ordinary people could easily carry. However, Repenhardt chose to take it all in cash. To him, the weight of 2,000 gold coins was nothing; even as a boy, he could lift heavier stones with one hand. Moreover, with the Infinite Bag, there was no issue.

“Ha-ha, this should be enough, right?”

Fiddling with the backpack, Repenhardt grinned broadly. Normally, he wouldn’t liquidate everything into cash, but the average price for a Slayer was about a thousand gold coins. He had converted everything into cash to ensure he had more than enough to save Siris.

Repenhardt quickened his pace. He thought about going straight to Siris, but considering he had a companion waiting, he decided not to make them wait too long and returned to the inn.

As he was just opening the door and entering the room,

“Huh?”

Sillan was doing push-ups on the high-quality thuja wood floor, sweating profusely. The floor was drenched with sweat, indicating he had been at it for a while. Sillan didn’t even stand up; he just nodded his head when Repenhardt entered.

“Are you back? Did you finish your business?”

“… What are you doing?”

“Exercising, obviously.”

Sillan retorted as if it was the most obvious thing in the world and continued focusing on his push-ups with his skinny arms. Repenhardt watched blankly. He had heard about Sillan’s desire to have a more masculine body, but seeing it in person…

‘Goodness, he’s really skinny.’

Understanding why Sillan had become such a muscle fanatic was beyond obvious. Truly, his body was incomparably frail even when compared to his previous life’s self. With slender arms and legs, thin shoulders, and a neck that seemed like it would snap with a mere touch, even without his robe, he looked more like an undernourished girl than a boy. In his past life, Repenhardt was at least a reasonably healthy boy.

‘But he’s surprisingly diligent, isn’t he?’

Repenhardt found himself puzzled.

Muscle growth is something that, to a certain extent, anyone can achieve through effort, regardless of their initial physical condition. Even the weakest individuals can see some results with enough dedication.

However, Repenhardt had assumed that Sillan’s lack of muscle, despite over five years of daily exercise, was because he maybe did a few push-ups and then quit. But witnessing the sweat-soaked floor from Sillan’s current workout session revealed an extraordinary level of effort.

‘Why aren’t the muscles building, then?’

Even a real girl, with this level of training intensity, would normally start to show some muscle definition.

Meanwhile, Sillan continued his workout, flexing his arms rigorously until his whole body trembled as if he was having a seizure. Clearly overworking himself, Repenhardt intervened.

“Hey, overdoing it will have the opposite effect.”

There’s a limit to how much a frail body can handle before it starts to break down. Sillan, struggling to stand, was supported by Repenhardt, who frowned at him.

“Hey, you’re not going to be immobilized for days because of muscle soreness, are you?”

“It’s fine. It won’t hinder our journey.”

Sillan managed a faint smile as he gasped for breath, showing his considerate nature towards his companion. He seemed to have everything figured out.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Sillan’s entire body then shimmered with a pink divine glow, as if a goddess’s blessing was rejuvenating the weary boy. Repenhardt’s eyes widened in astonishment.

“What are you doing now?”

Moments later, Sillan shrugged his shoulders with a refreshed look, making his previous fatigue seem like a lie.

“How about it, aren’t I all refreshed?”

“……”

In an instant, Repenhardt fully understood why, despite all the vigorous exercise, Sillan’s muscles weren’t developing.

“Hey! You idiot! What’s the point of exercising if you’re just going to heal yourself with divine power afterward!”

The healing spells of clerics and the healing magic of mages are fundamentally different.

A wizard’s healing spells, the healing potions made from purified troll’s blood, and the medicinal herbs used by doctors and alchemists all serve to amplify the body’s inherent healing capabilities. In other words, they accelerate the natural healing process that would occur if left alone.

In contrast, the healing spells of priests restore individuals to their original, unharmed state, akin to reversing time itself. Rather than hastening the healing of wounds, priestly healing spells return the individual to a state before they were injured.

‘This means the guy has been doing nothing productive for the last five years?’

Muscles, after being excessively strained and damaged, regenerate to become even larger and more robust. But to restore them to their original state with holy power? That would just revert them to their pre-exercise condition.

If it were possible to train the body with holy power, why would Gym Unbreakable spend a fortune buying healing potions and medicinal herbs to repeatedly treat and detox his disciples? It would be much cheaper to just contract a high-ranking priest for healing.

