By the time noon had come, the heroes’ horseback practice had come to an end.

  Unsurprisingly, no one had managed to ride Willowbrook—no one except Lord Vi. Each time someone else approached, the horse reverted to his earlier fury, thrashing and raging as though personally offended by their presence.

  “It is fine,” the king said at last, waving a dismissive hand. “If no one can ride him other than Lord Vi, then the horse may as well be his. Should anyone succeed later, I suppose that person and Lord Vi can settle ownership between themselves.”

  He paused, then added thoughtfully, “Though if I am being honest, I do not believe he has any intention of riding the horse at all.”

  After a brief lunch and time to let the meal settle, preparations began for the next phase of training. Servants erected wide canopies to shield us from the sun, while we mages shaped targets from earth and stone—pillars, and slabs at our command.

  At the same time, the knight-captains assembled the heroes and began instructing them in the use of their weapons, pairing each with an experienced knight as a guide. Those who favored melee weapons were the quickest to train, while others—like Lord Takashi, who wielded a bow—required more careful instruction. In time, however, every hero received the signal to begin practicing on their own.

  The heroes then broke off into smaller groups.

  I found myself watching Lord Arthur as he raised his sword, gripping the hilt with both hands. His expression was a careful blend of determination and intense concentration.

  “Common Art,” Lord Trayn jeered from the side.

  He was holding one of their world’s strange tools—a cell phone—and was already recording what he called a video of Lord Arthur. Their world remained deeply alien to me, yet undeniably convenient.

  From my conversations with Lady Reika and Lady Shizuku, I had learned that their homeland was relatively peaceful, unlike ours. They lacked magic, and so turned to science to shape their surroundings instead. The phone was one such invention—capable of capturing not only sound, but moving images in rapid succession, preserving moments as they unfolded.

  It was used for many purposes: gathering information, communication… or, in Lord Trayn’s case, entertainment.

  “Try not to smash your face like last time,” Lord Taka added gleefully, lifting his own phone to join in.

  Lord Arthur shot them a sharp look, tightened his grip, and took a steadying breath.

  The other knights assisting with the training added their own words of encouragement, voices carrying across the yard as they guided and corrected.

  Lord Arthur drew in a deep breath and fixed his gaze on his target—a wooden dummy standing some three meters away.

  He adjusted his grip and lowered his weapon into position, a double-edged sword, seventy centimeters of steel with a twenty-centimeter hilt. The base of the blade flared wide near the guard to protect the hands, then curved before straightening into a clean, balanced edge.

  It was a common blade in our world, practical and reliable.

  “Guard Breaker!” he called, activating his skill.

  He surged forward into a run. When he closed the distance, his right foot struck the ground hard. His body twisted, coiling and releasing in one fluid motion as he brought the blade down in a devastating two-handed strike from above.

  The dummy did not merely split—it shattered. Wood splintered into three large pieces, scattering across the dirt.

  Momentum carried him too far. He stumbled, tumbling forward as his strike pushed him past what he had anticipated. But he recovered quickly, rolling to his feet and staring at the destruction he had wrought.

  A cheer rose from the knights nearby.

  “Perfect,” Lord Trayn said as Lord Arthur brushed dust from his clothes. “You didn’t crash headfirst into it this time.”

  “Shut up, it’s my first time,” Lord Arthur grumbled.

  “It’s everyone’s first time,” Lord Trayn shot back as the knights set up another dummy. “I did it on my first try. Wills did it on his. Stop complaining.”

  Lord Arthur shook his head, muttering under his breath as he took his place beside Lords William and Trayn.

  “Your skill, Cross Cut, can be used while standing,” Lord Arthur said, swatting Lord Trayn lightly on the shoulder. “And Wills just had to bash with his shield. Mine requires momentum.”

  “Don’t feel too bad about yourself,” Lord Trayn mocked, and Lord William chuckled—though it did nothing to lift Arthur’s mood. “At least you contributed to Suzu’s healing practice.”

  The focus of the courtyard shifted once more as the knights on the far end repositioned a target at a considerable distance.

  I was seated atop a nearby pole, watching. The target must have been nearly a hundred meters away. From that distance, I raised my hand.

