One.

  Two.

  Three.

  The spear snapped forward and stabbed, cutting through the stale basement air and stopping exactly where my eyes told it to stop. My feet shifted as I swung, making small adjustments with each strike.

  Four.

  Five.

  Six.

  By the seventh thrust, my forearms were already burning.

  But I couldn't stop now. So I continued. Again.

  Again. And again.

  A few days had passed since I'd brought the spear home. There were now scuff marks on the floor where my lead foot kept landing. A faint dent in the wall where I'd misjudged my reach on day one. The smell of oil on the spear shaft that wouldn't wash off, no matter how much I wiped. A few days of waking up sore, eating too little, working too much, then dropping back down here to stab at the air until my lungs protested.

  It worked.

  A faint shimmer of text formed in the corner of my focus, clean and simple, like the world had decided to acknowledge my stubbornness.

  [SKILL UNLOCKED: SEVENFOLD THRUST]

  [RANK: F]

  A second later, another line followed.

  [SKILL UNLOCKED: SPEAR MASTERY]

  [RANK: F]

  I exhaled through my nose, sweat running down my temple.

  "Good," I muttered. "Now the hard part starts."

  Unlocking was the easy bit.

  I'd always known that, even back when in the game. Skills weren't that hard to obtain. But they were damn near impossible to cultivate to the highest levels. Mastery was everything.

  I executed the sevenfold thrust again. But this time, something felt… off.

  I hadn't made a mistake. I hadn't misstepped or done anything wrong.

  No. Instead, it felt that the skill I had executed thousands of times in the game was now something more than what I knew.

  It was alive.

  The thrusts weren't identical. The spear didn't move like a rigid animation that fired the same way every time. It responded. Tiny shifts in my grip changed its trajectory. A fraction of a second in timing changed the weight. My breath, my stance, my intent, all of it bled into the motion.

  Sevenfold Thrust was no longer a simple skill that I recalled. It was something that could evolve.

  As was I.

  I stopped mid-practice, and my mouth went dry. There was a deeper layer to this. A layer I could only assume the game had flattened and erased. A layer that only existed in this reality.

  I tightened my grip.

  "Alright," I said quietly. "Let's see what you can really do."

  I started varying it. I started by changing the weight. The first thrust was light, almost a feint. The second was heavier. The third with full commitment.

  Then speed.

  I snapped the first three out fast, then slowed the fourth deliberately, forcing control, forcing precision. The fifth and sixth came like a whip. The seventh, I held for a second longer.

  Then reach.

  Short thrusts that stayed inside my range. Long ones that made me step deeper using a half step, a full step, or even a lunge.

  The basement filled with the sound of my panting breaths and the whisper of steel through the air. Sweat dripped off my chin. My lungs tightened. My hands started to slip on the shaft.

  I ignored it.

  Again.

  Again.

  Again.

  [Sevenfold Thrust has improved slightly]

  [VARIATION DISCOVERED]

  [Sevenfold Thrust --> Sevenfold Strike]

  I froze, chest heaving.

  Variation.

  So it wasn't just "use skill, get better."

  It was "understand skill, reshape it, own it."

  My fingers clenched harder, knuckles whitening.

  I lowered the spear and let my forehead rest against the shaft for a second, breathing through the burn. Then I wiped my face with my sleeve and forced myself to stop before my arms went numb.

  Once I finished, I wrapped the spearhead again, leaned it against the wall, and climbed the stairs.

  Marin was already moving, his sleeves rolled, his hands deep in a bowl, as if he were wrestling it into submission. He glanced up as I came in. For some reason, his eyes went to my hands. Then to my shoulders.

  "How is the practice going?" he asked, voice flat.

  I paused, thrown off by him saying it first.

  "It's… going," I said carefully.

  Marin grunted. "Be careful."

  "I will."

  "Hm."

  He went back to kneading as if that settled the matter. We worked in our usual rhythm. By the time the first loaves went in, the light outside was turning pale gold again. I wiped down a counter, hung a cloth to dry, and started to reach for my apron string.

  That was when the bell over the door chimed.

  A gust of cold slipped in.

  And with it, a presence that made the air feel heavier. I looked up. The man who stepped inside wasn't in uniform, but I knew him anyway.

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  Viktor.

  Same rough jaw. Same tired eyes that looked like they'd seen too many breaches up close. His coat was dark, collar up, band faintly glowing at his wrist as the ward pylons outside pulsed.

  He looked at me. Then at Marin. Then back at me.

  "Well," Viktor said, tone dry. "There you are."

  My stomach tightened.

  Marin didn't move. He just stared at Viktor.

