After confirming his body's condition was adequate but undertrained for what he had planned, Marc headed straight to the private training hall attached to his quarters. It was small—designed for a young heir's personal practice—but privacy mattered more than space right now.
He needed to assess exactly what this twelve-year-old genius body could actually do.
"The young master is going to the training hall again!"
"He's been going every day since he was six. What's unusual about that?"
A maid with auburn hair replied to her companion dismissively as they passed in the hallway. But the other maid shook her head urgently.
"No, you don't understand. He's going four times today. Before dawn, midday, afternoon, and he just left again. And yesterday, he requested the advanced training hall."
The auburn-haired girl stopped. "The advanced hall? That's where the Grand Duke trains. Where the master swordsmen practice. They don't let children—"
"The Grand Duke approved it personally. Said if the heir is going to Military Academy, he should have access to proper facilities."
"Well, he is a 2nd Stage at twelve. That's Grand Duke-level talent..." The maid lowered her voice. "Though between you and me, I heard Knight-Captain Aldric watching the young master train yesterday. He came back looking pale."
"Pale? Why?"
"Said the young master's sword work was 'unnaturally refined for his age.' Those were his exact words."
The first maid's eyes widened. "You don't think...?"
"I don't know what to think. But whatever awakened in that boy during his Mana Heart ceremony, it's made him different."
Their gossip faded as they moved down the corridor, but Marc was already too focused to care about servant talk. He had more important things to consider.
Like the glaring flaw he'd noticed in his own worldbuilding.
Inside the advanced training hall—a space three times larger than his private quarters, with reinforced walls designed to withstand 5th Stage mana bursts—Marc hefted his practice saber and frowned.
Winter's Edge. The Valekrest family sword style. I wrote it as elegant, efficient, deadly against human opponents and monsters alike.
But now that I'm actually analyzing it with military combat theory...
He moved through the opening forms, his body flowing with the muscle memory of six years of daily practice. The movements were smooth, polished, sophisticated.
And completely unsuited for sustained monster wave defense.
"How did I not notice this?" Marc muttered, finishing the sequence. "Winter's Edge is a skirmishing style. Fast strikes, mounted combat tactics, designed for mobile warfare against organized opponents."
He ran through the forms again, this time analyzing each movement with a critical eye.
Single-target focused. Assumes space to maneuver. Relies on superior individual skill and mana reinforcement. Perfect for frontier raids, monster hunting parties, mounted charges against organized enemy formations.
Absolutely terrible for holding a wall against a sustained monster swarm.
Marc stopped mid-form, a realization hitting him.
Wait. The Valekrest family has been defending the Northern Frontier for centuries. They're not idiots. There's no way they'd maintain a sword style that doesn't work for their primary function unless...
He thought back to his worldbuilding notes. The Northern Frontier. The monster waves. The defensive strategies.
The Valekrest family doesn't hold walls. They never have.
The realization crystallized.
They're a mobile strike force. The family tradition is aggressive defense—hunting parties that intercept monster waves BEFORE they reach the fortifications. Mounted saber charges that break up monster formations. Elite squads that assassinate wave commanders.
Winter's Edge isn't designed for static defense because the Valekrest family doesn't DO static defense. They leave that to the garrison soldiers and the fortress commanders.
Marc sat down, mind racing through the implications.
That's why the family style works. It's perfect for what they actually do—aggressive cavalry actions and elite monster hunting. The Grand Duke leads mounted charges. The family's legendary battles are all offensive operations.
But in my novel, when everything goes to shit, when the monster waves become too large and too frequent...
They're forced into static defensive positions. Fighting a kind of battle their entire martial tradition isn't designed for.
And they lose.
Marc stood slowly, a grim smile on his face.
That's actually brilliant worldbuilding, past me. Even if I didn't consciously realize it.
The Valekrest family's strength—their aggressive, mobile combat doctrine—becomes their weakness when the strategic situation changes. When they're forced to defend instead of attack, their entire martial tradition fails them.
Winter's Edge is perfect for hunting monsters. Terrible for surviving a siege.
He picked up his saber again, but this time he also grabbed a weighted practice sword from the rack—the kind garrison soldiers used for training.
The garrison troops learn Basic Swordsmanship. Simple, adaptable, designed for formation fighting and sustained combat. It's "inferior" to noble family styles in single combat, but it's built for a different purpose.
They hold the walls while the Valekrest cavalry rides out to break the waves.
That system works... until the waves get too big. Until there's no more "riding out" to do. Until it's just desperate defense and the family's elite combat style can't save them.
Marc moved into a basic stance—not Winter's Edge, but the fundamental Imperial Guard position.
I need both. The family style for its mana integration, its refined technique, its killing power. But also the foundation of Basic Swordsmanship for sustained combat, formation fighting, and defensive operations.
Because I know what's coming. I know the family will be forced to defend. And when that happens, Winter's Edge alone won't be enough.
He began drilling—alternating between Winter's Edge forms and Basic Swordsmanship fundamentals, looking for points where they could merge.
