The days that followed did not make him stronger.
Not in any way the world would notice.
There were no battles.
No sudden awakenings.
No moment where everything changed.
There was only repetition.
He woke when the sun rose.
He worked until his arms ached.
He slept when his body could no longer continue.
At first, even simple things had been difficult.
Carrying water.
Splitting wood.
Walking the fields without stopping to catch his breath.
He remembered the way his hands had trembled.
The frustration.
The quiet anger at his own weakness.
Arthur never mocked him for it.
Never pitied him either.
He simply watched.
And waited.
Days passed.
Then weeks.
The pain didn't disappear.
But it stopped surprising him.
His hands grew rough.
His body grew heavier.
Not slower.
Just… more real.
He ate well.
He slept well.
He lived.
And he studied.
Just like Arthur said.
Noel did not notice when it stopped feeling temporary.
When Thornwatch stopped feeling like somewhere he was staying.
And started feeling like somewhere he was living.
----------------------------------------------------------------
6 months later
Noel Xerlectus
lvl 1
Strength:I041
Endurance:I037
Dexterity: I031
Agility:I024
Magic:I000
----------------------------------------------------------------
I smiled as I looked at my panel.
"Hah…"
Six months of effort.
And somewhere out there, some rabbit-looking protagonist could probably reach this while half-asleep.
I let out a quiet laugh and shook my head.
"Oh well."
Rome wasn't built in a day.
That's what gramps would say.
My eyes drifted toward the axe resting beside the stump.
He said he'd start teaching me real sword training this afternoon.
My grip tightened slightly.
Just a couple more hours of chopping logs.
Then finally…
I'd hold a sword.
My hands tightened around the axe.
They weren't the same hands from six months ago.
Six months ago…
I couldn't even split one log.
Day 1.
I missed more than I hit.
My hands blistered.
Arthur said nothing.
Day 3.
Carried water from the well.
Dropped it halfway.
Had to go back.
Arthur told me not to waste the next one.
Day 7.
Ran to the edge of the fields.
Collapsed on the way back.
Arthur waited.
Didn't help.
Just watched.
Week 2.
My hands stopped bleeding.
Week 3.
I could finish the run without falling.
Week 5.
The axe stopped feeling heavy.
Week 8.
I stopped thinking about quitting.
Month 3.
Work became normal.
Wake up.
Work.
Sleep.
Repeat.
Month 4.
My body moved without asking permission.
Month 5.
Arthur started watching me more closely.
Month 6.
He told me I was ready to hold a sword.
I looked down at my hands again.
Still weak.
Still Level 1.
But no longer useless.
I lifted the axe.
Just a couple more logs.
Then…
My real training would begin.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
couple hours later
The last log split clean down the middle.
Noel lowered the axe and exhaled, chest rising and falling steadily. Sweat clung to his shirt, his arms sore in the familiar, dull way that never really left anymore.
He rested the axe against the stump and rolled his shoulders once.
Then he picked it up and carried it back to the shed.
Gramps didn't like tools left lying around.
When he stepped back outside, the sun had shifted lower in the sky. The air was warmer now, quieter. The kind of quiet that made things feel like they mattered.
He spotted him immediately.
Arthur stood near the far edge of the field, just before the land gave way to the wild grass that marked the boundary between Thornwatch and the forest beyond.
Waiting.
Noel hesitated for half a second.
Then he walked over.
Each step felt heavier than it should have.
Not from exhaustion.
From anticipation.
Arthur didn't turn when Noel approached.
He just spoke.
"You finished."
It wasn't a question.
"Yeah," Noel said. "All of it."
Arthur nodded once.
Silence settled between them.
Then Arthur turned.
In his hand was a sword.
Noel's eyes locked onto it instantly.
It wasn't anything grand.
No glowing edge.
No intricate engravings.
Just a simple iron blade.
Worn.
Used.
Real.
Arthur held it out.
"Take it."
Noel froze.
For a moment, he didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Then he reached out.
Slowly.
Carefully.
His fingers wrapped around the grip.
