In just two days, Simel had managed to make himself loved by the entire camp population; the soldiers adored him. The “miraculous” Simel. One soldier came in without a leg and came out with a metal one, perfectly self-sufficient and five times more effective than the one made of bone and flesh. Another man had lost his hearing, yet once he stepped out of Simel’s tent, the sounds of nightingales bloomed again in his ears.

  In the few hours that separated early morning from mid-afternoon, the mood of the camp had improved noticeably. As Miserva walked through the camp, she could see a boy and a girl embracing a man in his fifties; his skin was smooth and new, as if someone had personally remade it.

  When she entered Simel’s chamber through the folding door, what Miserva saw on the table was the boy, lying there asleep. Turning her head to the left, she caught sight of the boy’s tools; despite the enormous number of operations, they were perfectly clean and neatly arranged, as if no one had ever used them.

  Not a single drop of blood anywhere: spotless and immaculate.

  She slowly approached the table, sneaking up on him.

  Now she was standing next to the unconscious boy. With a single movement, she raises her hand and slaps him in the face. "Miraculous, get up!"

  When the boy's hand struck his face, he suddenly sat down on the spot, holding his face.

  “Ahh—What the hell, why did you hit me!”

  “No sleeping on the job. You seem to enjoy being the new local doctor, I've never seen anything like it before.” Referring to the new objects that Simile brought to the tent.

  A question on the surface just to acknowledge a co-worker job, yet in those eyes there seemed to be a child's admiration for the circus.

  “They're called prosthetics. Tools that replace what a man has lost,” says Simel, looking down from the opposite side of Miserva's eyes. “We don’t have that technology here, and that made you get noticed even by the higher ups. The fact is, what you did caught Areo's attention. You'll be leaving with him on the next expedition.”

  Taken aback, the boy turns toward Miserva so quickly that he almost falls to the ground. “NO! Don't you dare—”

  “I've already given Areo the go-ahead, you are forced to help them on the next expedition.” Defeated, Simel looks on the ground. “Tell me you'll be with me.”

  “I'm sorry, you'll be on your own. But don't worry, you're in good hands.”

  Miserva shyly strokes Simel's shoulder.

  “Go to the soldiers' tent and get supplies for at least three days. Good luck.”

  Simel's first stop was the soldiers' tent, where he arrived at the supply area.

  “Simel! My boy! How are you?”

  Cooking and managing the supplies was a tall, middle-aged man with shiny, clean skin. When he saw Simel, his face instantly lit up with joy.

  “All is well, Mr. Graswore. How is your skin after the operation?”

  “It's fabulous, my savior. Now I can hug my children again.”

  As he said this, he moved behind the pile of boxes, continuing his conversation while rummaging through the supplies.

  “Those damned Zwasì completely burned my skin with those light attacks. I stood in front of my children to protect them and ended up burning my body.

  But thanks to you, I can feel their touch again, and they can look me straight in the eye without a perpetual sense of sadness.”

  “It's a shame I didn't bring my hair transplant prosthesis with me, otherwise I could have given you back the thick head of hair you told me about.”

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “Ah. Don't worry, my boy, as a father, what you have done for me is give me paradise. When the war is over, come and visit us at my wine shop. You will be most welcome!”

  Having received food for the days of travel, Simel made his way towards the camp exit.

  The boy couldn't understand how he had become so loved in such a short time. But that was fine with him.

  When he reached the end of the field, the woman with the red streak stood out in front of him, wearing a jacket that covered her legs. She looked at him stoically, just like on the day of the test. “I heard you messed up a lot.”

  “Tsk. Miserva.”

  “...Don't take it as an offense on her part, she does it because she cares about her teammates.” Turning his back on Simel, he began to walk away. “Come on, Areo is already waiting for us.”

  The two mounted horses that were specially prepared for them to reach the port.

  Her horse was built for racing, sturdy but with agile legs, white skin with blue eyes and a lavender mane.

  “I read in your file that you were very good at riding at high speed in the orphanage. Do you mind if I put it to the test?”

  “How much have you read about me?”

  Simel asks as he mounts his steed.

  A nag, old and worn out from a lifetime of hard work, malnourished, with black skin and a dirty mane, eyes empty.

  “I know you loved puzzles and spent a lot of time in the library, that your mother Mirasialia and your father Maraska killed each other, and that you always helped others in times of need. I also know that you are a skilled inventor and, for your age, have a natural talent for science.”

  Slowly, they begin to urge their horses on, getting them to pick up speed.

  “You've done your homework, Risa. Miserva didn't talk much about you.”

  Slowly, the two horses begin to increase their speed.

  “I knew you were talented, you caught Areo's attention. Although you far exceeded my expectations, to the point that we sent all the other possible candidates home.”

  The information takes Simel by surprise, who loses his concentration and looks up, slowing down his horse. Risa seizes the opportunity and infamously commands her horse to speed up.

  In a second, she exceeds the speed of sound four times and creates a long distance between herself and Simel.

  The boy, caught off guard, immediately tries to command his horse to increase its speed by transmitting the Sciarra into its body.

  "Back home? Does that mean the imprisonment was just a bluff to push people to do better? No, even more important. Did Silla kill himself for no reason?" The boy whispered this as he tried to keep up with the girl. The two traveled like trains without ever stopping, like bullets at full power with no intention of stopping until they reached the finish line. Yet between the two, Simel was clearly at least five meters behind.

  But the situation did not discourage him in the slightest; on the contrary, the information brought back that arrogant and aggressive personality to his eyes. Normally, in horse racing, the Sciarra is used to optimize the equestrian's muscles and optimize them for racing. Improved performance depends on many things, but mainly:

  - The rider's ability to output the Sciarra into horse to alter the muscle structure;

  - The horse's muscular capacity; in fact, if too weak, the sudden muscular change would cause a great decrease in performance, if not an overload of the animal and a possible imminent injury.

  In both cases Simel was far behind.

  His capacity to input Sciarra into his body and outputting it to interact with physical objects was great, but clearly far behind special soldiers, and he knew it himself after failing to emulate Miserva attacks.

  And even if he could endure in his body as much Sciarra as Risa could, his horse was still too weak to endure a full optimization without having to face multiple injuries.

  Simel aware of that already throws in the bin the idea to out-perform the girl horse in raw output and instead chooses to optimize something different.

  “I hoped I had more time to experiment but, as always, the field is the best place to test the theory.”

  The boy clings tightly to the horse and begins to absorb the Sciarra and make it flow into the horse, alternating his physical structure. But instead of increasing muscle optimization, Simile prepares to use his knowledge for something else entirely.

  Risa, still in the lead, turns her head to look over her shoulder and what she sees takes her by surprise. Despite going at full power, Simel was closing the gap. The girl couldn't understand how it was possible, and didn't understand how the young boy had been able to get so close, and in a few seconds he would even manage to overtake her in speed.

  Simel, now a few meters ahead, begins to celebrate. “True optimization is not physical enhancement but the ability to eliminate the limits of the world. The twenty percent decrease in air resistance allows me to reach unprecedented speeds. You're being too arrogant—”...

  “Cough.”

  Looking at his hand after coughing, Simel notices drops of blood.

  “What the...”

  With blood dripping from his nose, Simel slowly loses speed. The horse doesn't seem exhausted, but his brain is.

  The insight in his mind came quickly.

  “Sciarra is processed by the brain. It's possible that I overloaded it with information.”

  In a few seconds Simel fell behind, losing his race against Risa.