It felt wrong initially. Like mixing oil and water. The philosophies were too different.
But Marc had advantages. Modern military combined-arms theory. Understanding of how different combat doctrines could complement each other. And most importantly: he knew the family's strategy would eventually fail.
I need to be able to fight like a Valekrest when hunting monsters.
And like a garrison soldier when holding a wall.
Nobody else sees the need for this yet. But in eight years, when Crimson Valley falls, they'll understand.
Three hours later, Marc was deep in experimentation when the training hall doors opened.
"So the rumors are true."
Marc turned to find a tall man in knight's armor watching him—Knight-Captain Aldric, one of the family's veteran commanders. Fifty years old, 5th Stage Mana Heart, scarred face from decades of frontier combat.
"Knight-Captain," Marc acknowledged, not stopping his drill. "Can I help you?"
"The Grand Duke asked me to observe your training. Make sure you're not overexerting yourself before the academy." Aldric's eyes narrowed as Marc flowed through a hybrid sequence. "Though from what I'm seeing, overexertion is the least of my concerns."
"Oh?"
"Your form is too good, young master." Aldric stepped closer. "Winter's Edge takes most students a decade to execute that cleanly. You're twelve."
Marc smiled slightly. "I've been training since I was six. And I awakened to 2nd Stage. The mana reinforcement helps."
"It's not just the mana." Aldric moved to the weapon rack, selecting a practice saber. "Your transitions are too efficient. Your footwork adjusts for terrain that isn't there. And—" He gestured with his blade. "—that's not Winter's Edge you were just doing."
"No," Marc admitted. "It's not."
"Care to explain why the heir to House Valekrest is practicing garrison-level Basic Swordsmanship?"
Marc considered his response carefully. Then decided: Fuck it. I'm not hiding my abilities. Father wants me to rank top five at the academy—I'm aiming for Rank 1. Might as well establish that now.
"Because Winter's Edge is designed for mobile warfare and monster hunting," Marc said bluntly. "It's perfect for what our family does—aggressive strikes, mounted combat, elite squad operations. But it's not designed for sustained defensive combat."
Aldric's expression flickered with surprise.
"I'm going to Northern Military Academy," Marc continued. "Where they'll teach me to hold walls and fight in formation. Where I'll face sustained monster waves during training rotations. Winter's Edge alone won't be enough for that."
"So you're... supplementing the family style?"
"I'm building a foundation that works for both offensive and defensive operations." Marc moved into a ready stance. "Winter's Edge for when I hunt. Basic Swordsmanship for when I have to hold ground. Eventually, I'll merge them into something new."
Aldric stared at him. "You're twelve years old. Most noble heirs your age are still learning which end of the sword is sharp."
"Most noble heirs aren't going to Military Academy. Most noble heirs aren't 2nd Stage at twelve." Marc's voice was calm, confident. "And most noble heirs won't be expected to defend the Northern Frontier when the monster waves escalate."
"Bold words."
"Not bold. Strategic." Marc gestured with his saber. "The Northern Front's pressure increases every year. The reports all show it. If I'm going to lead its defense someday, I need to be ready for every kind of combat. Not just the kind our family excels at."
Aldric was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Show me what you've developed."
Marc didn't hesitate. He flowed through his hybrid sequence—Winter's Edge opening forms transitioning into Basic Swordsmanship defensive patterns, then back into the family style's signature strikes. The mana circulation was still rough during transitions, but the fundamental concept was sound.
When he finished, Aldric was frowning.
"It's crude," the Knight-Captain said bluntly. "The transitions are rough. Your mana flow stutters when you switch between styles."
"I know. I've only been working on it for a week."
"A week?" Aldric's eyebrows rose. "You developed this concept in a week?"
"The concept took an afternoon. The execution is what needs work."
Aldric set down his practice blade slowly. "Young master... what exactly happened during your Mana Heart awakening?"
Marc met his eyes steadily. "I reached 2nd Stage. And I started thinking strategically about my future instead of just following tradition."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer I have, Knight-Captain."
Another long silence. Then Aldric smiled slightly—the first genuine expression Marc had seen from the veteran.
"The Grand Duke told me you insisted on Military Academy instead of Imperial. Said you claimed you'd rank Rank 1." Aldric picked up his practice blade again. "I thought you were being an arrogant child. Now I'm not so sure."
"I'm not arrogant," Marc said. "I'm realistic. I have talent—2nd Stage at twelve proves that. I have resources—the Valekrest family name and training. And I have motivation—I actually understand what's at stake for the Northern Front."
"And you think that's enough for Rank 1 at Military Academy?"
"No. But it's a foundation." Marc raised his saber. "The rest is just hard work."
Aldric laughed—a genuine, surprised sound. "Just hard work. Listen to you." He moved into a ready stance. "How about we test that foundation? I'll hold back to 3rd Stage level. Let's see if your hybrid style actually works under pressure."
Marc's smile was sharp. "I'd be honored, Knight-Captain."