  "I've been looking everywhere for you," Viktor continued. "Fortunately, the volunteers at the camp finally told me you'd moved here."

  I didn't know what to say, so I picked the safest thing. "Why?"

  Viktor's mouth twitched. He stepped up to the counter and reached into his coat.

  He pulled out a band and set it down in front of me.

  "Your registration," he said. "It's verified. I figured I'd deliver it personally."

  I stared at it.

  A simple strip made of magic and metal.

  And yet my chest loosened a fraction, like I'd been holding a breath.

  "I didn't know the Awakened Corps did deliveries," I said, still not touching it.

  Viktor chuckled. "We don't."

  That made my eyes lift.

  He leaned on the counter slightly, lowering his voice.

  "I'm here for another reason."

  Marin made a low sound, impatient, then jerked his chin toward the door.

  "Take your talk outside," he said.

  Viktor nodded once. "Fair."

  He glanced at me. "Come on."

  I wiped my hands, hesitated, then picked up the band and followed him out. The cold slapped me again the moment the door shut behind us. Viktor didn't waste time.

  "Stimeri told me," he said.

  My shoulders tensed. He saw it immediately and raised a hand.

  "Relax," Viktor said. "I'm not here to press you about anything."

  "Stimeri told me a boy was planning to join the Academy," Viktor continued. "He didn't have much to go on, just the name and the fact that the kid didn't have a band yet."

  "This town's small," he said. "I heard 'Noah' and connected the dots."

  I swallowed. "So you came to check."

  "I came to help," Viktor corrected.

  That didn't sit right either. He nodded at my hands. "Stimeri said you bought a spear."

  I didn't answer.

  Viktor reached into his coat again and pulled out a thin manual. The cover was plain. Worn at the edges. The title was stamped simply.

  [BASIC FOOTWORK]

  He held it out to me. "It's not worth much," he said. "But it pairs well with spears. Better than learning everything the hard way."

  I stared at it, then at him.

  "Why," I asked.

  Viktor blinked, almost surprised by the question.

  "Do I need a reason to help someone?" he asked back.

  I went quiet.

  Because the honest answer in my head was yes.

  Didn't people always need a reason? I was a stranger to most here. As such, receiving any sort of kindness felt odd. Marin was the only exception.

  Viktor scratched the back of his head, suddenly looking more awkward than dangerous.

  "It's a privilege," he said, quieter now. "Joining the Academy. I didn't get it when I was younger."

  I kept my face still, but my attention sharpened.

  He shrugged. "I went straight into the corps. Learned everything the ugly way. On the line. In the mud. With people screaming at you to hurry up before you get someone killed. It was hell. I barely made it out back then."

  His eyes flicked away for a second, then back.

  He smiled, small and self-aware.

  "Maybe I'm saying too much," he muttered. "Forget it."

  He turned like he was ready to leave. I moved without thinking and caught the edge of the manual, stopping it from disappearing back into his coat.

  "Wait," I said.

  Viktor paused. I took the book properly.

  "Thank you," I said. "Sincerely."

  Viktor blinked once, then his expression softened.

  "To be honest," he said, "half of it was Sylvie's idea."

  That name landed like a quiet echo. The woman from the first night.

  Viktor stepped back and waved once.

  "Good luck," he said, and then he was gone, walking down the street like a man who couldn't afford to linger anywhere too long.

  I stood there with the band in one hand and the manual in the other, cold air biting my ears.

  For a moment, I didn't move. Then I turned and went back inside. In the basement, I set the manual on the table like it was something fragile. I stared at it for a fraction of a second, then forced myself to tuck it away in the shelf where I kept my notebook and the books I'd been tearing through.

  "After," I told myself. "Read it after."

  If I opened it now, I'd probably mess up my routine. For now, I slipped the band onto my wrist. It tightened automatically, a soft click as it fitted itself. A faint warmth spread under my skin, like the device was taking my pulse. I exhaled and rolled my wrist slowly, watching the band catch the light. Then I grabbed my coat and stepped back into the cold.

  -

  [A few hours later]

  I sat at the table with Viktor's manual open in front of me. The paper was thin, the ink slightly faded, but the diagrams were clear. Each illustration showed foot placement and movement.

  Basic Footwork was not speed. Basic Footwork was not about moving faster than your enemy. It was about moving with precise intent. Whether that was to retreat, or attack, engage or disengage. The footwork illustrated the perfect movement required to position yourself to execute your intent.

  I swallowed and turned the page.

  A faint shimmer appeared at the edge of my focus.

