Sport

Adrien went towards the training center accompanied by his group. He still had bruises from last night, sleeping on the hard wood.

The stadium was surrounded by barricades where a few soldiers, both retired and new recruits, were stationed. The groups were linked to their new recruit, and theirs was no exception. Each one listened to their new recruit, often without any willingness.

"All right, the thing is simple: you run! Clear, precise, straightforward! Just the way we like it! Now, hurry up!"

Adrien started running again and again, sweat drenching his face. After just a few laps, he felt weak and stopped.

"Hey!" said the new recruit from his group. "That's not what you're supposed to do! You should push yourself harder, otherwise it's pointless! You're not just working your physical body, you're working your mind! That way, you can easily control your avatar and be useful!"

"Okay, but I can't go on anymore."

He clearly lacked motivation. Last night had put things in perspective for him. He felt lazy to work for nothing. After all, he would die one day anyway. Might as well enjoy life—that was one of the reasons he had helped the person get back on their feet, even though his master would have surely appreciated it, considering it as an additional exercise. He enjoyed that, being a villager as he was—he disliked city things.

"If you can, come on! Otherwise, I'll kick your ass!" "I'll try." He said with deep breaths, then started running again with the others. Similar incidents had happened before, and his body was already better trained by his father, but all those who had been sent were dismissed, except for a handful who seemed too weak.

He stopped after two more laps, was rejected, then after another lap. One of his fellow slaves, Val, had left a while ago. He joined him, sat cross-legged, and meditated until the other slave, Paul, arrived. He closed his eyes and took a few moments to inhale before exhaling for the same duration, until the end of the training.

And they were back in their rooms.

"Damn, these bastards are a pain in the ass. Especially our master. How can he be so mean? What a shitty human being."

"The problem," said Adrien, "is that you insult him when he's not around. If you have the guts, tell him to his face, because right now, you're just spreading your own poison and expecting someone else to die from it."

"What kind of lame metaphor is that? Why would I go insult him? It's just to calm my nerves."

Yeah, it wasn't just about being kids—it was that most of them were just idiots, spiritually speaking. So, it wasn't worth it—just like those slaves, why bother with slaves who were loyal if they had no great talents?

Better to save those who had the most chance of being saved. It was just logical. In any case, loyalty didn't depend on a reward, because the more you gave, the less strength you possessed, and the more they owed you—and it was never pleasant to be in debt. He had to give without giving anything, just his presence to illuminate them.

Yes, that was good. He ignored them, went to bed, and managed to get some sleep despite their discussions. Once evening came, his legs exhausted from the morning's training, he began to meditate.

To control an avatar, one needed a mana core. To obtain it, cultivation was necessary, and there were chances of death. Then, it was improved to increase the power and the distance at which an avatar could be commanded, and the type of material the avatar could support based on its weight and flexibility.

Safe enough for hunting, but not in a war against other humans who could kill the human behind it, hence the almost systematic presence of guards in avatars in front of an important person living their normal life.

His situation was not so peculiar: he was a talent of rank 8, within the ranks of the excellent, ranging from 7 to 9, but no one in the base knew except the commander, who would receive a sealed tablet with some instructions.

He meditated for a while, then focused the power of his soul to search for mana in the surroundings. He tried, again and again. Then, from time to time, he meditated to relax.

Some preferred to maximize their mana cores and the rest of the possible enhancements to their bodies to become strong—thus, they stayed in tier 1, the one of creating a mana core.

In fact, it was stupid. You couldn't do anything great on the first try. It was better to cultivate until a strong point, like tier 3, then destroy and reshape to get back into a good state. He had to do it—because the people, the group he might face, were far too strong for his previous self.

Of course, they would still be strong if he was alone, and maybe he should venture into politics. It was quite certain. He wanted to be the king of a city this time. Just to see. Just for glory.

He noticed that even with his mastery of his palm, his circuits weren't formed, so his brain wasn't accustomed to the energy, and that was normal.

Maybe he had killed the original owner of this body—himself from another reality.

He kept searching for magical energy until he detected it in the air. He tried again and failed. Then again, after each meditation. Finally, he succeeded.

And then he slept, the next training session waiting for him.

He performed even worse this time and was reprimanded. The same scenario repeated, and in the evening, he was ready to use magic within his body for the first time in this body.