Training Regimes of the World's Strongest Women

There once were three exceptional women, said to be among the strongest people in all the world.

Their powers were truly beyond compare.

One could blast a mountain to pieces with her fist; another could annihilate tens of thousands of soldiers in a single burst of magic; and the third possessed healing and support abilities so potent that she could perplexingly kill with them.

When these three who could each devastate entire nations on their own came together, they were a walking natural disaster. In some regions, they were even regarded as gods of destruction. With their overwhelming strength, they could achieve nearly anything they desired.

Well, almost anything they desired.

Anything except a man.

Still, they were not only only powerful but also stunningly beautiful in their own way.

The three women belonged to races that had extraordinarily long lives. Their ages, translated into simple human years, came out to about twenty years old.

The three women oddly had next-to-no experience with men, despite having spent most of their lives training and fighting.

The problem was their overwhelming strength.

They wanted partners who were as strong as—if not stronger—than themselves, men who could protect them.

They could have compromised, but none of them were willing to tolerate the other being the first to win at love.

They each desired a man who matched their world-ranked strength and perfectly aligned with their personalities, even knowing that it would be almost impossible to find that kind of man. And so, their equally world-ranked dreams remained unfulfilled.

However, one day, they had an epiphany.

If they couldn't find the perfect man, they could train one themselves!

It seemed like a great idea.

They could instill their ideal combat styles and behaviors into a promising young man, and then "harvest" him once he matured. Training someone from scratch would prevent them from feeling any awkwardness due to their inexperience, and it was definitely more efficient than chasing their potentially nonexistent perfect man.

They wasted no time and began searching right away for potential future husbands—or rather, potential future apprentices.

But the search proved difficult.

Although they found many talented men, they were all too arrogant and overconfident. It made sense for someone unrivaled in their region to be conceited, but to the strongest fighters in the world, they were just small fry show-offs.

They could have reformed such individuals by force, but they had no interest in training brats who were too full of themselves.

Months passed since they started their search for future husbands-in-training.

They had failed to find even a single potential recruit, and their plan rapidly hit a dead end.

So, where should we try next? How about the Ulka Empire?

We're all still wanted there for that time we destroyed their second largest city, remember? We can't just casually look for apprentices there.

Exactly! There'll be plenty of people trying to arrest us, right? Maybe we can beat them up and steal the most promising ones as our apprentices.

One problem, anyone who comes after us would probably be a veteran old man with no room for growth, right?

Ugh, you may have a point.

They struggled not only to find apprentices but even to decide which town or even country to head to next.

That's when they heard the news.

There was a Hero's Descendant enrolling in the most prestigious adventurer's academy in the world, located at the northernmost point of a certain country.

The Hero's Descendants were said to come from the same bloodline of the legendary champion that slayed the all-powerful Demon King that almost annihilated humanity centuries ago. They were keen on preserving their strong lineage to annihilate this terrible monster once and for all when he eventually returned. Hence, heirs traditionally enrolled in the adventurer's academy in the city of Basquerubia, a fortified city said to be sacred ground for adventurers.

The three women were all struck by the same thought.

That's it!

They were resolute.

While the Hero's Descendant was attending the adventurer's academy, young talents from all over the world would gather in the bustling city, making it a microcosm of the world and a showcase for future heroes.

They could either make the Hero's Descendant themself their apprentice or find another promising individual among the young warriors gathered there. It was the ideal environment for finding future husbands-in-training.

Plus, we know the headmaster there.

I'm sure she'll be able to accomodate us.

It's definitely worth a shot, right?

And so, the three headed for Basquerubia at tremendous speed using their own powers, no carriage necessary.

１

There's a scene still burned into my mind.

It was around four years ago.

Back when I, Cross Alacart, was just ten years old.

The village where I was born and raised was attacked by a horde of monsters.

The villagers had taken it upon themselves to raise me after I lost my parents in an accident.

But none of that matters to a monster.

Fields were razed, houses crumbled, and the screams and shouts of villagers rang out all around me.

It felt like it was over. We were all going to be killed. Every last one of us was going to be trampled underfoot by beasts.

