I walked towards the Knights' Training Grounds, my mind organizing the reasons why Sir Kane was the perfect, only choice.
First, Skill: He was a C+-rank swordsman, on the verge of breaking into B-rank. He had perfectly mastered the Imperial Swordsmanship Technique, a standardized D-rank style made available to all citizens of the Holy Empire for self-defense. It was a solid foundation.
Second, Genius: More importantly, Sir Kane was an innovator. He had created his own style—Kane Swordsmanship. Currently, it was rated D+, on par with the imperial style. But I knew from the novel that in four years, he would refine it, blending it with his Wind affinity and aura to elevate it to a powerful C+-rank technique. I couldn't use its final form, but learning its principles, its unique footwork and blade angles, would be invaluable. I wasn't just here to learn a technique; I was here to learn how to create one.
My past life's experience with Kendo, combined with the foundational principles of his style and the imperial technique, could be the seed of something uniquely my own. As a Support Mage, my greatest weakness was close combat. I couldn't rely on magic alone.
Third, Personality: He was known to be decent and fair, but also notoriously stingy when it came to money. That was a weakness I could exploit.
The sounds of clashing steel grew louder as I pushed open the gate to the training grounds. I spotted him easily—a man with a commanding presence, jet-black hair tied back, and intense dark eyes. At thirty-two, he carried the rugged appeal that made him a local celebrity among the town's women.
I approached, waiting for a break in his instruction. "Vice-Captain Kane. Might I have a word with you in private?"
He glanced at me, a flicker of recognition—the Baron's trash son—followed by mild curiosity. "Very well."
We moved to a quiet corner near the entrance, away from the noise.
"What is it, Roy?" he asked, his tone neutral.
"I want you to train me in swordsmanship," I stated plainly. "Two hours daily, mornings or afternoons. I will pay you two gold coins for the year."
His eyebrows rose. "You want to hire me? To learn the sword?" He sounded more puzzled than dismissive.
"Yes. Furthermore," I continued, pressing my advantage, "I want to learn your personal swordsmanship style—the Kane Swordsmanship. Not the aura or Wind applications, just the physical forms and techniques. For that, I will pay an additional two gold coins per year."
Now his curiosity sharpened into wariness. "You want my own style? Why? And you understand that without Wind aura, it's just a collection of fancy movements. It will never reach its true potential."
"I don't need its ultimate potential," I replied, layering a hint of desperate resolve into my voice. "I need to survive. I am a Support Mage. If an enemy closes the distance, I am dead. I need a way to defend myself, to create an opening to cast. I want to learn how a technique is built. Your style is the key."
He studied me, his gaze analytical. "My swordsmanship is my life's work. I can't just hand it over. And you haven't even mastered the Imperial technique. You're asking to run before you can walk."
Time for the deal.
"Then let's make a wager," I said, a calculated smile touching my lips. "Train me in the Imperial Swordsmanship Technique. If I cannot reach a proficient level within one year, you keep the full four gold coins, and our contract ends. If I do master it within the year, you will then teach me the principles and forms of your Kane Swordsmanship for the additional two gold coins. You have nothing to lose and four gold coins to gain. At worst, you earn a year's salary for minimal effort. At best, you earn six."
I saw the moment the greed and logic overrode his caution. His eyes did the math. Four gold guaranteed. Possibly six. For teaching a noble's son basics? It's a windfall.
A slow grin spread across his face. "You drive a hard bargain for a boy who's supposed to be timid. I like it. Very well. I accept your terms."
"Excellent. We'll train at the old house on the edge of town, starting tomorrow. It's near your home, so it should be convenient."
"The old Baron's cottage? Why there?" he asked, confused.
"I've left the main estate," I said, my voice flat. "I live there now."
His surprise was genuine. "You left? When did this—"
"This morning," I cut in. I didn't want his pity. "Tomorrow, then. Here is two gold as an advance." I placed two heavy coins in his palm. The weight seemed to seal the contract in his mind.
He nodded, pocketing the coins. "Dawn. Don't be late."
First alliance, secured.
I didn't linger. I returned to my pathetic room in the mansion for the last time. My possessions fit into a single bag: a few worn clothes, a wooden training sword, and one real sword—a cheap, unadorned blade gifted to me on my fifth birthday, before my Potential was known and all hope was lost.
I slung the bag over my shoulder and walked out without a backward glance.
My next stop was the town market. With one gold coin, I purchased enough dried meat, grains, beans, and hardy vegetables to last a month. It was a commoner's diet, but it was fuel.
An hour's walk later, I stood before my new home.
The old White family cottage stood solitary on a small hill, a kilometer from the nearest cluster of village houses. It was built of sturdy gray stone, weathered but sound. It wasn't a mansion, but to me, it was a fortress. A private, secure base. It came with a small, overgrown training yard in the back and a vast, fallow field—almost a square kilometer—stretching out behind it. Land to grow things. Potential.
This village, like the four others and the town, was part of Baron White's domain. The town had sprung up twelve years ago when an E-rank dungeon manifested nearby, attracting novice adventurers and the Guild that served them. In the grand scheme, White's territory was a speck. The Holy Empire was vast, rich, and mighty—one of the three superpowers that dominated the continent.
The other empires are...
My thoughts were cut short by a flicker of movement at the tree line near the field. A low, unnatural growl, more rustle than sound, reached my ears.
I froze, my hand instinctively dropping to the cheap sword at my hip. This was supposed to be safe territory.
From the shadow of the trees, a pair of glowing, hungry amber eyes locked onto mine. A lean, gray-furred shape slunk into the fading light. It was a Timber Wolf, a common F-rank monster. Normally, they avoided human settlements.
But this one looked starved. Desperate. And it stood between me and my front door.
My mana pool was half-empty from the morning's healing. My swordsmanship was a joke. My heart hammered against my ribs.
[Appraisal]
The blue text flashed before my eyes, a cold comfort.
[Creature: Timber Wolf (F-Rank)
Condition: Starving, Aggressive
Weakness: Underbelly, Left Hind Leg (Limp)]
Theory was over. Survival started now