Thwack!
My wooden practice sword collided with the training dummy's torso, the impact reverberating up my arms.
I reset my stance, feet planted shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent. Weight balanced. The way I'd taught myself from old training manuals in Father's library.
Thwack!
Better. Cleaner contact this time.
The morning sun had barely cleared the horizon, painting the training yard in shades of orange and gold.
I wiped sweat from my forehead and checked my status.
HP: 164/180
MP: 65/65
STR: 11
VIT: 6
INT: 47
WIS: 39
AGI: 8
LUK: 15
Allocation Points: 0
Active Skill: Debug Vision
Passive Skill: Poison Resistance (Intermediate - 65%), Social Engineering, Alchemy (Basic Tier)
Not bad.
Eighteen months of careful stat allocation, proper meals without poison, and daily training had brought my physical stats from complete garbage to merely mediocre.
I could actually swing a sword now without my arms giving out after thirty seconds.
Progress.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
I ran through the basic strike patterns again—overhead, diagonal, horizontal sweep. Nothing fancy. Just fundamentals drilled until they became muscle memory.
"Still wasting time pretending to be a warrior?"
I didn't need to turn around to recognize that voice.
Cedric.
He stood at the edge of the training yard, arms crossed, his twelve-year-old face twisted into the same expression of contempt he'd worn for the past year and a half.
Ever since Vivienne left.
Ever since I "ruined his life."
"Morning, Cedric," I said neutrally, not stopping my practice routine.
Thwack!
"Don't talk to me like we're equals," he spat. "You're nothing. A disgrace. Father won't even look at you anymore."
True. Father had barely acknowledged my existence since Vivienne's exile.
At first, I'd thought maybe things would improve after the truth came out. Maybe Father would see that I'd been the victim, that I'd survived something most people wouldn't.
Instead, he blamed me.
Not for being poisoned, but for making him lose his wife.
For forcing his hand. For creating a scandal that damaged the Raith family's reputation. For being the inconvenient reason he had to send away the woman he loved.
He hadn't said it out loud, but I could read it in every dismissive glance, every conversation he held with Victor and Cedric that deliberately excluded me.
I was the problem. Always had been.
Vivienne being gone didn't change that fundamental truth.
"If you're just here to insult me, I have better things to do," I said, resetting my stance.
"Better things?" Cedric laughed, sharp and bitter, something too old for his age. "Like what? Pretending you'll ever be worth something? Mother was right about you. You're just a waste of—"
Thud!
The training yard door slammed open, and Victor strode in, already dressed in his practice armor. His eyes swept over the scene, me with my practice sword, Cedric standing at the edge, tension thick enough to cut.
"Cedric. Leave." Victor's voice was flat, bored. "I need the yard."
Cedric's expression flickered, wanting to argue, but not quite brave enough to defy Victor.
He shot me one last venomous look and stalked off.
I lowered my practice sword and moved toward the equipment rack, ready to clear out.
"Stay."
I paused, surprised. Victor rarely acknowledged me beyond the occasional beating during "training sessions."
He pulled his own practice sword from the rack and moved to the center of the yard.
"You've been practicing," he observed, his tone neutral. "Your stance is less terrible than before."
Was that... a compliment? From Victor?
"Thanks," I said carefully.
"Don't thank me. You're still pathetic." He adjusted his grip on his sword.
"But Father asked me to evaluate your progress. Said if you're going to carry the Raith name, you should at least look competent enough not to embarrass us at public functions."
Ah. There it is.
Not concern. Not brotherly interest.
Just Father's orders to make sure I was presentable enough not to damage the family reputation further.
"Defend yourself," Victor said, and lunged.
I barely got my sword up in time. His blade crashed against it with enough force to send splinters flying.
Shit!
I backpedaled, trying to create distance, but Victor pressed the attack relentlessly.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
My arms screamed from the impacts. Each blow felt like getting hit with a sledgehammer, the practice sword doing almost nothing to absorb the force.
"You're too slow," Victor said, his breathing still perfectly even while I was already gasping. "Your footwork is sloppy. And you telegraph every move three seconds before you make it."
Clang!
He disarmed me with a casual twist of his wrist, sending my sword spinning across the yard.
I landed hard on my back, the wind knocked out of me.
Victor stood over me, not even breathing hard. "Pathetic. But less pathetic than before. Keep practicing."
He turned and walked away, already done with me.
I lay there on the packed dirt, staring up at the brightening sky, my ribs aching.
Same as always. Victor tolerated my existence just enough to fulfill Father's orders. Nothing more.
The training yard door opened again, and a servant appeared.
"Young master Jin," she said, not bothering to help me up. "Breakfast will be served shortly. You should... clean yourself."
The pause before "clean yourself" said everything. I was covered in dirt and sweat, unfit to sit at the family table looking like this.
"I'll be there," I muttered, pushing myself to my feet.
The servant left without another word.
I retrieved my practice sword and returned it to the rack, then headed toward my room.
Eighteen months since Vivienne left.
Eighteen months of Father's silent condemnation. Cedric's open hatred. Victor's indifferent brutality.
And Cassandra...
She'd left for the academy a week after Vivienne's exile. Said she had important training to complete. Summer break came and went, she sent a letter saying she couldn't return, had enrolled in an advanced combat program that required year-round attendance.
Then winter break. Another letter. Another excuse.
This past summer? Same thing.
She hadn't been home once in eighteen months.
Not that I blamed her. Who would want to come back to this disaster of a family?
I reached my room and stripped off my sweat-soaked training clothes, washing quickly in the basin of cold water.
My reflection in the mirror showed the progress I'd made.
I looked... alive. Functional.
Not the half-dead skeleton I'd been when I first woke up in this body.
[Status]
Name: Jin Raith
Age: 17
Class: Debugger
Level: 4
EXP: 0/550
Rank: F
MC (Mana Capacity): 11/50
The poison quest had given me a huge EXP boost, but leveling naturally was slow without active quests.
The system had shown me one more quest notification months ago:
[New Quest Available: ???]
[Requirements Not Yet Met]
But it never elaborated, never gave me details. Just sat there, teasing, waiting for whatever trigger condition it needed.
So I'd focused on the basics instead. Training my body. Studying alchemy and poisons from the knowledge tome. Reading everything in Father's library I could access. Building strength slowly, methodically, without drawing attention.
Surviving.
Always just surviving.
I pulled on clean clothes, simple tunic and trousers, nothing fancy and headed down to breakfast.
The dining room was already occupied when I arrived. Father at the head of the table, Victor to his right, Cedric to his left.
And at the far end of the table, separated from the main family grouping by several empty chairs, was my place.
I sat without a word.
A servant placed a bowl of porridge in front of me, along with bread and some fruit. Standard breakfast, nothing special.
I ate in silence while Father discussed estate matters with Victor, completely ignoring my presence.
Cedric glared at me over his eggs, his hatred palpable.
Just another morning in the Raith household.
I finished my meal quickly and stood to leave.
"Jin."
Father's voice stopped me at the door.
I turned, surprised. He hadn't addressed me directly in months.
"Sir?"
He still wasn't looking at me, his eyes fixed on the papers beside his plate.
"The Harvest Festival is in two weeks. All noble families are expected to attend with their household members. You will be there, properly dressed, and you will not embarrass this family. Understood?"
Not a question.
An order.
"Understood," I said quietly.