[System operational. Synchronization in progress.]
Basic Archery(Passive Skill)
=> Description:Grants instinctive mastery of the shortbow, gained through a simulated life of hunting. Allows for a steady stance, controlled breathing, and increased accuracy on moving targets.
=> Active Effects (when equipped with a bow):
– Reduced aiming time
– Minimized hand tremors during draw
– +10% accuracy at short to medium range
– Reduced muscular fatigue during repeated shots
=> Mastery: 10%
Inept Sword Handling (Passive Skill)
=> Description: Represents a complete lack of foundational skill with a sword. Movements are unrefined, inefficient, and leave numerous openings. No understanding of distance, timing, or technique.
=> Active Effects (when equipped with a sword):
– None
=> Mastery: 5%
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The translucent screen stabilized in his mind, its cold lines seeming to judge more than inform. The bluish symbols pulsed faintly, as if to remind him they came from a different order than his own — from an inhuman mechanism. He stared at them without blinking, absorbing every word, every percentage.
Basic Archery. Visible progression: ten percent.
A quiet satisfaction stirred within him. That number hadn't come from nowhere. It was the result of all those mornings spent alone in the courtyard or the old cellar, repeating the same motions until the string vibrated like an extension of his own breath. Hours spent correcting every deviation, listening to the friction of the string against his fingers, adjusting his center of gravity by a millimeter with each shot. Ten percent was little in the eyes of the world. But to him, it was a tangible mark — carved into flesh.
Then his gaze slid to the next line.
Inept Sword Handling. Five percent.
The System didn't hold back: total incompetence. The words were sharp, devoid of euphemism. No fundamental gestures. No understanding of distance or timing. Just raw, ineffective movements riddled with openings. A child playing with a tool forged for battlefield survival.
He felt a sting — not surprise, no, he already knew — but the raw clarity of those words carried a kind of humiliation. In this world, an archer alone was nothing. The bow was useful, but the blade was essential. Even the greatest marksman could fall within sword's reach, and in that moment, everything depended on mastery of steel. A knight without a blade did not exist.
A fleeting thought crossed his mind: If Barion saw that line, he'd call it an insult. And he'd be right. The imagined voice of the knight echoed in his head — dry and unforgiving — as if forcing him to absorb the blow.
The System remained silent. No promise. No advice. No roadmap to bridge the gap. Only that cold observation, suspended before his eyes, reminding him that the path he had chosen was still missing half its shape.
Caelum took a deep breath. The numbers, the percentages — all of it could change. He wasn't condemned to remain there, frozen at five percent. It was only a snapshot, not a sentence. He didn't lack will — only form. And that form, he would seek out, piece by piece, strike after strike, until even the System was forced to erase the word inept.
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Just as he was about to close the mental screen, new lines appeared — sharper, as if the System were speaking again after a long silence.
[The System is now capable of tracking the real-time progression of registered techniques. Mastery values will be updated immediately based on observed performance.]
Caelum frowned slightly.
So now, every movement, every attempt, every improvement or mistake would be instantly etched into those percentages. No more blurred zones. No more invisible progress. A constant, relentless measurement.
[Note: Unlike Basic Archery, the skill Inept Sword Handling was not acquired through direct System integration. No assistance, correction, or optimization will be provided during practice. Progress will be determined solely by real experience.]
He felt the nuance behind those words.
For archery, the System acted like an invisible master — correcting posture, adjusting tension, refining aim through sensations he didn't always understand. For swordsmanship… he would have none of that. No hand on his shoulder. No whisper in his ear saying lower, faster, not like that. Just him, his body, and a blade he didn't know how to wield.
[Clarification: Once the skill Basic Archery reaches its limit, the System will cease all assistance. Memories from the previous life that enabled this progression will no longer generate further improvement.]
An unpleasant thought crossed his mind: If his archery mastery had reached ten percent so quickly, it wasn't solely because of his effort. It was because the System had guided him step by step. But one day, that voice would fall silent. And when it did, only real training — the kind that wears down flesh and forges bone — would allow him to go further.
The silence returned. But this time, it wasn't cold.
It had the texture of a challenge.
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Caelum picked up his bow and quiver — not to continue training, but out of reflex. The warm wood beneath his fingers still carried the heat of hours spent shooting, under a sun that had slowly slipped toward the horizon. His shoulders and forearms burned with a dull fatigue, the same kind that once told him he'd fired more arrows than two days' worth.
Yet despite the sweat clinging to his tunic, he didn't think of resting. The System's screen, with its promise of real-time progression, continued to float in a corner of his memory — calling to him like a challenge he refused to leave waiting until morning.
He left the archery range and headed toward the training courtyard, the bow slung over his shoulder like a familiar shadow. Gravel crunched beneath his boots, mingling with the soft rustle of arrows in the quiver.
The evening air carried a light coolness, but not enough to erase the heat built up in his muscles.
The courtyard revealed itself — wide and silent. Straw mannequins stood in the orange glow of dusk, frozen in patient stillness. The bows on the rack offered a familiar temptation — but he didn't stop.
His fingers brushed over the leather sheaths, then closed around a sword hilt. The contact was cold, metallic, almost brutal after hours spent feeling the softness of wood and the caress of linen strings.
He lifted the blade. The sensation was strange — heavier than it truly was, not from weight but from lack of familiarity. A first horizontal strike sliced through the air — poorly controlled, his wrist folding too early, the tip dipping before reaching the target.
A faint chime echoed.
[Skill: Inept Sword Handling — Mastery: 5.01%]
Tiny. But real. In the fraction of a second the number appeared, he understood what had changed: The blade had traced a slightly cleaner arc than before, and his front foot — by instinct or luck — had found a more solid stance.
He tried again. This time, a thrust. The fatigue from archery tugged at his muscles, but his rear leg absorbed a misbalance that, just yesterday, might have thrown him to the ground.
[Mastery: 5.02%]
His breath quickened. Progress wasn't in brute strength, but in those minute adjustments barely visible. A corrected angle. A finger pressing the guard at the right moment. A hip pivoting a fraction earlier.
He attempted a vertical strike, blade raised above his shoulder. This time, he thought of his elbows. The right stayed close to his body, instead of flaring outward. The edge hissed through the air, and the impact against the straw was sharper, less cushioned.
[Mastery: 5.03%]
That number — he felt it in his muscles: A subtle release in forearm tension, as if his body had realized it didn't need to grip the hilt until his knuckles turned white.
He continued, alternating thrusts, diagonal cuts, and clumsy defenses. Each strike revealed a flaw — but also a fragment of improvement. Sometimes, the blade returned to guard a little faster. Sometimes, his feet slipped less on the dust.
The numbers climbed — slow, but relentless.
[Mastery: 5.04%]
[Mastery: 5.05%]
With each new percentage, he noticed a detail he wouldn't have recognized before. A fraction of a second gained on a retreat. An arm extending with less hesitation. A shoulder no longer tensing at the moment of impact.
The mannequins didn't move. But in his mind, something shifted: The blade was no longer just a foreign weight. It was beginning, ever so slightly, to be tamed.
And he already knew that tomorrow, he'd come back for 5.06%.