The days passed by with no fanfare. Kyle's days became monotonous like before.
Now that Kyle had dealt with the most pressing matter, he had his sights set on future growth. Of course, with the martial tournament coming up soon, he still had preparations to make.
But there are other things on his mind, right now.
Like leveraging his knowledge of the future to his advantage, well, he had already done some of it, investing in Athena's business.
But, he suddenly had a bout of inspiration today, a lovely idea.
'Yes, a very nice idea.'
Say, if you were transmigrated into a semi-medieval world that was overly reliant on cultivation, and subpar entertainment and technology, as a former resident of Earth with boundless knowledge, what would you do?
'Plagiarism!' Kyle thought, an excited smile beaming on his face.
'First, I think I should become a writer. The written works in this world are not bad, but Earth has much better!'
He could already imagine how successful he could become by plagiarising the famous works from back home.
Even though there was no way he could remember every detail, word by word, he was confident in being able to recall most of the information.
He was already planning on getting started.
Of course, the first thing was buying paper. Even if it was very expensive, as a noble house, his monthly allowance alone was equivalent to a whole regular family's lifetime earnings.
"Yeah, becoming a writer is a very good idea. And maybe in the future, I can try to bring some of the inventions from Earth to life, it won't be easy though."
He wrote down a list of items he would need on a piece of parchment, intending to give it to Sebastian later, and then walked out of his place to go and train.
He walked into the training hall, sword already in hand as he stretched a pair of gloves onto his hands. Kyle had commissioned a personal training sword for himself.
Unlike his usual thin longsword, this one was a standard issue, made from ordinary steel, in the same thin longsword shape that he liked to use.
"Young master." The few people in the training room greeted with casual low bows. Kyle nodded to them with no change to his expression.
He walked on to a secluded part of the wide room.
'It's a shame that I don't have my own training room.' He thought for the umpteenth time. 'But it's not all bad. I get to pick training partners from the cultivators here.'
Fighting daily against other people had done wonders for his progress, allowing him to get to where he was now.
It actually helped him to adapt to countering cultivators with different strengths and abilities.
He began to practice his strikes the whole morning. As always, he saw steady, noticeable improvements in his sword mastery after practicing his swings for extended periods of time.
Pausing, he lowered his blade and let his eyes sweep across the hall. Several cultivators were still sparring, their exchanges fierce yet rigid, limited by orthodox styles.
Kyle's lips curled faintly. He had long noticed the stagnation in many cultivators' weapon mastery, too much reliance on spiritual power, and too little refinement of the fundamentals.
Or sometimes even mistaking polishing of the fundamentals to such a level, you believe you were truly improving.
'Which isn't bad, but complex simplification should not be mistaken for complexity. It is very easy to confuse the two.
One is an exaggerated form of the same concept, while the other is a completely different evolved form .'
That was how Kyle would put it.
Clearly, the locals had the wrong idea about training one's skills. Of course, repetition was key to mastering any technique, but you had to be objective about it.
Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result was very stupid.
'That's another thing I could change, ' he thought, gripping his longsword tighter. 'Earth had centuries' worth of principles for effective learning techniques. What if I introduced those ideas here?'
The thought excited him almost as much as his scheme to plagiarize Earth's literature. It wasn't just about getting stronger; it was about reshaping this world in ways only he could.
'Maybe one day, I can even build my own army.' He thought absentmindedly.
"Thinking again, young master?" a voice teased from nearby.
Kyle turned his head to find one of the house's employed cultivators approaching, a burly cultivator named Darius, sweat dripping from his bald head.
He had often sparred with Kyle before, one of the few who didn't go easy on him just because of his noble status, not like he needed to.
Kyle smirked. "Better to think and act than to swing blindly."
Darius chuckled, tightening the wrappings around his fists. "Then let's see if your thinking has improved your blade. Care for a round?"
Kyle's eyes lit up. His heart welcomed the challenge. "Gladly."
The two moved to an open sparring area, and immediately, a few spectators paused their own training to watch.
"The young master is sparring again."
"It's always entertaining watching the young master's sword. It's beautiful."
'Well, you are right about that.'
Kyle steadied his breathing, his longsword poised. Darius dropped into a low stance, his fists glowing faintly with Qi energy.
The hall grew quieter, anticipation thickening the air.