Adults with weapons fell one by one, and as the monsters closed in on us, everyone's faces twisted in despair. Then, they appeared.

It happened right in front of me where I pathetically lay. They were like the wind.

A silver sword spun in midair. Silver hair fluttered, shimmering like a finely honed blade.

The one they called the Hero's Descendant, only two years older than my ten-year-old self, swiftly cut down the horde of giant monsters.

The traveling adventurer-in-training and their healer attendant saved the downtrodden people from my village.

Are you hurt?

I just happened to be nearby.

After taking care of all the monsters in the blink of eye, they extended their hand to me.

I felt a deep conviction as I looked up at the person who saved my fellow villagers.

I wanted to become a strong and cool adventurer who could protect people just like them.

It was a fierce and intense admiration. I almost felt like my heart would burst then and there.

I would spare no effort to be just like them.

But unfortunately, the world wasn't that forgiving, and my wishes wouldn't be so easily granted.

＊

The Fortress City of Basquerubia . . .

There were several reasons why this walled-off place was called sacred ground for adventurers.

One reason was its history as a base on the frontlines of the fight against the Demon King.

Another was the Adventurers' Guild, which managed the city's operations in place of the nobility to properly control the monster-infested mana reservoir just to the north, the Abyssal Forest, said to be the former domain of the Demon King.

But the most significant reason Basquerubia was such a sacred ground for adventurers was because it housed the world's best adventurer's academy.

It was the Almeria Royal Adventurer Academy, jointly funded by the Kingdom of Almeria and the Adventurers Guild.

The vast grounds centered around the academy building and Guild headquarters integrated within the city walls offered all sorts of facilities where adventurers could hone their all-important skills.

The faculty was comprised of veterans and heroes who had all made notable achievements in their respective fields, and the city was surrounded by numerous monster territories—ideal for testing the results of one's training.

It was often said that there was no better environment for cutting one's teeth as an adventurer or martial artist, even attracting demi-human adventurers and soldiers from other countries who spent months traveling to the city.

The academy at Basquerubia welcomed almost everyone without discrimination, offering lectures on topics ranging from practical skills to academic studies to elevate the overall standards of adventurers.

Another was the Adventurers' Guild, which managed the city's operations in place of the nobility to properly control the monster-infested mana reservoir just to the north, the Abyssal Forest, said to be the former domain of the Demon King.

However, this academy also operated as an orphanage in cooperation with the Guild, nurturing children and providing education from scratch to those who aspired to become adventurers.

On that day, within its vast grounds, basic combat training that would be useful regardless of the children's future class determination was underway. The air was filled with energetic shouts of the young boys and girls preparing for the serious training and debuts as apprentice adventurers they would make after being assigned their classes.

Amidst the clamor, a cry rang out.

Aaah!

One especially pitiful scream echoed through the hallowed training grounds.

Whose, you ask?

Why, my own, of course.

Squeeeak!

I had just fallen on my butt. In front of me, a horned rabbit was issuing a threatening cry.

They were classified as Danger Level Zero due to their low combat power, and with their high reproduction rate, they were half monster and half domesticated species. Yet their ferocious nature remained intact, making them commonly used in practical training for young students who hadn't yet been assigned a class.

Today was the day of that practical training, and I approached the horned rabbit with determination, only to be knocked down by a body slam. I dropped the short sword that I'd been issued and screamed helplessly as the monster advanced to deliver the final blow.

I waited for the blow.

Take that!

Squeak!

My roommate from the orphanage, a fellow trainee, intervened from the side with a swing of his sword.

He took down the horned rabbit with a single strike.

Oh, s-sorry about that. Thank you.

Now that I was rescued from imminent danger, I got back to my feet.

No worries. I got the experience points from the kill anyway. But Cross, man, losing to a horned rabbit at fourteen?

Ugh!

I sighed in disbelief.

Look, even the nine-year-olds can take down horned rabbits. They're in groups, but still.

Turning around, I could see a group of three or four younger kids surrounding and easily defeating a horned rabbit nearby.

And the reason they fight in a group is so that the rabbit can't scramble away, not because they’d get beaten up like you did.

Ugh.