"Don't be. I'm going to hit you. A lot."
"That's how you learn."
Aldric's grin widened. "I'm starting to understand why the Grand Duke approved your academy choice. You're not like other noble brats."
No, Marc thought as they began to spar. I'm really not.
Aldric wasn't lying—he hit Marc a lot.
The Knight-Captain's practice blade caught him across the ribs, the shoulder, the thigh. Each strike pulled at 3rd Stage power, enough to sting through the training padding but not injure.
But Marc kept adapting.
Winter's Edge mobility to create space. Basic Swordsmanship blocks to defend angles he couldn't dodge. Family style strikes when openings appeared.
It was rough. Unrefined. His transitions were still clunky, and Aldric exploited every gap.
But it worked.
"Enough," Aldric called after ten minutes. He lowered his blade, breathing only slightly harder. "That's sufficient."
Marc lowered his own weapon, breathing hard. His arms were shaking, and he'd taken at least twenty solid hits.
But he was grinning.
"Verdict?" he asked.
Aldric studied him thoughtfully. "Your hybrid concept has merit. It's crude right now, but the foundation is sound. With refinement..." He paused. "With refinement, it could be genuinely innovative. Not better than Winter's Edge for what Winter's Edge does, but more versatile."
"That's the goal."
"You'll need a proper instructor for this. Someone who understands both noble sword arts and military fundamentals." Aldric sheathed his practice blade. "I'll speak with the Grand Duke. If you're serious about this path, you should have the proper resources."
"Thank you, Knight-Captain."
"Don't thank me yet. If I'm recommending you for advanced instruction, you'll be training even harder than you are now." Aldric's expression turned serious. "And young master? About your question earlier—what happened during my awakening?"
Marc tensed slightly.
"I don't know what happened," Aldric said carefully. "But talent alone doesn't explain what I saw today. You move like someone with years of combat experience. You think tactically like a veteran commander. Your strategic analysis of Winter's Edge's limitations is something most people don't understand until they've actually fought in sustained defensive battles."
He stepped closer, voice lowering.
"You're twelve years old. You shouldn't know these things. But you do." Aldric met Marc's eyes. "I don't need to know how or why. But I do need to know—are you going to use this knowledge to help the family? To strengthen the North?"
Marc didn't hesitate. "Yes. That's exactly what I'm going to do."
Aldric searched his face, then nodded slowly. "Then I'll support you. Whatever you need for the academy—training, resources, instruction—I'll make sure you have it."
"Even though you think something unusual is going on?"
"Especially because something unusual is going on." Aldric's smile was grim. "The Northern Front needs unusual right now. The monster waves are escalating. The traditional strategies are showing strain. If you've somehow gained insight that can help..." He shrugged. "I'm not fool enough to question a gift, young master."
Marc felt something relax in his chest. He'd been preparing for suspicion, for resistance.
Instead, he'd found an ally.
"I won't let you down, Knight-Captain."
"See that you don't." Aldric turned to leave, then paused. "And young master? Stop trying to hide how good you are. You said you're aiming for Rank 1 at the academy. You'll never achieve that if you keep pulling your punches in training."
"I'm not—"
"You are." Aldric's look was knowing. "I've trained enough nobles to recognize when someone's holding back to avoid attention. Stop it. You want Rank 1? Then train like it. Fight like it. Show everyone exactly what the Valekrest heir is capable of."
"The family might find it suspicious—"
"The family will find it impressive." Aldric's voice was firm. "You're a 2nd Stage at twelve with clear tactical genius. Acting like that's normal is more suspicious than embracing it. Own your abilities, young master. Make everyone expect greatness from you."
He left before Marc could respond.
Marc stood in the empty training hall, processing the Knight-Captain's words.
He's right. I've been unconsciously holding back, trying to seem 'reasonable' for a talented twelve-year-old. But that's stupid.
Arden Valekrest was ALREADY a genius before my memories merged with him. 2nd Stage at twelve is unprecedented. Having that genius suddenly start thinking strategically and training harder? That's not suspicious—that's expected character development.
I don't need to hide my abilities. I need to flaunt them.
Marc raised his saber again, this time channeling mana through the blade—ice-element energy that made frost patterns crawl across the practice weapon.
Winter's Edge Technique: Frost Severance.
He executed the strike perfectly—faster and cleaner than Arden's muscle memory alone should allow. The blade moved through the air with a sharp crack as ice mana compressed and released.
The practice dummy across the hall didn't just get cut. It shattered, frozen solid and then destroyed by the strike's force.
Marc stared at the destruction, then smiled slowly.
Yeah. No more holding back.
If I'm going to be Rank 1 at Northern Military Academy, I need to stop acting like a prodigy trying to be modest.
Time to show everyone what happens when genius meets experience.
He picked up his saber and began drilling again—this time at full intensity, mana blazing through every strike, hybrid forms executed with all the skill he could muster.
The Valekrest heir had three weeks left before his new life began.
He intended to make them count.