In the underground training room, Rey lay flat on the cold floor, motionless like a fallen log.
A thin trail of saliva had slipped from the corner of his mouth.
His eyelids twitched.
Once.
Twice.
Slowly, his eyes opened.
"…Huh?"
He blinked, staring at the ceiling for a few seconds before pushing himself up. His hand brushed across his face, and only then did he notice the dampness on his cheek.
"…Great."
He wiped it off with his sleeve, groaning softly as he sat upright.
'That was… intense.'
He waited for the pain.
The sharp soreness.
The deep muscle ache that should've crippled him after pushing past his limits.
But—
Nothing.
Instead, his body felt… light.
Flexible.
Almost refreshed.
Rey clenched his fist, then relaxed it.
'That's weird.'
He rolled his shoulders, twisted his waist slightly and even stretched his legs. There was fatigue, yes—but no damage. No backlash.
"…I'm fine?" he muttered.
That made him frown.
He quickly checked his status, eyes narrowing as numbers surfaced in his mind.
A small increase.
Not dramatic—but undeniable.
"…So it really worked."
His gaze drifted inward as he recalled the strange mana flow from before.
A new pathway… stabilised.
He exhaled slowly.
"Well, whatever," he said to himself.
"I'll think about it later."
His stomach chose that moment to growl loudly.
"…Yeah, yeah. I hear you."
He reached for his phone, intending to check the time before grabbing something to eat.
The moment the screen lit up—
His expression froze.
"..."
5:26 PM.
"…What?"
He stared harder, as if the numbers might correct themselves.
They didn't.
"You've gotta be kidding me."
Rey shot to his feet, ruffling his hair in frustration.
"I slept the whole damn afternoon?!"
A full stretch of daylight—gone.
Training time—gone.
He stood there for a moment, annoyed, then sighed.
"…What's done is done."
Complaining wouldn't bring back the time.
"Food first," he muttered.
"Then training. No more excuses."
Pulling his shirt back on, Rey headed upstairs.
The moment he entered the living room, he stopped.
Fenlor was sprawled on the sofa, eyes glued to the TV, fully immersed in the tournament broadcast.
"…When did you get here?" Rey asked.
Fenlor nearly jumped out of his skin.
"Holy—! Rey, don't sneak up on people like that!"
He clutched his chest dramatically before glaring.
"I've been here for hours! Dad sent me."
"…Sent you?" Rey raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah," Fenlor said, lowering his voice at the end.
"First match done. He told me to stay with you. Like I'm some babysitter."
Rey chuckled softly.
"So you already fought?"
"Oh yeah," Fenlor said proudly, straightening up.
"Second batch. Sword user. Weak. I swept him aside like dust."
He flexed instinctively, grin wide.
"Good," Rey nodded.
"I just woke up. Was about to eat."
Fenlor paused, then nodded eagerly.
"Perfect. I'm starving too."
In the kitchen, the butler was already at work.
The moment he noticed them, he bowed slightly without stopping his hands.
"Please wait a moment, Young Masters. The meal will be ready shortly."
Rey watched, stunned.
The man's movements were fast, precise, almost rhythmic—like he was conducting an orchestra.
Fenlor barely reacted, as if this was normal.
Within minutes, the dining table was full.
Not one dish repeated.
Every plate neatly arranged.
Rey stared at it all, then glanced at the butler—who wasn't even sweating.
"…You made all of this?" Rey asked.
"Yes," the butler replied calmly.
Rey silently reevaluated everything he thought he knew about this house.
They ate quickly.
Too quickly.
Only then did Rey realise something strange.
'Every meal I've had here…
Was he the one cooking?'
That thought lingered.
After eating, Rey stood, ready to return to training.
But Fenlor grabbed his arm.
"Wait, wait. Come watch a bit."
Before Rey could protest, he was dragged back to the sofa.
The TV showed ongoing Section B matches.
Rey watched quietly.
Five minutes passed.
Then ten.
His expression slowly flattened.
"…Still the same."
Flashy moves.
Poor foundations.
Strength without control.
Fenlor, on the other hand, was fully engaged.
Rey felt like an old veteran watching children spar.
'After fighting a Pseudo Stage 3 beast… this feels hollow.'
He was just about to stand—
Fenlor's phone rang.
Once.
Twice.
Ignored.
Rey seized the chance.
"You should pick that up," he said casually.
"Could be important."
Fenlor hesitated.
"It's just my friends. But Dad told me to stay."
Rey looked at him seriously.
"…You're bored out of your mind."
Fenlor didn't deny it.
"Go," Rey said.
"Tell him you stayed, I trained, you left. If he gets angry, I'll handle it."
Fenlor blinked.
"…You sure?"
Rey nodded.
After a second, Fenlor smiled.
"Alright. But you better back me up."
"Anytime."
Fenlor left soon after, laughter already audible through the phone.
Rey exhaled in relief.
"…Peace."
He returned to the basement.
The room still carried faint heat from his earlier training.
