Three Months Since Leaving the White Estate
The present demanded focus. My mornings were consumed by the Imperial Swordsmanship, the D-rank art slowly becoming less foreign to my F-rank body. The afternoons belonged to Kendo.
There was a profound frustration in practicing the forms of my past life. The stances, the cuts, the precise footwork—they were etched into my muscle memory, yet this world's "System," its underlying consciousness, did not acknowledge them. It was as if I was performing a complex dance in a void. For it to be recognized as an Art, to be quantifiable and capable of growth, it needed a name and the world's stamp of approval.
I drilled the shomen-uchi overhead cut for the thousandth time, my focus absolute. Posture. Breath. The downward arc. The sudden stop.
[You have created an Unknown Basic Swordsmanship (E). Would you like to name it?]
A notification. Simple, divine text in my vision. My heart leapt. So that was the threshold—mastery and intent, recognized by the world's laws.
"Name it: Kendo."
[Basic Swordsmanship: Kendo (E) is registered. Would you like to register your name as creator?]
A moment of caution. Full fame was a beacon for trouble. "Register creator as: Roy."
[Registration complete. Creator: Roy. Art: Kendo.]
A wave of fierce satisfaction washed over me. My past life wasn't just memories; it was a tangible asset I had successfully transplanted.
[Kendo (E): A basic swordsmanship art with principles distinct from local styles. Emphasizes posture, distance, and decisive cutting. Possesses high adaptability and growth potential, especially when integrated with mana or aura. Creator: Roy.]
High growth potential. Adaptability. The description confirmed my hope. Kendo was a framework, a philosophy of the sword. It wasn't meant to stay "basic." It was a seed, waiting to be fused with the magic of this world.
After a break, I turned to the final piece of my foundational training: practical combat magic. Every aspiring mage, upon reaching a basic level of competence (around E-rank), aimed for two essential skills: Mana Bullet and Mana Shield.
For a week, I struggled. Forming stable mana outside the body was orders of magnitude harder than internal enhancement. A Mana Bullet required compressing energy into a volatile sphere and projecting it. A Mana Shield demanded shaping a persistent, resilient barrier. My low F-rank mana pool emptied in seconds, and my control was pushed to its limit.
But persistence, born of desperation, paid off.
On the seventh day, as the sun dipped below the hills, two notifications appeared in quick succession.
[Skill: Mana Bullet (F) acquired.]
[Skill: Mana Shield (F) acquired.]
[Appraisal: Mana Bullet (F) - Forms a projectile of compressed mana. Size and power scale with mana input. Can be imbued with the user's elemental affinity. Growth Type.]
[Appraisal: Mana Shield (F) - Creates a defensive barrier of mana. Size, shape, and durability depend on the user's mana, control, and visualization. Growth Type.]
I had done it. A basic offensive spell and a defensive one. My toolkit was no longer purely supportive or enhancement-based. I could finally fight back at a distance.
The description gave me pause. "Can be imbued with the user's elemental affinity." I had a Plant element. What did a Plant-imbued Mana Bullet look like? Would it be a seed that burrowed and grew? A spore that choked? The potential was bizarre and intriguing.
It had been three months since I was cast out. The White family had made no contact—no checks, no threats, no forgotten parcels. I was as erased from their world as the previous Roy had been. The silence was its own kind of cruelty, but also a blessing. It was the freedom of being forgotten.
My immediate path was set: grind my skills, win the bet with Sir Kane to learn his swordsmanship, and continue my dangerous, heretical experiments with the Mana Root system. My body was changing, slowly. The failed root in my leg had left a permanent, faint sensitivity, like a dormant nerve waiting to be awakened.
Two Years Later...
The seasons turned, once, then twice. The relentless rhythm of dawn drills, afternoon theory, and evening experimentation became my entire existence. The boy who had crawled bruised from a noble's mansion was gone, replaced by a young man with calloused hands, a calm gaze, and a body humming with controlled, unconventional power.
The foundation had been laid, stone by stubborn stone. Now, it was time to see what I could build upon it.