[ Time Skip: 30 Days Later ]
Thirty days of gluttony and iron.
For a month, Kael maintained two existences. By day, he was a recruit, indistinguishable from the mud and sweat of the yard. By night, he dedicated himself to relentless gorging.
Every Silver Stag and Copper Chip went into suet, lard, and the stringy cuts the butcher couldn't move. The Gluttony Ritual incinerated it all, fueling a biological reconstruction that bordered on the industrial.
Kael stood in his woodshed, eyeing the scratch on the post marking his height.
He had grown.
The notch carved a month ago now sat level with his forehead. The Earth Breath Stance had uncoiled his spine, undoing years of malnutrition.
The primary change, however, lay beneath the tunic.
Ribs that once pressed against the skin like bird bones were now armored in slabs of lean muscle. He remained compact, a spring wound from steel cable. He had transitioned from a frail one hundred to a dense one-forty of functional mass.
System, Kael thought.
[ USER STATUS ]
[ VITALITY: 1.8 (Standard: 1.0) ]
[ STRENGTH: 1.5 ]
[ AGILITY: 1.2 ]
[ AETHER POINTS: 0 ]
Zero points. The limit.
He had drilled the military sword forms—the Iron Breaker Style—until his palms calloused into leather. Yet, without Aether points to optimize, progress stalled.
[ SKILL: IRON BREAKER STYLE ]
[ PROFICIENCY: NOVICE (15%) ]
He knew the form. He lacked the supernatural fluidity Aether injected into the nervous system. To break through to "Adept," he required fuel. Not caloric energy, but the Mystical energy.
The morning horn blew. The Culling.
Master Garric stood on the podium, face set like granite. The original group of fifty recruits had been whittled down to twenty-two. The weak had collapsed; the lazy had been expelled.
"Formation!" Garric barked.
Recruits snapped into line.
"Today, we test your mettle. The Black Rain spreads. The Baron demands soldiers, not farmhands. I will pick two Squad Leaders today. They receive double rations and access to the Armory."
Double rations. The hunger in the recruits' eyes sharpened.
"Bronn! Front and center."
Bronn stepped out. He had bulked further, a towering slab of sinew holding a weighted oak waster.
"Kael! Front and center."
A ripple of surprise went down the line.
Kael stepped out. He moved with a new economy. No wasted motion. His feet stalked over the churned mud, rooted yet fluid.
Bronn looked down and curled his lip. "Look at this. The twig grew a leaf."
Garric ignored the taunt. "Demonstrate the First Form in combat. Begin!"
Bronn moved. He roared, swinging the wooden sword with terrifying force. The form was sloppy, fueled by aggression, but the sheer mass behind it would crush a skull.
The air whistled. The strike was meant to kill.
Kael did not flinch.
In his eyes, Bronn moved through water. The Earth Breath Stance had hardwired Kael's nervous system to the ground beneath him.
Off-balance, Kael analyzed. Top-heavy.
Kael did not draw a weapon. Blocking Bronn's momentum directly invited broken bones.
He stepped inside the arc.
As Bronn's arm descended, Kael lunged forward and left. He raised his forearm, catching Bronn near the elbow, guiding the crushing force past his shoulder.
Bronn stumbled, his own inertia dragging him into the void.
Kael was now inside the guard. He twisted his hips, screwing his feet into the earth, and drove his shoulder into Bronn's exposed solar plexus.
THUD.
The impact was a structural collision.
"Guh!"
Bronn's eyes bulged. The blow emptied his lungs. The giant stumbled back, retching, legs turning to water. He dropped the sword, clutching his chest as he wheezed.
Silence fell over the yard. The "twig" had grounded the "bull" without a weapon.
Garric's eyes narrowed. He recognized the technique.
"Solid root," Garric noted. "Deflection and impact. You used his weight against him."
"Enough," Garric said.
Bronn recovered, humiliation burning on his face. "He... he cheated! He tripped me!"
"Silence," Garric snapped. "He broke your structure because you fight like a tavern brawler. Strength without root is suicide."
Garric turned to Kael. "You have mastered the Foundation."
He tossed a cast-metal insignia to Bronn, then one to Kael.
"Squad Leaders," Garric announced. "Drill your men. If they fail, you bleed."
As the formation broke, Bronn walked past Kael. "You think you're clever, little man?" Bronn whispered. "You embarrassed me. That's a debt. Out in the wild... debts get collected in blood."
Bronn shouldered past, the threat hanging in the frigid air.
Kael fingered the cool badge. He wasn't afraid. He was calculating.
Bronn is a variable, Kael thought. Hostile. Threat level increasing.
He had bigger problems.
He walked back to the equipment rack. He was strong, but not enough to survive "accidents" in the wild. He needed to upgrade his combat skills to Adept.
He needed Aether.
System, Kael whispered. Scan for local anomalies.
[ SCANNING... ]
[ NO ACTIVE SOURCES IN IMMEDIATE VICINITY. ]
Kael set his jaw. He couldn't wait for a lucky drop. He needed to hunt.
He recalled the rumors circulating in the lower city taverns. Silas the Grave-robber. The man had vanished three days ago after boasting about cracking a tomb in the Old Quarter. Yesterday, his neighbors reported a foul smell and scratching sounds.
A curse. Or a corruption source.
Where others saw horror, Kael saw a feast.
He checked his belt beneath his tunic. His hand brushed against tempered steel—a sturdy utility blade bought from the Sutler.
Tonight, Kael decided. Tonight, I pay Silas a visit.