You know, I hate to say it, but maybe you should go back to mock battles against the younger kids before facing horned rabbits again.

It seemed hard for him to say this to me.

Awww, no way! Crossy is too weak to fight us!

Huh?

The kids' harsh words stung my heart.

He’s level zero! And every single one of his stats is zero too!

Yeah, someone his age would be at least level five without any training!

Even we're already level two!

Crossy even lost to us in an arm-wrestling contest!

Oh, c'mon!

The party of young girls started to ignore their training as they found a new target to mercilessly attack.

Wait, you seriously lost to some nine-year-old girls in arm-wrestling?

My roommate looked at me in wide-eyed surprise.

It's true! Look!

W-wait, whoa!

The young girls charged at me just like a horned rabbit. I was bowled over before I could brace myself, rolling on the ground as laughter echoed all around.

Dude, Cross. Are you serious right now?

You shouldn't hold back just 'cause you're against kids. That’s no excuse!

Maybe you need another five years before fighting a horned rabbit!

You should stick to practicing your swings!

And this was the sorry state of me at the age of fourteen.

The day my village was attacked by that horde of monsters, even though no lives were lost, a change in the concentration of magic in the air had altered the monsters' habitat, forcing us to abandon our homes.

As the villagers dispersed, each seeking refuge under the support of the lord who controlled the land, it became clear I could no longer be raised by the community. The adults advised me to head to Basquerubia which wasn't far from the village.

Later, when I discovered that it was considered sacred ground for adventurers and that I could study adventuring here, I was over the moon. But reality soon set in.

I was the absolute worst at even the most basic training.

I-I'm okay, really! I'll hunt properly next time! Please, let me continue the training!

I pleaded desperately to the people around me.

I was already struggling to raise my level, and missing this valuable practical training in town would only widen the experience gap between me and everyone else. Despite everyone's derision, I kept begging.

But my pleas were casually dismissed.

It's always next time with you! I'm sick of hearing that from you, Pointless Cross.

A beautiful girl with distinct sand-colored hair and tanned skin stepped forward, glaring at me.

A zero-talent nobody like you just gets in the way of our training. Just disappear already.

Giselle String spoke with an innate authority.

At fourteen, the same age as me, this human girl ruled the orphanage with an iron fist.

Her strong leadership stemmed not only from her powerful will but also from her overwhelming talent.

Though she hadn't been granted a class as early as a prodigy might, Giselle had developed her class skills a full six months earlier than usual. This earned her respect from the senior adventurers, not just those graduating from the academy, but also those coming from outside the city.

There were even rumors that she'd been endowed with a unique skill from birth and was secretly participating in quests with older adventurers.

Possibly because of that, she was already at level fifteen.

Unlike us, she didn't wear the standard-issue leather armor, but had acquired her own metal armor. Her weapon was a magnificent bastard sword.

It was said that—despite not having acquired a class yet—she had already managed to defeat some lower-ranked adventurers with classes. She dominated the orphanage with a confidence that was backed up by her abilities. Even her rudeness and roughness was like that of a veteran adventurer.

From the beginning, this iron-fisted leader had despised me for some reason, her animosity growing exponentially over the past six months.

Her interference in my training had become a daily routine.

N-no! Please, Giselle! If I don’t train here, I'll just stay weak and—

And?

My desperate plea was crushed with a single word.

If you can't even beat a single horned rabbit, you'll always be a waste no matter how much you train. You're just taking up space, stealing opportunities and resources from others who could actually make use of them. Get it? Now go back to the dorm and do the rest of our shares of cleaning, Pointless Cross.

Thump. Thud.

She shoved me, sending me stumbling back towards the entrance of the training area.

Hey, Giselle. Don't you think that's going a little bit too far?

Her follower was half-chuckling, but no one seriously attempted to stop her tyranny.

Even the teacher watching over us agreed with her.

In the rough life of adventuring, dealing with unfairness is part of the training.

There'd be no help for me, as usual.

As long as Giselle ruled these training grounds, I didn't really belong here.

Tchah, why do you even want to be a heroic adventurer anyway? Just looking at you pisses me off. Refusing to face reality like that is just plain stupid.

