Aris took another deep breath, steadying his grip as he nocked the next arrow. His muscles burned slightly from the repeated drawing of the bowstring, but he ignored it. The AI's adjustments had already brought him further than expected—now, it was just a matter of refining his technique.
He pulled back the string.
[Minor deviation in elbow angle. Adjust by 3 degrees.]
A small shift.
[Increase draw strength by 6%.]
He applied the correction.
Whoosh!! The arrow left the bow.
Then, Thud! This time, the arrow struck closer to the center. It was not perfect, but the improvement was there.
A few squires who were close to him had stopped shooting, their gazes pausing on Aris. It was evident on their faces that they hadn't expected him to progress this quickly. It took them days to hit the cardboard when they first came from the slave quarters, but Aris did it in an hour. Just moments ago, he had been the worst among them, missing every shot. Now, his arrows were finding the target, even if just the outer rings.
Chris, who stood a few targets away, raised an eyebrow after seeing Aris hit the target after dozens of attempts. "Huh… he is monstrous in archery," he said in a surprised voice before returning to his practice because the instructor was standing behind them.
Aris didn't react to their stares. He remained focused, continuing the process. Each shot, each calculation, each correction—the AI was turning his failures into a blueprint for success.
[Trajectory deviation: Wind resistance affecting arrow path. Adjust aim by 2 degrees left.]
Wind resistance. He hadn't even considered something like this. As he followed the instructions, the result was immediate—his arrow hit even closer to the center.
The instructor, who had been disregarding him, glanced at the target Aris hit and frowned slightly. He hadn't expected Aris to hit anything today and the days to come. He still didn't believe the boy had any future in archery, but… progress was progress.
The training continued for another three hours. By the time they were finished, Aris had gone from completely missing to consistently landing shots on the target, though he had yet to hit the bullseye. His fingers ached from the repeated strain, and his arms trembled slightly, but he had proven something to himself: he could thrive anywhere with the help of Zona.
After lunch, the training resumed with physical endurance drills. This time, the squires put on full-body armor and ran laps around the fortress, each 600 meters long. They completed five laps before stopping, the goal being to build stamina for the long marches required in battle.
The following day, they focused on strength training. They lifted heavy stones and performed bodyweight exercises to develop the raw power needed to wield weapons effectively.
The next day was dedicated to close combat training—a crucial skill for surviving the chaos of the battlefield.
The squires gathered at the training ground, their bodies still sore from the previous days' exercises. The instructor stood before them, his arms crossed. "Weapons are useful," he began, his voice firm, "but they won't always be in your hands. If you lose your sword or your bow in the middle of battle, what will you do? Surrender? No." He scanned their faces. "You fight. With whatever you have."
He gestured toward the open ground. "Pair up. Today, we train in hand-to-hand combat."
The squires quickly partnered up, some eager, others hesitant. Aris ended up facing Mark, the tallest among them. He immediately realized his disadvantages. Mark had both reach and strength over him.
The instructor called out the first drill: basic strikes, including punches, elbows, and knee strikes—learning how to hurt an opponent without a weapon.
Aris clenched his fists, mimicking the instructor's movements as best as he could. The AI, sensing his struggle and thoughts, activated autonomously.
[Error detected: Weak striking form. Adjust hip rotation by 12 degrees for increased power.]
He shifted accordingly.
[Correction applied. Efficiency improved.]
He threw a punch. It was still weak but noticeably better, and Mark quickly defended himself with his hand.
The instructor then moved them into grappling, how to break free from holds, and how to throw an opponent off balance by demonstrating it personally.
The squires followed his orders and decided to grapple against each other.
Mark grabbed Aris by the arm, attempting to pin him. Aris struggled; this time, the Ai didn't autonomously activate, and Aris had no choice but to make it active as he gritted his teeth while Mark was overpowering him. "Zona, analyze his stance, any weak points!" he ordered inward hurriedly.
[Counter: Shift left. Rotate hips. Strike solar plexus. Twist wrist—] "Too many commands." Aris thought as he instantly picked one—the hip rotation—and twisted hard, breaking free just as Mark's knee came up. "Not perfect, but enough." Aris thought. The instructor's eyes narrowed. "Lucky move," he said, his focus now entirely on Aris and Mark.
Then Aris stood just a meter away from Mark. Though he had slipped free from Mark's grasp moments earlier, that wasn't what occupied his mind.
"Why didn't Zona activate?" he thought, his brows furrowed. If the AI failed to respond during close combat, it could cost him his life on the battlefield. He needed it to function consistently—not just during archery or drills, "I have to understand its full capabilities and its weaknesses truly."
That brief moment of distraction was all Mark needed as he saw Aris dazed. He lunged forward without hesitation, wrapping his arms around Aris's torso in a tight, crushing hold. Aris's eyes were surprised and shocked, but he was already trapped.
Aris gritted his teeth as Mark's arms locked around him like iron clamps. His breath caught—he couldn't overpower this.
"Zona, analyze! Escape route NOW!" Aris said.
The AI flickered to life in his mind.
[Analyzing opponent's grip… Weak point detected: right knee joint. Counter available. Initiate feint-drop maneuver.]
Aris didn't hesitate. He suddenly went limp, letting his weight sag, catching Mark off guard. As Mark adjusted, Aris twisted sharply.
[NOW—rotate the left shoulder, step back 0.4 meters.]
He followed the instructions exactly, slipping one arm free. Mark tried to readjust his grip—
[Strike inner knee. Low force required.]