  [SKILL ACQUIRED: BASIC FOOTWORK (Rank F)]

  I blinked once. The manual described things I'd never bothered to think about before. How to pivot without wasting momentum. How to shift weight without telegraphing it. How to keep your centre under you so your weapon doesn't drag you off balance. I had never needed to think about this before. Naturally, it was different now.

  My eyes moved faster. Insight moved with them, pulling the ideas apart and stitching them back together in a way that made the text feel… obvious.

  A pop-up flickered in front of my eyes.

  [Intelligence has increased slightly]

  The words hit me harder than the skill acquisition.

  Intelligence.

  A stat I could actually increase by reading. I had already gone through the other books on the bookshelves, but none had stimulated it further. However, perhaps the key wasn't just to read a high number of books, but instead to read unique books I hadn't read before. My lips parted slightly. I stared at the manual as if it had changed somehow. But I immediately realised that I was the one who'd changed.

  It was a small shift, easy to miss, like the moment you realise a language had stopped being foreign and started being yours.

  [COMPREHENSION INCREASED: BASIC FOOTWORK (RANK: F → E)]

  I sat back slowly, the chair scraping faintly. "That's…" I breathed out. "That's fast as hell."

  If I could raise my intelligence by consuming information, and Intelligence made comprehension faster, then reading wasn't just studying. It was training. Or rather a loop. Read to increase Intelligence. Comprehend your skills and improve them. Put everything into practice to finally grow faster. I closed the manual gently and looked at my spear, an arm's length away from me. I pushed the chair back and stood. I took the spear and stepped into the centre of the room, then forced myself to do the footwork slowly. Not flashy. Not fast. Just clean.

  Pivot. Step. Shift weight. Reset.

  Again.

  Footwork, then thrust.

  My body complained, as always, but my movements were smoother. Almost as if they'd started to click together, like gears finding alignment. Sevenfold strike wasn't a fixed sequence anymore. It was a pattern I could repeat in a different order. Basic Footwork had given this pattern a foundation. Minutes passed.

  Then another message appeared.

  [BASIC FOOTWORK HAS IMPROVED SPEAR MASTERY]

  [SPEAR MASTERY INCREASED RANK: (F → E)]

  I froze mid-stance, spearpoint held out.

  My lungs drew in a slow breath.

  'So that's how it works?'

  Unlike the game, my skills were't isolated. Instead, everything I learned seemed to try to mesh together. Similar to a lattice. If I learned the right things and stacked them properly, my skills could grow exponentially. I lowered the spear and wiped sweat off my brow with my sleeve. Then I sat back down and focused on myself.

  -

  [NAME]

  NOAH REED

  [STATS]

  Strength: F

  Agility: F

  Constitution: F

  Intelligence: E

  Perception: E

  Charisma: F

  [VITALS]

  Vitality: F

  Stamina: F

  Mana: F

  [GIFTS]

  INSIGHT: EX

  HERO: F (DORMANT)

  [SKILLS]

  Endurance: E

  Knife Work: E

  Spear Mastery: E

  Basic Footwork: E

  Sevenfold Strike: E

  -

  "Not that impressive.' I sighed.

  I let the panel fade and leaned forward, elbows on knees.

  "Beyond this," I said quietly, "it's just grinding."

  No shortcut around it. Even with Intelligence climbing, I still had to move. Still had to sweat. Still had to make my body obey. The good news was that I could see the path now.

  I grabbed the spear again.

  Reset my stance.

  And continued.

  -

  When I finished my workout, I was already upstairs, helping with the cleanup.

  I was scrubbing a tray when Marin spoke without looking up.

  "They're going to start soon," he said.

  I paused mid scrub. "What?"

  "The Academy," Marin clarified, as if it should've been obvious. He shoved a loaf onto a cooling rack hard enough to make it thump. "They will take new students."

  My hand tightened on the cloth.

  I hadn't asked around enough. I'd been busy surviving, training, and building routines. The Academy had been this looming goal in the distance that I was aiming towards. But I'd never expected it to tackle it so soon. At least I thought it was a month or two away.

  Marin glanced at me from the corner of his eye.

  "I hear it around town," he said. "Talk from patrols. The testing grounds for the southern region will open within a few days."

  "When the day comes," Marin continued, "you go to the centre of town. You sign up. That's it."

  "That's it?" I repeated.

  Marin snorted. "That's the easy part."

  I swallowed. "Who handles it?"

  "Awakened Corps," Marin said. "They'll handle all the administration and get you to the test."

  "Good," I said.

  Marin huffed. "You're taking this too easily. Don't be reckless, kid. The test will chew you up if you're not careful."

  "I won't," I said, and meant it.

  I wiped the tray clean, hung it, and kept working. But mentally, I had already started the countdown. A few days. That was all that remained.