Dust motes danced in the lone shaft of moonlight slicing through the grime-streaked window. I flop onto the thin straw mattress, the stale air thick in my lungs. My head swims with information—or rather, half-formed theories pieced together from scattered notes.
This wasn't an orphanage. Not really. It was a farm. A breeding ground.
A sick feeling twists in my gut. All the brutal training, the meager rations, the hollow eyes of the younger kids… it all clicks into place. Ashwood Haven wasn't about saving orphans. It was about making weapons.
The 'Hunters'. They weren't gathering food for the orphanage. They were scavenging for something specific. Something the Shadow Cult wanted. That warlock's artifact.
My fingers trace the worn leather of my satchel, the stolen coins digging into my palm. If this artifact is as potent as those notes suggested, it could be my ticket out of here. A bargaining chip. A power boost. Whatever I needed.
But just grabbing it won't cut it. The place is crawling with guards, and the upper levels are likely locked down tighter than a dragon's hoard. No, I need access. Legitimacy.
A grim smile tugs at my lips. There's only one way to play this.
A flicker of memory—the system. Right. I almost forgot about that little… addition to my life. It had been too much to process already, between the body swap and the horrifying truth about Ashwood Haven.
I close my eyes, focusing inward. A translucent blue screen materializes in my vision, shimmering with data.
[Status]
Name: Cael Ardentis
Level: 1
Rank: Novice
Gift: —
Talent: Infinite Comprehension (Awakened)
Attributes:
• Strength: F+
• Agility: F+
• Intelligence: C-
• Endurance: F
• Vitality: F
• Mana: —
A small surge of warmth courses through my veins. F+? It's not much, but it's definitely an upgrade from the pathetic F I started with. I can feel the difference. A little more spring in my step, a sharper clarity to my thoughts. I recall effortlessly dodging those guards after leaving the head enforcer's office—something that would've been impossible just yesterday.
My gaze locks onto the "Infinite Comprehension" entry. Awakened. What does that even mean? I tap the entry, and a detailed description floods my mind.
Infinite Comprehension (Awakened): A rare Talent granting the user an unparalleled capacity for understanding. Allows for complete assimilation of any concept, spell, technique, art, or martial art. Significantly improves cognitive abilities, granting photographic and perfect memory recall. Facilitates the intuitive comprehension of complex systems and patterns.
My jaw goes slack. A talent… that lets me learn anything? Perfectly? It's like something straight out of a cultivation novel.
A giddy thrill runs through me. This changes everything. I could tell this talent is going to be my foundation.
I need to become one of the Hunters.
It's a risk, sure. Those guys are practically zealots, all muscle and unwavering loyalty to… well, to whoever pulling the strings. But they're the only ones allowed to roam freely outside the walls. The only ones who might stumble upon the artifact themselves. and now with infinite comprehension a might be to pull this through. Then its settled, I'll join the hunters, get the artifact then get the hell out of here.
* * *
The chipped wooden bench digs into my tailbone. Steam rises from the grey broth they call lunch, tasting mostly of disappointment. Across from me, Kieran picks at his portion, his usual quiet observation softened with concern. I ignore him, focusing on the hulking guard nearest the food line—Brute, they call him. Thick neck, arms like tree trunks. Perfect.
I push my bowl away, the metallic tang of the broth coating my tongue. My boots scrape against the stone floor as I approach him, drawing a few curious glances. Brute barely glances down as I stop before him.
"I want to join the Hunters," I say, keeping my voice level.
He finally looks at me, and a booming laugh erupts, rattling the tin plates on the tables. "You? A Hunter? Look at you, boy. You'd snap in half before you reached the forest edge."
I meet his gaze, refusing to flinch. A flicker of determination burns in my chest. "I'm serious."
The laughter dies in his throat. He grunts, a sound like rocks grinding together. "Suit yourself."
He directs me to a dingy office tucked away in a corner of the courtyard. The air smells of mildew and stale sweat. Brute knocks once, then shoves me inside.
Behind a scarred wooden desk sits a man whose presence alone feels like a downpour. Lieutenant Varos. Water seems to cling to his very being. He doesn't bother with pleasantries.
