Training

"Maintain this posture for an hour. If you dare to move... ha!" Madara said expressionlessly, his cold eyes fixed directly on Qile.

At this moment, Qile was struggling to hold up a wooden sword nearly as tall as himself, maintaining a downward-swinging stance.

Uchiha Madara, returning kindness with enmity. No wonder you weren't chosen as the First Hokage; you're just settling personal grudges! Qile muttered to himself.

In truth, he knew perfectly well that Madara was doing this entirely to train him and make him stronger. But faced with such a training method, he couldn't help but want to complain.

It was just like parents who always demand we study hard; even though we understand their good intentions, we just don't want to listen to them.

How could studying ever be as fun as playing...

However, with Madara's keen insight and perception, how could he possibly fail to notice Qile whispering under his breath?

Although he didn't hear exactly what Qile was muttering, based on the last two days of spending time with the boy, he could conclude that nothing pleasant was coming out of that kid's mouth.

"Add another half hour," Madara said coldly, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

"Don't..." Qile panicked the moment he heard this, hurriedly trying to open his mouth to defend himself.

But before he could finish his sentence...

A thin whip appeared in Madara's hand out of nowhere. With a flick of his arm, the whip lashed out toward Qile like a venomous snake.

With a crisp "crack," Qile, caught off guard, winced in pain from the sudden strike.

The intense agony made him gasp, but now he didn't dare move a muscle, and his mouth remained tightly shut, not daring to make another sound.

Time ticked by second by second. Qile stood there holding the sword, his arms beginning to tremble uncontrollably, his hands shaking incessantly. Yet, he gritted his teeth and persisted.

Finally, the long hour and a half passed. Just as Qile was filled with joy, thinking he could finally rest, Madara, who was sitting behind him leisurely sipping tea, suddenly spoke again:

"Back in my day, when I was your age... my father required me to stand like this without moving for a full hour every day, and then swing a sword one hundred times."

"But after the training ended, when I saw the cold corpses of my clansmen being carried back from the outside, I added another hundred swings for myself. Oh? It seems you've reached your limit. You may rest now."

Hearing Madara's words, a flash of stubbornness suddenly crossed the eyes of the exhausted Qile. He knew full well that Madara was provoking him, but he still gritted his teeth and said fiercely, "It's just swinging a sword, Lord Madara! You did two hundred swings a day, right? Hmph, I'll do three hundred today! One day, I will be stronger than you, and when that time comes, I will definitely fight you." With that, Qile took a deep breath, endured the soreness in his body, resolutely picked up the wooden sword, and began to swing it with all his might.

To this, Madara simply sat quietly behind him, sipping his tea without a word, his gaze calm and profound as he watched Qile begin his swings.

Qile gripped the wooden sword tightly and swung it with effort, though his form was far from standard.

However, Madara did not offer any corrections. These first few days of sword practice were a test of willpower.

As long as one could grit their teeth and persist, they had taken the first step toward success. As for whether the posture was standard or correct, that was something to be addressed during formal training later on.

As time passed, Qile's consciousness even began to blur.

Even so, deep down, he held onto a sense of defiance, refusing to give up easily.

At the same time, he realized with absolute clarity that in this dangerous Ninja World, if he wanted to survive, he had to throw himself into this grueling training with everything he had.

Only in this way could he find a glimmer of hope in the face of the endless crises to come.

And so, Qile continued to swing the long sword. Beads of sweat as large as peas fell like rain, quickly soaking his clothes, and even his eyes were blurred by the sweat.

But just then, something strange happened—he seemed to suddenly enter a mysterious state.

Although his body felt extremely fatigued, he clearly perceived that every time his physical strength neared its limit, a cool energy would inexplicably emerge within his body.

This mysterious energy surged through him like a wild horse, bringing a strange and exhilarating sensation.

He didn't know if it was chakra, but it was thanks to this flowing energy that he had been able to keep swinging until now; otherwise, he would have passed out long ago.

At this moment, Madara, who was standing behind him watching him swing the sword intently, narrowed his long, slender eyes, revealing a look of disbelief.

That Qile hadn't collapsed yet truly shocked Madara.

Originally, in Madara's estimation, for someone of Qile's young age, being able to persist for two hundred swings was already commendable.

Two hundred swings was the limit determined by generations of Uchiha clan experiments; at Qile's age, that was the physical limit!

However, what Madara never expected was that the small figure before him would display such unimaginable tenacity and perseverance, holding on until now.

Despite his inner surprise, when Madara saw Qile's sword-swinging form distorted and deformed by extreme exhaustion, he still did not speak to stop him.

"Two hundred ninety-nine, three hundred, Lord Madara! One more for good measure! Three hundred and one."

Finally, with Qile's desperate roar, he used the last ounce of his strength to complete the final swing.

Immediately after, with a dull thud, Qile collapsed straight to the ground as if his spine had been pulled out, falling into unconsciousness once again.

Looking at the unconscious Qile on the ground, Madara's gaze became increasingly complex.

After a brief silence, Madara slowly ordered, "Go find... never mind, go prepare a medicinal bath."

Yeling, who had been looking at her toes with her head bowed since the beginning without saying a word, responded without the slightest hesitation upon hearing the order: "Yes, Clan Leader!" Her tone was respectful and submissive as she turned to leave.

However, just then, Madara suddenly spoke again: "From now on, he is your only master."

Yeling, who had only taken a few steps away, felt her delicate body tremble violently, and she stopped in her tracks. A look of astonishment first appeared on her face, seemingly surprised by this sudden command.

But after only a moment of hesitation, she turned around and replied solemnly: "Yeling understands, please rest assured, Clan Leader."

After Yeling left, Madara walked slowly to Qile's side. Qile was lying on the ground, his entire body soaked in sweat, his wet clothes clinging tightly to him.

Madara bent down and easily picked Qile up with one hand.

Then, without any unnecessary movement, he and Qile vanished from the spot in an instant, leaving behind only an empty training ground as a witness to what had just occurred.