"Toilet boy! Finally decided to show up!"
"How cheap can you get!"
As Leo returned to the training ground, the usual jabs and petty insults flew his way. But he paid them no mind.
Right now, their words couldn't reach him.
Because he was the owner of a Proficient Izell Basic Spear Technique—a title none of them could claim.
Some of the new recruits still fumbled with how to even apply proper force in a thrust. Compared to that, Leo's growth felt worlds apart.
Still, he didn't let his excitement show.
"Just not feeling well today," he muttered, brushing off the teasing with a tired sigh.
But deep down, he was practically itching to swing his weapon again. With a 100% proficiency and a 10% bonus to power, he wanted to feel the difference in action.
Gripping his training spear with practiced ease, he slipped into a stance so fluid it looked like instinct rather than learned motion. He drew in a breath and then—thrust.
He pushed from the ground with his legs, rotated his waist, transferred weight into his arms—and struck with precise power.
The sound of the spear slicing through air silenced the others.
They had laughed at Leo mere seconds ago, but now their eyes widened in disbelief. That single strike had carried weight, speed, and elegance that no one else there could match.
Among them, Ray, a seasoned mercenary-turned-instructor, watched with sharp eyes.
"A perfect thrust," he muttered.
He'd seen hundreds of soldiers come and go, many of them talented. But very few ever performed such flawless form in just a month of training.
He narrowed his gaze on Leo.
"Maybe I underestimated this one…"
Could Leo truly have the potential to rise beyond these barracks—to walk a path greater than that of a simple soldier?
It was too early to say, but Ray hadn't felt this level of excitement over a recruit in years.
Meanwhile, Leo retrieved his spear and quietly reflected on what just happened.
"Something… changed."
He couldn't quite describe it, but the movement had felt natural. As if the spear wasn't a tool anymore—it was an extension of his body.
He wasn't "doing" a technique. He was living it.
It was as if his body moved first and his thoughts caught up afterward.
That was the true power of proficiency.
Then came Ray's voice—quiet but firm.
"Impressive, Leo."
Just two words.
But Leo understood what they meant. After a month of training under Ray, he recognized that kind of praise didn't come easily.
"Thank you. Truly."
He offered a respectful bow, and Ray responded with the faintest smile before moving on.
Leo watched him walk away and felt a strange calm settle over him.
I made the right choice coming here.
Had he stayed in the village, chained by fear and poverty, he would've spent his life scraping a living in dirt, or worse—been beaten to death by his own father.
Here, he had food. Safety. Skills.
Not just any skills—but combat skills that could mean life or death in a world teeming with monsters.
And the system… If I hadn't joined the military, would I have ever awakened it?
Even though he only had one skill for now, there was no reason he couldn't acquire more.
The possibilities were endless.
But the next day, something changed.
Leo found himself restless.
His 100% proficiency in spear techniques had filled him with pride—but now that the goal was reached, the drive was gone.
After only an hour of swinging, he lowered his spear and muttered:
"What's the point of training like this now?"
He already knew the forms. His stance wouldn't break. He could spar blindfolded and still come out on top.
While the other recruits were still catching up, Leo's fire had dimmed. Not out of laziness—but from lack of challenge.
Of course, he continued to train—he didn't want to stand out by skipping—but even Instructor Ray noticed the change.
He's bored, Ray thought. His body's mastered the form… there's nothing left for him to learn by rote.
Ray had trained enough soldiers to know that once someone hits a ceiling, they either stagnate or break through to the next level.
But I can't give him special treatment in front of the others… he thought bitterly. Not unless I want to be accused of favoritism.
So he made a decision.
The following day, right after lunch, the recruits lined up with tired eyes and lowered shoulders.
They expected another long, repetitive afternoon of spear forms.
But then came Ray's voice:
"From today on, we'll alternate training days between forms and sparring."
Everyone looked up.
"Sparring?" someone repeated.
"Yes," Ray said. "Look over there."
A dozen wooden staffs were laid neatly on the ground.
"Those are for sparring. You'll fight one another using these. While they're safer than real spears, don't think they can't hurt. Avoid the face and groin. If I say stop—you stop. Understood?"
"Yes, sir!"
With some excitement and nervous tension in the air, the recruits scrambled to grab a staff.
Leo picked one at random. The materials were nearly identical—there was little to differentiate between them.
He soon found himself matched up against a recruit named Ren.
The boy looked nervous, trembling as he stepped up.
"Why'd I get Leo…" Ren muttered under his breath.
He wasn't just intimidated by Leo's skill—Leo towered over him in size. Even without weapons, the outcome felt inevitable.
Leo understood the sentiment.
This was going to be one-sided.
But that didn't stop a flicker of curiosity from lighting in his mind.
Will my spear technique—its effects and proficiency—apply to a staff too?
After all, the staff was shaped like a spear. The motions were similar. But a staff was technically a different weapon.
He couldn't be sure.
Only one way to find out.
The sparring began.
And it ended—quickly.
Leo's body moved before he could think.
He deflected Ren's clumsy thrust without effort. He blocked downward strikes like a master parrying a child.
My body's responding automatically…
This was proficiency in action.
He didn't even know if the 10% power boost was applying—but the fluidity, the instinct, the precision—it was real.
Ren gasped for breath, sweat running down his temples.
His face flushed with frustration, not just exhaustion. There was no room to fight back—only survive.
Leo decided to end it cleanly.
One motion.
A smooth thrust—not enough to injure—but enough to place the staff against Ren's throat with a whisper of air.
Ren froze.
"…I lost…"
The other recruits had gathered to watch the sparring, and now they whispered in disbelief.
"He's untouchable…"
"I couldn't beat him if I trained for a year…"
"More like ten…"
Ray watched with a knowing expression.
Yes… this one has something rare.
Training alone didn't prepare you for real sparring.
Timing. Distance. Reflexes. Fear. These were variables that ruined even the most promising recruits.
But Leo?
He performed flawlessly.
Ray knew Ren was far less experienced—but even so, Leo's poise was beyond expectation.
Still…
Real combat is another thing.
It was one thing to dominate in a match. Another to survive when your life was on the line.
But this match had proven one thing: Leo wasn't just good at mimicking forms—he had fighting instincts.
The matches continued through the afternoon.
Leo rotated through every recruit.
The outcome never changed.
He always let them attack first. Always blocked or deflected. Then ended the match with one precise blow.
Clean and efficient.
Ray could only shake his head as he watched the final bout conclude.
The "match" system had failed to slow Leo down.
It had only revealed the widening gap.
Leo wasn't just the best of the recruits.
He was already walking a different path.