Whatever.

With Giselle's scornful voice behind me, I had no choice but to trudge away from the training ground alone.

２

Damn it! Argh! Damn, damn!

Later that night, after lectures were finished and I was finally done with the chores Giselle had dumped on me.

Alone in the deserted training ground, I carried out my daily practice routine.

Fueled by frustration, I slashed at a wooden dummy wrapped in metal sheets with my blunt training short sword.

My frustration wasn't so much about Giselle's animosity but rather my own inability to improve no matter how hard I tried.

Why can't I level up even just once?

Levels were a metric that concretely quantified an individual's strength.

The strength at the core of one's soul could be enhanced by absorbing a component called magical essence produced from the souls of defeated monsters. This was known as leveling up.

But as the younger kids mentioned, even without earning this magical essence, which everyone also called "experience," one's level would normally increase simply with age, at least until around five or six.

At least, that's how it was supposed to work.

Ouch!

It was probably more due to my own frailty than the reckless way I was swinging the sword.

A blister on my palm burst open and started bleeding.

I was drenched in sweat, so I decided it was time to take a break.

Check Status.

With nothing else to do, I gazed at the status plate I always carried in my pocket.

This plate, a forgery-proof identification card, was given by the church on one's fifth birthday. It listed your species, name, level, status, skills, and other vital personal information.

These were sacred items that could not be viewed by others without the owner's permission. Adventurers used them to check whether their daily training was on track and to gauge what level of monsters they could handle based on the strength values displayed.

I followed their example and checked mine daily, not that it did much good.

Name: Cross Alacart Species: Human Age: 14

Class: Undetermined

Level: 0

Attack: 0 Defense: 0 Magic Resistance: 0 Speed: 0

(Magic Attack: 0 Fusion Attack: 0 Mana: 0 Dexterity: 0)

Skills: None

As usual, the values displayed were all zeros.

Those zeroes meant that despite all my hard work, I hadn't achieved any soul enhancements. All I had was the normal (and even that was debatable) physical strength I had been born with.

No wonder I was losing arm-wrestling contests to nine-year-old girls.

Fields like attack magic showed zero because everyone was zero in those until they received a class, but having zeroes in all other categories really set me apart as a total underachiever.

In the beginning, I had still been hopeful.

Maybe I'm just a late bloomer.

I didn't worry too much about it, but as the younger kids said, being like this at fourteen was especially embarrassing.

I was undergoing the same training and eating the same food as everyone else, so why wasn't I making progress?

No talent, no aptitude, no prospects.

These words haunted my mind, and in the middle of the night, I was wound up almost at the point of tears.

No, it's still too early to give up. If I can just receive a class, I'll get at least one skill, and with one skill, I can find the right direction for my efforts. If I can enhance that skill and start defeating monsters, my level will rise too. Then, we'll see who's Pointless Cross!

I muttered to myself, trying to pull myself together.

A class was a type of aptitude granted by the authorities to all fourteen-year-olds during the annual Harvest Festival which was a celebration of new beginnings for plants and people alike.

After receiving a class, the form of one's soul was determined. This made it easier to improve your status according to that class and enabled the acquisition of special abilities known as skills.

Skills were at the heart of all culture and power in the world.

Combat, espionage, healing, crafting—all sorts of techniques and supernatural abilities existed as skills, and it was because of these that the various races could thrive. Leveling up skills could even allow people to defeat dragons.

Except for extremely rare cases like Giselle's, skills couldn't be acquired without being granted a class.

The skills that could be learned for each class were fixed, and what each class could do was strictly determined.

Therefore, in this world, what class one received and how far they could develop it was of utmost importance.

This year's Harvest Festival was just a week away.

In a week's time, I'd be assigned a class—hopefully—and that class would shape my future.

Yeah, yeah. Once I'm granted a class, I'm sure things will work out. Maybe I'll even receive an amazing one and be able to become someone important from there.

The truth was that everyone started at the bottom with a lower class and gradually upgraded to intermediate and advanced classes through leveling up and skill training.

In any case, it was still too early to despair.

