Heretic Trainer: The Gym Is My Cultivation Method

Sianor fell silent. For a moment, he had no idea how to refute the argument.

From the crowd, Dahlia let out a quiet snort. "Tch... that bastard really put him in a corner."

Behind Rachel, Arden stepped closer, lowering his voice.

"Elder Rachel, why don’t you raise your hand and say something? It might help Sir Sianor."

Rachel kept her gaze forward.

"If I could, I would," she said softly. "But I don’t know what to say."

Arden adjusted his glasses, thinking quickly.

"Just tell them to change the angle," he murmured. "Like this..."

He gestured subtly with his hand, outlining the idea.

Rachel stayed quiet for a second, listening. A small smile formed on her lips. "I see..."

Then, without hesitation, she raised her hand. "If that’s the case... may I offer an opinion?"

The room paused.

Heads turned toward her, one after another.

The murmurs faded into silence as people tried to make sense of what they were seeing.

A woman. And not just any woman; she was carrying a baby.

Here, in the middle of a meeting of grand leaders.

On the stage, Sianor’s gaze shifted to her. He had known Rachel was present, but when he actually saw her now...

He froze.

Who is that?

His thoughts stumbled for a second. Is that... her baby? For a brief moment, the question lingered, but he forced it aside. This was not the time.

He straightened and gave a small nod in her direction.

"Please," he said, steady but firm. "What is your opinion, Miss Rachel?"

Rachel smiled, calm and composed.

She took a step forward, letting her gaze pass over the room.

"If some of you are afraid to go to war..." she began, her voice clear, "then don’t."

Sianor and the others exchanged confused looks. A few frowned, unsure if they had heard her correctly.

But before anyone could speak, Rachel continued. "In most wars, not everyone fights on the battlefield."

She shifted her stance, folding one arm lightly across her waist.

"If you cannot contribute with strength... then contribute in another way."

A few leaders narrowed their eyes. One of them leaned forward slightly. "...Another way?"

Rachel nodded once. "Yes. For those who choose not to participate in the war, you can support us financially."

A murmur spread across the room. Some leaders visibly relaxed, shoulders lowering as they glanced at each other.

"...That makes sense," one of them admitted under his breath.

Rachel let the silence settle for a moment.

Then, with the same calm tone, she added, "In that case, how about contributing... seventy-five percent of your total wealth?"

The room froze.

"What the hell is she saying...?" someone whispered.

"Seventy-five percent?"

The tension snapped back instantly. Several leaders stiffened, their earlier relief gone.

Hagan’s expression darkened at once. He leaned forward, eyes sharp. "Woman... don’t you think that’s a bit too much?"

Rachel looked at him and smiled faintly, completely unbothered.

"Of course it is," she said without hesitation. "This is a war against the Black Chimera."

She tilted her head slightly, watching his reaction. "You said it yourself. It’s dangerous. If you go, you might die."

She gave a small shrug, as if the conclusion were obvious. "So... seventy-five percent doesn’t seem like such a high price, does it?"

No one answered.

Several leaders went quiet, their faces tense as they weighed her words.

Rachel continued, her voice steady. "You are all grand factions. You have resources, influence, and networks."

She glanced around the room, meeting their eyes one by one. "You can recover your wealth later... can’t you?"

A few shifted uncomfortably but said nothing.

Rachel then turned back to Sianor. "That’s my opinion."

Sianor looked at her for a moment, then smiled, clearly impressed. "Indeed... that’s a very good solution, Miss Rachel."

He turned his gaze back to Hagan and the others, his expression sharpening.

"So, choose."

The room fell silent again.

"Give seventy-five percent of your wealth... or join the battlefield."

He paused, letting the weight of the choice sink in.

Then he added, almost casually, "Or better yet... give up your grand faction status."

Hagan’s face tightened as he stared at Sianor.

Then he turned sharply to Rachel and pointed at her. "What about you, then? You’re the one who proposed it first."

He stepped forward, boots echoing against the floor. "What will you choose?"

Rachel didn’t hesitate. She let out a short breath and smirked. "Me? Of course I’m going to war."

She folded her arms, chin lifting slightly. "I’m not weak. And I’m not a coward like you."

For a split second, the hall fell completely silent.

Hagan’s expression darkened at once. His eyes narrowed. "You dare... to say that to me?"

His gaze shifted, dropping briefly to Giselle.

"You’re a woman... carrying a baby..." he said slowly, almost scoffing. "And you think you’re strong enough to stand in this?"

Rachel’s smile didn’t fade. If anything, it sharpened.

"Of course I dare," she replied. "I’m not a coward like you."

She took a small step forward, meeting his gaze without flinching.

"And now the question remains... what are you going to choose, Hagan?"

Hagan’s jaw tightened. His fingers curled at his sides before he forced them still.

"Sianor," he said at last, voice low, "I’ll think about it."

On the stage, Sianor gave a calm nod.

"Of course. Take your time," he said evenly. "I’ll give you until tonight."

He paused, scanning the room. "Think about it carefully."

Hagan didn’t respond. His expression stayed tense, unreadable. "...Tch."

The quiet sound broke the stillness.

Around the hall, a few other leaders who had hesitated earlier exchanged uneasy looks.

One by one, they turned and began to leave, following Hagan.

Rachel watched them go without saying anything.

On the stage, Sianor didn’t stop them.

He simply watched and then turned to the one who remained. "And the rest of you? Have you made your decision?"

The remaining leaders didn’t look at each other this time.

They already knew what to answer. "We will join the war."

The ones who remained had at least one perfection realm cultivator in their faction, so even if they died, their legacy still lived on.

It’s better than paying seventy-five percent of their sect’s wealth.

Sianor smiled, nodding. "Good. Then it’s decided... Prepare yourselves. War will begin soon."