  “Earth Wall!”

  At my command, the ground responded. A wall of tightly packed earth surged upward—twenty centimeters thick and a meter high—settling into place with a solid finality.

  “It’s quite a sight to see magic up close,” Lord William said, and the others murmured in agreement, eyes fixed on the wall with open awe.

  I could not help myself. Pride warmed my chest, and I allowed myself a small moment of preening. Still, I knew it would not last. In time, they would surpass me. But for now, I savored these fleeting moments.

  “Wha’ be happenin’…?” The words came out halfway between speech and a yawn.

  We turned to look behind us. Lord Vi was awake again—if only barely. He rubbed at his eyes, posture slouched, hair disheveled.

  “Oh, hey, Vi.”

  “Morning, sleepyhead,” Lord Arthur and Lord Trayn greeted him in near unison.

  “Skill practice,” Lord William explained simply.

  Lord Vi grunted in response, squinting past us toward Lord Takashi.

  At the far end of the range One of the knights there raised a green flag as a signal.

  “My lord,” a knight closer to the line called out, “the shot is yours.”

  Lord Takashi stepped forward, bow in hand. He rolled his shoulders once, steadying himself as he took his stance, eyes fixed on the distant target.

  Once again, the phones were raised, hands steady, fixed on their target, anticipating either triumph or embarrassment. I noticed it was not limited to this group alone. The other heroes scattered across the courtyard were doing the same, which struck me as peculiar.

  “The people of their generation are addicted to phones,” Lord Vi said, as though reading my thoughts, even as his gaze remained locked on Lord Takashi. “They have functions that let you view trends, things you like… even socialize without ever leaving your home. Though in this case, they’re using it to preserve memories. Still,” he added flatly, “they’re slaves to the tool.”

  “Like you’re one to talk,” Lord Arthur scoffed.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  “No,” Lord Vi replied mildly, “I’m addicted to games. There’s a difference.”

  I found myself unexpectedly intrigued by the idea of socializing from a single location. With my studies and research, I rarely ventured out. To converse, exchange ideas, and remain connected without constant travel… it sounded remarkably efficient.

  My thoughts were cut short.

  Lord Takashi loosed his arrow.

  “Piercing Shot!”

  The arrow streaked across the distance in a line, struck the target in the upper left corner—and stopped. It embedded itself without force, failing to pierce or shatter, the impact almost disappointing in its mundanity.

  A murmur rippled through the onlookers.

  Lord Takashi lowered his bow and scratched the back of his head as he walked toward us. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” he admitted, frustration evident in his voice. “I’ve tried that three times and nothing is working.”

  The knights exchanged glances.

  From beside me, Lord Vi tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing—not in boredom this time, but in genuine thought.

  “What does your skill actually say?” he asked.

  “Couldn’t you have just checked that with your skill?” Lord Trayn asked, curious.

  “I could,” Lord Vi replied calmly, “but that’d be like peeking to see what color underwear someone’s wearing.” He shrugged. “I’d rather spare myself the mental damage.”

  Laughter broke out around us, even from a few nearby knights.

  Lord Takashi glanced down at his status, reading carefully. “It says: Pull your weapon to maximum draw. Unleashes an attack that pierces through two enemies at a maximum range of one hundred meters.” He paused. “The skill level says the range and number of enemies pierced increase with mastery.”

  Lord Vi hummed, considering. “Have you tried bringing the target closer?”

  “Maybe Vi’s onto something,” Lord Arthur said. “Since it pierces things, maybe the hundred meters only applies at maximum mastery.”

  “Following that logic,” Lord William added, “ten meters per mastery level? At mastery zero, that’s… zero range.”

  “What kind of archer has zero range?” Lord Takashi grumbled. “Is that even an archer?” Still, he turned to one of the assisting knights. “Excuse me, could you bring the target closer?”

  The knight nodded and, after a few moments, repositioned the target to barely three meters from the line. I raised my hand once more and shaped another earth wall behind it, just in case.

  Lord Takashi shook his head, exhaled, and drew his bow again.

  “Piercing Shot!”

  For a heartbeat, nothing seemed to happen.