The number of skills that manifested at one's class assignment was said to measure how much aptitude they had for that class. And this skill count was somewhat reflective of the effort they put in from a young age. So the work I was putting in now surely wouldn't be in vain.

All right! Break's over! Time to get out of this slump!

I slapped my cheeks to motivate myself and began my long-distance run on a course that mimicked the rough terrain of a forest.

３

A week later . . .

Basquerubia was buzzing and bustling in preparation for the Harvest Festival.

The city's festival was always a major event due to its large population, but this year, the crowd looked like it would be the largest ever.

Humans, elves, dwarves, dragonewts, and all sorts of other therianthropes filled the main street. There were also many who looked human but were likely half-foots or vampires. The streets had been swelling with crowds for the last two weeks, attracting everyone from high society to veteran adventurers. There was an infectious air of anticipation in all the festival goers.

Over the past few months, this anticipation had started as a rumor and grown into an actual possibility.

It was whispered that a Hero's Descendant was enrolling in the Almeria Royal Adventurer Academy this term in search of a suitable companion, and they might arrive in time for the festival.

I still can't believe that the person who saved my village is coming to this city.

And it was true, they was coming.

Even I couldn't help but catch the feeling of excitement and anticipation, whether it was from the arrival of the Hero's Descendent or the thought that I'd soon get my class.

For whole minutes at a time, I forgot my troubles with my steps growing lighter as I made my way through the crowd.

I stayed with the group from my orphanage as we made our way through the streets to the venue where the class-granting ceremony would be held.

The ceremony took place in one of Basquerubia’s largest amphitheaters.

My orphanage group stood alongside the rest of the city's fourteen-year olds, all of us crammed together haphazardly on the dirt-covered stage. The spectator seats were so full that people had to stand in the aisles.

The class granting ceremony attracted many spectators every year.

City folk and adventurers came en masse, eager to scout promising adventurers and mark potential apprentices for their crafts.

However, the number of spectators wasn't usually this vast; at most, it would be several thousand. Filling the amphitheater to capacity was something unheard of.

In fact, the ceremony was usually held at the square in front of the church's courtyard. It was unprecedented to need such a large venue for the ceremony, and I had certainly never seen nobles among the spectators before.

My earlier sense of excitement began to fade.

The sheer number of people watching us on the stage made my stomach sink.

We're seriously just extras here. What's the point of having the ceremony here?

While I was feeling overwhelmed by the crowd, other orphans were voicing their own discontent.

Ladies and gentlemen, please quiet down.

A sound mage's voice amplified by a skill echoed throughout the amphitheater.

I'd like to begin the Harvest Festival class-granting ceremony. Before we proceed, I wish to invite Sariela Cookjaw, the headmaster of Almeria Royal Adventurer Academy, to the stage for her opening remarks.

As the sound mage made his announcement, a woman ascended the broad stage that had been hewn out of solid rock, stepping elegantly without kicking up any of the dirt or dust that covered all our boots.

She was a human woman cloaked in a robe, maintaining a beauty and youth that belied her late thirties.

It was none other than Sariela Cookjaw, the renowned head of Almeria Royal Adventurer Academy.

She was one of the few A-Rank adventurers in the famous continent-spanning Kingdom of Almeria, and the de facto lord of Basquerubia.

Sariela ascended the platform with a composed demeanor, and a sound mage activated his skill as she began to speak.

I am Sariela Cookjaw, headmaster of the Almeria Royal Adventurer Academy. I am delighted to see so many promising young people blessed by the heavens this year. The class you are about to receive may or may not be what you hope for, but remember, it is a guide given by the heavens to ensure we do not misjudge our aptitudes and waste our efforts. Whatever class you receive, it will be the stepping stone that is the bridge you will cross into your future.

The headmaster spoke with a serene—yet commanding—voice.

In any other year, she would deliver a full speech, but today something was different.

I'm sure you're all terribly disappointed that I won't be giving my usual full speech, but as you all know, this year's circumstances are unique.

She scanned the packed audience.

Let's get right to the point, then. It is my honor to introduce this year's honored guest, the Hero's Descendant, Elicia Rafagallion.

Whoa!

