I didn't sleep much that night.
Not because I was scared or excited—my mind just wouldn't slow down. Every time I closed my eyes, those words came back.
Error.Suppressed.Lowered.
By morning, I had made one decision.
I need to be careful.
Having too many skills sounded good, but even I could tell that it wasn't that simple.
After breakfast, Father called me to his study.
The room smelled faintly of old paper and metal. Maps of the borderlands hung on the walls, marked with monster zones and dungeon outbreaks. A locked cabinet stood in the corner, reinforced with magic.
Father stood near the window, arms crossed.
"Aiden," he said, looking down at me, "I heard you were in the library yesterday."
I nodded. "Yes."
"…Did you understand any of it?"
"Some," I answered honestly.
He didn't laugh. He didn't dismiss me either.
"That's enough."
He walked toward the cabinet and placed his hand on it. Runes lit up, and the door unlocked with a soft click.
"This is the skill storage," he said. "Basic skill orbs. Training-grade only."
Inside were dozens of faintly glowing crystals.
"Normally," Father continued, "mages start with one or two skills. More than that slows growth."
I looked at the orbs quietly.
"I know," I said.
He paused and glanced at me.
"In this world," I continued, "skill points are limited. Common classes gain only one or two SP per monster. Uncommon get more. Rare even more."
Father raised an eyebrow.
"Four to six," he said. "Epic can get up to eight. Legendary up to ten. That's the known limit."
I nodded.
"If I learn too many skills," I said slowly, "it'll take longer to rank them up."
"…Good," Father said after a moment. "You're thinking properly."
He crouched to my level.
"You are a mage," he said. "Which means your choices matter. Power isn't about how much you have—it's about how well you use it."
I stared at the crystals.
Fireball was already there.
That was enough for offense, for now.
"I don't want too many," I said. "Just a few."
"Which ones?"
I thought carefully.
"…Stealth," I said. "And summoning. And ice magic."
Father blinked.
"Summoning?" he repeated.
"It's flexible," I said. "And ice magic is useful."
He studied me for a long moment.
Then nodded.
"Reasonable."
He took out three crystals and handed them to me one by one.
The moment I touched the first—
Skill Acquired: Stealth (Basic)
The second—
Skill Acquired: Ice Magic (Basic)
The third—
Skill Acquired: Summoning (Basic)
No pain.No backlash.
Just knowledge flowing into my mind.
I instinctively understood how to suppress my presence.How to form ice instead of fire.How to call something… small.
I exhaled slowly.
"That's enough for now," Father said. "You can learn more later."
I nodded.
"I won't go hunting yet," I said.
"You're not allowed to," he replied calmly. "No monsters. No dungeons. Not until you're ten."
That was expected.
"I understand."
He turned toward the door.
"Tomorrow," he added, "your training begins."
"…Magic training?"
He shook his head.
"Physical training."
I blinked.
"But I'm a mage."
"And if your magic fails?" he asked. "Cooldowns, exhaustion, suppression—mages die when they can't move."
I stayed silent.
"You'll train your body," Father continued. "Endurance. Balance. Pain tolerance."
As if on cue, my status window flickered.
EXP Gained: +5*10
EXP Gained: +5*10
EXP Gained: +5*10
I stared.
"…Just from learning skills?"
Father smirked faintly. "Training counts."
I clenched my small fists.
No cooldowns, I thought.But my body still matters.
He placed a hand on my head.
"You're my son," he said. "Strong or weak doesn't matter. But you will be prepared."
I nodded.
"Yes, Father."
As we left the room, my status window updated quietly.
Skills:– Fireball (Basic)– Stealth (Basic)– Ice Magic (Basic)– Summoning (Basic)
Four skills.
For now—
That was enough.
I really started to doubt something that morning.
Was I actually my father's real son…?
Let's rewind a little.
After breakfast, Father called me over.
For once, he looked… serious. More serious than usual.
"For the next few days," he said, "I'll personally oversee your physical training."
I nodded.
"And for magic," he continued, "an instructor will be assigned. Same for sword basics later."
That sounded reasonable.
Too reasonable.
I went back to my room and changed into my training clothes—a simple white shirt and short pants. Nothing fancy. Nothing noble.
When I arrived at the training ground again, Father was already there.
He pointed at the open field.
"Alright," he said calmly. "We'll begin."
I swallowed.
"Yes, Father."
He spoke again, still calm.
"First, five hundred push-ups."
"…Okay."
"Five hundred sit-ups."
"…Okay."
"Five hundred of every basic exercise."
I froze.
"…Okay?"
"After that," he continued, "five hundred laps around the field."
I stopped breathing.
"And then," he finished, "five hundred sword swings."
Silence.
Complete silence.
A gentle breeze passed through the yard.
A bird chirped.
Aiden Veyron did not move.
"…Father," I said slowly, "are we talking about training… or torture?"
He looked at me.
His gaze sharpened.
"What are you waiting for?" he barked. "Start with the laps. Now."
I still didn't move.
"Um," I tried again, "Father… I'm five."
He didn't care.
"If you don't start running now," he said coldly, "you will be punished."
The air changed.
"…Now start."
"…Yes, sir."
He was serious.
Completely serious.
Who tells a five-year-old to do five hundred laps?!Five hundred push-ups?!Is this my age multiplied by ten or something?!
I stared at the field.
What difficulty did you select before starting this training?Nightmare?Hell mode?
I started running.
My legs protested immediately.
After ten laps, I was breathing hard.
After twenty, my shirt was soaked.
After fifty, I forgot how many laps I'd done.
After a hundred—
I collapsed.
"Get up," Father said.
I rolled onto my back.
"…I can't feel my legs."
"Good," he replied. "That means it's working."
I dragged myself back up.
By the time I finished the laps—somehow—my vision was blurry.
Then came push-ups.
I fell on my face.
Sit-ups.
My stomach screamed.
Exercises I didn't even know the names of.
By the time Father handed me a wooden sword, my arms were shaking so badly I could barely lift it.
"Five hundred swings," he said.
"…Why do you hate me?"
"I don't," he replied. "Swing."
I swung.
Again.
And again.
And again.
At some point, I didn't even know what number I was on.
My status window flickered nonstop.
EXP Gained…[EXP Modifier ×10 Applied]
I was too tired to care.
The sun started moving.
Shadows grew longer.
Finally—
I collapsed face-first into the dirt.
"Done," Father said.
I didn't respond.
"If you don't finish before evening," he added calmly, "you won't eat."
My soul left my body.
I lifted my head weakly.
"…You're joking… right?"
He wasn't.
I stared at the sky.
Author's Note:Thanks for reading! If you enjoy reading this book, please add it to your collections.