Kyle's mind sharpened. 'Another chance to test myself. To adapt. To grow. Let's do things differently this time.'
To Darius' surprise, Kyle threw his sword over to his left hand. And much to his surprise, his stance and grip did not look the least bit clumsy despite the change; rather, he looked comfortable.
Kyle moved first, not giving Darius or the others a moment to think about what they had just seen.
With a grin tugging at his lips, he dashed forward, his blade flashing like silver lightning.
Darian's face showed interest, maybe a smirk of superiority, until Kyle's blade met his in a block.
It stung Darian's forearm, just a flicker, but enough that he paused. They quickly exchanged a flurry of blows.
Kyle's swings lacked the grace of his right-handed strikes, and each step sometimes betrayed imbalance, his weak side over-extending, toes twisting.
Yet there was precision where before there had been none. He anticipated Darian's feints: the flick to the wrist, the thrust just after repositioning.
Darian tried a downward chop, but Kyle parried with his left, fingers straining at the hilt, his gloved hand cracking as he absorbed the force.
Then Kyle countered: not with power, but with speed. The improvement was subtle, a shortcut Darian hadn't seen before, a half-step forward, a small pivot, and Kyle's blade grazed Darian's side.
Darian flicked sideways, adjusting, but Kyle's momentum carried into another swing, this time more sure, his wrist and arm cooperating, left shoulder pulling in.
Darian launched a more aggressive combination, slash, lunge, overhead, expecting Kyle to break or stagger.
And for a moment, Kyle did falter; the weaker hand shook, grip loosening. But he recovered, pressing forward, forcing Darian back.
Though still raw, still slower, still imperfect, Kyle's left-hand had caught up more than anyone expected.
Each block, each counter, each step showed that the many hours of practice weren't wasted.
...
Kyle was satisfied with the progress he was making.
'I'm still very far from perfectly being able to wield the sword with my left hand as I do with my right, but any progress is welcome.'
If he had been using his dominant hand, with no holding back, the spar would have been over before it even began.
This was, in a way, a method to condition himself and fight on slightly even grounds. He had ended up beating Darius anyway.
There was a lot to take away from the spar as usual. With Kyle making it a point to improve himself regardless of his opponent or circumstances, whether he was fighting someone stronger or weaker, there would always be something to learn from your opponent.
His strikes had grown sharper, his footwork steadier, and the duel ended only after both exchanged fierce blows that left the training hall buzzing with whispers. Kyle, however, didn't linger.
His mind was already elsewhere.
After a quick wash, he changed into lighter robes and walked through the quiet corridors of the manor until he found Sebastian, the ever-dutiful old butler, supervising the evening arrangements.
"Sebastian," Kyle called softly.
The man turned, bowing with his usual grace. His greying hair was neatly combed, his posture still as straight as any seasoned knight despite his age. "Young master, what is it you require?"
Kyle handed him the folded parchment. "I need these items prepared and delivered to my quarters. As quickly as possible."
Sebastian unfolded the parchment, his brows lifting slightly as he scanned the list. "Paper, quills, inkstones… and rather large quantities at that. May I ask, young master, what endeavor requires so many supplies?"
Kyle smiled faintly, his eyes gleaming with restrained excitement. "A new project of mine. Something long overdue."
The butler, ever discreet, bowed again. "Very well. I shall see to it immediately. Expect them within the next two days."
Satisfied, Kyle returned to his chambers. For now, he would not wait idly.
He gathered what little parchment and ink he already had stored away and lit a lamp on his writing desk.
The faint glow spread across the polished wood as he dipped the quill and pressed its point to paper.
Romeo and Juliet.
The words flowed from memory, with enough detail to capture the heart of the tale. The tragic romance, the star-crossed lovers, the feud between families, it all took shape beneath his hand.
In this world, where stories revolved around cultivators, battles, and ancient sects, such a deeply emotional human tale would be groundbreaking.
Of course, he would not be changing the core of the story. He did consider making it about two youngsters from cultivation families who are in a feud, but after thinking about it, he decided against it.
'It will be good to give the people around here a different perspective on the world, that is separate from the lives they live.'
The hours slipped away unnoticed, his quill scratching against parchment with a steady rhythm.
He was halfway through the first act when the sound of the door opening broke his concentration.
"Kyle?"