"The boy wants to be a Hunter," Brute states flatly, the words hitting the room like a gavel.
Varos's gaze sweeps over me, cool and assessing. His eyes, the color of a storm-tossed sea, linger on my thin frame.
Varos's lips quirk upward, a fleeting expression that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Interesting. We've had a lot of excited recruits this time around." A dry chuckle escapes him. "All eager to chase glory and… whatever else draws them to the Dark Forest."
He waves a hand dismissively at Brute. "Tell Max he has a new student. One week. Get the boy accustomed to fighting. Judging by his stature, he'll need it."
My jaw tightens. A week? It's barely enough time to learn which end of a sword is sharp. Still, it's a foot in the door.
"You'll go through a test," Varos continues, his voice regaining its clipped edge. "Fight one of the Hunter Captains. They'll decide if you're worth the trouble of adding to their team."
He doesn't wait for a response. Doesn't even acknowledge my presence beyond that initial assessment. He already sees me as a waste of time. Fair enough.
"Dismissed."
Brute's hand clamps onto my shoulder, nearly crushing it. He doesn't offer a word, just steers me toward the training grounds.
Brute's grip on my shoulder feels less guiding and more… possessive. Each step echoes on the packed dirt as we approach the training grounds. Even from a distance, the scene is intense. Four figures stand rigid in a line, facing a man who could easily be a giant. Tall, broad-shouldered, with blonde hair the color of sun-bleached wheat and eyes that hold a lifetime of stories—mostly bad ones, I wager. He leans on a greatsword, the polished steel glinting even in the overcast sky.
He moves like someone constantly aware of escape routes.
"Max," Brute grunts, shoving me forward. "New recruit. Varos wants you to work him with the others."
The blonde—Max, apparently—doesn't even glance at Brute. His gaze sweeps over me, slow and deliberate, like assessing a stray dog. A half-smile tugs at his lips, more amusement than genuine welcome.
"Another one?" he asks, his voice a low rumble. It's surprisingly calm, considering the sheer size of him. "Varos really is scraping the bottom of the barrel these days."
He finally focuses on me, and his eyes narrow just slightly. "You look like a stiff breeze could knock you over. Name's Max. I'm guessing you haven't held a sword before?"
"Cael" I reply, keeping my voice steady despite the knot forming in my stomach. "And I've… read about swords."
Max barks out a laugh, the sound echoing across the training ground. It's not unkind, but it stings nonetheless. "Reading about swords won't do you much good against a goblin, kid."
He gestures towards the four standing at attention. "These are your fellow recruits. Lyra, Tarek, Finn, and Nessa. They've been at it for two days already. Try not to embarrass yourself too much."
Lyra, a brunette with her hair braided tight, is the first to look me over. Her expression is unreadable, a careful mask of indifference. Tarek, tall and lean with a permanent scowl etched onto his face, barely spares me a glance. Finn, with his friendly face and unassuming build, offers a small, encouraging smile. Nessa, the youngest of the four, shrinks back, her eyes wide and hesitant.
"Alright," Max claps his hands together, the sound sharp and commanding. "Let's see what you've got. head over to weapons rack and pick your desired weapon"
The weapons rack looms like a metal forest. Swords of every size and shape hang suspended, reflecting the dull grey light. Halberds, maces, axes—each one radiating a sense of brutal purpose. It's… a lot. I linger, my fingers tracing the worn leather of a sword hilt, then another. A longsword, balanced and elegant. A broadsword, heavy and imposing. A scimitar, curved and wickedly sharp.
My gaze finally settles on a standard, no-frills longsword. It isn't particularly impressive, doesn't scream 'heroic destiny', but something about it feels…right. Like an extension of my own arm. I lift it, testing the weight. It settles into my grip with surprising familiarity. It's strange. I've never held a sword in my life, not in this life, yet it feels…natural. As if I've spent years practicing with one.
"Lost in thought, are you?" Max's voice cuts through my reverie. "Don't spend all day admiring the steel. Pick one and let's get moving."
I blink, startled. He's been watching me. "This one," I say, holding up the longsword.
"Good enough." He claps his hands again. "Alright, everyone, fall in line. We're starting with the basics. Stance, grip, footwork. Forget everything you think you know about swinging a piece of metal."
