Draco gripped a kunai in each hand, took a deep breath, and sprinted toward the slime.
No traps. No chance of failure. Just a clean strike.
Before the little blob even knew what hit it, Draco had already stabbed the kunai straight through its core. The thing twitched once, then went still. Core broken. Dead.
He didn't feel bad about it. Honestly, he'd worked in a fish market in his past life. He was used to killing things for a purpose. This was no different.
He squatted down and poked at the remains, pressing the core experimentally. It felt weirdly satisfying.
Then, his eyes caught another slime near the lake just ahead. He grinned.
Looks like today's haul was going to be pretty decent.
He wrapped the corpse in the cloth he brought and tied it to his waist, already moving toward the next one.
After drawing two templates—one a master martial artist, the other a skilled swordsman—Draco spent almost every spare moment pushing himself to raise his Assimilation Rate.
Work came first, sure. But after that, all his time went into training.
In just two weeks, Richard's assimilation had reached 8%, and Miyamoto's sat at 6%. It didn't sound like much on screen, but considering he was recovering from injuries and forcing his child-sized body to the edge, it was impressive.
He wasn't doing it for fun. Every night he'd wake up drenched in sweat, haunted by dreams of being kidnapped, sold off, or just straight-up killed. This world didn't play fair, and he had no backup.
He had to get stronger.
Once full assimilation was unlocked, normal dangers wouldn't be an issue anymore.
And these guys weren't average humans.
Miyamoto was from Baki, and anyone who'd seen that series knew what that meant. Inhuman durability, monstrous strength, insane speed, and that ridiculous Imitation Cut technique. The same one Cid used against the princess who thought she died.
Then there was Richard Dragon, DC's martial arts legend. The guy trained half the vigilantes.
With those two in his arsenal, Draco could handle any regular human threat with no sweat.
This world, though, had its own rules. Two types of people. Those who could use magic, and those who couldn't.
Draco fell into the first group, but just barely. His talent was technically above the lowest tier, but not by much.
Still, he wasn't about to give up on it.
He'd read enough stories to know how this goes. Plenty of MCs started with trash talent and still rose to the top. Determination, creative methods, and stubbornness—that's what got them there.
And Draco? He planned to try every trick he could think of to climb the ladder step by step.
One of those tricks was imitating Richard's experience with chi.
Sure, he hadn't unlocked it yet, but once he did, he was dead set on applying that same approach to mana too.
"That should be enough for today," Draco muttered, glancing at the collection of slime corpses he'd gathered. Another hunt completed.
Each day, he came out here to test what he'd learned from his templates. Bit by bit, he was turning theory into instinct.
Wrapping everything in the cloth he'd brought, Draco tied it securely and started making his way out of the forest without wasting a second.
This area was one of the most unstable regions in the kingdom, a backwater territory, and the nearby territories surrounding here there are a lot of slavers, bandits, thieves, and nutcases who are squatting on these regions.Too close to the border, crawling with low-level threats, and worst of all, under the control of an incompetent baron.
Honestly, if it weren't for his family's long-standing loyalty to the crown, the guy would've been removed a long time ago.
One of the only reasons he was still clinging to power was political stability. His wife just so happened to be the daughter of a viscount who'd recently been elevated to a count. That connection was doing a lot of heavy lifting.
There's also a rumor going around that most of the major decisions in the baron's household are actually made by his wife.
But even she couldn't turn things around easily. The number of bandits and thugs in the area was just too high, and the baron's soldiers weren't even assigned to deal with them.
To make things worse, the rewards for clearing those guys out weren't even worth the risk. So yeah, most folks just let it be.
That's why getting your caravan looted? Pretty normal.
People getting killed? Also normal. Some do it for fun. Some just don't want to leave behind any proof. Makes it easier for the soldiers to ignore it.
But Draco? He knew his case wasn't random.
In the memories he'd inherited, the boy—right before he died—heard one of those bastards say something like, "the deal was worth it."
A deal to kill everyone. No loose ends.
That pretty much sealed it for Draco. He was going to kill the bastard behind it. No second thoughts.
Sure, the father wasn't technically his, but hey, it was a matter of principle now. The kid died, and Draco got a second shot at life riding on that.
Besides, this was his revenge too.
He still remembered how painful it was. Dragging himself around, trying to survive with those busted-up injuries.
Back in his old life? He'd never even come close to getting hurt like that. Not even once.
Dragging his body all the way back to the inn, Draco just dropped onto the floor like a sack of potatoes.
"Screw it," he muttered, closing his eyes. "Power nap first… training later."
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oyakodon suggestions?