Chapter 90
Chapter 90
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 90
Chapter Title: The Beginning of Change (6)
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At first, she had been cautious, but now she seemed to be oddly enjoying this situation.
‘Not just once or twice.’
Rashar was waiting for me to catch on to something.
But I had no clue. What the hell was I missing?
My pride stung a little, so I gritted my teeth and charged again.
Rashar didn’t back off—instead, she rushed in just like me.
I’d assumed she’d retreat, so I flinched for a split second.
Seizing that opening, Rashar slipped in even closer and thrust her sword.
The blade hurtling toward my face suddenly dropped low.
Rashar had spun her sword a full 180 degrees, pommel jutting out front.
“Guh!”
With a solid *thunk*, the pommel smashed into me, and I went flying.
Only then did it click.
“You alright?”
“Distance…….”
“Hm?”
I glanced back and forth between my spear and Rashar, then hauled myself to my feet.
I gripped my spear and stood ready. Rashar took her stance as well.
But this time, she didn’t move. She just waited.
The corner of Rashar’s mouth curled up ever so slightly.
The moment she closed the gap, I backed away—unlike all the times before.
Rashar’s blade flicked my spear tip with a light *clink*, and she flashed a wide grin.
“Finally taking that first step.”
Now I got it. That’s why she’d only used her spear for the initial clash every time before switching to a shortsword or longsword.
‘A spear’s reach is long.’
But shrink the distance with your opponent? You lose that advantage.
To maximize a spear’s power, you couldn’t let them get close.
Yet I’d always charged in first or dragged us into close quarters, forcing her to favor the more convenient dagger.
I’d known my spear had a long reach.
But I’d left it at that—wasted knowledge, no better than ignorance.
It was an unfamiliar weapon, so I couldn’t wield it as naturally as breathing.
“My sword’s range is about this.”
As realization dawned on my past mistakes, Rashar reset her stance and held out her sword.
I readjusted my grip on the spear and took a couple steps back.
The distance between my spear tip and her blade was much farther than I’d imagined.
“Do you grasp the reach of your spear?”
“……More or less.”
Don’t forget that sense of distance.
With those parting words, Rashar kicked off the ground and closed in.
For the first time, it felt like actual training had begun.
* * *
The most crucial part of training is repetition.
Repeat until your body reacts on instinct, without conscious thought. Repeat and repeat again.
The method for forming a mana core was no different.
Repetition was the only way to keep that sensation from slipping away.
I abandoned hunting altogether, devoting every moment to forming my mana core.
And every time I layered mana upon mana, the same message popped up.
「Mana Operation attempts to evolve into Mana Control!」
‘Mana Control.’
A general skill sold in the shop for a whopping 500,000 mana—on the silver tab, no less.
‘If it succeeds, do I get Mana Control for free?’
Or would there be some extra cost?
I couldn’t be certain yet, since it hadn’t succeeded.
But one thing was clear: this game had a skill tree.
Fill up the proficiency on a specific skill, and you could acquire its advanced version. That kind of blueprint.
Once I realized that, I pestered the system whenever I was alone in my room.
- Hey, system. Cough up the skill tree info if you’ve got it.
But I got the usual stony silence in response.
- Come on, give it up. Or I’ll do a hidden mission or whatever—hurry it up.
I even tried negotiating, but no dice.
“Tch.”
Ever since that secret chat with the Seven Gods, the system had stayed dead quiet.
No more direct meddling in my gameplay like before.
Even when the map and radar appeared, it wasn’t the capitalism trait kicking in.
It was just pre-programmed—like flipping on the appropriate function at the right trigger.
‘The capitalism trait is basically a conduit for system intervention.’
A workaround to skirt the restriction against sticking its nose into dimensional affairs?
No activation meant no direct involvement.
I’d nagged it over and over, but still nothing.
‘Haven’t ditched me for someone else, have you?’
I ground my teeth in frustration, but I had no way to summon the system.
And without its cooperation, prying out skill tree info was impossible.
‘Guess it’s not something I can access right now…….’
If the skill tree got revealed, player growth would skyrocket.
‘Fewer trash builds or total failures, too.’
What a shame.
But it was foolish to keep badgering a brick wall for answers.
‘For now, bide my time and watch for an opening.’
No breakthrough today didn’t mean none tomorrow.
Everything has its perfect timing.
Align your choices and focus to that, and you maximize efficiency.
Push ahead ignoring it, and you just waste time.
‘Moving on for now.’
I added skill tree research to my to-do list and refocused on core formation.
All day long, I stacked mana layer by layer, drilling the training over and over.
“Agh, I’m dying.”
I didn’t have the strength to twitch a finger.
My limbs shook uncontrollably; even sitting upright was a struggle from sheer exhaustion.
I flopped down flat with a *thud* and let out a ragged breath, staring up at the sky.
Handling mana had always drained my mental energy, but lately it was on another level.
No wonder I was dropping weight like crazy.
The pants I’d brought from Earth kept loosening; I had to cinch my belt tighter just to keep them up.
‘Can’t cut back on training, so I’ll have to eat more.’
I resolved to up my intake starting with tonight’s dinner and wearily stretched out my hand.
Lying down meant sweat kept trickling into my eyes—I just wanted to wipe it away.