We arrange ourselves in a line, mimicking Max's movements. He demonstrates a basic guard, the blade held at a precise angle, weight balanced, body poised. It looks deceptively simple. Then we try it.
My movements are stiff, awkward. The sword feels heavy, unwieldy. I stumble slightly, nearly losing my balance. Lyra, beside me, executes the stance with effortless grace, her expression bordering on disdain. Tarek grunts with effort, but manages a passable imitation. Even Nessa, timid as she is, manages to hold the stance for a few seconds before her arms tremble.
Max circles us, offering corrections with blunt efficiency. "Keep your back straight, Finn! Shoulders relaxed, Tarek! Cael, for the love of—hold the sword like you mean it, not like it's going to bite!"
As I struggle to correct my posture, a strange sensation prickles at the back of my mind. A rush of data, flowing like electricity. Suddenly, I understand the mechanics of the stance in a way I hadn't moments before. A message flares in my vision, stark white against the grey:
[System Notification: Infinite Comprehension - Activating.]
What the—?
"Alright, let's move to the basic swing. Remember, control is key–" He pauses, his eyes narrowed as he studies me. "Actually, Cael, show me what you got."
"Oh shit," I mutter under my breath, bracing for a long week ahead.
* * *
The biting wind whips across the training yard, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and steel. It's been a week since Max started drilling us, and honestly? It hasn't been terrible. Not for me, anyway.
Infinite Comprehension is a cheat code, plain and simple. It's like the System downloads the muscle memory, the technique, the feel of a movement directly into my brain. I still have to physically execute it, of course, but the learning curve is… nonexistent. Where the others struggle to maintain a proper guard, I internalize it after a single demonstration. Where they flail and stumble during swings, I find a fluid rhythm almost immediately.
It's weird. And a little guilt-inducing.
"Cael, you're doing it wrong!" Finn shouts, frustration lacing his voice. He's attempting a parry, but his blade is too low, leaving a gaping hole in his defense.
I sigh, stepping closer. "Here, try widening your stance a bit. And keep your wrist firm. Not locked, just… stable." I gently adjust his grip, guiding the sword into the correct position.
He tries it again, and this time, there's a noticeable improvement. "Oh! Yeah, that feels… better." A relieved grin spreads across his face. "Thanks, Cael. You make it look so easy."
"It's not easy," I say quickly, "I just… pick things up fast." A half-truth. A convenient one.
Lyra, however, isn't buying it. She's been observing me all week, her expression ranging from annoyed skepticism to grudging respect. Now, she's leaning against a practice dummy, arms crossed, a slight furrow in her brow.
"Show off," she mutters, but it lacks the bite it held a few days ago.
"What was that?" I ask, tilting my head.
"Nothing," she snaps. But then, almost reluctantly, she adds, "You're improving everyone else, sure. But don't think I haven't noticed you're also getting stronger. Faster."
It's true. The training, even passive observation, has been benefiting me. I'm not just 'picking things up fast' anymore; I'm actively growing. I can feel it in the subtle tightening of my muscles, the heightened awareness of my surroundings.
We continue drilling, working through parries, thrusts, and footwork combinations. The sun climbs higher in the sky, casting long shadows across the yard. Just as Max calls for a water break, a familiar notification flares in my vision.
[System Notification: Combat Proficiency Significantly Increased. Swordsmanship Skill Unlocked!]
What the…? Before I can process it, another message appears, a cascading surge of data that feels almost overwhelming.
[System Notification: Basic Swordsmanship has evolved into Transcendental Swordsmanship!]
Transcendental Swordsmanship? What even is that?
"Status," I murmur under my breath, testing the connection.
A window pops into my vision, displaying my updated stats. I scroll through them, my breath catching in my throat.
[Status]
Name: Cael Ardentis
Level: 1
Rank: Novice
Gift: —
Talent: Infinite Comprehension
Attributes:
• Strength: D-
• Agility: D-
• Intelligence: C
• Endurance: F+
• Vitality: F+
• Mana: —
Even small improvements. But then I see it. A new entry, nestled below my attributes.
[Skills]
• Transcendental Swordsmanship (Level 1)
I tap on the skill description, and a torrent of information floods my mind.
