Hardcore Exorcist: Reborn to Grind

Ten Months Since Boot Camp Initiation

* * *

With my days consumed by training, the time I can dedicate to working out has decreased.

My physical size is more streamlined compared to the mental image I had of focusing solely on muscle building.

What I can infer from this is that in my second life, I probably won’t get as huge as I was in my previous one.

That’s a bit disappointing. Getting big is fun, after all.

But hey, I made an interesting discovery.

My strength output itself is exactly what I expected.

Size fell short of expectations, but power met them perfectly.

My body probably made a judgment call through all the combat training, obstacle courses, running, and other intense drills. “Wouldn’t being huge just get in the way?”

This led to optimization—my muscles have been downsized while maintaining their functional capacity.

The human body is mysterious indeed. Fascinating stuff.

It’s been a while since we started our regulated dormitory life.

Now I feel like my fellow trainees are practically brothers.

Lady Ayano occasionally graces the morning shooting range with her presence. 

When she’s there, I help instruct her.

Sure, there’s the calculated benefit of getting to shoot to my heart’s content during her practice sessions… but more than that, it’s an act of loyalty to my master.

I feel tremendous gratitude toward the Akai family.

Once I complete Boot Camp and my career path goes smoothly, Lady Ayano is scheduled to become the master I’ll serve. It’s not a bad idea to show her I’m loyal starting now.

Lately, what concerns me is that Lady Ayano has stopped coming to the shooting range, even though these spring days are perfect shooting weather.

“Instructor Kisame. Has Lady Ayano grown tired of marksmanship?”

“Who knows. That’s not my concern. She’s probably busy. Lady Ayano is a born Mage. Magical knowledge runs wide and deep. Mastering all that is no easy task.”

I had hopes that maybe she’d take a greater liking to me and keep me under her wing.

But reality doesn’t work out so conveniently.

* * *

One Year Since Boot Camp Initiation

* * *

The season is rainy.

It’s a morning of pouring rain and overcast clouds.

After putting on a raincoat and running laps around the estate perimeter, I dive into my morning workout, have my protein, eat breakfast in the dormitory cafeteria, then head to training with my fellow trainees.

Today we come to the Training Complex. The building mainly used for classroom instruction.

When we gather in the infirmary, Instructor Kisame soon arrives.

Men in black suits and white coats also enter with him.

Tension fills the room.

Today, we of the 102nd Cohort advance to the advanced training curriculum.

“Henceforth, we commence adaptation to the Blood of Miracles—Ichor.”

We lie down on beds arranged in the infirmary, silently accepting as the white-coated personnel insert tubes into our arms. Vivid red blood flows from the transfusion packs.

“This is boring. Can I do push-ups?”

“No. Lie still.”

I get scolded.

“I-Ikaku...”

A voice from the boy next to me.

I glance over to see him looking at me with teary eyes.

Hachiue, one of my fellow trainees. A brave kid who entered Boot Camp at age ten. 

At the orphanage, he often helped the Sisters tend their flower beds, so apparently that’s how he got the name Hachiue (Potted Plant).

“What’s wrong, fellow bearer of the same naming sense as me?”

“You’re the same as always, man. That’s incredible...”

“You think so?”

“I’m so scared I can barely stand it...”

“It’ll be okay. No point worrying about it, right?”

Hachiue presses his chest and takes deep breaths. “Yeah, you’re right. If we don’t do this, we’re dead either way.”

“When there’s only one path, there’s no need to hesitate.”

“...Thanks, Ikaku.”

The 20-some of us who finish the transfusion are moved to separate rooms.

Underground chambers—or perhaps calling them underground cells would be more appropriate. Thick steel doors line both sides of a stark concrete corridor, and we each enter our respective rooms.

Inside each room are a bed and toilet. I feel completely like a prisoner.

On the clean white sheets sit three boxed meals.

Clang.

The observation window in the thick steel door opens.

Instructor Kisame peers in at me.

“Instructor. I was warned not to do high-intensity strength training, but what level of intensity would be permissible?”

“Same as always, I see. Don’t work out. There’s no precedent for someone pushing themselves to the point of unconsciousness during adaptation. Who knows what unexpected adverse effects that might have. If you value your life, do nothing and take it easy.”

“Roger that.”

I place the backpack I brought from the dormitory at the foot of the bed and pull out my dumbbells, arranging them neatly.

“That doesn’t look like the actions of someone who really understands.”

“It’s fine. I won’t grind till I black out.”

“Haah... Whatever. Do what you want. I’ve got a feeling you’ll be okay somehow. Ah, that’s purely intuition, though. See you later.”