Aris stomped hard on Mark's foot and jammed his elbow sideways into the inside of Mark's knee. Mark grunted, his leg buckling slightly.
[Balance compromised. Roll out left. Execute!]
Aris dropped and rolled out cleanly, landing a few meters away in a crouch. He sprang to his feet, heart pounding, and stared at Mark, who was still recovering from the sudden shift.
"That worked," Aris thought, breath heavy.
"Zona," he said quietly under his breath, "next time, activate the second I'm attacked."
[Understood. Switching to full proactive combat support.]
Mark snarled and charged again. Aris steadied his stance and easily overpowered Mark using the AI and its unknown technique.
The instructor, who was observing closely, nodded in approval. "Good. He chose technique over strength."
However, something felt off. The more he watched Aris, the more he noticed an uncanny precision in his movements. It wasn't just improvement—it was imitation, almost exact. The way Aris adjusted his posture, the angle of his strikes, even the smallest details—a 97% match to his own demonstrations he did moments ago with Dylan.
The instructor paused, wondering, "Could this be his hidden talent?"
His perception of Aris shifted slightly, though not by much. He wasn't someone who clung stubbornly to first impressions—if a student changed, their standing had to be reevaluated.
But deep down, he knew reality wouldn't change for Aris. Talent or not, survival requires more than skill. Time was against him, and no amount of technical mastery could undo the malnutrition that had already shaped his frail body.
Even if Aris improved, he would still be the weakest of this batch of squires.
And on the battlefield, the weakest always died first.
The training continued with more drills—blocking, dodging, and countering. By the end of the session, Aris was exhausted and bruised but more confident.
He might never be the strongest, but with precision and strategy, he could hold his own.
And in battle, that could mean the difference between life and death.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the training ground, Fred stood silently, his eyes fixed on Aris.
He was there to deliver the book his young master had asked him to give to Aris, but he was taken aback by what he saw. At first, he barely paid attention to Aris. However, the more he observed, the more surprised he became.
There was something captivating about Aris's movements. The way he adjusted after each mistake and the unnatural precision in his corrections were not typical and definitely not skills that could be developed in such a short time.
Fred narrowed his eyes, pondering, "How is he doing this?" Most squires improve through sheer repetition, refining their movements over weeks or even months for more complex techniques. But Aris? He was learning far too quickly—almost unnaturally so.
Fred folded his arms and watched intently. This situation was different. He recalled Garron mentioning that Aris learned quickly, but he had dismissed that idea into the back of his mind, assuming it was an exaggeration.
Even if Aris learned fast, he never imagined he could do so at this speed. This was the first time he had witnessed something like this.
After training ended, Fred approached Aris, who lay stretched out on the ground, utterly exhausted. Sweat drenched his shirt, causing dirt and dust to cling to his back. His chest rose and fell in heavy breaths, eyes shut as he recovered from the grueling session.
Fred stood over him, arms crossed, his gaze sharp and assessing. "Hmm… better than last time," he thought, noting the difference in Aris's body. Compared to when he was in the slave quarters, his physique had begun to change—leaner and slightly stronger.
Sensing the presence above him, Aris's eyes snapped open. Instinct kicked in. He immediately pushed himself up, standing at attention.
"How may I help you, Sir Fred?" His tone was respectful but calculated.
Fred gave a slight nod. "At ease."
Aris stilled, waiting for further instruction.
Fred reached into his chest pocket and pulled out a worn-out book. "The young master ordered me to give you this."
Aris's mind raced the moment he laid eyes on the book. "Why would the young master give me this?"
He had never met the young master before, but this gesture of his suggested interest and that alone was unsettling. In this world, attention—especially from those in power—was rarely a blessing. It was a double-edged sword, capable of raising him up or crushing him completely.
"Is this a test? A show of favor? Or something far more insidious?"
If the young master had noticed him, it meant Aris was no longer just another nameless body in the camp. That could be either an opportunity or a death sentence, depending on the reason behind it.
His grip on the book tightened, and he thought "What kind of person is this so-called 'young master'? Generous? Cunning? Bored?"
Aris examined the book closely. The cover was worn, the binding rough; nothing about it suggested great value. But appearances could be deceiving. Perhaps this world had different bookmaking standards, or this particular volume had simply been handled too many times. Regardless, what truly mattered was its contents.
He flipped it open, only to be met with an unfamiliar script. Strange symbols sprawled across the pages, their meaning utterly unknown to him.
"Right… I forgot. I don't know the language of this world."
It was a minor setback—but not an insurmountable one.
Despite his inability to read the text, his gaze landed on something far more intriguing: diagrams of the human body. Some were detailed anatomical sketches, while others were simpler, depicting humanoid figures in various postures, inhaling and exhaling.
After flipping through most of the fifty pages of the book, Aris formed a hypothesis: "Is this a breathing technique?"
He suppressed any outward reaction, keeping his expression neutral. Even if he had an idea of what the book contained, it was best to feign ignorance for now.
"I don't know how to read, sir," he said, his tone carrying a hint of embarrassment.
Fred blinked as if only now realizing the oversight. "Ah… we didn't even consider that," he muttered to himself, though he didn't voice the thought aloud. Instead, he said, "Follow the diagrams. Practice the breathing methods, especially when you're eating."
With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Aris alone with the book.
Aris watched him go, then looked back at the diagrams. His AI chip scanned the illustrations, mapping out the breathing sequences. If this indeed was a breathing technique, then it wasn't just an ordinary book but the key to his survival.
The only question was: Why was it given to him?