‘Something did seem off…’

Repenhardt clicked his tongue at Sillan’s ignorance. However, upon reflection, he was likely the only one on the continent who conceptually understood this healing technique of the priests.

Even priests endowed with holy power understood their healing simply as “people being healed by a miracle of God,” without delving into the conceptual underpinnings of their healing.

For wizards, the healing spell itself is a high-level, 7th-circle spell, so there are few who have attained such mastery.

Gym Unbreakable had initially tried healing its disciples with holy spells but abandoned it due to lack of effectiveness, not because they understood the concept and developed a training method based on it.

In his previous life, Ellin, known as a “saint,” demonstrated miraculous healings with her formidable holy power, even restoring severed limbs. Amazed by its power, Repenhardt spent some time trying to replicate the effects of these divine spells with magic, eventually grasping the concept.

‘It’s understandable that Sillan doesn’t know…’

Repenhardt now understood why Sillan didn’t develop muscles or why, at the age of nineteen, he was still as small as a child. It was quite an achievement to grow even that much if he had been doing that daily since he was twelve. Repenhardt briefly considered whether to explain this to him. And then…

‘Ah, let it be.’

After all, it was certain that the practice had uniformly increased his holy power. And what he wanted from Sillan was that powerful holy power, not muscles.

Repenhardt’s expression hardened, prompting Sillan to tilt his head in confusion.

“Why are you looking at me like that? Is something wrong?”

Repenhardt quickly managed his expression and smiled softly.

“Huh? No, I was just a bit surprised because you’re working harder than I thought.”

“Hihihi.”

Sillan laughed happily at the compliment. Feeling a prick of conscience for deceiving him, Repenhardt turned away from Sillan. He couldn’t just leave him be; he decided it was time to intermittently guide him. Just stopping him from healing his body with holy power would bring about a quick change.

‘And his affection would increase, right? Finally, he would start to build some muscle.’

Repenhardt chuckled to himself. A high priest like Sillan had many uses, so becoming friends with him would be beneficial in every way.

“I know a much more effective training method. I’ll teach you later.”

“Really? Thank you!”

Unaware of Repenhardt’s cunning thoughts, Sillan was ecstatic. Once again feeling a pang of guilt, Repenhardt stealthily turned his head away and changed the subject.

“Ah, I’m going to check out the slave auction.”

“Huh? Are you going alone again? I’ll come with you!”

Sillan clung to him, having donned his clerical robe. He had done enough exercise and now wanted to explore the city. Well, this wasn’t something that needed to be done in secret, so there was no reason to oppose. Repenhardt readily agreed.

“Yes, let’s go together.”

Among the slave races, elves were undeniably the most popular. Compared to orcs or dwarves, elves fully met the human standards of beauty, so their appearance alone naturally increased their value, regardless of their abilities.

Humans have always been creatures whose words and actions differ. Even intellectuals who harshly criticize the superficiality of appearance would choose an elf over an orc if asked, “Who would you pick between an elf and an orc?” That’s just how humans are.

So, the price of elf slaves exceeded imagination. The cost of an average orc gladiator, even when the prices of ten were combined, did not match the price of the cheapest young elf boy.

Elves were popular because of their uniquely long lifespans, but this very longevity was also the biggest drawback in commercializing them. An elf’s lifespan is four times that of a human’s, and their growth rate is the same as humans’, making their childhood four times as long. Raising a young elf and waiting for it to become a useful slave with some commercial value could easily take several decades.

A famous joke within the Chatan Principality was about a foolish merchant who thought he could make money by setting up an elf auction house, only to die of old age while still feeding the baby elves with bottles.

Therefore, slave auction houses dealing with elves were mostly those with centuries of tradition.

Elvenheim was a truly venerable elf-specialized slave auction house within the Chatan Principality, boasting 300 years of history and tradition. Naming an auction house that sells elves as slaves after the elves’ paradise, “Elvenheim,” was truly the pinnacle of irony.

However, for the auction house, it was a name given in all seriousness. Elvenheim had a high pride in nurturing the healthiest and best-performing elves, thanks to its long history and tradition of excellence.

While there were nefarious auction houses that would defile elf females and then train them to appear as virgins for sale, Elvenheim always sold prime virgin elves, earning a high reputation for integrity.

With faithful know-how, providing high-level education, meticulously caring for their health, and earnestly producing the finest elf slaves, the traders of Elvenheim took pride in the name “Elves’ Paradise,” believing it was a title well deserved.