Progress I

A sliver of sunlight snuck through a gap in the curtains, painting a golden stripe across my eyelids. Despite the guilt that had gnawed at me the night before, sleep had come easily, leaving me surprisingly refreshed.

Sitting up in bed, I took a moment to orient myself. The luxurious surroundings, once a source of unease, now felt strangely familiar. This was my reality now, for better or for worse. With a sigh, I swung my legs over the edge of the plush mattress and headed for the bathroom, the promise of a fresh start waiting on the other side.

A quick shower rinsed away the remnants of sleep, and I grabbed my phone, checking in with my classmates. The familiar chatter of the "Class 1-A: The Best Ever" chat group brought a flicker of normalcy to the situation.

Rachel, the glue of our friend group was the one that sparked this conversation.

Rachel: How has everybody's vacation beenn!

Ian: It's been great, though I do miss the academy funnily enough.

Cecilia: I know what you are saying!

Ren: Same, the academy was a good place to get stronger in.

Cecilia: ....Ian and I are also talking about friendships and other important stuff you know.

I internally laughed at the conversation without caring enough to compose a reply.

A notification chimed, pulling me back to reality. It was Lucifer. His message sent a jolt of surprise through me: "My father is sending me to the Kobold Sea at the start of the next year. Will you be there?"

The Kobold Sea - a hotspot for powerful magical creatures. My eyes widened as I considered my response. Remember, it was now November 30th, six weeks after my adventure in the Amarion Rainforest. While spending time with my new family held some appeal, the chance to further enhance my abilities was far more tempting.

On top of that, having Lucifer by my side at the Kobold Sea could be incredibly useful. With the right plan, he could be a valuable asset in acquiring the beast will I needed. But this unexpected news left a gap in my schedule, a window of free time I hadn't anticipated.

A single thought dominated my mind. 'Should I visit her?' The decision weighed heavily on me. After careful consideration, I fired off a quick "yes" to Lucifer before composing a message to the princess.

Descending the stairs, I found my mother humming softly as she brewed tea. My father was noticeably absent.

"Why are you doing that, Mom? Aren't there maids to take care of these things?" I asked, surprised to see her working in the kitchen. In my mind, estates like this should have a dedicated staff.

A warm chuckle escaped her lips. "You know me, Arthur. I can't sit idle for too long." She poured a steaming cup of tea and passed it to me. "Drink up, dear. Then you can head out to train like your father."

I took a tentative sniff, inhaling the fragrant aroma. The first sip revealed a light yet comforting taste. But what truly surprised me was the unexpected warmth that spread through me, a warmth tinged with unfamiliar emotions.

'Arthur's emotions,' I realized with a jolt. A stinging sensation welled up in my eyes, threatening to spill over into tears. Pushing the feeling down, I managed to ask, "Is Dad training the other knights already?"

"Yes," my mother replied, her smile widening. "Count Chase gave you permission to join them if you'd like."

"Art practice first," I declared, briefly setting aside the turmoil within. My mother's smile warmed me from the inside out, a feeling both familiar and unsettling. With purpose, I headed outside, the memories of Arthur guiding my steps.

I found a secluded training ground, its wide-open space perfect for honing my skills. Along the way, I encountered several staff members, whom I greeted with a smile, relying on Arthur's memories to navigate these social interactions. Using these snippets of his life, I pushed down the crushing weight of guilt, focusing instead on the task at hand: survival.

Right now, strength was paramount. Lucifer, with his formidable power, could easily overpower me in a fight. Closing my eyes, I shifted my stance, channeling my senses outward. Training had demonstrably sharpened them, allowing me to build a mental map of the surrounding area based solely on perception.

My mana senses and instincts for detecting hostile intent had undergone a dramatic transformation. Four knights were nearby, some casting curious glances my way while the others engaged in practice. They weren't weak by any means, their ranks hovering around <Yellow > as they honed a Grade 3 art. While unimpressive compared to the students of Mythos Academy, their power was considerable within the context of this world.

