The audience hall of Yllar Manor was as cold as the stones that held it up. No superfluous ornamentation. No gaudy banners. Just the pale light filtering through dulled stained glass and the quiet echo of boots on the flagstone.
Caelum stood alone at the center of the hall. He wore a deep blue coat embroidered with a subtle silver thread. It was a garment he'd owned since adolescence — noble, simple, carefully maintained — worn only on rare formal occasions for fear of wearing it out too soon. Today, he wore it calmly. It wasn't armor. But it was a statement.
Before him, Baron Yllar sat upon his stone step — upright, cold, hands folded over his knees. To his right, Barion waited, ever silent. A scribe in grey held a quill poised in the air.
"Caelum Velmire," the baron declared, his voice like iron beneath frost. "You have no land. Your name stirs no hearts. But you are of noble blood. A broken noble, perhaps. Are you prepared to serve my house as a page?"
Caelum bowed deeply, one knee to the ground, head lowered. His voice was firm. Balanced. Measured.
"I am ready, my lord. By my name and by my blood, I swear loyalty to House Yllar. Let my silence be discipline, let my obedience be strength. And if I fail, let my body pay the price."
Silence stretched. The baron studied Caelum as one might assess a raw blade.
"It shall be recorded," he said at last.
The scribe scribbled. A squire stepped forward and fastened to Caelum's shoulder an iron insignia: the wolf of House Yllar, head turned eastward, poised to leap.
The baron concluded simply:
"You begin at the bottom. You will remain there until you prove otherwise." He paused for several seconds, watching Caelum's reaction, then continued: "Are you prepared to accept that?"
Without allowing even a heartbeat that might suggest hesitation, Caelum answered with conviction:
"I ask for nothing more, Your Excellency. I hope to prove my worth through strength."
The baron rose, and Caelum followed suit.
"I will ask again: Do you wish to become my man, without reservation?"
"I do," Caelum replied.
The baron and Caelum exchanged the ritual embrace and sealed their bond with a kiss.
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The next morning, at dawn, Barion was already waiting in a side courtyard — a narrow, neglected space between the outer wall and the stables. Not a training ground, but a place for raw effort.
Caelum arrived unarmed. Barion nodded.
"You are noble, but you are weak. You've survived chores, blows, mockery. That's good. Now you must learn what men in armor often forget: true power comes from within."
He knelt and placed his hand against the earth.
"What I'm going to teach you is called Sylvanic Breathing. It's the technique of our house's knights. It turns a man… into living iron."
He stood, pivoted, and added:
"It's built around a core: the life seed. A spark lodged here," he said, placing two fingers just below his navel. "In most people, it stays cold. In those who train… it burns. And if you manage to make it grow… your body will become something else. However, if you fail to awaken it, you'll remain forever a mere mortal — stronger than most, perhaps, but still ordinary. Awakening can come through practice in rare cases, but most often, it requires surviving a life-or-death moment."
Caelum listened, focused.
Barion pointed to the ground. He drew a long breath, then assumed a low stance — knees bent, spine straight, arms extended like two roots.
"This is the first form. Sylvanic Breathing consists of ten forms. Each form is a sequence of postures, stretches, muscle contractions… performed under slow, controlled breathing."
He flowed through the ten forms slowly. Caelum understood quickly: this wasn't a martial kata. It was a war against oneself.
"Each form must be held for at least thirty minutes before you can claim the next. If your body fails, you start over. The goal isn't endurance… it's awakening."
Barion stopped.
"You're allowed to train one hour per day. No more. Your body isn't ready. If you push too hard, you'll destroy the seed before it sprouts."
He stepped back and gestured.
"Show me. The first form."
Caelum took position. Arms extended, knees bent. He inhaled slowly, tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth, mind focused on an imaginary point of heat.
Half a minute passed. Then a full minute.
After another thirty seconds, his legs trembled. At two minutes, his arms weakened. He wavered.
Then he collapsed.
He gasped, forehead against the frozen earth.
"Two minutes," said Barion, without mockery. "Better than many. But still nothing."
Caelum closed his eyes. Despite the pain, he had felt… warmth. Yes. Faint. Fleeting.
But real.
As he caught his breath, knees on the ground, body drenched in sweat and muscles ablaze, a shiver ran up his spine. A low vibration, almost imperceptible, rose from his abdomen to his temples. And there — between two heartbeats — the System awakened.
[SYSTEM: UPDATE DETECTED]
Knight-type physical practice detected.
Technique: Sylvanic Breathing – Level 0 (Unmastered)
Progress: 6.67%
New Passive Skill Acquired:
[Somatic Awareness]
→ Description: Heightened sensitivity to internal bodily signals during controlled exertion. Enables improved perception of breath, posture, and muscular stress.
→ Current Effects:
• Minor reduction in post-exercise fatigue
• Enhanced bodily sensation (balance, tension, hidden pain)
• Potential activation of the Life Seed when conditions are met
[System Note]: This skill progresses only through continued practice of the Breathing Forms. Holding each form for 30 minutes unlocks additional thresholds.
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After taking his leave from Knight Barion, despite his physical exhaustion, he didn't fall asleep. Not really. He was too eager to return to simulation. Especially now that he had gained a new strength.
[SIMULATION TOKEN AVAILABLE]
Auto-launch in 3… 2… 1…
Year 1
Caelum continues his duties as a page. He trains alone in the first form of Sylvanic Breathing. His progress is swift at first. After six months, he can hold it for 30 minutes. He begins experimenting with the second form, but it drains him quickly. He learns to breathe through pain — not to master it.
Year 2
He rises to the rank of squire. He's assigned to a young, arrogant knight. His training becomes more flexible. He improves his physical efficiency — running, endurance — but the second form still blocks him at around 20 minutes. The seed is unstable — present, but never consistent.
Year 3
Thanks to a strict routine, he manages to hold the second form for a full 30 minutes. He then begins the third. But every attempt ends in overload: cramps, vomiting, fainting. He believes he's nearing awakening… but it's a mirage. He questions his talent, and Barion tells him: if after three years he still can't move past the second form, his talent is weak.
Years 4–6
Three years pass. He trains. He improves in weaponry, in leadership. He becomes a respected scout. But in terms of breath? Nothing. He repeats the second form, again and again, hoping for a breakthrough. The third form — he sometimes holds it… 12 minutes. Never more. The seed doesn't respond. He finally understands: he's reached the ceiling of his current strength.
Year 7
He tries to force it. Doubles his sessions. Fasts. Pushes his training to the brink. One day, he collapses mid-session. His breath becomes erratic. The seed destabilizes. Barion (in the simulation) heals him. And says:
"Force the seed, and you kill it."
That day, Caelum accepts it. He must grow stronger — not burn brighter.
Years 8–9
He returns to the basics. Rebuilds himself. Refines his posture. His precision. His nutrition. He becomes a respected soldier. He fights. He teaches. He survives an ambush. But he does not awaken.
In the end, he manages to hold the third form for 14 minutes. And that's it. A faction of southern nobles rises in rebellion, and the barony is swept into the conflict.
Year 10
You die in the war — felled by a stray punch from the Iron Cross Knight.