The observation window closes, and footsteps fade away.

I lie down on the bed and close my eyes.

I mentally rehearse what I know about the greatest trial of the advanced training curriculum.

The magical substance called Ichor… Successfully adapting to it grants benefits like increased strength, improved vision, faster reaction speed, and enhanced sensory organs.

But these are more like bonuses.

The greatest benefit is that ordinary people can gain mana. And I mean ordinary as in no magical lineage, no refined bloodline.

It really is a miracle. Truly something worthy of being called divine power.

For powerless people like yours truly, it’s virtually the only way to stand against Demons. We can’t become Exorcists without it.

But during adaptation, we face trials.

This is because the cursed marks and Ichor repel each other.

The curse carved by Demons versus divine power—this “internal conflict” sometimes brings death during adaptation.

If you can quickly adapt to the divine power and suppress the curse, supposedly there’s no problem… but according to Instructor Kisame, with 20 people, there’s a possibility that one or two might fail.

The key to overcoming the ordeal is maintaining mental stability. Anxiety, fear, agitation, and impatience all strengthen demonic power.

“...Guess I’ll work out.”

Thirty seconds after closing my eyes, I have dumbbells in hand.

I deliberately saved arm day for this. I also prepared a routine I can complete with just dumbbells.

“Kiiiaaah! Guaaaah! Aaaahhh!”

I push my biceps to failure. Screaming to exert maximum effort is unavoidable.

“You okay, Ikaku?!”

The observation window in the steel door snaps open.

“Oh, Instructor, I’m fine. Just maxing out. Look at this pump, this tension—”

“...I’m confiscating the dumbbells.”

My dumbbells are taken away.

He didn’t need to get that angry about it.

So I prop the bed against the wall. This way I can grip the frame and do reverse chin-ups.

I push my biceps to failure like this.

Having to suppress my voice so the instructor won’t catch me is a new brutal experience. Maybe I’ll call it underground training.

After thoroughly maxing out, I pass out and have an out-of-body experience as usual.

Lately, I’ve gotten pretty good at moving around freely during these experiences, so I phase through walls to peek into the neighboring room and the one next to that.

Everyone’s clutching their rosaries and praying.

Was I the only one working out?

“Alrighty then. Returning to the physical body.”

I have my protein, eat my boxed meal, and lie down on the bed.

Maybe I should follow everyone’s example, clutch my rosary, pray, and spend my time peacefully.

“Ave Maria, Ave Maria, please help me overcome this ordeal.”

Before I know it, I’m in a dark space.

When I step forward, there’s a splashing sound.

I look down. I’m submerged up to my ankles in red water.

No, this isn’t water.

The overwhelming stench—it’s blood.

“What is this place?”

Warm wind blows from behind me.

I turn around. A gust slicks my hair back.

Very close, about three meters away.

A monstrous heap of flesh sprawls across the ground.

Its elongated, bestial head is ragged with wounds, wet eyeballs bubbling up from the gashes. The massive thing drags itself through a pool of blood, inching closer.

“You’re disgusting.”

I kick the monstrosity in the nose.

The creature writhes and hastily retreats.

When I come to, I’m on the bed.

“...A dream?”

I check the clock. Twenty-four hours have passed.

Someone knocks on the steel door.

“Yes, Ikaku’s right here. I’m doing fine.”

The observation window slides open.

“Hmm. You seem to be in good condition. I’ll ask you a few questions. This is to verify you can respond normally.”

“Yes sir.”

“Strength training is—”

“Done until I pass out.”

“Eating is—”

“Until I puke.”

“Running is—”

“Until I collapse.”

“Very good. You’re normally insane. Come out.”

I pack my things and go to the infirmary.

My fellow trainees gradually arrive.

Finally, Instructor Kisame and the men in white coats come.

“Um, Instructor, what happened to Hachiue?” someone asks anxiously.

Instructor Kisame puts a hand to his chin, pausing.

Then he announces impassively: “Hachiue failed adaptation.”

Cold silence strikes, like being doused with ice water.

No one speaks. Everyone understands.

“B-but Instructor, surely there’s some mistake—”

“There’s no mistake. Like I said, one life ended here. Truly unfortunate. That kid had the guts to enter Boot Camp at ten. Despite his age, he faced his fate head-on. We’ve lost a promising one.

…We’ll now conduct an additional 24-hour observation period. Don’t leave the infirmary without permission. After that, we’ll perform magical affinity classification. Rest well, lads.”

Instructor Kisame leaves quickly, as if eager to escape the place.

The infirmary fills with melancholy.