It was heavier than he imagined.
He swallowed.
"…Gramps."
The word slipped out naturally.
Arthur's brow twitched faintly, but he didn't comment on it.
Noel looked down at the sword in his hand.
"…I won't waste this."
Arthur studied him for a moment.
Then he stepped back.
"Good," he said simply.
He pointed toward an open patch of grass.
"Show me how you think you're supposed to hold it."
Noel stepped forward.
His hands adjusted around the grip.
His stance uncertain.
Untrained.
But steady.
Behind him, Arthur watched.
Not judging.
Not helping.
Waiting.
Noel stepped into the open patch of grass.
The sword felt different from the axe.
Similar weight.
Different balance.
He adjusted his grip.
One hand firm.
The other supporting.
He remembered how he swung the axe.
How his shoulders turned.
How his hips followed.
He inhaled.
Then swung.
The blade cut through the air with a low whistle.
Arthur watched.
Noel stopped and looked at him.
Arthur didn't react immediately.
Noel frowned slightly.
"…It wasn't good, was it?"
Arthur spoke calmly.
"It wasn't terrible."
Noel blinked.
Arthur stepped closer.
"You didn't swing it like a sword."
He reached out and lightly pushed the flat of the blade aside.
"You swung it like an axe."
Noel paused.
Arthur continued.
"Same shoulders."
"Same weight."
"Same intent."
A small pause.
Arthur's eyes met his.
"That's why it worked at all."
Noel looked down at the blade in his hands.
Arthur stepped back again.
"A sword can cut," he said.
"It can thrust."
"It can redirect."
He gestured to the axe resting near the stump in the distance.
"An axe only knows how to split."
His voice remained steady.
"A sword requires control."
Not strength.
Not speed.
Control.
Arthur folded his arms.
"Swing again."
Noel tightened his grip.
This time, he paid attention.
Not to power.
But to movement.
And swung.
The blade cut through the air again.
More controlled.
Arthur watched without interrupting.
Noel stopped and glanced at him.
Arthur grunted.
"…Better."
He stepped forward, boots pressing into the grass.
"But still wrong."
He reached out and tapped Noel's wrist with two fingers.
"Too stiff."
Then his elbow.
"Too locked."
Then his shoulders.
"You're trying to force it."
He stepped around behind him.
"Relax."
His hand pressed lightly between Noel's shoulder blades.
"Power doesn't come from your arms, boy. It comes from here."
He gave him a small shove.
"Your whole body moves. Or none of it does."
Arthur walked back around in front of him.
"Again."
Noel swung.
Arthur clicked his.
"No."
He stepped in and grabbed Noel's forearm, adjusting it.
"Here."
Then his grip.
"And here."
He nudged his foot.
"And stop standing like you're about to take a shit in the woods."
Noel blinked.
"…What?"
Arthur snorted.
"You heard me."
A faint smirk tugged at the old man's mouth.
"Again."
Noel swung.
Closer.
Arthur's eyes narrowed.
"…Almost."
He reached out again, this time adjusting Noel's shoulders just slightly.
It was such a small correction Noel barely felt it.
"Now."
Noel inhaled.
Swung.
The blade moved smoothly.
No wobble.
No wasted motion.
It stopped exactly where he intended.
Arthur went still.
Then gave a single nod.
"…There."
Noel looked at the sword.
Then at Arthur.
"…That was it?"
Arthur shrugged.
"For now."
He turned and started walking back toward the house.
Then stopped.
Without turning around, he said:
"Do it again."
Noel blinked.
"…How many times?"
Arthur glanced over his shoulder.
"One thousand."
Noel froze.
"…One thou—"
Arthur cut him off.
"And if I don't hear that blade swing one thousand times…"
His eyes hardened.
"…you don't eat."
He turned fully now.
A faint, knowing look on his face.
"You wanted to learn, didn't you?"
Noel stared at the sword in his hands.
Then tightened his grip.
Behind him, Arthur added:
"And don't count too fast. I'll know."
Noel let out a small breath.
Then swung.
Again.