Transcendental Swordsmanship: A mastery of swordsmanship beyond conventional understanding. Through intuitive connection to the blade, the wielder can anticipate opponent's movements, enhance reaction time, and unleash techniques that defy physical limitations. Grants increased precision, power, and fluidity in sword combat. Potential for future evolution dependent on user's innate talent and dedication.
It's...insane. It's like everything I've been experiencing this past week has been condensed into a single, quantifiable skill. But, it's also more. There's a sense of potential, of hidden depths waiting to be unlocked.
Lyra is staring at me, suspicion etched on her face. "You alright? You zoned out there for a sec."
I quickly close the status window, a nervous flutter in my chest. "Yeah, just… thirsty."
I gulp down the water Finn hands me, trying to appear normal. Transcendental Swordsmanship… it sounds like something ripped straight out of a novel. A power-up mid-tutorial? Seriously? The System is getting more audacious by the minute.
Before either of us can say another word, Max ambles over, his blonde hair gleaming in the afternoon sun. He looks like he's barely expended any energy despite putting us through hell for the last week.
"Alright, you lot," he says, his voice a low rumble. "Tomorrow's the day. Test day."
Finn groans audibly. Lyra's jaw tightens. I try to maintain my poker face.
"Each of you will face a hunter Captain. They'll assess your skills, your potential… basically, whether you're worth the trouble." Max pauses, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Whoever selects you will invite you to join their group. "
He scans our faces, his gaze lingering on each of us for a moment. He claps his hands together. "That's all for today. Dismissed."
A collective sigh of relief—and apprehension—ripples through the small group.
The bonfire crackles and spits, sending embers swirling into the darkening sky. We've huddled close, the warmth a small comfort against the creeping chill of the evening. Everyone's buzzing, a nervous energy thrumming beneath the surface.
"I don't even know if I'll pass," Nessa mumbles, her voice barely audible above the fire's roar. She's picking at a loose thread on her tunic, avoiding eye contact.
Tarek claps her on the shoulder. "Don't talk like that. You're stronger than you think, Nessa. You handled those training dummies just fine."
Finn practically vibrates with excitement. "Imagine, actually going on hunts! Seeing what's beyond those walls! It'll be amazing!"
Lyra throws a dismissive look his way. "Don't get your hopes up. It won't be easy. Some of the Captains are Awakened. Powerful ones."
"Oh, right!" Finn exclaims, snapping his fingers. "Lyra, you're an Awakener, right?"
Lyra stiffens, then nods slowly. "I Awakened a few weeks ago."
That catches me off guard. Lyra? An Awakener? It doesn't show. I carefully school my expression, feigning casual curiosity.
"Really? That's…cool. What's your Gift?" I ask, keeping my tone even.
She shrugs, a frustrated expression crossing her face. "I don't know yet, honestly. Nothing's happened. But I can feel it, you know? I'm stronger, faster. I don't get hungry as easily."
Stronger, faster, less need for food… Perks of being an Awakener. It makes sense. I wonder if those effects become more lasting, more permanent, the higher your rank climbs. Does an S-Rank Awakener barely need to sleep or eat? The System remains silent, offering no answers. Maybe I'll have to find out for myself.
"So, it's just… a feeling?" I ask Lyra, leaning forward slightly. "Like a potential waiting to be unlocked?"
She shrugs again, poking at the embers with a twig. "That's the only way I can describe it. Old Man Tiber—he runs the infirmary—says it takes time. That some Gifts don't manifest for years."
"And what about ranks?" I press, curiosity getting the better of me. "I've heard people talking about 'F-rank' or 'B-rank.' What does that even mean?"
She finally looks at me directly, her expression a mixture of annoyance and… something else. Maybe intrigue? "It's a measure of power. The Gift's potency, control, potential. F is the lowest, SSS is the highest. Most people peak at C or D."
"And what about talents?"
"Talents are… innate traits," she explains. "Natural affinities for certain things. Better mana recovery, improved cognition, that sort of thing. Everyone has talents, even if they aren't Awakened."
It's a lot to absorb. A whole system of power, neatly categorized and ranked. It feels… organized. Like a game with defined rules. It's almost comforting, in a twisted sort of way.
