Artorias glanced at Hakon, arching an eyebrow, a soft, menacing and mirthless chuckle resounding. "You think you can just snap your fingers and become stronger?" He walked over to Hakon. "You know nothing, you have not seen even one of your friends fall in battle. If these drills weren't nescessary, would we waste time on them?"
Artorias shook his head and took several steps back, unsheathing the large blade. "This sword is heavier than most of the gear you are all wearing now, not to mention my armour." He held the sword up with one hand, before sheathing it again. "Your armour is a second skin. Your armour is what stands between you and a panicked mage with a sword. Or sympathysers with bows. What you're all doing now, OR ARE SUPPOSED TO DO, IS PURE CONDITIONING."
He sighed softly. "Hundred. On the floor. With traveling gear. Each word of protest adds another twenty. And if you give up, I can give you other things to keep busy with."