The moment the heavy study door clicked shut behind him, Robin felt the last of his calm, calculated performance melt away. He walked back to his dusty room, his mind a whirlwind.
The Duke's suspicion was a obvious thing, a cold weight in the air. He had won the first battle, but it had only made his situation more dangerous.
He was no longer a forgotten son; he was now a puzzle the Duke would want to take apart to see how it worked.
He couldn't afford to be weak anymore. Not for a single day longer.
Back in the secrecy of his room, he slid the rusty bolt across the door. This small, forgotten room was now his training ground, his secret forge. He was going to hammer this pathetic body into a weapon, one painful blow at a time.
He called up the system interface. It shimmered into existence, casting a soft glow on his determined face.
[Name: Robin Stark]
[Level: 1]
[Stats:]
[STRENGTH: 2]
[AGILITY: 3]
[ENDURANCE: 1]
[DEXTERITY: 4]
He stared at the numbers, his lip curling. An Endurance of 1. It was a joke. It was a death sentence. It was the reason every breath felt like a chore. That number had to change, and it had to change now.
Commander Justin knew hundreds of training exercises, complex routines designed to turn a farm boy into a hardened soldier. But this body couldn't handle that. He had to start from the very beginning. Less than zero, even.
He got down on the floor to attempt a push-up. He positioned his small hands on the dusty floorboards, tightened his non-existent core muscles, and pushed.
Nothing happened.
He pushed again, his face turning bright red. His arms trembled violently, shaking like leaves in a storm. He managed to lift his chest maybe half an inch off the floor before his strength gave out completely and he collapsed with a pathetic thump.
"Unbelievable," he wheezed, his cheek pressed against the cold, dirty wood. "I have been defeated by gravity."
He rolled over onto his back, staring at the ceiling. This was going to be harder than he thought. But Commander Justin was not a man who gave up.
He was a man who adapted. If he couldn't do a full push-up, he would do them on his knees. If he couldn't do a squat, he would hold onto the table for support.
He began a tough, modified routine. He focused on slow, painful movements designed to awaken his weakened, sleeping muscles. He did squats while holding onto the rickety table, his twig-like legs shaking with each repetition.
He did push-ups from his knees, his arms screaming with protest. Each movement was agony. It felt like his muscles were made of old, frayed rope that was tearing with every motion.
Sweat poured down his face, stinging his eyes. His lungs burned. His weak body begged him to stop, to just lie down and let the comforting darkness of unconsciousness take him.
But the commander's mind inside him was a cruel drill sergeant. Get up! it screamed. One more! The Duke isn't going to wait for you to feel better! Your enemies are out there getting stronger while you lie on the floor feeling sorry for yourself!
He pushed himself through the pain, fueled by pure, cold rage. He finished a set of ten knee-push-ups and collapsed again, his entire body a symphony of pain. As he lay there, panting and drenched in sweat, a familiar sound echoed in his mind.
PING!
The blue screen appeared in front of his face.
[Extreme Physical Exertion Detected.]
[Your pitiful muscle fibers have been pushed to their absolute limit and have torn.]
[The body is being rebuilt, marginally stronger than before.]
[STRENGTH +0.1]
[ENDURANCE +0.1]
Robin's eyes widened. He stared at the notification, his exhaustion forgotten for a moment. He quickly moved up his main stat page.
[Stats:]
[STRENGTH: 2.1]
[AGILITY: 3]
[ENDURANCE: 1.1]
[DEXTERITY: 4]
The numbers had moved! It was a tiny change, a decimal point, a fraction of a fraction. To anyone else, it would be nothing. But to Robin, it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. It was proof. The pain was worth it. The agony had a purpose. A tiny sliver of a real, tangible reward.
He felt it, too. It wasn't a rush of power. It was far more subtle. The deep, constant ache in his bones seemed to lessen, just a little. The fire in his lungs cooled from a raging inferno to a manageable campfire. It was a tiny victory, but it was a victory nonetheless.
He grinned, a real, genuine grin. "Okay, System," he panted. "I see how this works. You want pain? I can give you pain."
After a short rest, he moved on to the second part of his training: the mana core.
He sat cross-legged in the center of the room, his back straight. He closed his eyes and focused inward, searching for that sad little spark of mana in his chest. He found it, a tiny ember fizzling weakly.
Commander Justin knew dozens of breathing exercises designed to gather and circulate mana. He began a simple one, breathing in slowly through his nose, and out even more slowly through his mouth.
With each breath, he imagined he was gently blowing on that tiny ember, trying to coax it into a steady flame.
It was delicate, frustrating work. For the first ten minutes, nothing happened. The spark just sputtered and hissed. Then, he felt a tiny flicker of warmth. The ember glowed a bit brighter for a second before dimming again.
Progress.
Now for the hard part. He had to take that tiny bit of energy and move it through his body. His mana channels, the invisible pathways that mana flowed through, were a mess. They were like tiny pipes that had been clogged with dirt and rust for ten years.
He took a deep breath, gathered the tiny bit of warmth from his core, and tried to push it into the channel leading to his arm.
It was like trying to force a rock through a straw. He met immediate resistance. A sharp, needle-like pain shot up his shoulder. He grit his teeth and pushed harder.
POP!
He felt something give way inside him. It was a small blockage, and he had just forced it open. The pain was sharp and intense, making him gasp, but a tiny trickle of warmth flowed into his arm for the first time.
It felt like warm honey spreading through a frozen limb. He repeated the process again and again, targeting different channels in his body. Each one was a new battle, a new wave of pain followed by a tiny victory.
He worked until the moon had long since set and the first hints of dawn were painting the sky grey. He was completely and utterly exhausted.
Every muscle ached, every vein throbbed with a dull pain, and his head was pounding. He felt like he'd been run over by a carriage. Twice.
But as he collapsed onto his lumpy bed, a sense of triumph filled him. It was the satisfying ache of a battle well fought. He had pushed his body to its absolute limit and beyond. He had declared war on his own weakness.
With the last of his strength, he called up the system one more time, needing to see the fruits of his labor.
[Name: Robin Stark]
[Level: 1]
[Stats:]
[STRENGTH: 2.1]
[AGILITY: 3]
[ENDURANCE: 1.1]
[DEXTERITY: 4]
He had managed to raise his Strength by a fraction, but more importantly, his Endurance had gone up by 0.1. It was still a pitifully low number, but it was a 10% improvement from where he started.
He looked at those tiny decimal points and felt a surge of pride. Each one was a drop of sweat. Each one was a scream of pain he had swallowed. Each one was a brick he had laid for the foundation of his future empire.
He closed his eyes, a small, weary smile on his face. The road ahead was long and filled with agony. But for the first time, he knew, with absolute certainty, that he was walking it in the right direction.
He had a plan. He had a system. And now, he had a start.