  We all tilted our heads, confused. Even Lord Takashi blinked, staring at the empty space where his arrow should have been. The assisting knight stepped forward, inspecting the target, then frowned and walked around it.

  “My lord,” he called from behind the wall, “your shot went through the wall.”

  We exchanged glances, then hurried forward together.

  The arrow had punched clean through the target—so fast we had missed it entirely. It had continued on, bored straight through the earth wall I had created, and finally stopped with its arrowhead sticking out nearly twenty centimeters from the back.

  “Holy shit, Taka!” Lord Arthur said, thumping Lord Takashi on the back.

  “World’s first, zero range Archer,” Lord Trayn said smiling ear to ear.

  “Four out of five of my skills are like that,” Lord Takashi grumbled. “How in the world am I supposed to increase mastery of my skills like this? Sneak in while the enemy is too busy to notice?”

  “I do have a recommendation and advice,” Lord Vi said. “If you’re willing.”

  The boys exchanged glances, then nodded almost in unison.

  “Sure, Vi,” Lord Arthur said. “Time for you to tell us how you cheesed the system.”

  “For the last time,” Lord Vi snapped, “I didn’t cheese the system.” He paused, drew in a breath, and steadied himself. “Anyway. Two things.”

  He gestured for the bow.

  “First,” he said, “change how you draw.”

  In our world, archery was done with the arrow placed on the left side of the bow—for a right-handed archer—kept there by tension and habit. What Lord Vi demonstrated instead was different.

  “Like this,” he said, placing the arrow on the outside of the bow. He raised the knuckles of his thumb, using it as a guide to stabilize the shaft. He loosed the arrow. Even at only three meters, the shot was clean and precise.

  “Slavic Draw. It’s similar to kyūdō, Japanese archery,” he explained, “The names aren’t important, what you really want is the arrow on the outside of the bow. It saves time on the reload.”

  Lord Takashi nodded thoughtfully as he took the bow back from him, testing the grip, the angle.

  “And second,” Lord Vi continued, “take any subclass that gives you rage.”

  We stared at him.

  “Rage?” Lord William echoed. “As in a barbarian’s rage? Why?”

  “Think about it,” Lord Vi said patiently. “Rage does a few things. First, it boosts your strength, which means you can handle stronger bows—and stronger bows mean stronger attacks.” He paused, then added, “But more importantly, rage overrides your instinctive fear of being on the front line with a ranged weapon.”

  Understanding began to dawn.

  “Combine that with the faster draw,” he went on, “and you can fire three or more shots before you retreat—or before the rage wears off.”

  Silence followed as everyone considered it.

  Then Lord Takashi nodded slowly. “That’s… actually not a bad idea,” he admitted. “Or rather—it’s already better than anything I’ve come up with so far.”

  Lord Vi shrugged, already losing interest, as if the solution had been obvious all along. “Just something to think about.”

  Then he asked, “So—how are you all feeling about your skills and everything? Anything changed?”

  “No, nothing’s changed,” Lord Arthur said. “We still feel the same. Except when we actually activate our skills.”

  “Yeah,” Lord William agreed. “When I do, it’s like my body already knows what to do the moment the skill triggers.”

  “It’s like déjà vu,” Lord Trayn added, “but physical.”

  “It’s true,” Lord Takashi said, nodding. “It’s like our bodies move on their own. The captains said we’ll need time to get used to it.”

  “I suppose that’s part of the magic of it,” Lord Trayn said thoughtfully.

  Lord Vi listened, expression unreadable, then asked with a strangely tired curiosity, “So I take it you’re all still planning to pick subclasses that let you shoot lightning out of your asses?”

  “Well, yeah,” Lord Arthur replied without hesitation.

  “Who wouldn’t want to do that?” Lord William added.

  Lord Vi nodded slowly, weighing their answers. Then he sighed, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small, square piece wrapped in thin paper.

  “Vi,” Lord Arthur asked suspiciously, “where are you really getting those chocolates from?”

  “I’ll never tell,” Lord Vi replied casually, already savoring it.

  I still remembered the taste of the piece he had given me—rich, smooth, unlike anything from our world. I could understand his obsession.

  “No, I won’t share any,” he said suddenly, glancing directly at me.

