The morning light slipped through the small window and warmed Zen's face. He stretched until his shoulders loosened, letting out a slow breath. Two months had passed since he arrived here, folding themselves into a simple routine—wake, train, read, sleep. Repeat.
He glanced at his forearm. A faint line of muscle showed beneath the skin. Nothing dramatic. Just enough to notice how his shirt sat differently now.
A quick bath. A towel over his shoulder. Then downstairs.
The inn smelled of fresh bread and stew. The innkeeper looked up from the stove and nodded.
"Morning, Zen."
"Morning. Something warm, please."
She turned back to the fire without another word.
Zen sat and called up the panel the way he always did—calm, familiar.
System: Show status.
Name: Zen Lawkey
Rank: E
Strength: 27
Agility: 28
Intelligence: 22
Charm: 8
Mana: 700
Stamina:26
He stared at it for a moment, then smiled.
"E-rank… finally."
Progress had felt slow day by day, but seeing it laid out like this made it real. Every hour in the forest. Every sore muscle. It had added up.
Breakfast arrived—eggs, bread, and a thick meat stew. It looked plain, but the smell was enough to make him dig in. When the bowl was empty, he leaned back and exhaled.
"Alright," he murmured. "Time to see what this actually means."
Training alone had taken him as far as it could. Books and dummies didn't hit back. If he wanted to improve, he needed people who would.
Before heading out, he tied a plain black mask over his face. His looks had already drawn enough attention around town.
"Better safe than surrounded," he muttered.
The training ground was lively. Wood cracked against wood. Fighters circled each other in the ring, practice blades snapping together. A small crowd watched closely—some shouting, some counting coins.
Zen approached the registration counter.
"I want in."
The guard glanced him over. "Name?"
"Zen."
"Wooden weapons only. No magic. Try not to die."
Zen signed and stepped aside.
When his name was called, he entered the ring. His opponent was taller, broader, built from years of taking hits. Zen settled into a stance that felt balanced. His heart beat fast—but steady.
"Try to last a minute," the man said.
"No promises," Zen replied, smiling beneath the mask.
"System," he whispered. "Scan his rank."
Target: D-Rank.
Zen blinked.
"…Fantastic."
The signal sounded.
The man moved first.
Zen barely registered the motion before wood slammed into his guard. The impact rattled his arms and sent him skidding back a step. His grip almost failed.
Fast.
The second strike came before he recovered. It caught his shoulder and spun him sideways, pain flaring hot and sharp. The crowd reacted immediately—cheers, laughter, the sound of someone winning a bet.
Zen sucked in a breath and raised his blade.
Too slow.
The practice sword struck his thigh. His leg buckled, and he barely kept himself standing. Dirt filled his mouth as he staggered.
"Stay up," the man said, not unkindly. "You'll learn more that way."
Zen clenched his teeth.
Another blow clipped his ribs. Then his forearm. Then his back. The strikes weren't brutal—but they were precise. Each one landed where Zen hadn't been a moment before.
I can't read him, Zen realized, chest heaving.
He tried to counter once. The man knocked the attempt aside with ease and answered with a clean hit to the chest that dropped Zen to a knee.
The air left his lungs in a rush. His vision flickered.
He forced himself back up.
The crowd had quieted—not out of respect, but curiosity. How long would he last?
Zen tightened his stance, remembering his drills. Short steps. Keep balance.
It didn't matter.
The next exchange was worse. His blade was slapped aside, his footing taken, his shoulder struck hard enough to numb his arm. He stumbled, caught himself, and ate another hit across the collarbone.
Pain mapped itself across his body—sharp points, spreading heat.
He wasn't fighting.
He was surviving.
A final blow knocked his weapon from his hands. The wooden sword skidded across the dirt. Zen stood there empty-handed, breathing hard, waiting.
The referee raised a hand.
"Match over!"
Zen dropped to one knee, sweat and dust streaking his face. Everything hurt. Not dangerously—but deeply. The kind of ache that settled in and stayed.
He hadn't landed a single clean hit.
That truth stung more than the bruises.
Back at the inn, he lay flat on the bed, staring at the ceiling, every muscle protesting.
The system chimed softly.
New Attribute Unlocked: Endurance +5
Zen let out a tired, humorless breath.
"So… I got beaten half to death, and that was the lesson."
No reply this time.
He called up his status anyway.
Name: Zen Lawkey
Rank: E
Strength: 27
Agility: 28
Intelligence: 22
Charm: 8
Mana: 700
Stamina:26
Endurance: 5
Zen closed the panel and stared at his hands.
He'd been completely outclassed.
But he was still here.
"…Alright," he muttered. "Now I know where I stand."
Tomorrow, he'd come back.
Not to win.
Just to last longer.