[5th June]
The Capital of the Dragon Kingdom was alive at its peak.
Sunlight poured over towering spires and marble streets, touching every corner of the noble district with warmth and order.
Inside one such district, servants moved briskly through a modest noble residence.
It was smaller than the grand manors around it, yet far larger than any common home.
Life moved on above.
Below, in the basement—
Rey lay flat on the cold floor, a dagger still clenched in his hand.
His eyes fluttered.
Then snapped open.
He shot upright in a gasp, saliva clinging to the corner of his mouth as he scanned his surroundings in alarm.
"Where am I…?" he muttered, clutching his head as a sharp throb pulsed behind his eyes.
"What… happened to me?"
Fragments of memory rushed back in uneven waves.
The training.
The mana.
The cut.
"…Ah."
Realisation struck.
"Last night…"
His gaze sharpened.
"Did I manage it…?"
Without wasting another second, Rey pulled up his Arsenal panel and rubbed his eyes, forcing the haze away.
───◈ Arsenal Mastery ◈───
Sword: E+ ↑ (99%)
Dagger/Knives: D- ↑ (00%)
Spear: E+ ↑ (99%)
Shield: E+ ↑ (78%)
Bow: E+ ↑ (99%)
Greatsword: D- ↑ (76%)
Hand-to-Hand: E+ ↑ (18%)
Gun: E (11%)
Hammer: E+ ↑ (2%)
Katana: E+ (94%)
───◈◈◈───
For a second, he just stared.
Then his lips curved upward.
"…I did it."
Before he could even savour the moment, several system notifications surfaced.
[Ding! Detected: Host's dagger proficiency has broken through to D- rank.]
[Detected: Manual flow and manipulation of mana.]
[Through repeated attempts, the following skills have increased in rank.]
[Effects will be visible after seal release.]
…
[Host's mana has been depleted.]
[Threshold Mana Overload has been released.]
[Host body has entered dormancy for natural recovery.]
The final panel faded, and the system went silent.
Rey exhaled slowly and closed the interface.
His dagger proficiency had reached the stage he aimed for.
Pushing further in his current condition would only waste time and risk injury.
That left one thing.
The bow.
And the technique he had received from the martial arts mall attendant.
He checked instinctively.
The technique section was still accessible.
Good.
It was the only structured method he had left to support his strength now that skills and relics were sealed.
One thing, however, bothered him.
His proficiency had increased without entering the gate.
The only explanation he could find was that strange, thin layer that had coated his body during last night's attempt.
The byproduct of his incomplete mastery.
"…Troublesome," he muttered, then shook his head.
Overthinking it now wouldn't help.
He pushed himself to his feet and headed upstairs to the bathroom.
His body reeked of sweat, soaked twice over from last night's ordeal.
The shower was cold, grounding.
As water ran down his back, he rechecked his status.
His mana was still recovering.
Threshold Mana was already filled to the brink, while his natural reserves refilled at a steady pace.
The regeneration was fast by ordinary standards.
But compared to before?
Painfully slow.
If his skills were available, he could have restored everything within an hour.
Now—
"…Right. Sealed."
The thought still sat badly in his chest.
After drying off, Rey changed into fresh clothes manually.
No instant swaps.
No assistance.
His connection to all relics remained silent, as if they no longer existed.
That emptiness hadn't faded.
Breakfast was already waiting when he reached the dining table.
He ate quietly and efficiently, letting his body regain its strength.
Once finished, he stood and made a decision.
He needed a place to train.
Somewhere, he could practice his bow and technique without drawing attention.
Physical stats alone would already make him stand out.
Going all out during training would only cause trouble before the competition.
And he knew where to go as he left the house.
A taxi ride later, he arrived.
The Martial Center of the Capital.
The moment Rey stepped out, he froze.
"…This place…"
The building dwarfed anything he had seen back in his city.
It was easily on the scale of the competition hall where he had registered yesterday.
His city's martial center suddenly felt like a decorative signboard compared to this.
"So this is a real one," he muttered, eyes scanning the vast facilities and flowing crowd.
"Where martial artists are actually born."
He felt eyes on him.
Whispers.
Curious glances.
Rey straightened and walked forward.
'I probably look like a complete country bumpkin right now.'
At the front desk, an attendant greeted him with a polite smile.
"Good morning, sir. Is this your first visit to our Martial Center?"
"Yes," Rey replied calmly.
"I'm looking for a place to train with a bow."
"Oh, we have an archery ground on the third floor. You may head there directly."
Rey shook his head slightly and lowered his voice.
"I want to train techniques. I'd like a private room."
The attendant paused, then nodded.
"That's possible, though private rooms are costly. Are you certain?"
"Yes."
The man began writing.
"For one day, a private training room costs 20,000 Dragon Points. The archery field is only 3,000."
"I'll take the private room," Rey said without hesitation.
"And reserve it for five days. I'll pay in advance."
The attendant looked up, surprised.
"…Very well."
As Rey brought out his phone, the man's expression subtly shifted.
Noble?
Young master?
His clothing didn't quite match the image, but the payment spoke louder than appearance.
After brief paperwork, the key was handed over.
"Your room is reserved until the 9th of June," the attendant said.
"Please return the key afterwards."
Rey nodded.
With the key in hand, he headed deeper into the building.
Toward the second floor.
Toward solitude.
The second floor was quieter.