"Is there anywhere… you go to learn about all this?" I ask, carefully choosing my words. "Like a school?"
Lyra's eyes light up, a flicker of enthusiasm finally breaking through her usual stoicism. "Valefort Academy. It's the most prestigious academy for Awakened in Valeria." She pauses, her expression clouding over slightly. "Or so I've heard. I don't know much about it, honestly."
"What do you know?" Finn pipes up, ever the eager listener.
"Just that it's… amazing. They say the instructors are Masters, Grandmasters even. That they train you to be a real hero."
"Though… I also remember hearing that they don't accept commoners."
A knot forms in my stomach. Of course. Why would the elite academy for Awakened waste its time on orphans and street rats?
Lyra nods grimly. "That's right. It's mostly nobles and the children of influential families. You need connections, money… a prestigious lineage."
"So, it's not even an option," I state, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.
"Not for us," Lyra confirms, a hint of bitterness in her voice. "It's just... a dream."
The fire crackles, the sound suddenly harsh and intrusive. The romantic notion of attending an academy, honing my powers, mastering Transcendental Swordsmanship... it dissolves into nothing. Just another unattainable goal in a world built to keep people like me down.
The embers fade to a dull orange, then grey, mirroring the dwindling hope in my chest.
"Well," Finn says with forced cheerfulness, clapping his hands together. "Early night for me! Gotta be rested for the Captains tomorrow!" He gives a final wave, then practically bounces towards the dorms.
Nessa, predictably, trails after him, her voice a soft murmur. "Good night, everyone." Tarek offers a curt nod before heading off in the opposite direction, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the darkness.
That leaves Lyra and me. An awkward silence descends, punctuated only by the chirping of crickets. She's staring into the fire, her brow furrowed in thought.
"Don't let it get to you," she says suddenly, her voice low. "The academy thing. It's not worth stressing over."
I raise an eyebrow, surprised by the unexpected empathy. "Easy for you to say. You're an Awakener. You have options."
She scoffs, finally meeting my gaze. "Options? Being an orphan Awakener doesn't exactly open doors, you know."
I hadn't considered that. Being an Awakener in our position probably isn't a blessing. It's a mark. A target.
"Fair point," I concede. "Still, you've got a Gift. That's got to count for something."
"It will, eventually," she says, a flicker of determination in her eyes. "I just need to figure out what it is. And then… learn how to control it."
We stand there for a moment, lost in our own thoughts. A strange sort of camaraderie has formed between us, forged in the crucible of shared hardship. It's not friendship, not yet. More like… reluctant respect.
"Well," I say, breaking the silence. "I should turn in. The Captains won't judge a tired swordsman kindly."
She gives a small, almost imperceptible nod. "Right. Good night, Cael."
"You too, Lyra."
I turn and start walking towards the male dorms, the gravel crunching under my boots. The System remains stubbornly quiet, offering no insights, no assistance. It's maddening.
As I reach the steps of the dorm, I glance back. Lyra is still standing by the dying embers, her figure stark against the inky blackness. She looks… lost. Vulnerable.
I want to say something, to offer a word of encouragement. But what could I possibly say? I'm lost too. We're all lost.
I climb the steps, the weight of the coming day settling on my shoulders.
The System chimes in my head, interrupting my spiral.
[System Notification: New Quest Available: Pass the Hunter Captain Trials. Reward: hidden Trait, New Skill]
Another quest. Of course. The System is relentless, dangling rewards like a carrot while I navigate a world that feels designed to break me. A hidden trait and a new skill… tempting, but not my primary motivation. I want out. I want to see what's beyond those walls, beyond this life of scraping by.
I shoulder open the dorm room door, the stale air hitting my face.
I focus on the feel of the practice sword in my hand, the weight of it, the balance. Transcendental Swordsmanship. A ridiculous name for a potentially game-changing skill. I replay every movement Max taught me, visualizing each parry, each thrust, each footwork combination. The System buzzes faintly in the back of my head, subtly enhancing my mental rehearsal.
Sleep doesn't come easy, but exhaustion eventually wins. I drift off, a single thought dominating my mind: tomorrow, I fight. And I will pass.
To be continued...