Arthur's POV
Arthur continued to ignore poor Iode, keeping his pace steady. Strangely, he felt neither pity nor anger toward the boy. Instead, he felt… bored.
He had known dozens of people like Iode in his previous life. Psychologically fragile individuals who refused to acknowledge their own weakness relative to others. People accustomed to authority, expecting respect simply because of the name they carried. Arthur had never cared for that sort (of person).
But then again, Arthur reminded himself, it's only because they've never known anything else.
In this medieval-fantasy world, life was brutal. Even if his current situation was far from easy, it was more comfortable than he had anticipated. Despite being a bastard, he wasn't as universally loathed as he had feared. He had a roof over his head. Food. A loving mother. And now, a chance to train.
Arthur shook his head. Not bad for the "trash" of the clan.
Iode, Arthur, and thirteen other children followed Liora through the training grounds. Arthur discreetly observed his future comrades. Among them was a girl with green hair and hazel eyes. She was quite small and looked timid, her gaze fixed firmly on the ground. Her shoulders were hunched, as if she were trying to disappear.
A noble girl with no confidence? Interesting.
There was also a somewhat stout boy—not obese, but clearly well-fed—with brown hair and black eyes. He looked bored, almost sleepy as he walked. The kind of kid who clearly preferred to be anywhere else. The rest of the children carried the typical noble air—straight backs, lifted chins, haughty stares. Clearly from the main branch families.
A colorful mix, to say the least.
The Weapon Instructor
Liora eventually led them to a new training field. Standing there was a man who stood in total contrast to Gareth and Liora.
His head was completely shaved. He was shirtless despite the morning chill, revealing rippling muscles covered in scars. Tribal tattoos snaked down his arms. Most notably, he wore a teasing, almost mocking smirk.
This guy looks... dangerous. But not serious.
The man was currently watching a group of older children—probably seven or eight years old—who were already sparring with swords, spears, and axes. Among them, Arthur recognized his twin brothers, Dyson and Ericson, wielding short swords with surprising synchronization.
"Yo, Liora! Finished your session already?" the bald man called out without turning around.
Liora crossed her arms. "Hey, Fire-Scalp, watch your mouth. We have rules of etiquette here, especially in front of the children."
The man—apparently named Fire-Scalp—snickered. "Etiquette? Never heard of her. Besides, I'm not done with the seven-year-olds yet. They can wait a bit, can't they?"
Liora sighed, clearly used to his antics. "No. The newcomers start now. The others can manage on their own. They're old enough."
Fire-Scalp scratched his chin, then shrugged. "Fine, have it your way." He finally turned toward the group of fifteen children, his grin widening. "Alright, runts! Today, you're going to learn how to use a weapon!"
The Choice of Weapons
Fire-Scalp clapped his hands and pointed toward a massive weapon rack lining the wall. Swords. Spears. Axes. Daggers. Bows. Maces. Hammers. A full arsenal.
"You can't pick a permanent weapon yet," he explained. "You're too young to know what suits you. So here's my advice: try them all. Eventually, you'll find your favorite." He made a sweeping gesture. "Go ahead. Choose."
Iode stepped forward first, eyes full of pride and arrogance. Without hesitation, he seized a spear—long, elegant, with a sharp tip that glinted in the morning sun. He held it firmly and looked at Fire-Scalp defiantly.
"Like my father," he said proudly.
Fire-Scalp raised an eyebrow, visibly impressed. "Oh? A spear? Like Marquoc, eh? Ambitious, kid."
Iode lifted his chin. "I will become a lancer. The best lancer in the clan."
Of course, Arthur thought, rolling his eyes mentally.
The other children began to choose. Some took bows. Others, axes. The stout boy grabbed a massive greataxe—far too large for his size—and lifted it with surprising ease.
Whoa. That kid is stronger than he looks.
The timid green-haired girl picked up two small daggers, holding them with a delicate, almost trembling touch.
Daggers? For a girl that shy? Interesting.
Arthur approached the rack and scanned the options. In my previous life, I was a fencer. An Olympic foil champion.
His gaze first landed on the longswords, then the rapiers, then... Wait.
He spotted a slender sword—almost a foil—with an elegant, light blade. It looks almost like my competition weapon.
But something made him hesitate. No. Those Olympic fencing moves... they're designed to score points. Not to kill. Here, I need to learn real combat. Lethal combat.
Arthur finally made his decision and grabbed a standard longsword—not too heavy, not too light, perfectly balanced. Let's start with the basics.
Training Begins
"Alright!" Fire-Scalp barked. "Now, get in line and start the basic forms! Show me what you've got!"