  Was I that easy to read? I quickly smoothed my expression, heat rising to my cheeks. “No, Lord Vi, I was not thinking of asking,” I said, perhaps a bit too defensively.

  He shrugged, unconcerned, and scanned the courtyard, squinting as if searching for someone among the practicing groups.

  “Where’s… uh,” he said slowly, “what’s-her-face, and what’s-her-name?”

  I had no idea whom he meant. Wait—does he mean Lady Reika and Lady Shizuku? The uneasy glances Lord Arthur and the others exchanged confirmed my suspicion before anyone spoke.

  “Yeah… Reika had a fight,” Lord William began carefully. “A bad one. Shizuku—and Nana-baa-san—had to mediate.”

  “Did she try to cook again?” Lord Vi asked, already sounding exhausted by the mere possibility.

  “No, nothing like that,” Lord Trayn replied. “Just how bad is her cooking for you to jump to that conclusion immediately?”

  Lord Vi and Lord Arthur exchanged a long, knowing look.

  “Yeah,” Lord Vi said solemnly, “pray to the gods you never experience it.”

  Lord Trayn raised an eyebrow, more amused than skeptical.

  “Anyway,” Lord Arthur continued, steering the conversation back. “Reika and Haruto had a fight.” He paused, then added, “You do know who Haruto is, right?”

  “Yeah,” Lord Vi said with a shrug. “Of course I do.”

  “No, you don’t. Why did I even ask?” Lord Arthur sighed, earning a few chuckles from the group. “He’s one of the more popular guys back at our school. He’s had a thing for Reika for a while and something happened during lunch—while you were asleep.”

  “Reika didn’t like what he was saying about you,” Lord William added. “Things escalated.”

  “He said some pretty nasty things about you,” Lord Takashi said, his expression tightening, “I didn’t think Haruto could say things like that.”

  “Yeah. He never struck me as the type. Maybe it was the first time he was turned down,” Lord Trayn muttered, then shrugged. “The things he said about you were bordering on racism.”

  I half-expected Lord Vi to bristle—to snap, or at least to look wounded. Instead, he looked… relieved.

  “Thank the gods no one woke me up then,” he breathed out.

  For a moment, there was silence.

  Then a few soft chuckles broke out, tension easing like a knot finally loosened. Even I found myself exhaling, though unease still lingered beneath it.

  “That would explain the stares the three idiots are giving me,” Lord Vi said, jerking his thumb behind him.

  A short distance away, Lords Hiroto, Daiki, and Takumi were watching us and possibly talking to themselves. When they noticed the attention, they quickly averted their gazes and resumed their practice, pretending nothing had happened.

  “Be careful,” Lord Trayn warned quietly. “You already have a good idea what those three might try.”

  “Do not worry, Lord Vi,” I said. “We do not tolerate harm toward the weak here.”

  Lord Vi waved a hand dismissively. “It’s fine. I’ll just knock them out before they decide to do anything,” he said lazily, as though he were commenting on the weather.

  “Lord Vi, you shouldn’t be very confident,” I replied. “It would be three against one. And all of them are heroes.”

  “Would be heroes, they haven’t decided to one yet,” he corrected. “Besides, that’s usually the best way to stop bullying. I have a few things up my sleeve.”

  Then he cracked his neck before a long and weary sigh escaped him.

  “Still,” he muttered, “that girl really is good at making problems for me when I don’t even need them.” He shook his head. “People need to be reminded that if the bar is already in hell, they should stop bringing shovels.”

  With that, he turned and started toward the castle.

  “Where are you going?” Lord Arthur called after him.

  “Lunch,” Lord Vi replied without turning back.

  Lord Arthur and the others soon returned to their practice, steel ringing against wood once more. I remained where I was, watching as Lord Vi disappeared through the doorway.

  Beyond his sharp wit and intellect, what I had witnessed today told me something else entirely. Lord Vi was, without question, fearless.

  Whether that fearlessness was true courage or merely bravado remained to be seen. The heroes would continue to grow stronger, their power growing with every passing day. Lord Vi, unable to level, would remain exactly as he was.

  Only time would tell whether his confidence would endure—or finally shatter.