He reopened the vents, waited for the temperature to settle, then began setting up.
Three reinforced dummies.
Different distances.
Different angles.
He stepped back, breathing steady.
Eyes closed.
Hawk Eye.
The sensation bloomed instantly.
Clear.
Sharp.
Natural.
He drew his bow.
Released.
Thud.
Again.
Again.
His vision and bow synced perfectly.
Movement.
Timing.
Mana control.
Everything flowed.
His only concern remained enemy movement—but that would be answered in battle.
By now, his bow proficiency had solidly reached D- Rank, just like his dagger.
Without that earlier breakthrough, this wouldn't have been possible.
Night crept in unnoticed.
At the stadium, the matches concluded.
Sections A and B were done.
Tomorrow will decide the next stage.
And Rey—
Continued sharpening himself, quietly, in the shadows.
...
[11th June]
The second day of the tournament arrived.
And with it, the eyes of the entire kingdom turned toward the capital's grand stadium.
Today was no longer about participation.
It was about selection in two sections.
Only half would remain—in which 100 those who will be chosen to enter the Empire's University, to stand shoulder to shoulder with geniuses from every kingdom. That alone made this day heavier than the first.
The capital stirred early.
Carriages rolled.
Nobles dressed in haste.
Commoners flooded the streets.
Everyone was moving toward the same destination.
At Rey's residence, the atmosphere mirrored yesterday.
The maid dusted the hall.
The butler prepared the meal ahead of schedule.
But beneath the house—
In the underground training room—
Rey stood motionless, bow in hand.
His Hawk Eye was active.
Sweat rolled down his back, soaking his clothes. The air around him carried heat from prolonged training.
Three arrows were embedded in the dummy ahead.
Two were buried deep.
The third—
Only grazed the surface.
Rey exhaled sharply and lowered his bow.
"Tch."
Annoyance flickered across his face.
Again.
No matter how many times he adjusted his breathing, posture, or mana flow—the third arrow always failed.
Like hitting the same invisible wall every time.
He was frustrated over it all night.
He walked forward and pulled the arrows free, sliding them back into his quiver with practised movements.
"…Enough."
Today wasn't a day to linger.
He stored everything in his inventory and headed upstairs.
The moment he emerged, the butler noticed him.
"Oh, good timing," the man said calmly.
"Young Master, please prepare yourself. Today is your match. Master Hosric may arrive at any moment."
Rey nodded without hesitation.
Under the shower, warm water cascaded down his body.
He stayed there longer than necessary—not to clean himself, but to steady his thoughts.
'Winning won't be hard.'
That much he knew.
But winning without revealing too much—
That was the real problem.
The Duke's presence lingered in his mind.
Those eyes.
Cold.
Sharp.
Like a net that closed the moment you revealed weakness.
Rey shut off the water and stepped out.
He dressed in his usual attire—but paused.
On his bed lay a long, hooded overcoat.
Aiden's gift.
"An operation without a coat isn't an operation," Aiden's voice echoed mockingly in his head.
"Style matters."
Rey smirked faintly and put it on.
It fit a little tighter than before—his body had grown—but it didn't restrict movement. The beast material woven into it felt durable and flexible.
He pulled up the hood and stood before the mirror.
Activating his ability, faint changes rippled across his gaze.
Hidden.
Subtle.
Perfect.
"…This should work."
Satisfied, Rey headed downstairs.
Hosric was already seated at the table.
"Well now," he said, smiling.
"Someone looks more than ready today. And that outfit—suits you."
"Thank you, Uncle," Rey replied politely as he sat down.
"A gift from a friend."
He ate calmly, then glanced around.
"Is Fenlor not coming?"
Hosric frowned slightly.
"He's with his friends. Ignored my call too much lately. Too much freedom dulls discipline."
Rey paused mid-bite.
"…Uncle."
Hosric looked at him.
"At his age, he should enjoy some freedom," Rey said evenly.
"Once responsibility weighs down, there won't be time for it. If he misses this phase, he'll regret it later."
Hosric fell silent.
After a moment, he sighed softly.
"…You truly are mature."
His gaze lingered on Rey, something unreadable passing through his eyes.
'Just like your mother…' he thought.
Rey noticed the look but didn't press.
They left soon after.
The journey was smooth—much earlier than yesterday, far less crowded.
Upon arrival, they split.
Hosric headed toward the noble gallery.
Rey entered the preparation hall.
The room was spacious, filled with quiet tension. Dozens of contestants waited, some meditating, others pacing.
Large screens lit the walls.
Today's schedule was already displayed.
Unlike yesterday's chaos, the system had improved.
Five batches were announced in advance.
No excuses.
No delays.
Rey scanned the lists calmly.
First round—no match.
Second—nothing.
Third—still nothing.
'Later round then.'
The fourth list appeared.
His eyes narrowed instantly.
Ground 7:
17,329 vs 19,082
His number.
Rey exhaled slowly.
"…Finally."
The waiting was over.
And the arrow—
Was about to fly.