Iode was the first to move. He took his stance—legs spread, spear held firmly with both hands—and began executing vertical and horizontal thrusts.
Shh! Shh! Shh!
His movements were... surprisingly good. Fluid. Precise. Powerful.
"Not bad, kid," Fire-Scalp commented, nodding. "I see you've been practicing with your family."
Iode smirked, clearly satisfied. The other children followed suit. The stout boy with the axe swung his first blow.
WHOOSH!
The air hissed violently. Arthur's eyes widened slightly. Damn. That swing was powerful. Way too powerful for a five-year-old.
The timid girl performed rapid movements with her daggers—fluid, almost dance-like sequences. She's fast. Seriously fast.
Arthur watched, stunned. These kids... they've clearly been training for years. Maybe since they could walk. Even if they're clumsy in spots, they already have solid foundations.
Arthur gripped his sword tighter. Crap. And here I thought being a former Olympic champion would give me an edge...
Fire-Scalp's POV
Fire-Scalp watched the children intently, nodding occasionally. Not bad. Most have already been coached by their families.
His gaze finally settled on Arthur, who hadn't moved yet. So that's him. The famous bastard. The one Marquoc gave a shot at the First Camp.
He crossed his arms, curious. Every child in the First Camp had already undergone years of training. They were kids accustomed to working with their families, familiar with the legendary weapons of their ancestors.
His eyes drifted down to the sword in Arthur's hands. A basic longsword. Interesting. Usually, for a first contact, beginners struggle to choose. Let's see what he's worth.
Arthur's POV
Arthur took a deep breath and raised his sword. Right. Let's do this.
He executed the first moves he knew—the ones he had practiced for years as an Olympic fencer. High guard. Arm extension. Forward lunge. Recovery. Fluid. Precise. Elegant.
But as he chained the movements together, something felt off. Wait...
He glanced at the other children. Their movements were... different. Less aesthetic. Less elegant. But infinitely more lethal. Every strike aimed at vital points. Every blow was meant to kill.
Arthur frowned. My movements... they're beautiful. Technical. But they aren't combat moves. They're sports moves.
Tch. Dammit. I really am arrogant. Thinking that being an Olympic champion would put me ahead... but these kids are actually better than me at real combat.
Arthur observed the others' movements more closely. They aimed for the throat. The arteries. The heart. The weak points. That's what real fighting is.
The Adaptation
Arthur shifted his posture. He abandoned his sports fencing stance and began to imitate—awkwardly at first—what he saw in the others.
Feet wider apart. Weight forward. Strike aimed at the neck. Better. But still too hesitant.
He tried again. And again. And again.
Gradually, something shifted. I'm starting to get it.
His movements became more natural. More fluid. More... dangerous. It was as if his body was absorbing the techniques just by watching them. Arthur didn't know it, but his Absolute Physical Absorption wasn't limited to just mana and stamina. It allowed him to learn and assimilate physical techniques at a phenomenal speed.
Ten Minutes Later
Arthur was now linking movements with increasing ease. Horizontal strike at the throat. Vertical downward slash to the shoulder. Pivot. Lateral strike to the ribs. Yes. Like that.
His movements were no longer those of a sports fencer. They were those of a warrior.
Thirty Minutes Later
Arthur was drenched in sweat, but his movements were now as fluid as Iode's. No. More fluid. Every transition was seamless. Every strike was precise. Zero wasted energy.
One Hour Later
Fire-Scalp watched Arthur with an expression of growing disbelief. This kid...
Arthur was now performing complex sequences—combinations of high, low, and lateral strikes—with a mastery that surpassed the other children.
He started late. His first moves were clumsy, almost pathetic. But now... Fire-Scalp shook his head, half-amused, half-stunned. ...he's caught up and surpassed the others. In a single session. It's... extraordinary.
Arthur's POV
Arthur finally stopped, panting slightly. Crap. That's exhausting.
But a satisfied smile played on his lips. I get it now. I finally understand the difference between sport fencing and real combat.
He looked at his sword with a newfound appreciation. In my previous life, I fought to score points. Here, I fight to survive. It's a completely different mindset.
He looked up at Fire-Scalp, who was staring at him with a strange expression. What? Did I do something wrong?
Fire-Scalp's POV
Fire-Scalp remained silent for a long moment. This kid... he absorbed the other kids' techniques just by watching them. And now, he handles them better than they do.
He glanced over at Gareth, who was still observing from a distance. Gareth was smiling. A satisfied smile. Almost... proud.
That bastard... Fire-Scalp shook his head. ...he's going to turn into a monster