Heretic Trainer: The Gym Is My Cultivation Method

Sianor didn’t know how to answer.

He stood still for a moment, his brow tightening as the silence in the hall stretched. A few leaders shifted in their seats, waiting.

Sorien stepped forward at last. "Sovereign Sianor... accept it."

Sianor blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

His eyes narrowed as he turned toward Sorien. "What do you mean by that?"

He lifted a hand and pointed sharply at Pelion. "They’re a demonic faction. They cannot be trusted."

Sorien didn’t step back. He met Sianor’s gaze calmly. "I know. But this isn’t about trust."

Sianor frowned deeper, clearly irritated. "Then what is it about?"

Before Sorien could answer, Arden stepped forward as well. "It’s exactly because they can’t be trusted that we should accept."

Sianor’s gaze shifted to him. "Explain."

Arden gave a small nod. "If they break their word... then they prove they’re unfit to stand as a Grand Faction."

He paused, letting the words settle. A faint murmur rippled through the hall.

"And once that happens," Arden continued, his voice steady, "we won’t just have a reason to destroy them. We’ll have the right."

Several leaders straightened at that, their expressions sharpening.

Arden glanced briefly at Pelion before going on. "And the moment this begins... we’ll also learn something else."

Sianor’s eyes flickered. "What?"

Arden’s lips curved slightly. "That we’re stronger than them."

Pelion smiled faintly, as if amused.

Arden didn’t stop. "If they believed they could win easily, they wouldn’t propose a tournament."

This time, Sianor didn’t respond immediately. His fingers tapped once against his armrest.

Pelion spoke again, his tone light. "What he said is correct."

Sianor’s eyes snapped back to him.

Pelion’s smile widened just a little. "We won’t take back our words, even if we lose."

Sianor let out a short, sharp snort. "You expect us to believe that?"

Pelion tilted his head slightly. "Believe it or not... that’s your choice. I’ve already said what I came to say."

He paused, then added more quietly, "But with this tournament... there won’t be a massive war. Ordinary people won’t have to die."

That made several leaders pause. A few exchanged glances.

Sorien lowered his gaze briefly, thoughtful. Even Arden’s expression shifted, just slightly.

Sianor’s hand tightened against the armrest. "Damn it..."

The word slipped out under his breath.

He exhaled slowly, then lifted his head again, his gaze hardening as it locked onto Pelion. "You really know how to force a decision."

Pelion simply smiled. "I’ll take that as a compliment."

For a moment, silence stretched between them.

Sianor let out a quiet sigh, running a hand through his hair as if weighing the choice one last time.

"Alright," he said at last, his voice steady. "We accept."

Sorien shifted beside him, arms folding loosely, but he gave a small nod in agreement.

Sianor turned back to Pelion. "When does the tournament begin?"

Pelion’s smile widened just a fraction. "That’s up to you. We’re ready at any time."

He tilted his head slightly. "Come when you’re ready."

Sianor narrowed his eyes. "And the place?"

Pelion let out a soft, knowing chuckle, a smirk forming on his lips. "You should already know."

Sianor and Sorien exchanged a glance.

Then, almost at the same time, they leaned forward slightly, realization hitting them both.

"That place..." Sorien muttered under his breath.

Sianor’s jaw tightened. Both of them remember the place, and it was the reason the meeting was started.

Pelion watched their reaction with satisfaction.

"Good," he said softly.

He stepped back, his cloak shifting with the movement. "Then I won’t keep you any longer... see you soon."

Without another word, he turned and leapt onto his black flame bird.

The creature let out a low, echoing cry as dark fire rippled along its wings.

With a powerful beat, it lifted into the air, carrying Pelion away as the flames trailed behind him, fading into the distance.

The silence he left behind felt heavier than before.

---

Sianor paused for a moment, then turned to face the remaining leaders.

His gaze moved across the room, steady and focused. "All of you, prepare yourselves. We leave now."

The hall reacted instantly.

"Now?" one of them asked, brows furrowed. "That fast?"

Sianor gave a small nod. "Yes. This is a tournament. That means our opponents will already be at the Perfection Realm."

Several leaders straightened at that, their expressions sharpening as the weight of his words settled in.

He continued, his tone calm but firm.

"Most of us here have already reached that level. There’s no need to return or gather our armies."

A brief silence followed.

Then Sianor raised his hand slightly, signaling the end of discussion. "We strike directly."

Valtor let out a low chuckle, a grin spreading across his face. "Now that’s what I like to hear."

Dahlia leaned back in her seat, a faint smirk finally appearing. "About time."

Sianor’s eyes hardened as he looked at them both, then at the rest of the room. "Let’s move."

No one argued this time.

The leaders rose, one by one, the tension in the hall shifting into sharp, focused intent as they prepared to leave.

---

After giving the order, Sianor stepped down from the stage. He made his way straight toward Rachel.

He stopped a few steps away.

"Sorry about the situation," he said, his tone low but sincere.

His eyes shifted briefly to Giselle. "You can return first. Make sure your child is safe."

Rachel raised an eyebrow and let out a small smirk.

She folded her arms, clearly unconcerned. "Don’t worry about that. She’s not that fragile."

Sianor frowned, his expression tightening. "This isn’t a simple tournament."

Rachel shook her head, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"I know," she said calmly.

Then her lips curved slightly. "But she’s Garion’s daughter. That alone already says enough."

She paused for a moment, then added, "And if it’s just mana from the Perfection Realm, don’t worry. I can protect her."

Sianor studied her face, as if weighing her words. The tension in his shoulders eased a little, though not completely.

After a brief silence, he let out a quiet sigh. "Alright then. Up to you."

He turned slightly, then stopped and glanced back over his shoulder. "Prepare yourself."

Rachel smiled and gave a small nod. "Always."

Without another word, she turned and headed toward her flying ship.