Water, high-protein snacks, and a towel.
They were always right by my training spot, so all I had to do was reach.
“Hm……?”
The towel felt as fluffy as ever when I grabbed it—then something went *plop plop*.
A sour stench hit me, along with a color that made my nose wrinkle on instinct and a slimy texture.
No matter how I looked at it, what tumbled out from the towel’s folds was food scraps.
The sweat stench had masked the sourness until now.
‘These fuckers……?’
I didn’t know who, but.
Sensing the malice aimed my way, my fighting spirit started to surge.
* * *
Five years as a squire, born a commoner.
Walter crouched low in the thick bushes near the dining hall’s backyard to stay hidden.
Jeremy, training under the same knight, was with him.
They’d barely been waiting in cover when Jeremy, unable to swallow his anxiety as he glanced around, whispered to Walter.
“He wasn’t around all day yesterday. You didn’t tell the butler, right? What happens if we get caught doing this?”
“Shut it.”
What happens? They’d harmed the lord’s guest—they’d be kicked out.
If word spread, no other house’s knights would take them in.
They’d have to abandon knighthood. Five years of effort down the drain.
But even knowing the worst-case scenario, he couldn’t back out.
-What, don’t wanna? Then quit being my squire.
Walter gritted his teeth.
‘Should’ve found another knight back then, no matter what.’
He wouldn’t be in this mess.
Allens, the one with him and Jeremy, was trash through and through.
Lustful for money and women, petty and spiteful to boot.
Worst skill in the knight order, inferiority complex twisting his guts.
At first, Walter wondered how a guy like that got into the prestigious House Bennet’s knights.
Turned out he had ties to the captain back at HQ.
‘Son of some soldier who saved the captain’s life in a war long ago.’
General consensus: without that, he’d never have been knighted.
Whispers said he’d bought the title with his father’s life as collateral.
Naturally, his squires—Walter and Jeremy—got laughed at too.
Of course, Walter hadn’t chosen such a man out of fondness.
Back when he became a squire, Allens was the only option.
Most knights took relatives or scions from other houses—no spots left.
Even if there were, they shunned commoners like him.
Allens was the only one who’d stepped up to take Walter.
More accurately, none of the kids from decent families applied to be his squire, so he’d had to pick from commoners.
Still, the bastard had the gall to demand money as payment for accepting him.
Untrustworthy knight or not, he was a titled noble.
Walter had endured five grueling years for a shot at the same status.
Next year, Walter turned sixteen—he could be knighted.
He couldn’t get booted with success right around the corner.
Defy Allens’ orders? Expulsion guaranteed.
But play along, and there was a sliver of hope they wouldn’t get caught.
Pathetic, bending to such a cheap threat.
Walter gritted his teeth and swallowed his bitter self-loathing.
He even understood Allens’ grudge a bit.
Truth be told, Walter didn’t like the outsider either.
‘Clumsier than me.’
Awkward grip on the spear, laughable proficiency.
After all that waiting, the “hope” turned out to be guys like that? Utter letdown.
And yet, direct lessons from Rashar herself, even use of the private training grounds.
Plenty of murmurs in the knight order about it.
The camp split between those airing grievances openly and those trusting Rashar and biting their tongues.
Allens was firmly in the former.
‘Doing this to Sir Bennet’s guest…….’
Walter stifled a sigh as he eyed the leather pouch in his hand.
Yesterday, the kitchens. Today, straight from the stables.
He didn’t want to do this.
‘Just until knighthood. Just until then…….’
Self-recrimination could wait. Right now, he needed to grab the hurrying servant and clamp down on his guilt.
Walter blocked the path of the servant emerging from the kitchen’s back door.
“Eek!”
The servant jumped like he’d been electrocuted at Walter and Jeremy bursting from the bushes.
Walter scowled and snapped.
“What’s with the freakout? This isn’t the first time.”
Jeremy’s face hardened as he pinned the servant’s shoulder, locking him in place.
“Keep acting up, and we’re in trouble too, got it? You don’t want me spilling everything, do you?”
A few months back, Walter had caught the servant skimming supplies coming into the manor.
Life must’ve been rough for him to stoop that low—Walter kept quiet and extracted a promise to stop.
‘Of course, I reported it to the butler.’
The servant thought Walter hadn’t told a soul.
That gave them leverage—blackmail to rope him into harassing the outsider.
Last time, it was kid stuff: food scraps in the towel, salt or vinegar dumped in his drinking water.
Today, they’d upped the ante.
“Today, slip this into the outsider’s food.”
Walter held out the leather pouch full of horse manure from the stables.
Lately, the outsider had been hitting the kitchens late at night, grabbing heaps of food.
A little addition there would rack up plenty of disgust.
All straight from Allens’ twisted brain.
‘Cowardly prick.’
Couldn’t say shit to his face, so he pulled crap like this behind his back. Pathetic.
“What’re you waiting for? Take it already.”
As the servant bit his lip and darted glances, Jeremy barked at him.
But instead of grabbing the pouch, the servant kept scanning his surroundings.
What the hell? Walter scowled—just then, a presence stirred behind him.
Before he could turn, something invisible pressed down hard on his and Jeremy’s heads.
“Gotcha, you little shits.”
An unfamiliar voice rang out.
Damned System