Most trainees crowded the upper public floors, where training costs were low, and eyes were everywhere.
Here, footsteps were fewer, voices muted, intent sharper.
Rey preferred it this way.
As he walked down the corridor, his uncle's words from the first day in the Capital echoed in his mind.
'Learn the city first. Learn where eyes gather, and where they don't.'
He stopped before his assigned room, unlocked the gate, and stepped inside.
The door closed softly behind him.
"I need to get familiar with these techniques fast," Rey muttered.
"I can't afford to lag behind anymore."
He knew his position well.
Compared to an average martial artist, his footing was slightly better.
But compared to geniuses, heirs, and nobles raised on resources and training since childhood—
He was still behind.
His goal was clear.
Perfect a few techniques.
Bow techniques first.
Footwork second.
Anything extra would be a bonus.
The room itself was large, nearly twice the size of the training space beneath his house.
Bare walls.
A single shelf.
Nothing else.
"…So it really is just a personal room," Rey said quietly.
"No archery setup at all."
No problem.
He summoned his dummies, reinforcing them instantly with Zero's matter.
They were placed neatly at the far end of the room.
Next came his bow and arrows.
Then the books.
One bow manual.
Eight others from the martial mall.
He sat down and opened the bow techniques first.
Multishot.
The theory made sense.
The body did not.
The moment he tried holding two arrows properly, his grip collapsed.
Stability vanished.
Control scattered.
Shooting them together?
Impossible.
Rey exhaled slowly and lowered the bow.
"…As expected."
He tried again.
And again.
Curved shots failed.
Dual draw failed.
After several rounds, his fingers ached, and his patience thinned.
"I'll need at least ten times the effort for this," he admitted.
"But backing down isn't an option."
The university was non-negotiable.
After another failed attempt, he set the bow aside.
Footwork.
'Please… let this one work.'
He gathered the books and began searching.
Five books passed.
No luck.
"…You've got to be kidding me."
It took nearly half an hour before he finally found it in the sixth book.
"Great," Rey sighed.
"Even my luck enjoys wasting my time."
As he skimmed through the others, patterns emerged.
Three were elemental weapon manuals.
Incompatible with each other, just as the attendant had warned.
One was a physical enhancement technique, overly rigid and obscure.
Another focused on mental refinement, useless under his current sealed condition.
He set them aside.
Finally, he focused on the footwork art.
This one… he could understand.
The opening section wasn't about speed.
It was about reshaping the body.
Flexibility.
Lightness.
Flow.
A foundational practice meant to prepare the body for true movement arts.
According to the translation, full mastery could elevate speed to the sound barrier.
At the peak, with sufficient physical reinforcement, even be higher.
"…Half the speed of light?" Rey scoffed softly.
"That's definitely exaggerated."
Still—
With relic support, it might not be entirely impossible.
His gaze dimmed.
"…Come on, Aiden. At least say something."
The silence answered him.
No voices.
No mockery.
No guidance.
It felt… empty.
Shaking his head, Rey stood up and began copying the first stance.
It was awkward.
Wrong.
Every pose felt unnatural.
Some demanded flexibility far beyond a normal human's limits.
Yet he persisted.
The art contained thirty-two stances.
Each stance had to be completed twelve times in succession. Only then would the body be ready for the real technique.
By the seventh stance—
Rey collapsed to one knee.
His stamina drained frighteningly fast.
His limbs trembled.
He fell back onto the floor, staring at the ceiling.
"…No way I reach twelve like this."
His chest rose and fell heavily.
"Did that attendant even finish the foundation?" he muttered.
"Or did he just jump ahead and hope for results?"
That explained why he couldn't use it properly.
Reality was cruel.
Rey rested only a few minutes before forcing himself up again.
"I'm not wasting time," he said firmly.
"Not even a second."
Every applicant in this competition was thinking the same.
The world's greatest Martial University was a gate no one wanted to miss.
Even if it meant pushing past limits.
Even if it meant breaking.
—
Elsewhere in the Capital, unseen currents were moving.
Within the Ashcroft Estate, located beside the noble sector and guarded like a fortress, shadows returned.
Seven figures landed silently behind a lone man standing atop the mansion roof.
They knelt.
"Sir," one reported, head lowered."The target is inside the Martial Center. He has not left for several hours."
"Monitoring confirms all exits. He has not appeared in any public archery ranges. Most likely training in a private room."
"Primary weapon: bow."
"He may be preparing for university entry, possibly influenced by receiving a bow manual during registration."
"All details have been recorded as instructed."
"Should we report to the Lord?"
Marcus, the estate's head butler, did not turn.
"No."
His voice was calm.
"Do you think the Lord has time to observe a child's routine training?" he said coldly.
"Bring him something useless, and you'll die. I might join you."
The spies stiffened.
"If he hasn't done anything abnormal, don't report."
Marcus's gaze swept over the sunlit Capital.
"As for training…" he continued.
"Even if he trained for ten years, he wouldn't match our Young Master."
"Our young master has prepared for months to enter the university alongside other Duke heirs."
"Resources. Foundation. Guidance."
"A fallen heir cannot compete."
"And five days?" Marcus scoffed faintly.
"He won't break heaven."
The spies bowed deeper and vanished into the shadows.
Marcus remained alone, staring at the city glowing beneath the sun.
Bright on the surface.
Clouded beneath.
Because when the competition began—
No one truly knew who would rise.