At that moment, I felt as if time around me had come to a standstill.

Clack, clack.

Slowly making her way through the aisle of the amphitheater and ascending the stage was a swordmaster with beautiful, fluttering silver hair, clad in light armor plates. She took her place center-stage, beside the sound mage.

I'm sure I was looking up at her with a goofy expression.

But I couldn't help it.

After all, the girl I had admired for the past four years had only grown even more beautiful, and she was standing right in front of me.

My name is Elicia Rafagallion. It's my greatest honor to introduce myself and address you all here today.

The moment Elicia announced herself, her voice as clear and light as a bell's chime, the previously silent arena began to buzz with excitement, in large part due to the surprise of her gender.

Who's that stunning beauty? Wait, the Hero's Descendant is a girl?

What, you didn't know?

Well, no. I guess I just had this preconceived notion that heroes tended to be men.

Apparently, quite a few people, from the orphans to the adventurers in the stands, were surprised to learn that the Hero's Descendant was a girl.

Elicia continued her speech.

Can such a cute girl really be a Hero's Descendant?

Voices began to rise.

Surprise turned to outrage.

Ha! Like a little girl could ever carry on the lineage of such a hero!

A menacing man with a broadsword jumped down from the stands and leapt onto the stage.

The arena was wrapped in a tense atmosphere as the bully brandished his sword threateningly, but it was only for a moment.

The bully's acting was comically wooden, and more importantly, he was an advanced fencing teacher well known to any student.

In other words, this was a demonstration of strength aimed at those who underestimated Elicia based on her appearance and gender.

As if confirming this notion, the teacher dramatically shattered a giant boulder with his broadsword, blatantly emphasizing his strength and the authenticity of his weapon as he approached her.

He then swung the massive sword at her with terrifying speed and force.

Huh?

Hey, wait, what?

A stunned sound escaped my lips, and screams erupted from the stands.

Elicia didn't try to dodge or follow through with the blow, nor did she even make a move to draw her own sword; she just stood there, seemingly lost in thought.

In an instant, before anyone could stop the blade, it struck her right in her beautiful face.

But contrary to everyone's expectations, she looked none the worse for wear.

The moment the blade touched Elicia's face, it broke. No, it didn't just break slightly, but was shattered into evenly sized square fragments about the size of a pinky finger.

The only sounds in the arena were the clanging of metal shards falling to the ground and the scraping of a sword being sheathed.

After that, the whole arena fell silent. It was as if time really had stopped.

It had taken a few second for people to realize what they had actually witnessed: Elicia had drawn her sword with inhuman speed and blocked the blow with such strength that the broadsword had literally shattered. Now, the crowd erupted in explosive cheers.

Incredible! She really is from a heroic bloodline, and she's already the highest class of swordmaster at the age of sixteen!

The highest class? So she’s an A-Rank adventurer at sixteen, the same class as Sariela Cookjaw?

Seriously? I heard even the most talented adventurers can take decades to reach that from their class awarding!

Yeah, but I heard this generation’s hero was granted her class at only five.

That early? Not even a decade to reach the highest class—that’s basically unheard of for humans. But after seeing that superhuman feat, there’s no room for doubt.

Stunned voices, admiration, awe—Elicia continued her speech unfazed as the crowd's excitement only grew.

Incredible! If I make a name for myself in this city, I could become the companion of someone strong and cute like her, right?

I need to start training!

Tchah! Stupid boys. She's only going to choose a noble youth of gentle disposition or someone with a powerful lineage, unless she finds a particularly monstrous solo adventurer who's a better choice. Don't you know anything about tradition?

Giselle scoffed derisively at the giddy orphans and male adventurers watching from the stands.

The din of praise and yearning in the arena only continued to grow.

Amazing! Elicia really is incredible!

But I couldn't hear any of the noise around me.

While there was something about her speech as though she was reciting a script by rote, I definitely wasn't thinking about little details like that in the moment.

I gazed up at her, slack-jawed and spellbound, as if she were a treasured sword gleaming in the light.

Like stars twinkling in the sky, she seemed like the distant girl of my dreams.

I couldn't help but be filled with longing to receive a class and become just like her.