Heretic Trainer: The Gym Is My Cultivation Method

Sianor looked down at the man who had spoken. "You’re right. We’re not heroes."

A few people blinked at the blunt answer. The room grew quiet, as if waiting for him to take it back.

Sianor didn’t. He continued, his voice steady. "But don’t misunderstand what we are."

He took a small step forward on the stage, his gaze sweeping across the hall. "We are Grand Factions. We stand at the top of this world."

His fists tightened at his sides. "And because of that, when something threatens this world, we are the ones who should face it first."

He turned his full attention back to the man. "Did you forget that? Or do you think ’Grand Faction’ is just a title?"

The man let out a short snort. "We know what it means. But this world is vast."

He raised one finger, gesturing lightly. "It’s just one demonic faction. You’re overestimating them."

A few murmurs spread through the crowd, some nodding in agreement.

"You said it yourself," the man went on. "We stand at the top of the world. So why should we rush into a war like this?"

He paused, then added more seriously, "And if we fall... what will happen then?"

Sianor didn’t answer right away. He simply looked at the man.

Then he released his aura.

The man’s body stiffened. His legs buckled, and he dropped to his knees with a heavy thud, unable to resist.

A ripple spread across the hall. Several leaders frowned at the same time, their expressions tightening.

"What is this pressure...?" someone whispered under their breath.

Rachel’s eyes widened slightly as her body tensed. The air felt heavier, pressing against her shoulders.

Then, almost instinctively, she turned to look at her daughter.

To her surprise, Giselle only shifted a little in her arms, her small face scrunching for a brief moment before settling again.

Rachel let out a quiet breath. "Thank God... it didn’t affect her much."

Behind her, Floren narrowed his eyes, his usual smile gone. "Sianor... what the hell?"

Clark, standing beside him, also narrowed his eyes. "So he’s reached it already... the Perfection Realm."

Rachel caught that and looked back at Sianor, her gaze sharpening. "So this is the true power of the Perfection Realm."

Even the faint trace of aura left in the air was enough to make her body tense.

Across the hall, the man who had been targeted struggled to stay upright.

His legs trembled, but he forced himself to stand straight.

"Sianor," he said through clenched teeth, "don’t think you can make me kneel so easily."

He drew a slow breath, trying to steady himself, though his fists remained tightly clenched at his sides.

"We are Grand Faction leaders. How dare you look down on me like this?"

Sianor did not respond right away. He simply watched him for a moment, then gave a small nod.

"You’re right," he said calmly. "We are all from Grand Factions. But don’t assume that means we stand on equal ground."

The hall fell silent again.

Sianor’s gaze sharpened as he looked straight at the man.

"I was the one who brought your sect into this circle in the first place. Have you forgotten that?"

The man frowned, a flicker of unease crossing his face.

Sianor continued, his tone even. "If I remember correctly... your name is Hagan. You used to be the vice leader of the Crushing Axe Sect."

Hagan’s expression stiffened. He lifted his chin slightly.

"And now I am the sect leader. After the former leader’s death, I took his place."

Sianor nodded once. "That’s true. But do you know why your sect was recognized as a Grand Faction to begin with?"

Hagan didn’t answer.

"It was because of your previous leader," Sianor went on.

"He was the one who truly qualified for that position. He had the strength, the reputation, and the respect."

A brief pause followed. Sianor’s eyes narrowed slightly.

"Now that he’s gone..." he said, letting the words hang, "do you really believe your sect still deserves that title?"

Hagan’s frown deepened. "No matter what you say, I am still a Grand Faction leader."

Sianor let out a quiet, dismissive snort.

"I told you before," he said. "You are not fit for it. In fact..."

He took a small step forward, his presence pressing down on the room. "I could demote your sect even now."

Hagan’s face tightened, anger flashing in his eyes. "How dare you? Do you think you can say whatever you want just because you’ve reached the Perfection Realm?"

Sianor tilted his head slightly, as if considering the question.

"No," he replied. "Not because of that."

He took another step closer, his voice dropping just a little. "It’s because I’ve always had that authority."

Hagan’s breath caught.

"Even when I was still in the Domain Realm," Sianor continued, "I could have stripped your sect of its status."

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over the hall.

"So now..." Sianor said quietly, meeting Hagan’s eyes, "are you sure you want to make me angry?"

Hagan’s expression tightened.

Then his gaze flicked toward the others around him, as if weighing his next move.

He took a step forward and raised his hand, pointing toward the stage.

"Everyone, look at this," he called out, his voice louder now. "Sianor is misusing his authority."

Several faction leaders turned toward him, their attention shifting.

Hagan drew in a breath and continued, his tone steady but firm.

"He’s pressuring us with his power, and now he’s implying that any faction who refuses to follow him will be removed."

A ripple of unease passed through the crowd.

"Think about it," Hagan went on, sweeping his gaze across them.

"We’re not a top-tier grand faction. Without anyone at the Perfection Realm, we’ll be the first to fall once the war begins."

He lowered his hand slowly, letting his words settle.

"So how can we accept this so easily?" he pressed. "Are we supposed to walk into a war knowing we’ll be the sacrifices?"

A brief silence followed. Then Hagan spoke again, quieter this time, but no less sharp.

"Are we supposed to risk our entire factions... just because Solmira says so?"

This time, the reaction was different.

More leaders hesitated. Some lowered their gaze, their earlier resolve faltering.

"He’s not wrong..."

"If they really have multiple Fourth Realm experts..."

"We’d just be sacrifices..."

The murmurs spread, growing louder with each passing second.

On the stage, Sianor’s brows slowly drew together.

He hadn’t expected Hagan to turn the situation like this.