"A mere country boy with mediocre talents is worthy of being associated with Olivia?!"
The green-robed sorcerer grumbled to himself, his brow furious.
"What do you mean?"
"Huh? What exactly do you mean?!"
"Are you still hoping they'll develop a love that transcends class, allowing that country boy to take advantage of the opportunity to live off the daughter of an aristocratic family?"
"Bah!"
Hubert slammed his palm on the table, abruptly stood up, and gritted his teeth.
"Senior Sister Sora, at your age, is living like a dog!"
"You're so ignorant and ridiculous!"
To be honest, Ms. Sora, Allen's recommender, did indeed take good care of him when they were studying together.
However, times have changed.
Now their status is no longer on the same level.
Sora hadn't even realized the class gap, even addressing him as if she were his senior sister. She was a bit confused about her own position.
Hubert simply stopped pretending.
Forget Allen, even his mentor, Sora, was just a mediocre, hopeless expatriate.
He had no respect for her!
"Sora's really getting worse and worse. He keeps sending all that crap to me!"
With a scornful taunt, Hubert casually crossed out the letter of recommendation.
Too lazy to waste time, she simply rejected it.
"Country boy, go back to where you came from."
Goodbye!
...
Ten minutes later.
Allen, holding the red-crossed letter of recommendation, left the Nature Warlock Tower.
The direction of this interview was completely unexpected.
He hadn't even gotten a chance to interview before he was kicked out by Hubert's teaching assistant.
He couldn't figure out how he had offended Hubert.
To deserve such rude treatment.
Not even a chance to meet.
However, after much reflection, it was probably his ogre bloodline that didn't meet his standards.
It was fate, and Allen was helpless.
Luckily, there was another chance.
He decided to try his luck with Pantheon.
He had already been rejected once.
Alan felt bad, and his confidence was shattered.
Walking down the street, he pondered.
Instructor Carter and Mentor Pantheon were just distant cousins.
They hadn't been in touch for years.
No matter how you looked at it.
PanSen had more reason to reject him than Hubert did.
Thinking of another possible rejection, Allen couldn't help but feel uneasy.
What had once seemed like a bright future...
Now it was dim and bleak, his direction unclear.
Forced to muster his energy, he arrived at PanSen's martial arts gym.
...and the door was actually shut!
Literally, "turned away"!
A group of young men stood guard outside, all dejected.
Alan approached and took a look.
A notice was posted on the door.
...
Note to Candidates:
You must push open this door with your own strength to enter and take the exam!
Cheaters will be severely punished!
...
The young men who were blocked outside.
It was all because they lacked the strength to push the door open, and they weren't even qualified to take the exam.
Alan stepped forward to push the door.
He continued to exert force with both palms.
Creaky—
The heavy door slowly swung open.
The hinges were spring-loaded.
No wonder it was so difficult to push.
After trying it himself, Alan knew the answer.
Anyone with a physique below 16 points would never be able to open this door!
For a violent warlock, physique is everything.
A person without a strong physique is not suited to this path.
Being directly blocked from the outside by this gate was a short-term pain.
…
The martial arts school courtyard.
It was as spacious as a football field.
The courtyard was filled with new students holding letters of recommendation.
Waiting to take the exam.
Compared to the young men outside, the candidates in the courtyard were noticeably larger.
They were all strong, well-built young men!
Alan stood out among them, unnoticed.
The formal exam consisted of three stages.
Passing the first stage granted entry.
Passing the second stage allowed intensive training.
Passing the third stage earned Pansen his personal disciple.
The first stage.
The examiner was Pansen's most admired student, Taffman.
A late-stage, first-tier, violent warlock of Minotaur descent.
Taffman, standing a full two meters and two inches tall, was a bald, muscular man with a masculine air.
Clad only in a tank top and shorts, revealing a muscular build that the other young men envied, he stood barefoot within a chalk-drawn circle.
The radius of the circle was only one meter.
Taffman's feet were a size 54!
Standing in such a small circle, even the slightest shift would have him stepping on the line.
As the examiner, Taffman stood within the circle, defending but not attacking.
Each candidate had three chances to attack.
With bare hands, force Taffman out of the circle or onto the line within three moves to pass!
Sounds easy?
Hehe...
The energetic young candidates were stunned when they took the stage!
Undermining Taffman, who was rooted to his feet, was as difficult as fighting a brown bear with bare hands!
The candidates who took the stage one after another, though not as tall as Taffman, were all quite strong.
They launched their attacks with confidence.
They quickly realized that punches and kicks were completely useless against Tafman.
As soon as he raised his hand, his intention was seen through.
With a calm, palm-sized slap, Tafman swatted away the candidate's fancy moves.
His feet remained motionless.
The candidate, having suffered a setback, learned his lesson.
Simply abandoning all those fancy moves, he pushed hard!
Tafman nodded and smiled.
He first confirmed that the candidates had found the correct way to pass the test.
Then, crossing his arms over his chest, he allowed the candidates to push him hard.
He held a steady horse stance, remaining motionless!
Seven candidates had already entered the test.
Five of them, having used up their three chances, left the examination room in disgrace.
Only two of them, with their superior strength and some power-generating techniques, finally pushed Tuffman back a step on the third try, his heel touching the line, and he narrowly escaped the test.
After leaving the test, the two wiped their sweat, their faces filled with relief! Allen's number was eighth.
Before his turn, he had been observing from the sidelines.
From observing the other candidates' strength matches against Tuffman, he estimated Tuffman's physical attributes to be no less than 20 points.
Allen's own physical attributes were 18 points.
This put him in the top three of the test-takers.
However, there was still a gap between him and Tuffman.
What is the approximate magnitude of a two-point physical difference? For example, it's almost like the difference between a white-collar worker and a dock worker.
Could he push Taffman out of the ring relying solely on brute force?
Alan felt he had about a 50/50 chance.
Since he had three attempts, he didn't need to rush.
It was Alan's turn.
He tightened his belt and strode toward Taffman.
He slowly raised his arms and thrust his palms forward.
"Huh?!" Taffman's eyes lit up. "Nice stance!"
He put aside his contempt for his opponent and thrust his arms forward as well.
Their palms collided, pushing and blocking, neither yielding.
The two men on the field, like two composed sumo wrestlers, engaged in a battle of strength and skill!