The average citizen resided at the <Orange > rank, their combat skills far inferior to those of a trained knight. Of course, knightly ranks varied as well. The elite <Silver >-ranks, numbering in the dozens here, held more prominent positions, acting as leaders. Two <White >-rank knights served as Count Chase's vice-captains, while the Count himself wielded fifth-circle magic. And then there was my father, a force to be reckoned with at the <Integration > rank, his chosen art a Grade 4.

With a deep exhale, I let go of the overwhelming information and focused on the task at hand. Frustration gnawed at me. The Grade 5 sword art bestowed upon me by the Mythos Academy, the [Tempest Dance Technique]. A flowing dance of steel, it promised a level of strength I desperately craved to challenge the geniuses standing in front of me.

I concentrated on the essence of the art itself – the fluidity, the seamless connection between attacks. Closing my eyes, I visualized the dance, picturing myself weaving a whirlwind of steel. Slowly, a new approach began to form.

Instead of rigid replication, I focused on interpreting the art through my own fighting style. My movements, while not as elegant as the ideal form, possessed a raw power of their own. Sweat beaded on my forehead as I practiced, the rhythmic clang of steel against scabbard echoing in the training ground. This wasn't perfect, but it was a start – my start, a way to bridge the gap between my current abilities and the mastery I craved.

A wry smile touched my lips. While the art itself was foreign to Arthur, my own experiences in the Amarion Rainforest had unwittingly laid the perfect groundwork. Think of mastering a martial art like building a tower. Similar styles, with overlapping principles, could be stacked upon each other, creating a more robust foundation. But the most crucial element was the base itself – a foundation in fundamental weapon control, precision, and footwork.

My time on the edge, constantly hunted by ferocious beasts, had honed these core skills to a razor's edge. The need to conserve mana forced me to rely on precise, economical strikes. The ever-present danger demanded constant vigilance, sharpening my senses to a level I never thought possible. This, it seemed, was the unexpected benefit of my ordeal – the perfect foundation for mastering the [Tempest Dance Technique].

As I drilled myself on the art's core principles, the initial awkwardness gradually melted away. My footwork became lighter, my transitions smoother, each movement flowing effortlessly into the next. Hours bled into afternoon, the rhythmic clang of steel echoing across the training ground. Several knights had gathered, their surprise evident by the subtle fluctuations of mana emanating from them – my heightened senses picking up on their unspoken shock.

Sweat beaded on my forehead, a testament to the intensity of my practice. Finally, I paused, estimating my progress.

'I should be around 15% in terms of understanding my art now,' I thought. When I read the novel before and saw how the characters could estimate this number effortlessly, I was befuddled like many other readers. Only now that I entered this world did I realise just how instinctive and visceral this feeling was.

It wasn't battle ready yet as I hadn't reached the novice level of understanding, but it was a significant leap forward. The initial clumsiness had vanished, replaced by a newfound coordination that imbued my attacks with a deceptive power. Though lacking the true master's grace, each swing resonated with the core principles of the art, a testament to the surprisingly synergistic nature of my past experiences.

Applause echoed across the training ground as Count Chase approached. "Well done, Arthur," he boomed, his voice tinged with genuine surprise. "It's clear you've been putting in the effort."

Internally conflicted, I offered a shallow bow in response. The memory of my promise to not use honourifics lingered in my mind from last night. "Thank you, Uncle," I managed.

Count Chase's gaze flicked across me, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. Turning to one of the knights, a burly figure with a thick beard, he gestured. "Kelly, put him through his paces. Let's see what sort of progress he's made."

My gaze met Kelly's. Unlike the other knights, his presence remained shrouded, his mana core an enigma. A <White >-rank knight, one of the two vice-captains, I instantly recognized. A pang of apprehension shot through me – a clear mismatch in skill. My mother's anxious gaze flickered towards me, her worry palpable. Even my father, ever stoic, seemed taken aback by Count Chase's command. But they remained silent, offering no protest.

A sardonic smile played on my lips. "It would be my honor," I replied, the challenge accepted.